CHAPTER 39
A
fter a light breakfast Kate poured herself a cup of coffee and stood at the kitchen window. The sun was already rising and she soaked in its invigorating rays as they streamed past the towers of Notre Dame de Paris.
The new day suggested fresh hope and promise.
Banque de Paris opened at 9:00 A.M. and at ten past the hour they entered the lobby and found Isabelle in a chair nearby. James sat with her and inserted the CD she provided into his laptop, verifying its authenticity.
A few steps away Kate made a large withdrawal from their account in Euros.
Outside Kate handed a thick envelope to Isabelle.
“Well done,” she told her. “Thank you.”
Isabelle gave a polite smile.
“Good luck,” she said and walked away.
Getting into their SUV, James and Kate rode along the Avenue des Champs-Élysées and drove into a parking lot. James pivoted the laptop so Kate could see the video.
“It’s him, alright,” she said.
Using a small printer James made a copy of a photo and handed it to Kate.
“Let’s see what we can find out.”
They headed inside the retail store where a camera had captured Max Baer and his female companion. James browsed as Kate went searching for the store manager.
After a clerk pointed him out, Kate approached him.
“Good morning,” the manager said in a French accent. “How may I help you?”
She showed him the photo and spoke in a soft voice.
“You can start by telling me which salesclerk waited on this couple two days ago.”
Taken aback, he replied, “I’m afraid that information is confidential. Company policy, sorry.”
“Excuse me, Mr. …”
“Girard.”
Kate decided to bluff, guessing that Girard had been involved in other sexual intrigues before the one with Isabelle.
“I doubt if the police would take kindly to your ‘extracurricular activities’ in connection with your position at this store.”
He removed a hanky from his vest pocket and wiped beads of sweat from his forehead, saying, “Follow me.”
Girard began walking toward a salesclerk standing at the front of the store. Kate motioned to James with her eyes and he also approached.
“Marcel,” Girard said, “These people have some questions. Please feel free to help them.”
“Yes sir.”
Girard gave Kate a dirty look, then he turned and walked away.
Kate showed Bear’s photo to Marcel, asking, “We noticed from the surveillance video that they bought several items. Did he use a credit card for payment?”
“No ma’am, cash.”
“Have you seen either of them before?” James asked.
“Before two days ago? No.”
“Did you notice how they arrived or how they left?” Kate prodded.
“A taxi.”
“Do you recall the name of the taxi company?”
James and Kate exchanged a look as they anticipated the answer.
“I recognized the driver. He often brings customers here.”
“Can you tell us his name?” James asked.
“Remi. He drives for the Les Taxis Bleus.”
“Thank you,” Kate said. “You’ve been very helpful.”
He watched as they left the store.
“Please visit us again.”
They set out to track down Remi. Following some sleuthing they located him as he was dropping some tourists at the Louvre Museum
.
James and Kate climbed into his cab and gave him a hundred euro note, asking to be taken to the location where he brought Max Baer and his companion two days earlier.
Five minutes later Remi pulled to the curb at the entrance to the Luxembourg Gardens.
“Are you sure this is where you dropped them?”
“Yes sir.”
They all emerged from the cab and James and Kate absorbed their surroundings.
Kate asked Remi if he could recall anything that might be useful. He paused for a minute and then something came to mind.
Remi explained that the day he dropped Baer and the woman here, he saw them in his rearview mirror while driving away. He noticed they didn’t enter the gardens, but instead they walked in the direction of the Latin Quarter.
James and Kate looked at each other, thinking the same thing.
Interesting.
“We’re going to walk for a while. Thanks so much for your help,” Kate said to Remi.
He climbed back into his taxi and drove off.
They both looked down the street toward the Latin Quarter.
Could this be Max Bear’s stomping ground?
CHAPTER 40
A
sunrise in the city of Washington, D.C. signaled the beginning of another day, every member of Congress secure in the belief that their agenda is destined to change the nation.
This morning was no different.
As he entered his suite of offices, Senator Alan Chandler III greeted his two staff assistants. It was by no accident that the two young women acquired their positions. On the contrary, the Senator had a reason for keeping them close. They were hard-working, efficient and attractive.
A member of a socially prominent family in Chapel Hill, North Carolina, Chandler was one in a line of family members who had held a high office in politics. Having been elected to the Senate at the age of thirty-six, a single year over the minimum age requirement, he was ambitious, handsome and arrogant. And he was destined to change the country. Why? Simple: he was a Chandler.
His lordly antics in the halls of Congress were the stuff of legend. Back home in Chapel Hill he had a devoted wife and two children. It was a picture of harmony, except for one thing.
He was a womanizer.
“How are you this morning, Heidi?” Chandler asked, flashing his white teeth.
“Very well, Mr. Chandler,” replied the assistant, blond hair cascading to just below her shoulders.
“And you Miranda?”
“I don’t know yet, sir,” the brunette said with a smile. “Who knows what today will bring?”
“We shall see,” Chandler replied as Heidi handed him a stack of mail. He stepped into his office to make a few phone calls, closing the door behind him.
An hour later he called Heidi on the intercom, asking her to bring the draft of a document she’d been working on. Heidi swung the door behind her and closed it to within a few inches, the gesture indicating the conversation was likely be of an intimate nature.
He had met Heidi Renner six months ago in his home district of North Carolina while on a tour of high-tech companies in the Research Triangle. The two hit it off when he discovered her interest in politics. Captivated by her, he was quick to offer an internship in D.C.
Her position changed quickly from intern to front desk receptionist before she was again promoted, this time to staff assistant.
Two months ago the professional relationship evolved into a torrid affair.
Eventually, the thought of going into the office and seeing her there brought a smile to his face. Miranda and the other staffers had no idea. Heidi and the Senator had been discreet and the affair remained a well-kept secret.
Moving around his desk Heidi was quite a sight; tall, low-cut blouse and a tight-fitting skirt clinging to a pair of shapely legs. She stood directly by his side and lightly brushed her thigh against him. The scent of her perfume roused his senses, and her blond locks hung in his face.
She spoke in a hushed tone.
“A girlfriend of mine has a suite at the Fairmount.”
“Is that so?”
Chandler wrote notes in the margin of a proposed bill, trying to look casual.
“Her boyfriend had to leave this morning for a meeting in New York,” she whispered. “He won’t be back until late tonight.”
“How convenient.”
His heart raced.
“It’s ours for the day, if you’re interested, that is.”
A ridiculous question, he was thinking.
“I’ll be there in an hour.”
Heidi was the first to leave the office, having conjured a plausible excuse for her departure. Miranda, a conscientious worker, readily agreed when Heidi asked if she’d cover for her.
The staffers in the suite of offices had grown used to Chandler coming and going on a regular basis, so when he slipped out, no one thought anything of it.
As he drove past the White House, Chandler began to entertain notions of a “President Chandler”. It had a nice ring to it. And why not? He was a rising star in the Senate. One more term, maybe two and he could go all the way to the Oval Office, he thought.
He found a space in the hotel parking lot and took an elevator to the fourth floor. Glancing up and down the hallway, he quietly knocked on the door to the suite.
A moment later Heidi appeared and he ducked inside. She turned and moved to a sofa table where a chilled bottle of champagne awaited. Popping the cork, she filled two glasses and they were quickly drained. As he drank more Chandler began to grope his lover.
“You’re incredible,” he told her.
Drunk with lust he grabbed her legs, hoisted her onto his hips and carried her into the bedroom.
Falling on the bed they kissed madly, tugging at each other’s clothes in fits of passion.
Both of them naked, she homed in on his midsection.
Moments later he spun her over and climbed on top of her. The action continued as Chandler’s cravings devoured him.
In an adjacent room, Boris peered at a screen, watching as Chandler dug his own grave, one shovelful at a time.
Beside him a technician worked a control lever, zooming in for a close-up and recording Chandler’s face on one of three cameras hidden in the bedroom.
The Deacon had spared no expense and the equipment was state of the art.
Boris continued to look on as the technician plied his trade. When Chandler’s appetite was fully satiated, he edited the footage into a twenty-minute film.
Back in the suite, Chandler got dressed and kissed Heidi before starting for the door.
“Thanks babe,” he said. “That was fantastic, as usual.”
“I’m glad you enjoyed it,” she replied, looking down as he turned away.
But her journey had a nice payoff.
Less than a year ago she had been an aspiring model, working the fashion runways of Milan and Paris and earning a decent living. Born into an impoverished region of Europe, she was approached with a proposal by the Deacon, and it had lots of appeal.
A two million dollar payday would allow her to travel freely and to ditch a life of sexist males ruling the modeling industry.
Heidi had labored tirelessly, softening her accent and studying Chandler’s life. She had played her role beautifully.
Now that her job was finished, she would disappear.
A few hours later Chandler was back at his desk when Miranda received a phone call. No name was given, but he convinced her of the urgency. She then dialed Chandler’s extension.
“There’s a man on the phone who insists on speaking to you. It’s about the Fairmount?”
Stunned, Chandler picked up.
“Who is this?”
“Forget that, and get your ass downstairs. I’m outside the lobby.”
“But . . . I don’t . . . “
“You’ve got three minutes.”
When Chandler emerged on the ground floor he peered through the lobby’s front doors. On the sidewalk a humpbacked man raised his hand, and as Chandler approached the odd-looking stranger he pointed to a black Town Car at the curb.
The rear window slid down.
Suddenly the face of Henry Ward appeared.
Boris opened the door to the back seat, and holding it there he stood and waited.
Chandler then climbed into the Town Car.
They pulled away and headed along Constitution Avenue as Chandler squirmed in his seat. He could only guess at the calamity that was about to befall him.
Ward’s lips curled into a menacing grin.
“Hello, Alan.”
“What’s this about, Henry?”
As if he didn’t know.
“You haven’t responded to our demands.”
“I have my own set of beliefs. We can agree to disagree.”
“Not anymore.”
Ward took a laptop from the seat and booted it up, and when he pressed Play Chandler gasped in horror at the steamy DVD revealing him in the raw, engaging in a sex romp with a beautiful woman in his employ.
The video gave him a severe bout of nausea.
As the car approached an expansive lawn at the rear of the White House, Chandler shouted out.
“Stop! Pull over.”
The car door swung open and groups of pedestrians and tourists looked on in revulsion as Chandler heaved the contents of his stomach onto the sidewalk.
“Are you finished?” Ward asked sarcastically.
I’m finished, alright,
Chandler was thinking.
My career is over.
On the move again, Boris drove past the Lincoln Memorial and around the National Mall.
Chandler struggled to regain his composure.
He felt a huge knot tighten in his stomach.
“Turn the damn thing off,” he begged, referring to the DVD.
“It’s not as bad as you think, Alan,” Ward said. “You’ll keep your seat in the Senate. Heidi will disappear. And your wife won’t divorce you, but from this point forward, we own you.”
Chandler was still trying to get his bearings.
“Do we understand each other?”
“I get it. You don’t have to spell it out.”
Ward patted Chandler on the shoulder.
“My boy, you’re going to have a long and fruitful career in this town.”
The Town Car came to a stop in front of Chandler’s office building and he climbed out, watching as the car disappeared.
Alone now, he recalled the words this morning, spoken by his assistant Miranda.
Who knows what today will bring?
CHAPTER 41
T
he Old Ebbitt Grill was alive with activity as diners blended with a crowd of patrons in the bar area. In the shadow of the White House, the clubby saloon had a private booth in the back.
Henry Ward sat there with two of his colleagues, eating oysters and chasing them down with vodka. Soon the server came around and took dinner orders.
Moments later Ward glanced at his watch. 7:52 P.M.
He slid out of the booth and turned to his colleagues.
“Gentlemen, would you excuse me? I need to use the restroom.”
One of them chomped away on a chicken wing. “Sure.”
As he stepped outside Ward took a deep breath of the night air and gazed down the street at the Washington Monument, its pure form rising into the sky.
He waited.
Then the secure phone in his pocket rang. “Hello.”
“Boris has briefed me on your conversation with Chandler,” the Deacon said.
“He has a lot to learn.”
“I trust he’s seen the light.”
“What he’s seen is the DVD and it was quite persuasive.”
“I don’t doubt it. Heidi has served us well. A wise choice, I must say, her performance was masterful.”
“Where is she now?”
“On an airplane, back to Europe.”
“Excellent.”
“And the others?”
“I assume you mean Lindholm and Giordano.”
“Yes.”
“Giordano swallowed the bait with gusto, but he does have an inclination for these things.”
“Payment?”
“The bastard held out on me. I agreed to fifteen each.”
“Not to worry. A few grains in the sands of time.”
“You should’ve seen the look on Lindholm’s face when Giordano asked for more money. I thought he was gonna have a stroke.”
“Mr. Lindholm’s a timid man. Is he on board?”
“Giordano will keep him in line. Besides, Lindholm has a family to protect.”
“The remaining dominos will fall, and sooner than you think.”
“Glad to hear it. This town’s on pins and needles.” Ward’s tone was edgy. “You can cut the tension with a knife. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“Patience. You have to keep your composure,” the Deacon urged, his voice calm.
“I’m under incredible stress. People are climbing the walls.”
“I understand. Be steadfast.”
After the line went dead, Ward looked down again at the Washington Monument. He thought about its history.
Begun in 1848, construction on the 555-foot marble obelisk was halted six years later because of the Civil War.
Ward tried to draw a picture in his mind of the monument during its period of delayed construction.
A massive stump of marble
.
His mind then shifted to his Senate colleagues.
Eleven down
.
Two more to go
.