Private Monaco

Chapter 57

“Hey,” Mo-bot said.

I woke to see her standing in the doorway. Justine lay against me beneath the covers, still wearing the clothes she’d fallen asleep in. We hadn’t even had the energy to close the drapes. Morning sunshine now painted the city with bright color.

“You need to see what we found,” Mo-bot told me.

“Give me a minute,” I replied, and she nodded and shut the door.

“Can’t we sleep a little longer?” Justine asked as I got out of bed and started to dress.

She yawned and stretched, while I put on a fresh dark blue linen suit and white shirt.

“I need a shower,” she said, looking down at what she was wearing.

“Take your time, honey,” I replied, leaning down to kiss her.

I left her to do her thing and joined Mo-bot in the living room. She was at her workstation, holding a large cup of coffee. Sci was nowhere to be seen.

“He crashed about an hour ago,” said Mo-bot. “Sometimes I forget you’re all only human.”

“Very funny,” I said, taking the chair beside her. “What have you got?”

Mo-bot suddenly became somber. “It’s not good, Jack. Duval has been at this for years.”

She opened a folder on her workstation showing an email archive.

“This was on one of the USB drives,” she said. “They’re messages from an anonymous account Duval ran, all sent to another anonymous account. The messages contain intelligence he acquired as Monaco’s Minister of the Interior. There’s even stuff in here on Eli Carver — conversations they’d had, likely US policy and attitudes on contentious geopolitical issues. They might call it a secret society, but Propaganda Tre made a spy out of this man.”

I sighed and shook my head. I’d sworn an oath as a Marine to defend America against all enemies, foreign and domestic, and had never felt any inclination to join the Freemasons or other secret societies that I knew operated within the US, precisely because of my oath. I never wanted to be part of any group whose objectives might set me at odds with the vow I’d made to my country. Too often people joined political or social groups not realizing the split allegiance or inherent conflict implied by such a membership. Duval should have been an honorable pillar of his community. Instead, his membership of Propaganda Tre had turned him into a criminal and a traitor.

“We also found this tucked inside one of the passports,” Mo-bot said, producing a black debit card. “He had a secret bank account, which according to the latest statement on this USB drive has a balance of over five million euros.”

I whistled. “So, they made sure he got rich from his treachery?”

“Looks that way,” Mo-bot said. “Sci was able to track the notes to a bank here in Monaco. And when I checked Duval’s statements, he only ever used this card to withdraw money from a single cash machine located in the Chalmont Casino.”

The Chalmont was one of the oldest and grandest casinos in Monte Carlo and was located on the waterfront near the Yacht Club.

“Why there?” I wondered. “Why that one machine?”

Mo-bot shrugged. “It’s definitely not convenience. There are at least a dozen machines between his home and five between his office and that one. Maybe it’s a front? Somehow connected with Propaganda Tre?”

“Maybe,” I agreed. “See what you can find on the place.” I got to my feet. “I’m going to make us all breakfast.”