Authors: Thomas Kirkwood
He whistled and watched her closely.
She seemed more driven, more obsessed than he had ever seen her in the past.
He said, “If you’re right, this is amazing.”
“Yes it is, darling.”
Now it was his turn, and he felt terrific. She had gotten her biggest break, but how big was it, really? She could derive a lot of interesting theories from it, but how in the hell was she going to verify them?
He smiled. He didn’t think she could. He, on the other hand, was in a perfect position to find out with total certainty whether or not she was barking up the right tree. This was no small achievement for a guy his family thought of as a tennis-playing bum.
“Tell me something, Sophie. Did you know that Michelet has been holding Wednesday night political meetings at this place out in the country? He’s been having them for as long as Nicole can remember.”
She shot him a piercing look, which he took to be a sign of her fierce ambition to succeed – the tip of a submerged iceberg. His dad and brothers showed that same type of fierce ambition all the time, but with them it gave off a bad odor. For some reason, Sophie’s ambition didn’t stink.
He had a thought that warmed his heart. Maybe his dad and brothers were just assholes. Maybe you didn’t have to be like them to succeed in life. He had always assumed you did.
“No, I didn’t know that,” Sophie said.
“Well, now you do. And according to Nicole, the prick has built his entire movement at these meetings. So here’s what I’m thinking. If Haussmann and Delors are in on this, they’d be attending these meetings, wouldn’t they?”
“Most likely, yes. But are the meetings still taking place?”
“You bet. Last night was Wednesday. That’s why Nicole felt comfortable staying at my place until late. Her father was out in the country. No chance he would show up at home before two in the morning.”
“Steven, this is a piece of very fine work on your part. It’s exactly what I hired you to do. Do you suppose you could find out – in a subtle way, of course – where the meetings are held?”
“I already did.”
“Subtly?”
“As subtle as you can imagine. We were in the middle of talking about something else and the subject just came up.”
“Out of the blue?”
“Yeah, right.”
“That worries me. It sounds almost as though she’s holding out a piece of bait to see if you’ll bite. I hope you didn’t show too much interest.”
Steven gave her a friendly tap on the arm. “Hey, would you please relax. You haven’t heard the whole story. We need a place to meet outside the city. I didn’t see the problem until we got our asses photographed yesterday in some obscure café.”
“Not good.”
“It wasn’t anything, just a kid on a moped. But it woke me up. I guess I didn’t realize the extent the gossip columnists had picked up on her.”
“You should read more, darling.”
“I’m too busy. Anyway, when we came back to my place, I made some suggestions about how to conduct an incognito relationship in the city. It turned out she had her own plan, much better than mine.”
“This is yummy, Steven.”
“It gets better. Talking about her plan is how the subject of her dad’s meetings came up – just something in the context of something else.”
“Fortunate.”
“Yep. Anyway, Michelet inherited
his
father’s country home about fifteen years ago. He kept it up real nice, but only for these meetings. He’s never there otherwise, so Nicole wants us to make use of it. Except on Wednesday nights, of course.”
“Careful, Steven. There must be caretakers. If they see you, they might betray you to Michelet.”
“I don’t think so. The caretakers are an old peasant couple. Nicole is very close to them. She spent her vacations with them when the convent school closed. Sounds like her dad didn’t know what to do with her.”
“He didn’t. He will, however, if he catches her with you. You’ll have to lay low when you’re out there. Believe me, Steven, these old retainers don’t bite the hand that feeds them. So take my advice, take a sleeping bag and keep out of sight. Being seen there would be worse than being photographed in Paris.”
They had come full circle around the park for the third time. They both stopped simultaneously, as though attuned to each other’s thoughts.
Steven said, “Well, it’s too late to change plans now. Nicole is driving out there this morning to visit the caretakers. She’s going to tell them she has a boyfriend she doesn’t want her dad to know about. She’s sort of announcing my arrival in advance, you know, giving me a nice French introduction. She thought it would be a good idea.”
“Steven, they’ll know you’re not French. Your command of the language is excellent, but you still have a slight American accent. They’ll hear it.”
“Wrong. They’re deaf. Listen, Sophie, Nicole and I are going to meet there this coming Friday. I’ll get the lay of the land, see if I can find out exactly where those meetings are held and whether there’s a place I can hide and listen. If there is, I’ll sneak in Wednesday. If I get lucky, I might be able to bring home some serious bacon.”
Sophie was looking at him now, scrutinizing him, studying him. He couldn’t tell whether she was impressed, nervous or angry.
She kicked the gravel like a loitering teenager. She rubbed her hands together, started to form a word, stopped in mid syllable and looked at him some more.
“What’s wrong?”
“Wrong? What you’re proposing, Steven, is way beyond what I engaged you to do. You could get yourself in a serious mess. You must remember that Delors is near the top of one of the world’s most vicious intelligence services. These people don’t play games. If they feel the least bit threatened, they hit back. Hard.
“So I want you to forget about eavesdropping on a meeting. In fact, on second thought, I don’t want you going out there at all. I’ll work on finding you and Nicole another place to meet closer to Paris, a place where you can really relax.”
“Know something, Sophie? I haven’t seemed to do anything right for a long time. Things are changing now, I can feel them changing. I’ve reread LeConte’s List of Lacking Virtues. I’ve discovered perseverance, thanks to you. I’m sticking with this one whether it’s part of my job or not. I’m going in.”
“Steven – ”
“Look, Sophie, I refuse to piss away all the work and money you’ve invested getting me in this position. Until now all I’ve done is entertained myself and gotten laid. You’ve done the hard work. So I’m going to do my part, for a change. I don’t give a damn how dangerous it is. I’m going in there and I’m going to get the scoop. I’m going to find out what makes Michelet and his band of
nouveaux Nazis
tick. Then you and I, we’ll sit down and write one hell of a story.”
Her silence was stony.
“Come on, Sophie, loosen up. I know you. You’re a blood hound. You’ve got to admit this idea intrigues you.”
“Whether it does or not, Steven, I can’t sanction it.”
“You don’t have to. It’s my decision.”
“We’ll talk about this again before Friday.”
“Sorry, I won’t be around. The club’s sending me off to play some exhibition matches, and that’s the truth.”
“Where?”
“Forget it, Sophie. I’m doing this for me as well as for you. You’re not going to change my mind.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Michelet paced the study of his Paris home like a wild boar. He reread the letter from Claussen for the hundredth time, then lit the pages one by one and dropped them into the fireplace. He paced some more, trying to gain control of his smoldering rage. Wisps of smoke curled in front of the dour portraits of his ancestors.
This was entirely
unacceptable.
Outrageous. Abominable. Seditious.
When Delors had talked him into this hair-brained scheme, he had assured him nothing of the sort would ever happen. In fact, that pledge had been a condition of Michelet’s acceptance.
So how could Delors have
allowed
it to happen?
That was the first answer he needed: How?
It was an unmitigated disaster. Now their plans would have to be revamped from the bottom up, and that was the least of it. If Claussen made any little mistake and got caught, the world would learn what he, Michelet, had done. If this happened, he would not take his place in history as the first great Frenchman to follow De Gaulle. He would not be remembered as the man who had restored honor, prosperity and dignity to his country. Hardly.
He would sure as hell go down in history, but as a freak, an embarrassment, a despicable criminal who had made a mockery of his movement’s claim that France was the most civilized nation on earth.
Françoise knocked, as he had asked her to do.
“Yes?”
She opened the study door a crack. Her face took on a strange expression. She looked at his cigar. She said, “You have switched brands, Monsieur?”
At first he didn’t think he had heard right. When he finally understood, he just stared at her.
So many clues, so many tiny things that could go wrong.
Switched brands? The cunning old bitch, he thought. She knew damned well he had been burning papers.
That’s what he meant by little things going wrong. What if she had opened that abominable letter by mistake? What if she had been paid by the opposition to monitor his personal mail? What would she have done? Did a quarter of a century of service to the household guarantee loyalty?
Obviously not, if history was a guide.
Sacré bleu
, he had to calm down before he blew a gasket. He had to distinguish paranoia from real danger. Otherwise he would end up creating dangers that hadn’t existed.
What if Françoise
had
read the letter? She wouldn’t have had any reason to suspect that it was about airplane crashes. Claussen had been very cautious with his wording.
Françoise said in a raspy voice, “Monsieur, your guest has arrived. He is waiting to see you.”
“Very well,” Michelet grumbled, breaking the strange silence. “Show him in.”
“And Monsieur?”
“What?”
“I must talk to you as soon as possible about your daughter. Yes, as soon as possible.” She stepped into the room and waved a newspaper. “It’s abominable. You must do something about it.”
“Don’t bother me with personal matters now. Do you understand me, Françoise? Do you
understand me
?”
“Yes, but – ”
“Françoise!”
She stared at him for a split second, then put the newspaper down on top of a bookcase and went out.
Michelet walked to the window and turned his back to the door. This was how he wanted to greet the man he had trusted for so many years, the man who had persuaded him of their invulnerability, only to allow Claussen to find out who they were.