SAM HEARD NOTHING IN RESPONSE TO HIS SHOUTS.
He faced the woman, only to see that her gun was now aimed straight at him.
“Time for you and me to go,” she said.
THIRTY-ONE
MALONE WAS LED AT GUNPOINT THROUGH THE DESERTED MUSEUM. All of the patrons were gone, and apparently the interior had been locked down. There’d been a lot of shooting, which made him wonder about the lack of police or museum security.
“What’s the Secret Service doing here?” As if he had to ask. “Did you happen to see one of your own? Young guy. Good looking. A bit eager. Name’s Sam Collins.”
But it won him only more silence.
They passed through an exhibit hall with dark red walls, more altarpieces, and three display cases in shambles. Somebody in an official capacity was really going to be pissed.
He spotted another bleeding body lying on the floor.
Flat Face.
At the room’s other exit a stairway dropped down to his right and an open double doorway broke the wall to his left. A laminated placard announced that beyond was LA DAME À LA LICORNE.
Malone pointed. “In there?”
The man nodded, then lowered his gun and withdrew back into the red gallery. The agent’s diffident way amused him.
He stepped into a dark space that displayed six colorful tapestries, each carefully illuminated with indirect light. Ordinarily he’d be impressed, as he recalled that these were among the museum’s most prized possessions, 15th-century originals, but it was the solitary figure sitting on one of three benches in the center of the room that connected all the dots.
Stephanie Nelle.
His former boss.
“You managed to destroy another national treasure,” she said, rising and facing him.
“Wasn’t me this time.”
“Who slammed a chair into a glass case to get a sword and shield?”
“I see you were watching.”
“The French want you,” she made clear.
“Which means I owe you—” He caught himself. “No. I probably owe President Daniels. Right?”
“He personally intervened, once I reported that all hell had broken loose.”
“What about the museum guard who was shot?”
“On the way to the hospital. He should make it.”
“The guy outside. Secret Service?”
She nodded. “On loan.”
He’d known Stephanie a long time, having worked for her twelve years at the Justice Department in the Magellan Billet. They’d been through a lot together, especially over the past two years, ever since he’d supposedly retired.
“I’m sorry about your father,” she told him.
He hadn’t thought about the last two weeks in a few hours. “Thanks for what you did on your end.”
“It needed to be done.”
“Why are you here?
“Sam Collins. I understand you two have met.”
He sat on one of the benches and allowed the tapestries to draw his gaze. Each comprised a dark blue rounded isle, strewn with flowery plants, in vibrant colors that ranged from deep red to bright pink. A noble lady with a unicorn and a lion was depicted on all six, in varying scenes. He knew the allegory—representations of the five senses, mythical enchantment. Subtle messages from long ago, which he’d had more than his share of lately.
“Is Sam in trouble?” he asked.
“He was in trouble the moment he connected with Thorvaldsen.”
She told him about a meeting with Danny Daniels yesterday, in the Oval Office, where the president of the United States made clear that something important was happening in Copenhagen.
“Daniels knew about Sam. He’d been briefed by the Secret Service.”
“Seems like a trivial matter for the president to be concerned with.”
“Not once he was told that Thorvaldsen is involved.”
Good point.
“Cotton, this Paris Club is real. Our people have been watching it for over a year. Nothing alarming, until lately. But I need to know what Thorvaldsen is doing.”
“So is this about Sam? Or Henrik?”
“Both.”
“How did we jump from the Paris Club to Henrik?”
“Like I’m an idiot. You’re sitting there with the vacuum cleaner turned on, sucking in whatever info I’m willing to offer. That’s not why I’m here. I need to know what that crazy Dane is doing.”
He knew that Henrik and Stephanie enjoyed a relationship born of mutual distrust, though they’d been forced, on more than one occasion of late, to actually rely on each other. He decided that since he really didn’t have a dog in this fight, other than helping his best friend, for once he’d tell the truth. “He’s after Cai’s killer.”
Stephanie shook her head. “I knew it was probably something like that. He’s about to screw up a major intelligence operation, along with compromising a critical source.”
More dots instantly connected. His face tightened in speculation. “Graham Ashby works for our side?”
She nodded. “He’s been providing a lot of vital intel.”
A wave of unease broke over him. “Henrik’s going to kill him.”
“You have to stop him.”
“That’s not possible.”
“Cotton, there’s more happening here. The Paris Club is planning something spectacular. What? We don’t know. At least not yet. A woman named Eliza Larocque heads the group. She’s the brains. Ashby is part of the administrative arm. He does what she says, but he’s been keeping our side informed. That club comprises seven of the wealthiest people in the world. Of course, we’re not sure that the members all know what Larocque is planning.”
“Why not tell them?”
“Because the decision has been made to take them all down at once. They’re into corruption, bribery, extortion, and massive amounts of financial and securities fraud. They’ve disrupted currency exchanges and may be responsible for weakening the dollar internationally. We’re going to send
a message by taking them out in one swoop.”
He knew the score. “They go down, while Ashby walks free.”
“It’s the price to be paid. We wouldn’t have known about any of this without him.”
He again focused on one of the tapestries. A young woman, surrounded by a lion and a unicorn, choosing a sweet from a dish while a parakeet held another in its claw.
“Do you have any idea the mess this is?” he asked.
“I do now. Our people recently learned that Thorvaldsen has Ashby under surveillance. He’s even bugged the man’s estate. That is probably only possible since Ashby’s guard is down. He thinks he’s okay with us and Eliza Larocque. He hasn’t a clue Thorvaldsen is watching. But the president wants Thorvaldsen out of the picture.”
“Henrik killed two men last night. One of them was involved with Cai’s death.”
“I can’t blame him there. Nor am I going to interfere, except to the extent it jeopardizes Ashby.”
He wanted to know, “What is the Paris Club planning?”
“That’s the thing. Ashby hasn’t told us yet. Just that it’s coming, and soon. Within days. I assume it’s his way to ensure a continued value.”
“So who are the two dead men out there in the museum?”
“They work for Eliza Larocque. The other woman, the one in the blue smock, spooked them and they overreacted.”
“How mad are the French?”
“It’s not good.”
“This is not my fault.”
“The Secret Service has had this museum under watch for over a month.” She hesitated. “With no problem.”
“The girl in the blue smock started it.”
“I learned on the flight over that Eliza Larocque has been investigating the GreedWatch website. I assume that’s what those two were doing following your man, Foddrell.”
“Where’s Sam?”