73.
PARIS PREFECT Clement Moreau smiled at Dino across the table of the elegant five-star café where they were having brunch. “This is purely a social call?”
“Yes and no.”
“Tell me about the ‘no.’”
“I am here on vacation. My doctor actually advised me to take a break. He said the office of police commissioner is not conducive to my health.”
“I get the same thing from my wife. She says the job is taking years off my life.”
“Do you agree with her?”
“Absolutely. She’s one hundred percent right, which makes her hard to argue with. She is hard enough to argue with when she is one hundred percent wrong.”
Dino grinned. “I share your pain.”
“You were telling me why you are here.”
“I’m here to see you. I was telling you the part of my visit that is not entirely social.”
“Always the diplomat.”
“So?”
“What is that part?”
The waiter came and set their quiches in front of them.
“I’ll have another Parisienne,” Dino said.
“Two.”
Dino dug in with his fork.
The prefect held up his hand. “Remember the last time you had Quiche Alsacienne?”
The last time Dino took a large bite of the Gruyère and onion quiche he wound up chugging his Parisienne in a vain attempt to cool his scalded throat. Reminded, he carved out a small bite of quiche, and let it sit on the fork to cool.
“So, what can I do for you?” Moreau said.
Dino grimaced. “Like I said, I’m here on vacation. My wife practically forced me to go. She would be very upset if I were to become involved in any police action while I am here.”
“I understand.”
“A crime is about to be committed. Ordinarily, I would like to work with you to stop it, but I don’t want a divorce. I want to go home to my wife and give her a chance to show me how pleased she is with me for keeping out of trouble.”
He smiled. “I can see how you would.”
“That’s why I’m asking you for this favor. I need you to keep my name out of this entirely. As far as the media is concerned, the case was uncovered by you and your department.”
“You expect media involvement?”
“I’m afraid it’s unavoidable. The arrest is going to make news. You will be pestered for interviews.”
“Hmm.” The prefect considered the prospect. It did not displease him. “Well, if I must, I must. Why is this such a high-visibility case?”
“Because of the man you will be arresting.”
“And who is that?”
“Rene Darjon.”
74.
TEDDY SKIPPED THE wine and cheese tasting. He stopped by the ballroom just long enough to make sure the Syrians were all there, and to lift Fahd’s room key. If Fahd had disliked the obnoxious American already, he positively hated the man now after Teddy had pretended to drunkenly stumble into him to pick his pocket. It was risky, but worth it. Teddy could have picked the lock, but he didn’t want to spend any more time than he had to getting in dressed as Floyd Maitland.
Teddy took the elevator up to the sixteenth floor, walked down the hall, and swiped the plastic key over the lock. The door clicked open.
He knew at once someone was there. He’d been quiet with the door. With luck, they hadn’t heard him. Teddy slipped his gun out of his shoulder holster, and flattened himself against the wall. He peered around the corner.
A woman sat at Fahd’s desk. His laptop was open in front of her. As Teddy watched, she opened his e-mails and scrolled through the messages.
Teddy sucked in his breath.
It was Kristin.
He was furious at her. Why should she put her life in danger? Why should she take such a risk? It was not lost on him that it was the very thing he was about to do himself. Even so, didn’t she know any better?
Apparently not. The best he could do now was make sure she didn’t get killed and keep her from blowing the operation.
Teddy eased himself out of the room, and gently closed the door. So, that confirmed his theory. Rene Darjon was just the means to an end. Unfortunately, Kristin was determined to spy on the Syrians. And there was nothing Teddy could do about it. Except keep her from getting caught.
Teddy walked back down the hall, and took up a position halfway between the elevators and the room. If Fahd came back, Teddy would have to head him off.
Five minutes later he heard the elevator arrive. He turned and walked toward it. A couple came out of the elevator. It was no one he knew, so he walked on by, and waited at the elevator until they went into their room. Then he went back and took up his position again.
There came the sound of a door opening from the other direction. Teddy turned, and walked back toward Fahd’s room.
Kristin came out and headed for the elevator. He passed right by her, but she barely noticed him at all. She clearly had something on her mind.
As soon as she was out of sight, Teddy went back to Fahd’s room and unlocked the door.
Fahd’s briefcase was open on the table. Teddy searched it quickly, looking for any reference to the dog. There were none.
Teddy sat down at the computer and looked over the e-mails Kristin had been reading. None were significant. He scrolled through, looking for correspondence about the dog.
He found it in an e-mail sent that very afternoon. He almost missed it because it had no subject line, but he clicked on it and the message opened up.
The message in itself made no sense. It was obviously a continuation of a series of e-mails dealing with the subject. If so, they had been deleted.
The message read in its entirety:
Nine AM. Skin Game.
75.
IT WASN’T MUCH to go on, but Teddy figured there was only one thing it could be. At a quarter to nine the next morning, he put on his cowboy gear and moseyed on down to the panel room.
Two large security guards were stationed at the door. Neither had a clipboard in his hand, like they had for the panels.
Teddy slipped into the men’s room down the hall and watched from the vantage point of the door.
At five minutes to nine, the Syrians came down the hall and stopped in front of the panel door. Fahd said something to one of the security guards. He stepped aside and let them in.
The Chinese were next, followed by the Palestinians and the Russians. All were allowed to enter.