Clear Skies Page 9

  In Slade’s opinion, Aculeus, like many others, had become a powerful, occult force with operatives little better than thugs to deliver illegal outcomes for well-heeled clients. Slade felt the government agencies held their use of these private contractors as a tightly held secret, resulting in a lack of government oversight and zero public and political accountability. But he kept his concerns to himself.

  “Thanks for this heads-up. I’m curious about why Isa is useful to them.” Slade’s face tightened as he tried to ignore both a sharp tug on his emotions and self-reproach for having taken Isa at face value. It looked like she worked indirectly for the US government via Aculeus. She could also be supporting someone’s personal agenda. In either case, her activities could be on the wrong side of the law. “We’ve been on the move, and I haven’t found enough time for due diligence. I appreciate your initiative on this.”

  “No problem. I got onto it as soon as Mark briefed me on your call and the background. I have to run now, as I’ve infiltrated the team scheduled to clean the Chevalier, so if there’s anything useful there, I’ll find it. Search and discover the unfindable—that’s my specialty. I’m going there now, and I’ll call you if anything useful turns up.”

  Fontaine looked out the window at the marina. “You’ve got an impressive view here.” He turned to leave, then stopped. “A certain person’s ears must be on fire. Guess who’s walking in the general direction of the yacht.”

  Slade glanced through the window and saw Isa striding across the road toward the marina.

  “Let’s go,” he said. “She might just be out for a walk or to shop, but there’s one simple way to find out.”

  CHAPTER 17

  (Saturday Afternoon— Monte Carlo)

  Slade and Fontaine charged down the stairs two steps at a time. Out on the street, they spotted Isa with a head start of two hundred yards on the other side of the road. She was striding along the Quai Des Etats-Unis beside the marina, in the general direction of the Chevalier’s berth.

  They set off behind her at a brisk pace, looking to a casual observer like colleagues discussing their work as they walked. They made up ground and slowed down to remain one hundred yards behind her.

  Inconveniently deserted and depleted of parked cars in the late afternoon, the road provided little cover, but Isa showed no sign of having noticed her followers. She approached the end of the Quai Des Etats-Unis and turned left into Quai Albert-I, which hugged the top end of the U-shaped port. Slade expected her to continue along the edge of the marina to the Chevalier’s berth on the far side.

  Instead, she abruptly veered right, jogged up steep steps, and crossed over Boulevard Albert-I. She continued east along the far side of the Boulevard for a short distance before turning right into Rue Princess Caroline. The traffic-free side street was redolent with the aroma of coffee and pastries from sidewalk cafés interspersed with local boutiques.

  “It looks like she’s planning to shop or drink coffee.” Slade’s words resonated with hope.

  “Or she caught sight of us and aborted a plan to visit Palmer’s vessel,” Fontaine said. “If she works for Aculeus, she’ll have much the same objectives as we do. If she’s not an agent, she’s at least a streetwise individual. On that note, I’ll leave you here and head over to the Chevalier and contact you later.”

  Slade waved him off and continued to tail Isa, which was easier now with the crowd of Monégasques and tourists drifting in and out of the cafés.

  He wondered about her work for Aculeus. He’d been trained in the clandestine world to trust no one. Back in Tokyo, she’d had access to Palmer’s Tokyo apartment, been present at the crime scene not long after the time of death, and called in the discovery of the corpse. She knew the apartment well enough to tamper with the heating system and make it seem like the murder took place before she’d arrived. She’d have known the Filipino maid’s work schedule and home address.

  But why was she attacked and her sister killed? Was it a case of mistaken identity? Isa could be an accessory to the deaths in Tokyo, but his sixth sense said otherwise, and her alibi had put her out of the medical examiner’s killing time frame.

  Slade crossed the road to follow Isa again from the opposite side and realized his surveillance technique had lapsed when he saw her spot him in the reflection of a boutique window. He noted the countersurveillance awareness of a trained professional in the way she continued to move on without hesitation while glancing at reflections in shop windows and car mirrors, though he detected a slight tensing of her body in response to his presence. Finally, she stopped and entered a women’s boutique.

  Slade slipped into a men’s clothing store and purchased two old-school striped ties displayed in the window, without losing sight of the boutique on the opposite side of the street. His purchase complete, he put the package in an inside pocket of his jacket, sat outside in the street café next door, ordered an espresso and waited.

  He could see Isa moving inside the shop. She looked at several items and went in and out of the changing room. Thirty minutes and two espressos later, she emerged with a large paper shopping bag.

  “Isa. Over here.” Slade shouted, competing with the chatter of the café’s clientele.

  She crossed the street, dodging between tables and chairs as she went.

  “What are you doing here?” Isa said with a well-polished demeanor of innocent surprise.

  “I bought a couple of ties, as Alex and I might need them to get into the high-rollers’ section of the casino tonight,” Slade pulled out the package. “I thought you’d seen me walk this way with Ben. I waited here rather than distract you from your shopping. We can walk back to the hotel together. What did you buy?”

  “A dress for tonight. I want to wear something more upscale than the clothes I brought with me.”

  They walked back to the hotel in companionable silence, Slade considering when and how to confront her with the information he’d obtained from Fontaine.

  The elevator opened on their floor. “The connecting door between our rooms is locked,” Isa said. “Can you open it?”

  “I’m sure I can. I’ll try when we get back from the casino later tonight, although I can just as easily go to your room through the front door.”

  “Please do,” Isa said with a smile when they approached her room. “I guess we’ll leave for the casino soon and eat there? I’m ravenous.”

  “Indeed we will.”

  He left Isa and knocked on Roche’s door. He stepped in and closed the door behind him.

  “Here’s a tie for tonight.” He pulled one out of the package and handed it to Roche.

  “This is not going to look good with a checked sports shirt, which other than a few changes of clean underwear, socks, and tee shirts, is all I brought with me,” Roche said.

  “The dress code calls for a tie, not style. You’ll do.”

  Slade stepped away from the door and spoke in a soft voice.

  “This evening when we’re at the casino, I want you to throw out an excuse about making telephone calls, come back here to our hotel, and get into Isa’s room. Download her computer’s hard drive so you can work up forensics on it later. I’ll keep her busy, but try to do it fast and get back to the casino before she wonders what’s taking you so long. Can you do that?”

  “Pas de problème. Of course. Are you going to explain why?”

  “I will later, but treat her like a suspect when you do the download and analyze the forensics.”

  Slade left Roche for his own room but kept his door ajar to monitor movements to and from Isa’s room. He browsed the backlog of emails, prioritizing messages from Makino.

  Tokyo CIB had put uniforms onto the tedious job of tracking down manufacturers of custom-made cane swords and found a supplier who recently filled an order for a weapon with the dimensions predicted by the forensics team. A person called Tadashi Seki had commissioned the item with unique specifications. He’d collected the finished product in person and le
ft no contact details. There was no form on anyone of that name, but the CIB believed him to be Tomofumi Sakata, rumored to work as an assassin who occasionally uses this type of weapon and whose whereabouts remained unknown. The CIB’s yakuza informants thought he’d entered the country a few days ago and left already.

  Slade browsed the remaining emails, and one from Bill Deacon caught his eye. Deacon was a senior operative in the hierarchy above Slade in Slade’s early Washington days, and their relationship had endured. Deacon advanced further through the ranks and now headed FBI’s international operations as Director-General of the Department. His message was simple. Call me right away.

  Slade called the number specified in the email. Deacon picked up and wasted no time on reminiscent banter.

  “Slade, your report on the Tokyo killings and link to BFI reached my desk. Fontaine’s inquiries also came to my attention. Glad you’re involved. Since BFI is a close military equipment partner and supplier, we believe this case may have far-reaching implications for US security. The upshot is that I want you to delve into it and find out all you can without compromising your liaison role in Tokyo. You are now on active duty for both authorities, but your Tokyo colleagues don’t need to know that. As far as they’re concerned, you’re trying to identify the first victim and find her killer. If questions arise, we will deny all knowledge of your involvement for us at this stage. We don’t want Japan losing confidence in our military and security capabilities. Understood?”

  “Understood, sir.”

  “You’ll report to me regularly on the same number, but make sure you don’t leave a trail.” Deacon rang off, and Slade was left feeling out of his depth but stimulated at the same time.

  CHAPTER 18

  (Saturday Evening— Monte Carlo)

  The call from Mark Miles came eighty minutes later. Tony Hewitt and the woman calling herself Carol Palmer had left the Hotel de Paris and strolled the short distance across the Place du Casino to the Casino de Monte-Carlo with Miles a respectable distance behind them. Now they were enjoying gourmet French cuisine and top-drawer wine in the casino’s Les Privés restaurant. Miles was at the entrance of the restaurant waiting for Slade and his two companions.

  A call from Slade to Roche and Isa brought the three of them to the lobby of the elevator servicing their floor. Isa wore a svelte, shimmering black dress that showed off her spectacular legs. Her stiletto shoes and hair piled on top of her head with a disheveled twist at the back brought her height not too far below Slade’s six foot two.

  Slade realized he’d never seen her wear anything other than jeans. Desire piqued again, defying common sense and the warning signal still buzzing inside his head since Fontaine’s briefing a few hours earlier.

  “You clean up well,” Roche said to Isa.

  “I agree. You look great, but every man in the room will look at you, including Hewitt. I’d prefer you to be less conspicuous,” Slade said with as much indifference as he could muster. But he thought “great” was an effete description of her breathtaking appearance tonight. She just keeps on looking better and better.

  “Considering the high rollers and top-end clientele who frequent the Casino, I’ll blend in well,” Isa said. “It’s the two of you who’ll stand out in those same clothes you’ve worn for the past two days. The mismatched ties are a feeble attempt to jazz them up. The outfits many people are wearing there will have cost more than your car, and their cars parked outside most likely cost more than an average house. So who’ll look conspicuous?” They stepped out of the elevator on the sixth floor, laughing.

  “You may be right,” Slade said, “but keep a low profile all the same.”

  They left the hotel via the sixth-floor exit opening onto Avenue d’Ostende and strolled the short distance up the hill to the Casino de Monte Carlo.

  While they walked, Slade reminded himself to act naturally with Isa and not reveal what he knew about her secret life until he talked with her later in the evening. He toyed with the question of whether the conversation would take place before or after they made love, but their arrival at the casino cut across his thoughts.

  The trio entered the building and took in the architecture as they strolled through the echoing atrium paved in marble and encircled by striking onyx columns, which stood like sentries protecting the community of inveterate gamblers inside. They sauntered across the outer room, past the discordant clatter of slot machines and cashiers counting chips in the cage behind iron grills, and on through to the gaming area for high rollers.

  Crowded with elegant patrons and curious tourists, the room exuded the scent of extravagance. Slade rated the place as the queen of gambling venues. Stale cigarette odor, overflowing ashtrays, and perfume turned sour after gamblers spent long hours at the tables and slot machines were the trademarks of lesser establishments.

  Miles waited at the entrance of the restaurant.

  “Hungry, anyone?” Slade looked at Roche and Isa.

  “They’re sitting at a cozy table in an end corner,” Miles said. “There’s a table at the side toward the front where you can observe them leave, but they won’t see you clearly from where they’re sitting. I assumed you’d want to monitor their movements and eat as well, so I took the liberty of reserving that table in your name, Dan.”

  “Perfect.”

  “Palmer has an online account here at the casino. She went straight to the cage when she arrived and showed a receipt for a funds transfer from her private Monaco bank to her casino account. I heard her say she’d visited her banker to deposit a large amount of cash this afternoon, and the bank expedited the transfer to her casino account. Apparently, the money was waiting for her because Palmer charged her account to purchase around eighty plaques, each worth about two hundred thousand euros, and assorted plaques and chips of lower value totaling another four hundred thousand euros. They put them in a bag and headed to the restaurant. That bag is worth frigging twenty million euros,” Miles said. “I stood close enough to be sure of what they said, so I’m pretty confident that’s how much they’re holding. I’d say they plan to do some serious gambling tonight. I had to purchase a few chips to cover myself, so I’ll try out the tables later. I’ve got enough for a short flutter.”

  “Thanks for the heads-up. We’ll take over now. Good luck at the tables.”

  “If I’m still here when you leave the restaurant, you’ll know I struck gold. Fontaine and I plan to drive over to Nice for the night. The Bureau keeps a safe house in the city, under the local radar, of course. We’ll stay there. We don’t have an expense account to support you on this case, so a Monte Carlo hotel is out of the question for us,” Miles said. “But we’ll both be here again in the morning.”

  “Can you ask a colleague in your office to access the casino’s accounts as soon as possible?” Slade said. “It will help to know how much the Palmers have stashed here. Call me anytime when you get something.”

  “The IT group in our Paris HQ should still be at their desks. I’ll call now. And by the way, thanks for getting us involved in this. The closest thing we get to excitement here is a visit by a section director from HQ.”

  Miles departed, and Slade looked at Isa and Roche.

  “I’m starving. This meal will be on the Bureau, so let’s dine and wine well, but stay alert.”

  The maitre d’ led them to their table.

  “Alex, you and I will take the seats facing their table, and Isa, sit here with your back to the room.” Slade adjusted his position to bring the target into his sights.

  Palmer and Hewitt appeared to be in no hurry to finish their meal and start gambling. They ordered a second bottle of wine after consuming the restaurant’s complimentary amuse gueule of the day.

  “At this rate, they’ll be here for an hour at least, which means we can enjoy our meal too,” Slade said. He beckoned the waiter and ordered Henri Giraud Esprit Brut to start. “It’s my favorite champagne,” he added in response to their raised eyebrows. “Few people know
how good it tastes for a price that folks like me can afford. Once the word gets out, the price will shoot up, and I’ll just have my memories.”

  After they worked their way through the champagne and rich, thin salmon carpaccio with caviar and creme fraiche, Slade ordered a bottle of Chateau Margaux 2001 to complement a meal of foie gras with a Madeira sauce, filet mignon with Lyonnais potatoes, salad, a cheese course, and a tarte Tatin, followed by coffee.

  “You impress me with your knowledge of my country’s food and wines, mon ami.” Roche ordered his second cup of espresso.

  “I’ve taken a few wine courses. And Tokyo is a gourmet’s paradise, with more Michelin-star restaurants than Paris and New York combined, so it’s not hard to pick up the essentials.”

  “I congratulate you on finding the time in Tokyo, mon ami. Life is work and work is life over there, n’est-ce pas?”

  “Well, I have to eat, so why not do it in style?” Slade loosened his belt a notch. He looked up and noticed Palmer and Hewitt stand up and approach the door. “Here they come. Isa, duck under the table for a few moments until they leave, so Hewitt doesn’t see you.”

  Isa dropped her napkin and took her time to retrieve it. She sat up again after Palmer swept past, her bright red, backless silk gown dusting the floor. Her shiny, blonde hair, pulled high on top of her head in a bun, did not have a single strand out of place and accentuated her long, graceful neck.

  “Let’s go,” Slade said. He and Roche stood up, but Isa hesitated.

  “There’s still something bothering me about her.” She followed Slade and Roche into the gaming room. “I need to get a closer look.”