Private Monaco

Chapter 62

We bypassed the cops who’d just pulled up in a pair of liveried vehicles and headed along the Avenue du Port toward our apartment.

“You’re amazing,” I told Justine.

I glanced behind us to make sure we weren’t being followed and saw four cops hurry from their cars toward the casino entrance. Their arrival had caused more of the seafront crowd to gravitate to the grand old building, creating a strange carnival atmosphere around my brush with danger.

“You’d have done the same,” she replied, taking my hand.

She checked around us before pulling me into a kiss.

“I probably would have been more direct. Not as imaginative.”

“Well, I’m not going to take on four guys,” she replied as we resumed our journey. “That wouldn’t end well.”

I grinned. “What you did was perfect.”

She smiled back.

We took a circuitous route to the apartment. We reversed, went through a couple cafes, making use of their service entrances to seek out new roads. I kept my eye on the sky for any sign of drones, and we both looked for tails — the same faces showing up, eyes that lingered just a little too long — but we saw nothing. When we were finally certain we were clear of danger, we hurried up the hill, inland, through the buzzing city, to safety.

It was a little before 2 p.m. when Justine and I stepped into the living room to find Sci and Mo-bot where we’d left them, analyzing files and photos on their computers.

“Well?” she asked without looking up.

“We had a run-in with Roman Verde,” I revealed, and they both looked round with expressions of concern on their faces.

“What?” Sci exclaimed. “At the casino?”

“At the casino,” Justine confirmed.

“Why would a street criminal be at a place like the Chalmont?” Mo-bot wondered.

“I was hoping you could tell us,” I said, taking a seat on one of the couches. “See if there are any intelligence advisories on the place.”

The NSA and other intelligence agencies used sophisticated artificial-intelligence network analysis to examine the relationships between known terrorists, organized criminals, and other notable individuals connected to suspicious entities around the world. It was possible the Chalmont had been flagged as a risk by one such agency.

“If it’s a good front, they will have been careful to avoid being flagged by law enforcement or any basic analysis,” Mo-bot said. “It’s not a run-of-the-mill laundry. We might need access to the NSA. You think we can trouble Weaver?”

I shrugged. “Carver said whatever we need, but I’ll call him to be sure. I need to tell him what we’ve learned about Duval anyway. Depending on how close they were, Carver’s friendship with him might represent a security risk.”

“Drink?” Justine asked.

I nodded as I took out my phone. “Water, thanks.”

I dialed Carver’s personal number. After a moment’s silence, the call was answered.

“Yes?”

“Secretary Carver, please.”

“One moment, Mr. Morgan.”

The line briefly went dead then I heard a familiar voice.

“Hello, Mr. Morgan, this is Henry Wilson, Secretary Carver’s aide. I’ll just get the phone to him.”

“Thank you.”

I heard people, lots more voices, vehicles, cheers, music somewhere in the distance. It sounded as though Carver was at a festival.

“Jack,” he said when he came on the line. “I was going to call you once I’d settled in. I’m here.”

“Here?” I asked.

“In Monaco,” he replied. “Assuming you’re still here. I wasn’t sure the summit would end early enough, so it wasn’t a definite, but we got the negotiations done in time for me to make qualifying. It’s such a relief to have got the treaty signed, but more importantly I get to watch the race.”

He chuckled, but my mind was suddenly whirring.

The US Secretary of Defense here in Monaco. Someone I had unique and direct access to. Carver couldn’t be the target, could he?

How would the Dark Fates and Propaganda Tre have even known his schedule, let alone something as tenuous as a contingency plan for a personal jaunt if the summit finished early?

“I’d like to invite you and Justine to be my guests at the race. And qualifying of course,” Carver went on. “I’ve got great seats. Perk of the job.”

“Thank you, Mr. Sec— I mean, Eli,” I replied. “But we’re too hot right now. I was calling to see if it was still okay to access the asset you made available to us.”

“Of course.”

I hesitated.

“And?” he asked.

“And I wanted to let you know we found evidence Philippe Duval was a member of Propaganda Tre, the criminal group we encountered in Rome.”

Carver was completely silent and the line filled with the background sounds of Monaco.

“I’m sorry, Eli,” I said. “I think he might have passed on sensitive information about you.”

“Shit,” Carver replied. “Can you send me what you’ve got?”

“I can, sir,” I assured him.

“I appreciate it, Jack. I’ve got to go, but I’m at the Fairmont if the heat cools for you,” he said, referring to the hotel near to where Justine had been taken. “I’ll keep a couple race passes aside for you both, just in case. I’ve got a bunch of seats overlooking the Louis Chiron chicane. It should be an experience like no other, so I hope you can make it.”

“Mr. Secretary, sir—”

He cut me off. “Just in case — send me the information, Jack. We’ll talk soon.”

And with that he was gone.

I turned to Mo-bot, unable to shake off a growing feeling of unease.

“Send everything we have on Duval to Eli Carver,” I said. “And he’s okayed us conferring with Weaver again.”

“What’s up?” Justine asked, handing me a glass of cold water.

“Carver’s here,” I replied.

“In Monaco?” Sci remarked, and I nodded.

“He’s a petrol-head,” Justine said.

“I keep asking myself a question,” I revealed. “What if they knew he’d be here? What if he’s the target? What if this wasn’t just about revenge? What if they chose us because they knew I could get close to the Secretary of Defense?”