Blue with Black Dots (The Caprice Trilogy Book 2) (39 page)

              “What work did you find for a blown Russian mole?” asked Georgia, “Especially one of Arthur Witt’s?”

              “I sent him to Le Havre to talk to you,” said Simone, “He was supposed to bring you in before your whoever fellow agent murdered you.  As much as we know you are the last one.”

              “But why would you send him?” asked Georgia.

              “Who else would you have believed on short notice?” asked Simone, “He’s a Soviet déclassé.  I told you a story about Arthur Witt and that he’s a traitor to your agency and has killed your fellow agents and is trying to kill you to cover stolen funds projects of his that should not have existed.  Then I tell you he launched
Project Full House
as a clever way to cover his illegal projects with a legal one and that you were marked for death from the moment you were chosen for
Full House
.  All the brutal training and sleep-deprived lessons were to make
Full House
seem absolutely legitimate when in reality you were a pawn being played with elaborate efficiency.  Would you have believed me when I asked you to help me find a way to deal with Arthur Witt for mutual benefit?”

              “What reason would I have to believe
him
?” asked Georgia.

              “If anything,” said Simone, “He could show you his golf ball.”

              “Which is under his armpit,” said Georgia.

              “Yes,” said Simone, “And it protrudes in a small way.  You can feel it’s there.”

              “You sent him to bring me in,” said Georgia, “You think that would’ve worked.”

              “It was delicate,” said Simone, “I know you carry a
Browning 1955
.  And with your training, I didn’t want any of my people to get shot, so I sent someone I didn’t have much use for.  It was delicate.  I couldn’t have you shoot one of my people and if you ran back to Arthur Witt he’d shoot you.  But the real question is who shot him?”  Simone turned her eyes to look at the man lying in the bed.

              “How did the shooter know he was in Le Havre?” asked Georgia.

              “How did he know?” said Simone, “We believe he was following you.  Who set you up with your flat in Paris?”

              “Director Witt,” said Georgia, “But it was a common flat.  The Agency uses it when it needs it.”

              “And Arthur Witt needed it,” said Simone, “Because he needed to know where you were at all times.”

              “Then why wouldn’t he have me killed there?” asked Georgia.

              “A CIA operative killed in a CIA flat?” said Simone, “Do you think that’s the kind of attention Arthur Witt is trying to attract?  Think for yourself Agent Georgia Standing. 
Full House
had the sole purpose to hide Arthur Witt’s side projects funded with stolen CIA money.  If there were a murder in a CIA flat, the CIA would have gone through it with a microscope.  There’s a difference when a project is sanctioned or unsanctioned. 
Full House
was sanctioned but if you were found as a bloody mess on the floor of a CIA flat in Paris, then you’re no longer an asset to the CIA neither is the flat.  The Agency would have wanted to know how that happened.  An investigation into
Full House
could have lead back to Witt’s other dealings.  He wouldn’t have done it that way.  It’s the reason he had you followed.”

              “I didn’t feel followed,” said Georgia.

              “That’s because the shooter kept a distance,” said Simone, “You would recognize him.  They had to get you in a place with fewer eyes.  There are too many spies in Paris, CIA or otherwise.  They wanted to get rid of you and make it clean.  But the shooter found another target.”

              “Him?” said Georgia.

              “Your shooter decided to make it a two for one trip,” said Simone, “He knew the identity of the other mole and there’s only one person who could have given him that information.”

              “Arthur Witt,” said Georgia.

              “I sent him to Le Havre to keep you alive,” said Simone, “He did.  But not in a way he or I expected.”

              “Those bullets were meant for me,” said Georgia.

              “You’ve known the man,” said Simone, “Now you know his signature.”

              “Him?” said Georgia looking at the man in the bed.

              “No,” said Simone, “Arthur Witt.”

              “The shooter would have gotten you,” said Simone, “But he was diverted, distracted.”

              “I left Le Havre the same day,” said Georgia.

              “That decision likely spared you several bullets,” said Simone, “Most likely.”  Georgia did something unique to human beings.  She reflected on her own mortality.  Realizing how close to death she had come, made her realize her youth guaranteed nothing.  She could live a long life if she wanted to, if she stayed many moves ahead.  But she wasn’t guaranteed the next several decades because she was young and healthy.  She had to stay healthy, which meant staying alive.

              “You and I didn’t end up in a hospital bed,” said Simone, “But we are also victims.  This is what I mean for you to see.”

              “See what?” said Georgia.

              “The body count,” said Simone.

              “Which is?” said Georgia.  Simone pointed to Georgia then pointed to the man lying in the hospital bed, before pointing to herself. 

              “One, two, three,” said Simone, “Three vicitms, all the result of Director Arthur Witt’s activity.  This is what I want you to understand before I tell you what we have to do, what we’re going to do.”

              “I’m a victim because Witt sent someone to kill me,” said Georgia, “He’s a victim because Witt did almost kill him.  But how are you a victim Simone Gagnon?”

              “You only have bullets to fear,” said Simone, “I fear the barrel.”

              “What barrel is that?” asked Georgia.

              “The barrel I’m over,” said Simone, “The barrel Witt has below me while he’s holding me prostrate by one leg.  He has my son, my secret. 
Le Poq
can’t be over a barrel. 
Le Poq
can’t be blackmailed.  Whether the barrel of a gun or the barrel of blackmail, we are three being threatened.  And France herself is threatened if I am so compromised.  I woudn’t have facilitated the swap between KGB and CIA, except for Witt’s blackmail.”

              “Wouldn’t it make sense to quit?” said Georgia.

“I told you
Le Poq
chooses his successor,” said Simone, “I haven’t found mine yet.  Besides there’s a better way, if I can get you to see it my way.”

              “And your proposal?” said Georgia, “You want to kill him.”

              “Not like you think,” said Simone, “I want to render him powerless, make him as good as dead.  Then we can kill him or he may even do the deal himself.  When I’m done with him he won’t have much reason to continue forward with the path he’s on.”

              “Why do you say that?” asked Georgia.

              “Because Witt is not the only one who does his homework,” said Simone, “He spied on me—made me spy on him.  He found out about my past and I looked into his.  And found that he’s a pretty boy.  Prettier than you and I combined.  He’s had a charmed life, very charmed.”

              “And what does that mean to you?” asked Georgia.

              “It’s what it means to us,” said Simone.

              “What does it mean to us?” asked Georgia.

              “It means he’s a cat,” said Simone, “And we have the string.  He’s like my father’s friends.  They were used to the good life, always.  They had it from the beginning.  They lacked imagination to what they would do with an enemy like the Nazis.  Imagine if all the enemies you’ve had in your life had less means than you.  Imagine if you only knew fighting from the high ground.  You would think you know fighting.  You would think you know how to measure out your attack against your enemies.  That’s the way it is in France.  The upper class always goes to the best schools and ends up with the best position, companies and government.  There are some who try to rise up the ranks in parliament, but they are only allowed to go so far up.  Some aren’t allowed to go up at all.  It all depends on what these kids want to allow.  And they are just kids.  Their lifestyle doesn’t allow for maturing.  Over the years and over so many thoughts, I blamed immaturity for my father’s betrayal.  His friends just never understood friendship.  It’s a very mature concept.  Spoiled kids grown into spoiled adults cannot fully understand deep concepts.  Their minds don’t have the recesses.  Everything is sunny on the surface. There is such a thing as true friendship and true loyalty but it will always be lost on them or they will be lost to it.  They break character easily, like they did with my father.  And that’s why they betrayed him to the Nazis.  They broke character.  They were all friends but my father was the only Jew.  They didn’t know how to deal with an enemy as powerful as the Nazis.  So they broke all character.  They were no longer the upper class holding the keys, standing at the gates of access.  They were the ones trying to climb the ladder.  To climb you have to be lean.  You can’t carry too much weight, so they dropped my father into the hands of the Nazis.  That was all they could understand to do.  That was the value of their friendship, as they understood it.”

              “What does that mean for us and Director Witt?” said Georgia. 

              “That means we have to get him to break character,” said Simone, “I don’t know how easy it will be, but trust me it is possible.”

              “When he breaks character,” said Georgia, “Where do you need me to be?”

              “With him,” said Simone.

              “Doing what?” asked Georgia.

              “What you’re trained to do,” said Simone, “Trap men.”

              “You want me to trap him,” said Georgia.

              “We need him to admit to what he did,” said Simone, “I can teach you to do that.  I’ve done it before.”

              “When?” said Simone.

              “With my father’s friends,” said Simone, “I got them to admit what had happened.”

              “How did you do that?” asked Georgia

              “I did what you did to Owen Spice,” said Simone, “I used my charm, the feminine kind.”

              “You slept with them?” said Georgia.  Simone smiled. 

              “I came back to France with very little money
petite fille
,” said Simone, “But I still had assets.”  Simone looked down at the man lying a in the hospital bed.  She put her hand over his forehead as if she were checking him for fever.  She turned to look back at Georgia.

              “You’ve got assets,” said Simone.

              “What’s his name?” asked Georgia.

              “Gavril,” said Simone.

              “Who is he?” asked Georgia.

              “He’s a former member of the Soviet Ministry of Interior Secret Police,” said Simone.

              “How did he get in with Arthur Witt?” asked Georgia.

              “He’s in a coma,” said Simone, “But he’s soon to wake up according to what I’m told.  Talk to him.  He’s incredibly intelligent.  Maybe you’ll see what attracted Witt to him.  But I want him to tell his own story.  Let that be Rule Number Seven, Agent Georgia Standing, always live to tell your own story.”  Simone patted the man’s right knee and used the same hand to pat Georgia on the shoulder as she walked back toward the door.