Private Monaco

Chapter 94

I slept through a long, dreamless night and woke at noon the following day when the sound of banging roused me. Justine stirred beside me. I groaned as I rolled out of bed, aware the painkillers had worn off. My shoulder felt raw and battered as though someone had hit it with a meat-tenderizing hammer a couple hundred times. But it was bearable. Just.

I fumbled with a pair of shorts and managed to pull them on one-handed as there was another knock at the door. Justine sighed and got up. She slipped into a T-shirt as I staggered out of the bedroom, aware the pitch of the pain in my shoulder was rising, throbbing a little more urgently. I needed a fresh dose of painkillers, but whoever was knocking at the door was doing so insistently now.

I opened it and was greeted by four faces. Eli Carver and three of his Secret Service agents, all somber, large men in dark suits. Wearing nothing but shorts, I suddenly felt very exposed.

“Mr. Secretary... I... well,” I stammered. My head felt fuzzy, and I most definitely wasn’t at my sharpest.

“I’m really sorry to walk in on you like this, Jack,” Carver said, entering the apartment. His entitlement was strong, but I couldn’t hold it against him. “I wanted to check you were okay. We heard about what happened at Raymond Chalmont’s place.”

“You’d better come in,” I told his detail. They’d hovered on the threshold, waiting for instructions.

“Thanks,” the lead agent said, and they entered and spread out around the living room.

“I also wanted to invite you and Justine...” Carver glanced at the corridor leading to the bedroom, where she had just appeared in her long T-shirt. “Morning,” he said to her. “Sorry to intrude. I’d like to invite you both to be my guests at the race today. If you’re up to it.” He looked at my sling.

“Morning, Eli,” Justine said. “How’s your arm?” she asked me.

“I’ll live. I just need some pills,” I replied. I turned to Carver. “I guess you won’t take no for an answer.”

He smiled.

Two hours later, feeling more myself, fully dosed on painkillers, my hunger sated by a light sandwich lunch at the Fairmont, we joined Carver in the Monte Carlo Casino stand where we watched the race build up. I was glad Justine and I had accepted the invitation. As she sat next to me, holding my hand, I looked at her with adoring eyes, grateful the threat had passed and that we could be together without fear.

Carver sat on my right, and we talked to him about the great races and drivers of the past, the likes of Schumacher, Hill, Senna, Prost and Vettel. Carver was very knowledgeable and had nuggets of information about all of them.

It wasn’t until almost an hour after arriving at the stand, minutes before the race was due to start, when the hush of expectation had swept over the crowd, that he turned the conversation to more serious matters.

“I owe you my life again, Jack,” he said quietly.

“I did what was necessary, Mr. ... I mean, Eli,” I replied.

He smiled at my use of his name. “You went above and beyond, and I might not be here now if you hadn’t done so. I’m in your debt again.”

“What happened to Henry Wilson?” I asked.

Justine had told me all about her experiences with Carver’s aide.

“He’s on a plane back to Washington,” Carver replied, his eyes narrowing. “He’s going to tell us exactly what he knows and then he’s going to face the full force of the law.”

I nodded.

“We’re starting an operation against the remnants of Propaganda Tre and the Dark Fates,” Carver revealed. “I want to find every member and expose them to the light of justice. This isn’t just about national security for me, Jack. It’s personal. They tried to kill me.”

“I understand,” I replied. “We’ll share everything we have.”

“Good. I want to make sure there aren’t any other Henry Wilsons working against the US government, hiding some perverse allegiance.”

“What about Raymond Chalmont?” I asked.

Carver scoffed. “He skipped the country. Took a private plane to Morocco yesterday morning. We’ll find him though. In the meantime, we’re going to freeze his assets.”

“I don’t think he’ll cope well with hardship,” I remarked.

Carver smiled. “Neither do I.”

He patted his thighs.

“Anyway, that can all wait. We’re here to have fun. Looks like the race is starting.”

He gestured at the big screen to our right, which displayed the starting grid. Twenty beautiful, slick, precision-engineered, super-powered machines lined up in ten pairs, waiting for the lights to give them the go signal.

I turned to Justine and kissed her. She smiled.

The crowd cheered as the race started and the cars roared away.

It was absolutely thrilling to hear them approaching, their engines sounding like savage monsters, making the world tremble and shake. I couldn’t help but feel a thrill of excitement as the leaders entered the Louis Chiron chicane, slowed momentarily like tamed beasts, before rediscovering their inner animal and roaring as they shot away in front of us.

I looked at Justine and saw her eyes too shining with excitement.

Life was good.