The Paths of Destiny
We’ll Always Have Paris

September 13, 2001 continued:

Working with Conrad seemed fairly easy. He had this down home, Mid-Western US attitude about him that seemed to rub off on anyone around him.

I think he was more affable to me. We had our prior Peacekeeper service in common. And we were fellow expatriated Americans serving in a foreign country.

He and Drayton seemed to get along easily as well.

Apparently, Conrad said something to Nighthawk that had her burst out laughing. Whatever it was, it pulled her out of the somber mood she’d been in since 9-11; she was more animated on the way back to Paris.

He didn’t spare Doc either. Doc has a habit sometimes of going into explicit detail about his work. Conrad appeared to listen attentively and encouraged Doc by asking for more specifics or an explanation on some points.

After coordinating with Conrad’s people, my team and I headed back to Paris Station. I had Drayton and Nighthawk find out what they could about our destination while we drove back; personnel, floor plans, anything and everything they thought we might need to carry out our investigation. I had Doc busy accessing their medical reports and make note of any discrepancies he thought were important.

I left Drayton in charge to compile it all for me while I took a quick catnap, leaving express orders to wake me when we were within sight of Paris Station. I knew I needed some kind of rest and, with the villa behind us and in good hands, I felt I could relax just a little.

Paris Station is situated in an elegant storefront in one of the upscale shopping districts in Paris. In keeping with Stations the world around, it was divided into two parts, the public part and the private part.

Since we didn’t have the access code for the private part, we entered through the main, public entrance.

The smartly turned out receptionist smiled at us. She was apparently in her late twenties, wearing a modified uniform, impeccable makeup, with not a hair out of place. I felt the instinctive reactions of my companions as they smoothed their hair and tugged their uniforms into place.

“Bon Soir, M’sieus, M’dame,” she said. “Comment est-ce que je peux vous aider?”

I didn’t bother to check with the others to see if they spoke French. I didn’t have time. And the nap I took wasn’t helping my mood any.

So I calmly, but crisply showed my ID and waved my faxed orders, minus unsigned note, in the face of the receptionist.

“I’m sorry, but English would be preferred, please,” I said in my most polite and calm manner as possible.

“Certainly, M’sieu,” she asked calmly, as one hand slid under the desk. “Who are you here to see?”

“Whoever’s in charge,” I replied just as calmly. “And please keep both hands on the desk.”

She placed her hands demurely on the desk.

I nodded to Nighthawk to see what our “French Maid” friend was reaching for.

“That is Brigadier Paul-Raoul Fontainebleau, M’sieu Le Colonel. He will be here shortly. Would you care to take a seat?”

“Actually, I’d like some coffee,” I said pleasantly. “With two dollops of honey, if you don’t mind.” I looked to the others. “Anyone else need some coffee?”

I hoped they’d follow my lead on this. I figured while the receptionist was gone getting our coffee, I’d have Drayton use his skills to get into the system.

“Certainly, M’sieu.” She picked up the phone, dialed. “We have four guests, would you send coffee, please? Cream, sugar—and honey.” Then put it down again. “Your coffee will be here in just a minute or two.”

Well so much for that plan. I motioned for the rest to take their ease and wait.

The coffee arrived first, on a cart, pushed by a Lieutenant from Domestics. He took our orders then passed the cups around — not as would’ve been approved by Roberts, I noticed idly – then stood by the door, waiting.

Next to arrive was—not the promised Brigadier, but a member of Security Section.

“Bonsoir, M’sieu. I am Jean François Baptiste. I am head of Security for Paris Station. How may I assist you?”

“I’m Lieutenant Colonel Robert Bixby Parker,” I said as I stood to my full height, towering over the shorter man. “I’ve been ordered by the Senior Director of the UNO-SPJ to proceed with an investigation into the activities of this station. My orders state I have Carte Blanche to proceed with my investigation in any way I see fit.”

I paused for effect.

“Now if you don’t mind, Jean Francis,” I said, emphasizing the Anglicized name, “I would like to see Brigadier Fontainebleau immediately. Or shall I start by having you arrested and put up on charges for impeding a lawful investigation ordered by the Senior Director?”

I finished by slapping the orders onto his chest.

The orders fluttered to the ground.

“I will see your identification first, please.”

Since I still had my identification card out from earlier, I held it up almost to this nose. I wanted to make sure he saw it. And yes, I made sure beforehand to replace the old with the new when I originally left London.

“I see. The Senior Director is incapacitated, M’sieu. I am not sure your orders are still valid.”

I motioned for Drayton to pick up the fallen orders and hand them to the Security Head.

“You will see those orders were counter signed by the Acting Senior Director, Briony Anne Mathers,” I said emphasizing Miss Mathers’ name and current title. “I’m sure you’ve heard of her?”

“Yes, Lieutenant Colonel.”

He bent, picked up the orders, waving away Drayton who had been trying to reach the papers without disturbing the two of us, and looked through them.

“Yes, ah — these do seem to be in order. Is this your team? I — ah — I see you are with the External Operations Section... I want to assure you that you will have my full co-operation... ah... will you come through? All of you?”

“Thank you, Jean François,” I said a little too pleasantly, “I believe we shall. Please, lead the way.”

As an afterthought, I pulled out my phone, “One moment please, I need to check in.”

I pretended to dial my phone and then I spoke into it.

“This is Parker; I’m here at the Station… Yes, Ma’am. So far, they’ve been very cooperative. They were even hospitable enough to offer us coffee and tea… Yes, Ma’am I’ll be sure to check in on a regular basis… Thank you, Ma’am.”

I then hung up the phone.

“That was the Acting Senior Director,” I explained. “She wanted me to call her as soon as I made contact with someone in authority. She reminded me I was to check in on a regular basis. My apologies for keeping you waiting. Let’s go.”

The door to the rest of the station slid open. Baptiste marched smartly through. Inside, the corridor was deserted.

Never having been in a Station other than Headquarters, I looked around curiously. The corridor in front of me was lined with doors, none of which had any labels.

Baptiste led the way to the last door which he opened and motioned for me to precede him. Just as politely, I motioned for him to go ahead. Rather than get into some kind of pantomime, deciding who should go first, he shrugged — a truly Gallic shrug — and went on through.

We were again in a corridor, but this time, the doors were labeled. Baptiste took us to one labeled “Security Section”, opened the door, and entered.

Once in the office, he turned to me.

“I want you to know that you will have my every co-operation, Colonel,” he said earnestly.

“I’m going to assume then,” I began slowly as I looked the man in the eye, “your nervousness was an act?”

They say the eyes are the window to the soul. I’ve looked into many eyes, in my time. Many of which belonged to people whose very souls were blacker than pitch. So black even Lucifer, himself, would deny them entry into his realm. Yet in all the eyes I’ve looked into, I never saw anyone’s soul. Nevertheless, I could always tell if someone was lying to me or not. It would explain why I never lost at poker.

Baptiste’s eyes told me what I needed to know before he made his reply.

“You are from Headquarters, Colonel,” he said slowly. “It is... not often that we are... the subject of a visit from Headquarters. Still less are they… here to… investigate.”

“That seems to be an evasive answer.” I said. “Care to tell me what’s been going on here? Such as why no one here seemed to have gotten word that Mr. duBois had come to France, when it is well known that he always checked in with the nearest Station?”

“That… is procedure, sir,” he said, looking around. “M’sieu duBois… did not always follow procedure.”

“Why do you continually look around whenever I ask you a question, Jean François?”

He shrugged, made sweeping motions with his hands, and then shook his head.

A thought came to mind, and I pulled out a small notebook. I’d been in the habit of keeping it in my breast pocket for many years prior to my becoming a detective. I wrote for Drayton to check for any kind of surveillance devices in the room and handed the notebook to Drayton.

Drayton nodded. He moved casually to the computer and turned it on, then reached into his briefcase for a small sniffer-scope. He ran it over the room and then consulted the screen.

“Room’s clean,” he announced.

Baptiste slumped in obvious relaxation.

“I usually sweep daily,” he explained. “I had not had time to, today. Things have been… Well, you know how they have been. M’sieu duBois did check in. He asked us not to reveal that he had. He was planning something, but we are not sure what. I do not think it was the suicide — that took us all by surprise.” Sᴇaʀch Thᴇ Find ɴøᴠel.nᴇt website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

“Thanks, Drayton,” I said as I turned back to Baptiste. “I should’ve guessed sooner about the bugs. Now if I may ask. Who gave the order for the bugs to be planted in the first place? I’m gathering every room in this building is bugged? Also do you have any clue what duBois was planning?”

I turned to Nighthawk.

“Nighthawk, be so kind as to pull Mr. Baptiste’s chair out from his desk please. If he wishes to sit, I see no reason why he cannot sit in his own chair. In front of the door would be a good place to seat him, I should think.”

I turned back to Drayton.

“Drayton, see what you can do about bypassing all the bugs in the building. Perhaps short them out or something? But keep the lobby and external cameras going. Actually, on second thought, reroute the internal video signal to your laptop. I don’t want any surprises.”

“Merci, M’sieu,” Baptiste said. “M’sieu duBois has a mistress. He arrived at the villa late Saturday night, called me directly. He and I have been working together to resolve the situation here — but he seemed pre-occupied. He told me that he was meeting Marie-Claire and they would be going away for a while. He would not say where, he said, but they would be together. He was not sure he would be coming back. I agreed not to say anything. He did check in with me — daily, as usual. He also checked in with Headquarters, in London. When he failed the check-in on the evening of September 11, I thought he had used the confusion to get away. I led the team that went to the villa myself, found the place locked, and I deliberately did not pursue the investigations to give him the time I thought he needed.”

He glanced around the room.

“The building is being monitored by Investigations Section. The current head of Investigations, Claude Michel Lafayette, is very much in the pocket of the local gendarmerie, and as such, does as he pleases. The Brigadier is old — this is a sinecure post for him. He is very close to retirement and does little.”

“You speak as if duBois is still alive, Jean François. Is he or is he not dead? And how can we contact this Marie-Claire? As for your Investigations head, how were you and duBois planning on taking care of this matter?”

I turned to Nighthawk.

“Nighthawk, find any information you can on Marie-Claire. Doc. Pull up any medical records you can in regards to duBois they might have here. Compare them with what you have from London. Drayton, any luck with the surveillance stuff?”

“Je regrette de dire… I regret to say,” Baptiste apologized. “M’sieu duBois is indeed dead. His mistress, however, is not. Madame Marie-Claire — I do not know her last name, or where she can be contacted. It is a common name — it is what he called her, but it might not even be her name.”

He shrugged fatalistically.

“I do not know what M’sieu duBois’ plans were regarding the situation here. I think he was more pre-occupied with his own concerns. Je vous ai dit, they were planning to go away together, I do not believe he was coming back.”

“Okay. Any idea when this Marie-Claire showed up in duBois’ life?”

I turned back to my team.

“Drayton, Doc. Anything yet? Nighthawk, if Drayton is having trouble, give him a hand.”

“No trouble,” Drayton said. “I’ve neutralized all the ones I can find — fairly simple, really. An RF signal…”

“Fine, Drayton,” I cut him off before he could get too technical. “Good work.”

“The medical records match,” Doc James said. “Nothing unusual.”

“He was addicted to morphine, I think,” Baptiste said. “He was in the Persian Gulf, I think, and was captured and tortured. When he came back, they gave him morphine for the pain. He used to have it delivered in liqueur bottles. As for Madame Marie-Claire, je suis désolé,” he said with an apologetic shrug. “I am sorry, but no one seems to know.”

“Looks like we found out how all those bottles wound up with all that morphine in them, Doc,” I said with a humorless smile.

“So who decided,” I said turning back to Baptiste, no hint of a smile on my face, “we didn’t need to make a proper check in when we came in from London? Was it Lafayette?”

“Oui, Colonel Parker,” he said apologetically, “It was Lafayette. He didn’t want you to fureter… how do you say it? Ah, yes. He didn’t want you to ‘snoop around’.”

I silently cursed, but kept my face as neutral as possible.

“By the way,” Baptiste added, almost as an afterthought. “Did you find the diamonds?”

“Diamonds!” I exclaimed as I turned to Drayton. “Drayton, do you remember any diamonds being listed in duBois’ inventory?”

I didn’t wait for an answer.

“What diamonds, Jean François?”

“The ones he had stored in case of emergency, of course,” he said. “In case he had to run.”

“And he had these hidden at his villa?”

“Mais oui, M’sieu. In case of emergency.”

“Very well,” I said not happy at all. “Excuse me a moment.”

I got out my cell phone and called Commander Conrad. I’m glad I thought to get his number prior to leaving the villa.

“Jim Conrad.”

I explained to Conrad what I wanted. What I’d learned from Baptiste. He said he hadn’t found any trace of diamonds, and suggested that if Marie-Claire had been there, she might’ve taken them.

This just moved her to Suspect Numero Uno in my book.

“Hold on...,” Conrad interrupted. “What the....”

There was a dull “crump!” sound, and the phone went dead.

“Commander,” I called into the phone, fearing the worst. “Commander Conrad?”

Covering the mike of the phone, I turned to Baptiste.

“How many of your people can you trust in Security and Medical?”

“Why? What is wrong?”

Not waiting for an answer, he grabbed for the phone on the desk.

“Angelique, connect me to both Security and Medical — conference. Ring back when you have them ready for me. Eh maintenant, M’Sieu Parker…”

“Something has happened at duBois’ villa,” I said more calmly than I felt. “I heard an explosion of some kind on the other end. We need to get a Security and Medical team over there. Immediately.”

Okay, maybe, I wasn’t as calm as my voice. My mind went back to the near miss at Miss Mathers’ dinner party. Lives would most likely be lost. There was no Roberts or Briony Mathers present to ensure the safety of those people at the villa.

Another thought occurred to me.

“Jean François, what do you know of a group known as The Brotherhood?”

For some reason, the unbidden memory of our discovery about Jennifer Hughes during the Chickering Affair and her suspected defection to the group during her SAS days came up.

The phone on Baptiste’s desk rang, saving him from having to answer.

“We are receiving an alarm from the villa,” he said. “Disaster Aid has already been dispatched. You were right, Colonel Parker. There was an explosion. Do you wish to go there?”

“Do you trust the people going to the villa, Jean François,” I asked.

Depending on his reply would make my decision for me. I was currently torn in two different directions. I could go to the villa to check things out and hope I’d have no problems reentering Paris Station. On the other hand, I could stay here and continue my investigation and hope Commander Conrad’s people would be in good hands and nothing was taken from the scene.

“Don’t answer that,” I said. “I’ll go over there personally. Drayton and Nighthawk you stay here and see what you can find out. If you don’t hear from me within two hours, call up the Acting Senior Director in London and give her a full report.”

I took back my notebook Drayton forgot to give me, wrote down the extension to Briony on a sheet and handed it to Drayton.

“Doc, come with me. Jean François, I need some transportation to the villa and a way to come back in without having to go through your receptionist. I’m trusting you to cooperate, fully, with Drayton and Nighthawk. Consider whatever they ask for as part of my investigation as authorized by the Senior Director and the Acting Senior Director.”

“As head of Security, M’sieu, I will accompany you. I will also give you directions and the code to enter through the personnel entrance.”

He took out a notebook of his own, scribbled rapidly, handing one copy to me, one to Drayton.

“There is a first response helicopter waiting on the roof. Shall we go?”

The scene at the villa was straight out of Hieronymus Bosch. Spotlights had been set up, illuminating what had been a quiet villa in a quiet neighborhood. People milled around — some dressed in nightwear, some clothed, some in uniform — as the police and fire brigades had responded.

The villa itself had gone. So had the two houses on either side. A raw crater now occupied the space.

As the SPJ helicopter spiraled in for a landing, I saw EMTs tending to people sitting on the steps of ambulances, wrapped in blankets.

And at least one blanket-covered body.

I went over to the covered body and looked at it. I hesitated to pull back the cover. I wasn’t sure if I really wanted to see who the deceased was. I was half-afraid it might be Commander Conrad.

Hesitating was not going to get me anywhere. I reached down and jerked the blanket away, almost roughly…

I didn’t recognize him.

I felt the breath go out of me as I relaxed.

But it was too soon to relax. Not yet. This man had been part of Conrad’s team — eleven more, including one woman were still unaccounted for.

I respectfully replaced the blanket, stood up and looked around.

They were bringing more bodies out of the crater. Two — no, three more. Steeling myself, I walked over.

“Parker.”

“Yes,” I said as I turned toward the voice.

“Over here.”

Jim Conrad, battered, the worse for wear but alive, sat wrapped in a blanket on the steps of an ambulance.

“How many…”

“They just pulled three from the crater,” I said hiding my relief Conrad was alive. “In addition to the one I saw covered up, that makes four. Judging from the size of that blast, you might not find all the bodies whole. Were all your people inside?”

“I stepped out to take your call. It’s the only thing that saved me. The basement was mined, I think.”

He struggled to his feet.

“Don’t just stand there, dammit! Help me up — I need to see them.”

I helped Conrad to his feet and walked with him over to the bodies recovered so far. As I did, I shivered. To think, that might’ve been us had we gone to the basement.

He was limping and leaned heavily on me. By the time we reached the bodies he was also perspiring profusely.

He motioned for me to draw back the blankets.

“Tim Craine. Greg Forsythe. Robert Jones. Ray Stumpff. Good men all.”

He named each one, reverently.

“Elle vit! Elle vit!”

We turned in the direction of the commotion.

The woman, Carole, was being helped from the wreckage. Alive — and well enough to walk.

Conrad leaned heavily against me.

“I think… I need to sit down…,” he panted.

I helped him to the ground and motioned to a nearby EMT to provide another blanket for Conrad.

“M’sieu, you should not be walking on that leg until it is set,” the EMT said in heavily accented English.

“My people…”

There were tears in his eyes, I realized — and I was sure they weren’t all tears of pain.

Now, cars started to arrive — cars bearing small SPJ stickers and flags.

Disaster Aid had arrived.

Quicklyand efficiently, our people were rounded up and placed — some in cars. Some in ambulances. An investigative team was also on site, cordoning off the blast area, and waiting for the ground to cool before they began their investigation.

I found myself efficiently cut off from Conrad. With a number of others, I was loaded into a van and driven away.

And Jean François Baptiste was nowhere in sight.

I called up Drayton. I had a feeling that I made a mistake in splitting up the team. Something told me my investigation was going in a direction that wouldn’t be pretty.

“Drayton, here,” he answered. “DuBois had the villa mined to destroy the evidence — he’s rotten, Parker. He’s been in with Al-Qaeda since about 1990, as far as I can tell. Paris isn’t the only bad apple — he’s had people infiltrating the entire SPJ. We need to get this information back to someone we can trust as soon as possible. When will you be back?”

“I’m in the back of a van right now,” I said. “The villa’s gone. And it took two neighboring villas with it when it blew.”

I told Drayton what happened at the now destroyed villa.

“I think it’s best you get yourself and Nighthawk out of there as soon as you can. Find some way back to London. Hitchhike if you have to. I don’t care.”

Drayton confirmed the orders.

“Do you have any tracking equipment on you?” I continued. “If so, I have several tracers with me I planned to use if needed. Check with Hoke in Stores — he should have the frequencies of the ones I checked out. Use those frequencies if you don’t hear from me in thirty minutes and use the number I gave you to contact Briony Mathers, immediately. Once I’m off the phone with you, she’s my next call.”

Separated from the team, I was glad I had the foresight to plant those tracers on everyone before we left London. The others didn’t know about them; but once Drayton got the frequencies of the tracers I checked out, he’d be able to track not only myself, but Doc as well.

“Pas de téléphoner!”

I didn’t understand the language, but the sentiment was obvious as the phone was slapped from my hand by a very nervous young lieutenant from the Security Section.

I very calmly brought out my ID. carefully placed it in front of the young lieutenant’s face, and said in very stilted French, “Parlez-vous Anglais?”

I was hoping there would be someone who could speak English in the van if not the young lieutenant.

“I speak English, M’sieu.”

The speaker was a small boy, aged around twelve or thirteen.

“Thank you,” I smiled at the boy. “What’s your name please, young man?”

“Michel, M’sieu. And you?”

“I’m Robert, Michel,” I said offering my hand in greeting. “It’s nice to meet you. Please tell the lieutenant, here, that I’m here at the express authority of the Senior Director Corey Lloyd Reese and the Acting Senior Director Briony Anne Mathers in an ongoing investigation”

He turned to the lieutenant, and a rapid conversation in French ensued.

“M’sieu, do you have any further identification? Since two days ago, we are all very nervous... very suspicious.”

I carefully pulled from my breast pocket the faxed orders I remembered to retrieve from Baptiste and handed them to the lieutenant.

“Tell him those are the papers that show my Rank and my investigation orders signed by the Senior Director and countersigned by the Acting Senior Director.”

The van swayed around a corner and started to descend. Rapidly. Only the fact we were packed in there like sardines kept us on our feet.

With the sudden lurch of the van, I used the movement to quickly pick up my phone, speed dialed Briony, and placed the phone in my pocket. I wanted her to hear what was going on.

He read through the papers quickly, glanced at me, and then reread them again. Fortunately, Miss Mathers had thought to transmit two sets — one in French. Then, awkwardly, he pulled himself erect and saluted.

A torrent of French followed, too fast for Michel to translate. But the expression on the lieutenant’s face said it all.

I smiled, nodded, and waited.

The van halted. The lieutenant pushed his way to the back, started banging on the doors.

“Merci, Michel,” I said as I smiled at the boy. “Thank you for your help. Is there anything I might be able to do for you after we get out of this mess in return for your help?”

It never hurts to make friends wherever you can. You may need them in the future. The boy seemed bright and I wanted to help him in some way.

Before the boy could answer, the doors opened. We were in what looked like a basement.

A basement lined with armed men.

The lieutenant jumped out, motioning for the rest of us to remain. He hurried up to someone who appeared to be in charge and handed my orders to him.

This person — a captain — also went through the orders and then came over to the van.

“Parker?”

“Yes,” I said as I brushed what dust I could off of myself, including my rank insignia. “I’m Parker.”

I heard the suspicious sound of safeties being released.

“No need for guns, Captain,” I said cheerily. “What, you’ve somewhere around fifteen to twenty civilians here, including the women and children? All harmless I’m sure. And perhaps a smattering of SPJ personnel in this van, too. You have perhaps twenty people with guns. And unless I’m mistaken, all the safeties were just now released. Now why would you do that for little ole me?”

I kept on chattering as I continued to brush the dust off. By the time I finished, I looked up at the captain with an inane smile on my face. I figured the speech would give Briony an idea what was going on.

“Pas d’Anglais,” he said curtly.

He motioned for me to raise my hands. Then he gestured for a lieutenant to come over and pat me down. The phone they found almost immediately.

The Captain took it, with a slight smile.

“Allo? Allo?”

He listened, a smirk on his face.

A smirk which gradually faded as his spine grew more erect. As he tried to get the occasional word in through the torrent of French issuing from the tiny speaker.

Finally, he handed the phone back to me.

“For you,” he said in his heavily French-accented English.

I gave the bemused captain a not quite pleasant smile that never reached my eyes as I took the phone from him. I wiped the earpiece and mouthpiece off, with a slight look of disgust on my face, and put the phone to my ear.

“This is Parker.”

“I heard.” Miss Mathers sounded extremely cold. “Are you all right?”

“Yes. For the moment. Though, I do need to update you on what’s gone on since my last call to you.”

I told her of what had happened, leaving nothing out. I finished my report with the incident in the van and my subsequent calling of her. The entire time, I kept shooting glances at the captain, making it appear as if he were in very big trouble.

“This is Jim Conrad,” another voice interrupted. “She’s got us on conference. Describe your surroundings, Parker.”

“I have no idea where I am, Commander. I’m in a basement of some kind. However, I do have several tracers with me. Hoke, in Stores, issued them to me on Senior Director Reese’s authority and activated them for me. He should have the relevant frequencies for them. I also have my laptop you can trace my location from as well.”

I gave them the ID of my laptop.

“I also planted tracers on my team, without their knowledge, in the event we were separated. I’d recommend someone check up on them, too. I’ve a feeling they may be in more trouble than I anticipated; especially with Mr. Baptiste AWOL.”

As I said, it’s a good thing I had the foresight to request the tracers. Something told me I’d need them. I just hoped my foresight paid off.

The captain was beginning to look really worried — especially since I was making a point of not standing at attention during this phone call with the SPJ’s higher echelons.

“Briony, you can handle that, right?”

“Hilary’s already on it, Jim.”

“Hilary? Son of a gun. How did you — no time for that now. Parker, keep this phone live at all times. I want to be able to contact you. I’m at Paris Station, in the infirmary — they’re setting my leg. Tell your captain to bring you to me.”

“Commander, you happen to speak French? The captain, here doesn’t seem to understand English.”

The last said with an unpleasant grin at the captain. I admit, shamefully, I was developing a perverse pleasure at the growing agitation of the captain.

“Not me,” Jim Conrad said cheerfully. “Tex-Mex is about my limit.”

“Give him the phone, please, Colonel Parker,” Miss Mathers said.

I handed him the phone.

“Briony Anne Mathers,” I articulated clearly.

He took it, drawing himself erect.

“Oui, Madame.”

That was the extent of his conversation for the next five minutes.

“Oui, Madame. S’il vous plaît, Lieutenant Colonel,” he said nervously as he gestured for me to accompany him.

I motioned young Michel to accompany me as I gently took back my phone. I figured I’d at least see to the boy’s medical care as thanks for his help.

“Miss Mathers,” I said. “I’m bringing along a young gentleman who helped me with translation duties. I want him to be checked medically and conducted to his home safely.”

I, also, took back the orders the captain had conveniently forgotten to return to me.

We walked across the basement to a bank of elevators. The captain opened one; we entered and were whisked upward. Soon, we were on the main floor of Paris Station I noticed when I saw the logo.

Medical Section was towards the back, with easy access to the outside for ambulances.

Doc James was already there. Hard at work, he nodded to me as I came in, then went back to his current patient.

Commander Conrad was in a private room, his leg in a cast, talking softly on the phone. He looked up as we came in.

“He’s here now, Briony. Do you need him for anything else? No? I’ll hang up, then.”

He motioned for me to hang up my phone also and then waved me to a seat.

“And where’s that captain of yours?”

I looked around. The captain had conveniently faded away as we reached the Infirmary.

“It would appear, Commander, my escort has disappeared on us. Against direct orders from Miss Mathers, I am going to assume, since you had requested he join us here.”

I give Conrad the captain’s description.

“Might help if you wish to put an APB out on him, sir,” I finished.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” he smiled. “He won’t get far — we’re buttoned up.”

“Me, Sir,” I said smiling with mock shock. “That would be unbecoming of an officer.”

“I just wanted to be sure you were on premises, as it were, before sending you back to Headquarters. I’m taking over here… we are going to get to the bottom of this, in short order!”

I looked at him and remembered something Storm told me. Conrad’s a moneyman. No-nonsense. Made his million before he was thirty, chucked it to join Peacekeepers.

Despite the torn trouser leg and the cast, this man was every inch a CEO — I had no doubt he would be able to do what needed to be done.

And I didn’t envy the captain — or anyone else who got in his way.

On a more serious note I continued, “How about your people, sir. I don’t wish to pry. You have my utmost sympathies. It’s hard losing good people you’ve come to know and respect. I’ve had my share of those days with my prior Navy and Peacekeeper service. Ted Westbury can tell you about the time when I lost an entire group under my command.”

“Thank you.”

He seemed to dismiss my comments, but I knew it was because the loss was too recent.

“Peacekeepers, huh?’ he mused looking at me with a searching look in his eye. “Not that Parker? After this is all over, we’ll hoist a few and swap some lies. But for now... She’s ordered you back to Headquarters. Get some sleep. Your team is flying out bright and early in the morning. That’s an order, son.”

“Gladly,” I said the puzzlement in my voice at Conrad’s “Not that Parker” statement. “You get some rest, too.”

I left to find a place to grab some shuteye.

As I write this, I hope tomorrow will be a little less exciting. It’s been a long day.

Something tells me my wish for an easier day might not be so simple to achieve.

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