The Job (27 page)

The curtain surrounding the bed was pulled aside, and Gooley stepped in. He was no longer in tactical gear but back in his leather and sheepskin coat. He handed Kate a bag of Krispy Kremes.

“At least we don’t have to go to the bother of auctioning off that yacht,” Gooley said, “being that it’s at the bottom of the Thames.” He rocked back on his heels. “You ever drive a boat before?”

“I spotted Violante’s bodyguard, Reyna Socorro, in the
powerboat. She was positioned between the two bridges, shooting off the flares. Sorry about the yacht, but it was my only weapon.”

“Not your only weapon,” Gooley said. “We pulled Reyna out of the Thames with her eye gouged out and a broken nose.”

“Is she okay?”

“She was full of river water,” Gooley said.

“What about Violante and Fox?”

“We got Violante. He was found knocked out in a stairwell, and he had ‘Menendez’ written across his forehead. It looked like he’d been punched in the face. Fox got away.”

“He usually does.”

“We had the building surrounded. It was like he sprouted wings and flew out the open window.”

Not wings, Kate thought. Nick had made himself invisible by wearing the same tactical outfit as the police who were storming the building. He probably walked right past Gooley.

“At a press conference tomorrow, Scotland Yard will flog this as a successful joint operation with U.S. law enforcement agencies,” Gooley said. “The press will be told it resulted in the apprehension of a highly dangerous international felon. We’ll also hint that a stunning revelation about the true identity of that felon is forthcoming, pending further investigation. Privately, the Yard is getting a slagging from Downing Street for a monumental cock-up that turned a half-kilometer stretch of the Thames into a war zone.”

“Have you heard from Hollywood yet?”

“No, but I told dispatch to put Russell Crowe straight through to me when he calls.” Gooley offered Kate his hand. “What you did on the Thames today took guts. You’re one hell of a copper.”

“So are you.”

“Cheers, then.” He nodded his thanks and walked out.

Kate looked into the donut bag, and a doctor in surgical scrubs, mask, and cap came in.

“We’re ready to remove your spleen,” he announced in a British accent that sounded remarkably like Roger Moore’s.

“Can I eat my donuts first?” Kate asked.

“I wouldn’t if I were you. You’re already pushing the limits on those jeans you’re wearing.”

“I know it’s you,” Kate said to Nick. “That’s the worst British accent ever. What are you doing here?”

“I was hoping you’d show me your stitches.”

“I’m not showing you
anything
.”

“I took a big risk coming here to visit you. You could at least show me
something
.”

Kate showed him the two fingers that were taped together, one of which was her middle finger.

“Nice,” Nick said. “Just what I’d expect from the woman who intentionally rammed a yacht into a powerboat.”

“I hear someone punched Violante in the face.”

“Only because I didn’t have a yacht handy to plow into him. He had it coming.”

“That and more,” Kate said. “We’ve destroyed him.”

“Yeah, this assignment is done, but I have a loose end to tie up.”

“Serena?”

“I need to give her the good news.”

“And break her out of prison?”

“You don’t really want to know, do you?”

“No.” Kate grimaced. “Yes.”

“Which is it?”

“It’s
yes,
and I’m going with you.”

“What about the stitches?”

“There are only fourteen of them. Let’s not overdramatize this.”

“I can’t take you into the prison with me, but I’ll let you drive the getaway car,” Fox said.

“Deal.”

This wasn’t a gig assigned by Jessup, but Kate had been given the responsibility of babysitting Nick and she was going to do it. She couldn’t talk him out of springing Serena, but she could hang in there and try to minimize the damage.

La Maison d’arrêt d’Orléans was built in 1896 on the outskirts of the city to hold seventy-five men and a dozen women. Now the prison was surrounded by apartment buildings, and it held more than two hundred men and women awaiting trial. One of those women was Serena Blake.

Security at the prison was notoriously lax, and the prison had
the distinction of being the noisiest one in the country, at least on the outside. People gathered day and night on the sidewalks, and on the rooftops and decks of nearby apartment buildings, to communicate with the prisoners by yelling back and forth, infuriating local residents who couldn’t get any peace. These same people routinely threw cellphones, cigarettes, knives, sandwiches, drugs, and other items over the low stone and concrete walls to prisoners on the other side.

Nick Fox didn’t choose this method to communicate with Serena Blake. Fox masqueraded as her attorney, Jean-Luc Picard. He arrived at the prison in an ancient black Mercedes, accompanied by Kate and Boyd Capwell. Boyd wore a weather-beaten leather coat with wide sheepskin-lined lapels that looked as if it might have been stolen from a homeless man who’d used it as bedding.

Kate parked in the small lot in front of the prison, the buildings within hidden from street-level view behind the gray wall that encircled the property. This was the prison’s only entrance, a rectangular opening as wide as a four-car garage, with a thick iron-barred gate and, to one side, a tiny guardhouse. Kate had on a knit cap with her hair tucked up inside. She was wearing a bulky jacket with the collar turned up, and Nick had transformed her face with makeup and prosthetic padding so that she would be unrecognizable to Serena.

Nick had told Boyd that they were helping to free a woman who’d been framed for a crime. “Are you ready?” Nick asked him. “Everything rides on you being convincing.”

“This is nothing. I played Inspector Javert in the animated version of
Les Misérables.
”

“The one with the singing mice?”

“I imbued a mouse with moral authority and an all-consuming obsession while carrying a tune in a squeaky French accent. Next time, give me a real challenge.”

“There was no danger involved in that. Now you’re impersonating a real police officer and walking into a prison full of armed guards.”

“They don’t scare me,” Boyd said. “I’ve faced drama critics. They can be inhuman.”

Nick nodded, satisfied. “Then let’s do it.”

Kate stayed with the car, and Nick and Boyd got out and walked to the guardhouse. They could hear people on the street yelling at the prisoners inside and the muffled voices of the prisoners yelling back from the open windows of their cells.

Nick smiled at the guard and greeted him in French.

“Look at you. Who is the real prisoner here?” Nick asked the guard. “You or the men inside?”

“I ask myself the same question every day. At least they have room to turn around in their cells,” the guard said.

“Ah, but do they go home to the love of a good woman every night?”

“You obviously haven’t met my wife,” the guard said and roared with laughter.

“Oh, for God’s sake!” Boyd said, speaking in English with a thick Manchester accent. “I’m Detective Chief Inspector Dennis
Gooley, London Metropolitan Police. Can we speed this up? I’ve got a plane to catch, and I need to get my prisoner.”

Nick sighed and spoke again in French to the guard. “The British have no appreciation for pleasant conversation. And I am going to be stuck beside him on a plane.”

“I’d rather be in this shack,” the guard said.

The guard took Boyd’s ID and handed Nick a clipboard. “Have him sign this form. The assistant warden will meet you in front of the women’s cell block with your client.”

Boyd signed the form, the guard pressed a button, the gate opened, and Nick and Boyd stepped inside the prison grounds.

The prison block was three stories tall, but could have passed for a 1950s-era high school or library, if not for the bars in front of the windows. They were met outside the door by a timid, thin little man with pale skin who wore a rumpled black suit and looked more like an undertaker than a bureaucrat. He carried a sheaf of papers under his arm.

“Inspector Gooley, I am Maksud Attard, assistant warden,” Attard said in English. “We received the paperwork this morning from our Ministry of Justice approving the extradition request by the British authorities. I must say it’s a most unusual situation.”

“Everything my client was alleged to have stolen has been recovered,” Nick said. “The French authorities have nothing to gain by keeping her.”

“Except justice,” Attard said. “They caught her red-handed.”

“It’s a plea bargain,” Boyd said. “She’s agreed to help us catch
the thief who was her accomplice in exchange for a lighter sentence to be served entirely in the UK.”

Attard shook his head. “You must be a remarkable lawyer, Monsieur Picard, to have managed that deal.”

Nick agreed.
“C’est vrai.”

Boyd made a derisive sound. “Serena Blake is a small fish compared to her pal Nick Fox. Every law enforcement agency involved jumped at the chance to trade her for Fox. And Serena would sell out her own mum to avoid a Turkish prison. A monkey could’ve made this deal.”

The door to the cell block opened and Serena Blake was brought out by two guards.

Boyd stepped up to her, placed a handcuff on her right wrist, closed it tight, and then closed the other cuff on his left wrist. “You’re nicked, doll.”

Serena looked at Boyd like he smelled bad. And, in fact, he didn’t smell all that wonderful in the ratty coat.

Attard held some papers and a pen out to Boyd. “Sign these and she’s in your custody.”

Boyd signed the papers. One copy was given to him, another to Nick, and Attard kept the third. Nick, Boyd, and Serena walked out the gate and took their time getting to the Mercedes. Kate was behind the wheel, Boyd and Serena slid into the backseat, and Nick took the passenger seat beside Kate. Kate backed out of the parking space and drove down Boulevard Guy-Marie Riobé, passing a taxi heading in the opposite direction. The
taxi’s passenger was a man wearing a leather-and-sheepskin coat that looked exactly like the one Boyd was wearing.

Kate pulled to the side of the road and parked behind a gray panel van. Everyone got out of the Mercedes, piled into the van, and Kate drove off.

“That went as smooth as silk,” Boyd said. “I was excellent.”

“You were a credit to the coat,” Nick told him.

“My prison cell smelled better than this coat,” Serena said. “Could we lose the coat and the cuffs?”

Boyd unlocked the cuffs, took the coat off, and Serena threw the coat out the window.

Kate dropped Serena off at the train station, and Serena headed for parts unknown. Boyd was dropped off on the right bank of the Seine, where he was meeting an actor friend. And Kate and Nick continued on to the airport, where they would board separate planes back to the United States.

Kate parked the van, stripped off her fake face, and left the bulky jacket and cap on the backseat.

“Do you think Serena recognized me?” she asked Nick.

“No,” he answered. “And if she did, I don’t think she’ll ever say anything to anybody. I’m sure she’s grateful to have this end.”

“I’m happy to have this operation behind me,” Kate said when they arrived at the terminal. “I’m still not sure we did the right thing.”

“All’s well that ends well,” Nick said. “All of the stolen art has
been returned. Menendez will never see the light of day. And Boyd gets to have a couple days in Paris. It’s all good.”

Kate’s cellphone buzzed, and she flinched when she saw the caller ID. It was her boss, Carl Jessup.

“I just received a text message that less than an hour ago Serena Blake escaped from prison,” Jessup said. “Did you have anything to do with it?”

“Of course not,” Kate said. “That would be a crime.”

“I’m glad to hear you still know where to draw the line.”

“How did the escape go down?” Kate asked.

“Gooley arranged to have Serena extradited to England, but when he got to the prison in Orléans to pick her up, he discovered that she’d already been released to someone masquerading as him.”

“Very clever.”

“Clever enough to be arranged by Nick Fox.”

“Yes, sir.”

“We can’t be involved in breaking criminals out of prison,” Jessup said.

Kate made crackling sounds into the phone. “You’re breaking up,” she said. “Can’t hear you.” And she disconnected.

Nick raised his eyebrows in question.

“Jessup heard about Serena’s escape,” Kate said.

“Good news travels fast.”

“He didn’t think it was good news.”

“Good news is relative.” Nick glanced at his watch. “You need
to check in. My plane doesn’t leave for a while, so I’m going to the lounge.”

“Try to stay out of trouble,” Kate said.

Nick grabbed her, pulled her close against him, and kissed her. There was some tongue involved and a little discreet groping.

“Zoinks!” she said when he released her.

“It gets even better,” he said. “I’ve got something you can wrap your hand around and really enjoy.”