Private Monaco

Chapter 70

We almost ran to the hospital. The exertion was a welcome antidote to the numbness I’d felt in the apartment.

I’d lost friends and comrades before, but familiarity didn’t make the trauma of death any easier. Mo-bot and Sci hadn’t gone, but the Grim Reaper had one hand on them. Police officers and government officials didn’t use the word “grave” unless there was a serious risk of death, and my mind reeled at the prospect I could lose my friends. I’d been feeling guilty about Justine’s abduction and my role in placing her in harm’s way, but if I lost Mo-bot and Sci because of their association with me, I didn’t know how I’d cope. For now, I channeled the guilt, fear and frustration into a bottomless pit of anger at the men who’d done this to us, and most of all Roman Verde whom I was eager to confront.

Our journey through the city, full of anxiety, anger and dismay, was at odds with Monaco’s mood, which was one of delirious excitement. As we headed toward whatever nightmare awaited us, parties were gathering momentum all around.

Chevalier was waiting for us in the hospital and I was glad because it was an obvious place for Roman Verde to target, knowing we’d be very likely to visit our colleagues. I had to assume his people were behind the shooting and that he knew from the news reports that Sci and Mo-bot had survived. As Monaco’s only public hospital, the Princess Grace would be a safe bet for their admission.

“I’m so sorry,” the inspector said as we rushed through the main doors. “This way.”

She led us across the lobby, where three uniformed officers were posted.

“You think there’s an ongoing threat?” Justine asked.

“Possibly,” Chevalier replied. “To you as well as them. The police presence will discourage opportunist attacks.”

She took us to one of the private wards on the fifth floor. There was another cop by the elevator, and a fifth standing guard on the ward itself.

Chevalier nodded a greeting as we approached, and the officer stood to attention.

“Mr. Kloppenberg is in there,” she said, gesturing to a room on our right. “He’s had emergency surgery.”

Justine gasped and I felt hollow deep inside, my legs barely supporting me.

I peered through the observation window and saw Sci, unconscious, connected to a plethora of monitors and IV drips. He looked in a bad way.

“Oh, Sci,” Justine said, taking my hand. In that moment, it took every ounce of self-control to prevent myself from breaking down.

These were our friends.

“Miss Roth is in here,” Valerie said, signaling to the room directly opposite.

Justine and I moved across the corridor. When we looked through the observation window, I was surprised and relieved to see Mo-bot was conscious. She had her head turned toward the exterior window, which gave her a view of the city and the starry night sky. She must have sensed movement because she turned to us, smiled faintly, and beckoned us in.

“The doctors say she cannot be disturbed for long,” Chevalier informed us. “That’s why I haven’t taken her statement yet.”

“We’ll be quick,” I assured her, and she followed us inside.

I’d never seen Mo-bot look so frail and vulnerable. Her skin was paper white and her movements were shaky.

“Excuse the mess,” she said, gesturing at the various machines and drips surrounding her.

“Mo,” Justine responded, moving swiftly to her side. She took our friend’s hand, the one without the canula. “I’m so sorry.”

“I’ll be alright, kiddo,” Mo-bot said.

Her voice was thin and small. I could already feel her creeping fatigue.

“What happened?” I asked, leaning in.

“We went to follow up a lead,” Mo-bot said. “It turned out to be nothing, but some of Roman Verde’s men spotted us in the street and they shot us.”

I got the sense she wasn’t telling the whole truth and she didn’t mention Kendrick Stamp at all. I guessed there were things she didn’t trust Valerie with. Mo-bot’s attention drifted for a moment, and I couldn’t tell whether it was from exhaustion or getting lost in the memory of trauma.

“Is Sci okay?” she asked at last.

“You don’t need to worry about him,” I told her. “He’s in good hands. Just focus on yourself.”

She smiled. “Okay, Dad.”

“What was the lead?” Chevalier asked.

“Oh, it was a ridiculous hunch I had about some of Roman’s men using the hotel as a meeting place,” Mo-bot replied, and I knew for sure she was trying to keep something from the inspector.

“Maybe not so ridiculous,” Chevalier remarked. “What made you think they might be there?”

“I’m tired, Jack,” Mo-bot replied. “So tired.”

“We should leave,” I said.

The inspector hesitated and then nodded reluctantly.

“Feel better,” Justine told Mo-bot before steering Valerie toward the door.

“I will send a Photofit artist when you are well enough,” Valerie told Mo-bot.

She and Justine left the room.

“Mo, I want you to—” I began, but she cut me off, suddenly more alert.

“If you tell me to focus on myself,” she interrupted, “or to concentrate on getting better, I’ll kick your butt into the next room.”

There was fire in her eyes.

“My body will do what it needs to do to heal. I want you to get the men who did this to us,” Mo-bot said. “I guess we’re still not fully trusting the cops after the obvious corruption and security breaches?”

I nodded.

“That’s why I didn’t mention Kendrick Stamp. He’s at the Metropole. Room four-oh-eight. I think he’s the second assassin Roman talked about. In fact, I’m pretty certain of it. He told me he was being watched before we were attacked. His number and yours were the only ones on a SIM Philippe Duval had hidden in his safe. Stamp is married and got really cagey when we asked about his wife. I think Roman and his men have her.”

I took her hand and squeezed it gently.

“You did good work,” I said.

“Don’t praise me, Jack. That’s not what I need,” she replied, her eyes filling in a rare display of vulnerability. “Find the men who did this. Find them and make sure they answer for what they’ve done. Promise me.”

I nodded. “I promise.”