“Tell us,” Buss said.

  CHAPTER 15 - MAGIC BULLET

  “Both Caroline and Remy were shot three times in the chest. You could put a playing card over the groupings. A deranged man or a druggie might shoot you, but this bastard could qualify for the Oakleys.”

  Along with the other two agents in Buss’s unit, at one time or another Soul and Sudden had participated in the “Oakleys”, the annual International Rifle and Pistol Interservice Competition at Fort Benning in Georgia, irreverently named after Annie Oakley, the legendary female sharpshooter of the Old West. Both had come close to winning the pistol portion of the competition, to which certain elite Government “operatives” were invited.

  “So you think it was a pro,” Sudden said.

  “Yes. Or at least someone with military training. And there is more. According to the witness, the killer used an automatic. The police said it was a nine-millimeter, probably a Glock or a Beretta. In either case, a powerful weapon. But there were no exit wounds in either body. The bullets recovered in Caroline and Remy were soft-tipped, meant to mushroom or fragment, but at such close range there should have been something, even a shard, passing through. ”

  Rebecca was now talking dispassionately. Both men knew it was taking an effort.

  “A silencer,” Sudden said. “That would have slowed the muzzle velocity. What did the police say?”

  “They did not pick up on it. Nor on the fact that the lab assistant who was also shot had a through-and-through wound. They recovered that round, in a wall. Also a nine, but steel-jacketed and almost intact.”

  “Two shooters?”

  “The assistant said there was only one. And a security camera inside the hallway leading from the rear of the building only tracked one man coming and going during the time of the shooting. No I.D. because he was wearing a ski mask. He had it on him when he killed the guard at the front desk. That was also picked up on a camera. Same man. Just walked up to him and shot him. Another soft-tip round. Then he left by the way he came.”

  They stood to the side as people started getting into their cars. Several came over and said a few words to Rebecca. But the three agents were soon alone.

  “So, the guard was killed last.” Buss said. “What do the cops say about that?”

  “They are inclined to go with a madman, or an addict looking for drugs. But they are just happy that the place was deserted and they did not have more of a massacre on their hands.”

  “What about brass?”

  “A total of eight shell casings, in the lab and the lobby. The police said there are some partial prints on a couple of them but it may take time to find any matches, if there are any to be found.”

  “A pro would have policed his brass.”

  “Not if he wanted to throw off the police.”

  Rebecca Soul turned to Sudden.

  “What do you think, Cole?”

  “Was the rear door locked?”

  “Yes. He would have had to know a code to gain entry.”

  Sudden chewed that over.

  “He wouldn’t come to the front door wearing a ski mask. That tends to bother even the dimmest of guards. Of course, he could have put on the mask after killing the guard. But why? He could assume there was surveillance in the lobby. I think the killer knew what he was doing. Somehow he got the code to the back door. He came in wearing the mask because he knew there would be cameras.”

  “Everywhere but in the labs,” Rebecca interjected.

  “He goes to your sister’s lab and shoots three people, using two different kinds of ammunition. Then he goes downstairs and kills the guard, probably to make it look like the lab shooting was part of a random act. That the people in the lab just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Was anyone else in the building?”

  “Just a janitor. He would have been on a break for lunch at the time of the shooting. He eats in the basement.”

  “That’s another reason the gunman did the guard last. He also did not want anyone to see a dead guard before he got finished in the lab.”

  “If you two are right,” Buss said, “and I think you are, all this points to an inside job. The code at the rear door. The janitor on his break. It was all timed.” He paused. “The lab assistant?”

  “She also sent some nice flowers,” Rebecca said grimly.

  “What so we know about her?”

  “She’s well-regarded and well-liked. Westernized.” She paused. “But still a Muslim. Nazari. Amira Nazari.”

  “That doesn’t prove anything,” Sudden said.

  “I’m not profiling her,” Rebecca said. “But I’m going to check her out. Her magic bullet bothers me.”

  “What were they working on in the lab? Was anything taken?”

  “Nazari said no. She said there was nothing in the lab worth stealing. She told the police the gunman became enraged when he learned there were no drugs.”

  “What about scientific or industrial secrets?”

  “She said Remy and Caroline were basically environmental biologists. Their other colleagues told me the same thing.”

  “Could it have been personal. A disgruntled colleague. That could explain the back door code. And, I have to ask, what about something even more personal.”

  “Don’t be embarrassed, Cole. I know what you are getting at. But Caroline and Remy were devoted to each other. They had decided to start a family. Caroline was three-months pregnant.”

  The two men looked at each other. All three were silent for a moment.

  “I did not tell her mother,” Rebecca continued. “The poor woman has enough sorrow. No, I can’t see a sexual angle to this. Everything — the professional aspect of the hit, the timing, the different bullets — all point to something else. A conspiracy. I don’t know what kind. But I want to have a go at the Nazari woman.”

  She was quiet for a moment. Everyone had left the ceremony, headed to Aunt Mathilde’s house for the repast. The thought of French cooking and wine was a good antidote for grief.

  “And there is one other thing. On the road to the lab I was almost hit by a van driven by a very distracted driver. I got a good look at him. I can’t be sure, but I’m pretty sure he was Middle Eastern. Again, that proves nothing, I know. But I have a gut feeling.”

  “I presume you did not mention the incident the French police,” Buss said.

  “Perhaps I will,” Rebecca said. A slight smile creased her face. “After I talk to Amira Nazari.”

  “You mean, after we talk to her,” Sudden said. He looked at Buss. “I’m staying, Nigel. That all right with you? I’ll take my vacation if I have to.”

  “Don’t be an ass. I thought you might want to stick around. Don’t worry about the time off. Neither of you. If anyone questions your absence, I’ll say you are on a training mission. Which, indeed, it might be. When I get back home, I’ll have our techies search for anything there is to find on Nazari. I’ll also tap my sources at Langley, the Bureau and the N.S.A. I presume you can handle things on this side of the pond. Interpol, Mossad, MI-6 and the Frogs. If you need any backup, call. It’s slow back home.” Buss smiled. “The vermin will have to wait for a while.”

  “Thanks, Nigel,” Rebecca said, with emotion, and got into her car.

  As the men walked to their vehicle, Sudden said, “Do you really think we’ll need backup, Nige?”

  “No,” Buss answered. “If anything, the two of you are overkill. Just try not to start a war. Europe is pretty fragile these days.”

  CHAPTER 16 - MALEK

  After dropping Nigel Buss off at Marseilles Provence Airport the following morning for his Air France flight to New York, Sudden drove to Gardanne to meet Rebecca Soul for breakfast. She was waiting for him at a cafe near a clock tower that dominated the town center. They kissed and Sudden noted that she looked tired.

  “You should get some rest,” he said. “It’s been a rough couple of days for you.”

  “I can’t afford to rest,” she said. “I have a lot to do.”

  “You mean we have a lot to do, Rebecca. And we have to be at the top of our game.”

  She sighed. A waiter came over and hovered.

  “Breakfas Anglais pour deux, café américain , jus d'orange , s'il vous plaît,” Sudden said.

  The waiter nodded and scurried away.

  “I could have been fine with a croissant and another coffee,” Rebecca said. “But your French is improving, Cole. I remember that time in Paris when you tried to order something at La Tour D’Argent and the haughty waiter said they were out of elephant a la mode.”

  Sudden laughed at the memory. Embarrassment then, office folklore now.

  “You hardly touched anything at your aunt’s yesterday. And they put out a spread that would have done Clemenceau proud. It was like eating at a three-star Michelin restaurant. You need ham and eggs with all the trimmings. And you are going to eat it. Then you are going back to the house and sleep.”

  She put her hand over his.

  “And to think everyone thinks you are a hard case.”

  “I am a hard case,” Sudden said, smiling. “It’s just that I don’t want you falling asleep while someone sticks a knife in my back.”

  “I would never let that happen.”

  “I know. Now tell me about this town. Except for the European architecture, it reminds me a little of Savannah. All the flower-filled squares and beautiful fountains.”

  “It is beautiful, isn’t it? Caroline loved it. Paul Cézanne lived here at one time. In fact, we’re sitting in Paul Cézanne Square. He painted Gardanne many times. You’ve probably seen the paintings. The Village on a Hillside. You would never know that it is a former mining town. They’ve restored the historic center and now it’s one of Provence’s hidden secrets, although more and more tourists are discovering it.”

  They made more small talk until their food came, and Sudden was glad to see that she ate hers with enthusiasm. He actually got her to laugh.

  “I did not know a trout could eat a duck,” Rebecca said at one point.

  “Big trout, little ducks. I had a wild time in charming Castine, Maine.”

  After breakfast, Rebecca returned to her sister’s cottage, where she was living temporarily. She had told Sudden that it made little sense for him to stay at a hotel while they were both in Gardanne. So, he picked up his bags at the small pension where he and Buss had bunked and drove to the Plantier cottage, which sat on the green slopes of Captivel Hill. It was much larger than he expected, two stories and wide, and he had to remind himself that the term “cottage” in France had a different meaning than elsewhere. Caroline’s mother was also residing there, but she had to fly back to Argentina that afternoon.

  “Caroline was not her only child,” Rebecca had explained. “She is married and now has several young grandchildren she minds. I told her to take whatever remembrances she could, jewelry and such, and that I would arrange for Aunt Mathilde to handle the sale of the house and its contents. Remy’s family will get half, and she will get the other half. I don’t need the money, and I think she does. I’m just taking some keepsakes from Caroline. It’s a sad process, Cole. A lot harder than what we do for a living. It makes me think about some of the people we have killed. Their families.”

  “Rebecca, the ones we take off the board are mostly the dregs of humanity, who have destroyed many other lives, many other families. I don’t lose any sleep over them.”

  “Everyone has a mother, or someone.”

  “So did Hitler. And, for that matter, so does the killer of your sister. What are you going to do if you find him?”

  Rebecca Soul smiled grimly.

  “You mean after I cut his nuts off?”

  “That’s my girl.”

  A few hours later, Sudden drove the Argentinian woman to the airport to start her long, sad journey home. In her broken English, the woman made him promise to look after Rebecca.

  “Ella es ahora la familia,” she said.

  Sudden liked her for that. Of course, the woman did not know how many people Rebecca had killed. But family is family.

  He endured another round of cheek kisses and then drove into Marseilles to meet the police detectives who were heading up the murder investigation.

  ***

  The Marseilles Commissariat de Police was located in a four-story brick building on La Canebière next to a Metro station. Fortunately, most of the officers Sudden spoke to knew some English and it took him only a half hour to find the room that the two cops handling the lab shootings occupied.

  One cop, obviously senior, sat behind a metal desk. There was a name plate on the desk. It read: Inspecteur de Police - Raul Desmoreaux. There were two other chairs in the room, on one of which sat a young, tough-looking, sinewy, olive-skinned man with a beaked nose and jet-black hair. The cop behind the desk did not look tough. He looked flabby, with a red-veined nose and stringy blond hair. But he tried to act tough after Sudden introduced himself in English. He wasn’t invited to sit.

  “Qui es-tu?” the fat officer growled. “Quel est votre intérêt dans l'affaire du laboratoire?”

  Sudden’s French was basic, and rusty, but he got the gist of what the cop was asking. He was about to reply when the other cop said, in near-perfect English, “Inspector Desmoreaux wants to know who you are and what your interest is in the Plantier shootings.”

  There was something in the tone of the cop who translated that caught Sudden’s attention. The fat cop also noticed and shot a glance at the other man, who looked innocently at the ceiling. Sudden took out his Agency credentials and handed it to the younger detective, which annoyed the fat cop even more. He reached across the desk, where his belly flopped, and snatched it from his partner. After looking at it, he flipped it to Sudden.

  “C.I.A.? Est-ce censé me impressionner?”

  “I’m not here to impress you,” Sudden said, evenly, controlling his temper. “I’m looking for help. My partner is the sister of Caroline Plantier. I was under the impression that you have spoken to her and offered your cooperation.”

  The younger cop translated and the fat cop laughed harshly and spat out a long reply.

  “He says two C.I.A. agents are two too many,” the younger cop said, with a small smile. “Next thing, there will be a drone flying through the window. He never spoke to the sister and thinks you should both go back home and leave the case to us.”

  Sudden could barely control his anger.

  “Tell this bag of suet that unless he does some police work I’ll send more than a drone up his fat ass. Two prominent scientists have been murdered. Doesn’t that bother him? I would think he’d take help from any place he can get it.”

  The other cop spoke to Desmoreaux, who merely laughed.

  “I left out the fat ass and some other stuff,” the interpreter said.

  Before Sudden could reply, Desmoreaux leaned back in his chair and put his hands on his prodigious belly and said, “Ceci est un cas d'un toxicomane à la recherche de médicaments. Aucun doute là dessus. J'ai des contacts dans ce monde. Nous allons le faire , soyez assuré. Nous ne devons pas James et Jane Bond baise tout vers le haut!"

  Sudden looked at the other cop and threw up his hands.

  “The Inspector said that this is a case of an addict looking for drugs. No doubt about it. He has contacts in that world and he will apprehend him, rest assured. He says we don’t need James and Jane Bond fucking everything up.”

  Sudden was about to explode when he caught a warning glance and a slight nod of the head from the translator, who said, “You should leave, Monsieur Sudden. I’ll show you out.”

  Sudden took the hint. He could hear Desmoreaux chuckling as they walked away. He looked at his escort, who winked, and said, “Let’s talk outside.”

  Once out on the street, Sudden said, “What the hell was that all about?”

  The cop took a pack from his pocket and offered a cigarette to Sudden, who shook his head.

  “Desmoreaux is an idiot,” the cop said as he lit up. “The fool couldn’t build a case against Hitler. Been on the take to the harbor gangs and shippers forever. The only contacts he has in the drug trade pay him off. It was bad luck he caught the lab shootings.”

  Sudden’s surprise at the cop’s candor showed on his face.

  “He’s your partner.”

  “Just since a week ago. The last guy who worked with him asked for a transfer back to the street. Said he would shoot himself if he had to work with Raul any longer. So, they drafted me. He hates my guts. In fact, he hates all Algerians, especially Muslims, like me.”

  “I don’t understand. Rebecca, that’s the woman I am working with, said she spoke to Desmereaux. That’s where she got all the details about the shootings.”

  The cop stamped out his smoke, reached in his pocket and took out a card: Sami Malek — Detectice Deuxième Classe.

  “She spoke to me on the phone. Raul was late for work when she called, asking for him. He was probably hung over or depositing a bribe. I let her think I was him. If he found out I gave her any information he would make my life miserable. I knew who she was. Caroline Plantier’s sister. She told the cops who were first on the scene she was C.I.A. I’m not proud. We’re going to need help on this one. Call the cell number on the card when you want to contact me. And give me yours. The less that asshole knows the better. We may even have a chance at solving this case. Now let’s go for some coffee and exchange information.”

  “What about Desmoreaux? Won’t he wonder where you are?”

  Malek laughed.

  “Raul is probably asleep by now. Didn’t you notice he shut the door when we left?”

  CHAPTER 17 - OLD HABITS

  When Sudden got back to the cottage on Captivel Hill, there were three cars in the driveway. He found Rebecca Soul sitting in the large country kitchen at an oak table covered with papers and folders. Also there were Aunt Mathilde and her husband, and another man introduced as a trusted family lawyer. Sudden resisted the temptation to point out the obvious oxymoron and allowed Rebecca to show him to a guest room on the second floor.

 

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