Counterfeit Conspiracies (23 page)

 

 

 

 

 

It took quite a bit of maneuvering to get through the mass celebrations, but I was finally free of the festival and heading in the direction I hoped led to the estate. Before retrieving the car, I stopped by Thierry's and used the key Rollie gave me to find out where to purchase climbing equipment and change clothing. No one was there, so I checked out the place the way I had wanted to do upon arrival.

It appeared Thierry was a sports nut. Pictures throughout the house showed people skiing, boating, sky diving, and hang gliding. Other than an obsession with sports, he appeared to be just a regular guy. I didn't find any firearms, worse luck.

There was one street level door I hadn't tried, and there I found a room lower than the rest of the house. Apparently, it was used as a garage. Various sized water sports equipment sat clustered near snow skis, parachutes, cricket bats, soccer balls, and climbing harnesses and some very sharp associated tools. In the middle of the space, a restored Jaguar XKE almost seemed to growl in superiority.

I folded my arms to keep from touching the highly polished burgundy finish. In college, I drove a similar model, one of the final legacies from my late-grandfather that was ultimately sold to cover living expenses, but this particular Jag looked as though it had just left the showroom floor. The car was insistently calling my name. I didn't really have time to listen and show my admiration, but I did anyway. And it turned out that made all the difference.

On the other side of the sportster, hidden by a large freestanding pegboard I thought held every tool and gadget known to man, I found a cache of everything needed for hanging onto rocks. In one nosy moment, I eliminated my need for the unknown store that may or may not have still been open, along with all associated translation problems I'd envisioned while trying to purchase climbing gear. There in the garage I was in the middle of rock climbing heaven.

Not that I needed much. I hope to boulder the mountain instead of climbing, although that could be dicey since I wasn't exactly sure what the surface would be like, and I knew I'd have to go higher than twenty feet. Both those factors exponentially increased risk. Also, I wouldn't have a partner which was another big no-no, but I wasn't going to let that stop me. Heck, the real problem was the dark. No way should I even contemplate bouldering in an unknown place, in the dark, without a partner, higher than twenty feet . . . and yet...

I quickly picked and discarded climbing apparatus. The only gear that really worried me was finding a pair of rock shoes in my size. I grabbed the chalk and the chalk bag, and loaded carabineers, a top rope, a friend and some anchors just in case. I considered the crash pad, but didn't really have room to take it or the desire to carry more weight. Shoes, shoes, shoes. I let out a long breath.

Yeah, he had shoes. For all kinds of sports. On a shelf also hidden by the pegboard.

In Thierry's pictures, he'd almost always been with a female so I was hoping . . . Eureka! Please, please let them be something close to my size. I stripped down to bare feet and played Cinderella with the rock shoes. A little tight, but tight would work. Loose would have been a real problem. I changed back to my own shoes and looked for a bag.

A short search revealed a large duffle near the soccer equipment. Too big for just the climbing equipment, yet large enough to hold it and the rest of my gear. I dumped the contents and stored my treasures. After one last covetous look at the Jag, I headed for the kitchen.

I sat at the table with a large cup of coffee and a sandwich quickly thrown together. Calories and caffeine, the stuff of champions. Darkness would come soon. I didn't have much time. I bit into the food and stared at the map.

On a blank piece of paper I'd found in a drawer, I highlighted a route I thought would head me in the right direction. I picked out some of the street names and thought they might get me to the black mansion estate. When I finished my snack, I went to my room and exchanged the jeans I wore for my black jumpsuit, complete with the hoodie I'd brought along.

Soon I was in my car and, fingers crossed, headed toward my goal. I did call the hospital, but unsurprisingly couldn't get any information about Jack.

Deep down, I knew he was all right. Even though head wounds could be tricky. Besides, he'd brought it on himself grabbing me as he did. The last time we had tangled, I'd been the one to end up on my ass. Sure, I hadn't been knocked out, but I'd been sore and still felt the bruise a couple of days later. He had shown me no mercy. Well, maybe a little. But to be fair, I showed mercy too. After all, I'd called an ambulance, and I hadn't given them his real name. Or at least what I thought was his real name. Who knew?

 Yeah, I was feeling guilt. Another emotion pretty much unfamiliar to me since age eight.

I checked the phone to see if Nico tried to get in touch but had little expectations of his doing so. He had his part of the job to do, and I had mine. I was on my own. Usually I liked it that way.

I wasn't sure why I was suddenly feeling very alone.

Several false turns later, the GPS lady said I needed to turn right. Of course, my eyes were telling me the same, nothing different than the last three turns either. The mountain was huge. Several streets seemed to head in the direction of the black estate. Whether or not this mountain was the one I actually needed to be on remained an unanswered question.

The tree cover was too dense to be sure of anything except I was traveling on a winding, narrow road, hopefully leading to some answers. Unfortunately, the reverse was just as possible. This could be another wild goose chase.

The longer I traveled down the road, the more my returning intuition told me it was the one. In the past, intuition had saved my ass too many times to count. I had learned to trust it.

Seven twisting miles later, I spotted the house. I pulled off onto the narrow verge, parking as close as possible to the trees and hopefully out of camera range.

I didn't dare underestimate security. In fact, I may have been under some type of surveillance since turning into this
Rue des
whatever. The GPS was weirdly silent, but my brain and my eyes busily catalogued how the street dead-ended into my destination.

Up to this point, I hadn't passed one car along this particular stretch of road but counted five possible exits to unknown places. Unknown, since no signs or buildings along the way indicated the reason the other drives existed. This road screamed PRIVATE, but I remembered there had been a street sign,
Rue des Plagues
or
Blagues
, or something like that. No gate barred my entrance. The more I thought about the lack of traffic and buildings, the more worried I became about being monitored or trapped. Should I turn around?

My mind flashed paranoia-inducing pictures of the creeps and the dead associated with this case. I remembered the destruction of Simon's office, and the motorcycle bearing down on me this morning. I felt the bullets zinging around me. My arm still throbbed. I probably should have gotten stitches instead of using the butterfly bandage I'd found in Thierry's bathroom cabinet.

Stop it! My mind was wandering, not a familiar event for me, especially during a job. Focus, damn it, focus! I had to know what I was up against before committing to any decision about trespassing.

The house, massive on its own, butted up against the bulky mountain, and heavy tree cover bordered its property lines. A roughly seven or eight-foot stone wall, topped with what looked like razor wire, completed the feel of isolation. Forbidding and completely off limits. A place designed as a fortress. The approaching dusk added to the illusion of danger.

I took a shaky breath and told myself to slow it down, check the place out up close and personal before making decisions of any kind about how to proceed. Unlike most jobs—both the legitimate Beacham Foundation ones and the freelance opportunities I periodically take on—I always researched and scouted things far in advance to prepare for any eventuality. However, since the very beginning this case allowed none of those practices.

There was still enough light to see. The immediate land around the wall had been cleared and was kept mowed. I wasn't sure how far back the clearing went, so I pulled out a pair of powerful but petite binoculars from the glove box. Nico was dependable, thorough, and could always be counted upon to anticipate my needs. Jack would never be that conscientious.

Why I thought of Jack at a time like this, I didn't know. I'd always worked alone. Where was my concentration, my own sense of responsibility, thoroughness and dependability when it came to my job?

The cut lawn perimeter ended at the tree and brush line. The razor wire seemed almost overkill. It could be clipped, but, unfortunately, it sliced and diced before falling apart to allow entry. I didn't see any cameras, but that wasn't unusual. I knew they were there.

I rolled down the car window to listen for sounds. I love dogs but didn't want to run into any of them tonight, and, right on cue, a dog barked and several answered. I used the binoculars to scan as much of the area as I could. When no baying hounds came into view, I concluded they were inside the wall.

I secured the black hoodie over my head, making sure every blonde hair was inside, and pulled on thin black gloves next. The binoculars securely fitted to a special strap on my jumpsuit. I reluctantly glanced over at the duffle in the passenger seat. I added a couple of metal loops onto the bag's handle, ones I could use to connect to the shoulder harness I wore. Free hands were a necessity in rock, and I needed what was in that bag—extra weight or not.

Did I want to leave the bag in the car for this first sighting, knowing it would slow me down? Without a visual survey of the house or the mountain, was I ready to take the chance? Or did I want to bring the duffle now and prepare to leap whenever a possible chance presented itself?

Seconds later, I stepped from the car with the bag hooked to the harness, then eased the door shut and locked it before returning the key to its original location under the fender. If I was caught and searched, I didn't want anyone to have the key to my only chance at getting away quickly.

I shivered as my brain cycled through all possible consequences. I didn't really like guns, but I sure wished I had one right then. Just in case.

 

 

 

 

 

Noiselessly, I slipped away from the car, sticking with the brush line. Shadows cast long deep purple stretches. Trees I knew to be thick, green, and beautiful rapidly became large, black and menacing. I was surrounded by lush, abundant groundcover that cushioned my shoes but could hide a variety of problems. The cooling air was fragrant with pine needles and mold. If I'd been allergic, it might have been a problem. Thank goodness for small mercies.

I put aside the fear of being visually spotted, intending to avoid the lawn and stick with the tree line. I was more worried about falling over a root, running into poison ivy or oak. Did they have either of those in France? Or coming across a sharp-toothed animal that wanted me for dinner.

I suddenly realized I had no idea what the wildlife was like in this area. Pretty vital information if one explored at night in a foreign environment. Jack probably knew the Latin and lay names for each genus roaming Massif Central.

A twig snapped to my right. I whirled and breathed a sign of relief as a small Roe deer moved into my sight. It scampered off. My breath whooshed out. For a few seconds, I regulated my breathing to even out my heart rate. Despite the dropping temperature I felt an uncomfortable film of sweat form on my skin. My suit might "breathe" like me, but I still felt wet. I hated the feeling.

With each step I expected to hear the dogs barking or whining, but my ears caught nothing. Maybe the beasts were chomping down on someone else somewhere else. Extreme stress made my macabre sense of humor sometimes get the better of me.

There were no more cracking twigs, other than my own. I walked along the perimeter until the land went vertical. Pretty much where the wall ended as well. I stepped deeper into the trees, following nature's wall to approach the house.

Still no dogs, so I hoped they were busy with dinner elsewhere.

My vantage point sucked, but, as I'd suspected, the house was built into or dead-ended in the mountain. For further information I'd have to either head back the way I had come or climb.

The rising mountain, hill, volcanic thrust, or whatever the geographical formation was called, towered over me. From my angle it seemed to be the largest mountain ever known. I took off my gloves and ran my hands over the exposed surface, using my body as cover to retrieve a penlight from one of my pockets and get a better look.

The façade definitely looked like it could be bouldered. There were plenty of holds and jutting crags. The outer layer of the earth didn't appear to be too brittle. Although I certainly would have rather bouldered with a buddy during the middle of the day in a place I knew well, I wasn't too worried. I refused to let myself be.

I dropped my bag and stood for a long moment. I turned back the way I had come, and knew I couldn't wait any longer. Throwing caution to the wind, I grabbed the necessary equipment out of the duffle. I kicked off my leather boots and socks and pulled on the rock shoes.

After stretching, I looked up and scouted my way. I would go about fifteen feet before deciding whether to return to the ground or head up and over. The duffle was tightly fastened, and I gave it a wiggle to make sure it didn't move. My hands were dry from the magnesium carbonate. Too pumped to feel the pinch in the shoes, I scrunched my toes, relaxed, and took off.

I wasn't breathing heavy, or worried, as I reached fifteen feet. It was getting darker, but as I moved closer to the top of the tree line everything lightened up a bit. The interior lighting of the house also helped, although it was still a bit too far away to make much difference. I needed to continue up and work my way over. I'd gotten a bit lucky because the house wasn't that far from the perimeter wall, at least on this side, so I wouldn't have too long a stretch horizontally. Unfortunately, the house was at least three stories, and I needed to go farther up if I wanted to get high enough to look at the property.