The Devil's Banker

Chapter 14

Admiral Owen Glendenning paid off the taxi and made his way into the cool recesses of the Hôtel Plaza Athénée. The lobby was an oasis of marble. Marble floor. Marble columns. Marble counters. The tinkle of a fountain softened the noise of traffic drifting in from the Avenue Montaigne. A colossal spray of gladiolas and white geraniums decorated a table in the center of the atrium. Except for the very slim, very chic women sauntering through the place, Glendenning found it more like a mortuary than a five-star hotel. He’d been thinking a lot about death lately.

At the front desk, he inquired where he might use a telephone.

“Down the corridor and to the left, sir,” answered the clerk.

“Merci,” said Glendenning, though the clerk had spoken to him in perfect English.

Walking to the bank of phone booths, he caught his cane on the transom separating the marble floor from the carpeted corridor. He stumbled, but caught himself. He was hurrying… that was the problem. He flushed with shame, and then with anger at his vanity. You’d have thought that after being stuck with the lousy sticks for thirty-five years, he’d have grown used to the deflected glances, the impromptu hushes that crowded his wake. The fact was that he’d never gotten over being a cripple. There was honor in a face that had seen battle, but the scarred, useless legs were an embarrassment. A sign of weakness. He’d tried everything to regain full control of them. Exercise. Therapy. Surgery. Nothing had worked. In the end, he’d decided it was a failure of the will and tortured himself for his weakness.

Inside the booth, he sat down, arranged his canes, and picked up and folded his legs so that he could close the door. Through the window, he caught a boy staring at him. Glendenning smiled, but the boy ran off with a frightened expression. Glendenning’s smile faded. It wasn’t the physical inconvenience that bothered him most, or the ever-present pain. It was being the bent, shuffling reminder of what could go wrong in this life. Any way you looked at it, it was a damned high price to pay for capturing four low-level slopes who didn’t know jack shit.

Turning his back to the window, he picked up the phone. The hotel operator answered. “Oui?”

“An international call, please,” he said. He gave the number and waited as the operator dialed. His heart was beating very fast and he thought he’d lost his taste for clandestine ops.

“Allo.”

“Hello,” he said, trying to sound calm, dispassionate. “It’s me.”

“Where are you?” The voice belonged to a woman. She was concerned. “You sound next door.”

“In Paris.”

“Should you be calling?”

“Probably not, but I had to talk to you.”

“It’s too risky. Hang up now.”

“Don’t worry,” said Glendenning, glancing over his shoulder, a hooded eye scanning the lobby. “No one followed me. First time I’ve been alone in days.”

“You’re in France? Couldn’t you have given me any warning?”

“I didn’t have a chance. We had to play it fast. Went from the office right to the plane. People are watching me every step of the way. I had to sneak away just to call you. Said I was getting a souvenir for my nephew.”

“Is it that tight?”

“Yep. And you? Are you ready for the event? Ticket, passport, the special papers you’ll need?”

“Everything’s in order. I am a professional, after all.”

“Just checking. Security will be tight. The timing of this couldn’t be worse. We don’t want anything to go wrong. It will be enough of a scene already. So you’re ready?”

“I said I was. You’re making me nervous.”

“Don’t be. The only way to get through this is by guarding our nerves. Anyway, we’ll talk later.”

“But, Glen-”

“Yes?”

“No more risks. We’re too close.”