Thy Kingdom Come: Book One in the Sam Thorpe series (16 page)

When he reached Route 202, Sam turned north and fought his way through the rush-hour traffic past the King of Prussia Mall. He followed the mob of frantic drivers onto the expressway and ran immediately into total gridlock.

Tapping his foot in frustration, he said, “Thankfully, we only need to creep along here for a couple of miles to the Northeast Extension. Maybe then we can get out of this mess.”

Jackie nodded.

“I can’t imagine how commuters spent the first part of every day glaring at each other over a steering wheel and calculating how to beat the next guy out. No wonder people get attacks of road rage.”

Jackie didn’t reply.

When he had lived with Jackie, they had commuted into the Pentagon early enough from Old Town to beat the worst of the traffic up the George Washington Parkway. When he moved out, Sam got lucky and found a room in the BOQ at Fort Myer. He made it part of his early morning routine to jog around the post, ending up at the Pentagon officers’ athletic center for a quick shower; then he’d change into his uniform.

Once they reached the Northeast Extension, the traffic heading north eased up, though the southbound lanes were still bumper to bumper. It didn’t take long before they were past Allentown; then another half hour and they intersected with Interstate 81 at Scranton.

There were long periods when neither of them spoke but simply listened to the Boston Pops on one of Sam’s favorite CDs. Sam had always been comfortable with silence. Jackie was, too.

About the time they reached the southern tier of New York state, the air turned colder and it started to rain. A foggy mist hung on the mountains, covering the birch, aspen, and maple trees with a thin layer of gray. The frost along the side of the road gave a mystic quality to the landscape.

Sam and Jackie drove through the downtown section of Binghamton just over the border into New York state and stopped at Mom’s Restaurant for a late lunch.

According to their waitress, high-tech industry in the area had replaced shoe manufacturing, the dominant industry there in the early twentieth century. But there was nothing high-tech about Mom’s. The smell of grease permeated the restaurant, though the dozen or so bright red-checkered tables were clean.

While Jackie looked over her menu, she commented to the waitress, “I saw so many gold, onion-domed churches. They’re beautiful.”

“You’ll see them throughout Broome County,” the waitress said, snapping her gum at a feverish rate. Scribbling down their orders, she hurried off to the kitchen with a final pop of her gum.

Jackie opened the AAA tour book again. “Look, the Finger Lakes point north like fingers of a giant monster.”

Sam chuckled. “Hopefully, they’ll point toward a winery. Understand there are a bunch of them around here.”

“I’d like to pick up some wine on the way back.” She looked down at the table, then back up at Sam. “Now, can we cut through the BS? What’s going on?”

Sam had expected this and was surprised it had taken until lunch. He leaned forward. “You know I’m undercover. Did Alex give you background on Quentin Oliver?”

“Yes.”

“I’ve been asked to attend a meeting in Montreal tonight.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know.”

Jackie gave him a funny look. “That’s it?”

“I’m afraid so. At least that’s all I know for now.”

She looked away.

“Really. I don’t know any more.” Sam knew she was upset and assuming he was holding out on her. The rest of the meal, he tried to make conversation but without much success. His mind kept drifting to the meeting that night.

After lunch, they continued the drive north, crossing the Canadian border about four o’clock and pulling into the outskirts of Montreal at six o’clock—the height of rush hour.

Sam swerved to avoid a two-trailer moving van. He remembered a trip to Paris during his tour in Frankfurt many years before. French drivers could be absolutely wild. Montreal drivers were proving themselves not that much different from their Parisian counterparts.

Thanks to the directions they’d received on the phone, as well as Jackie’s map reading skills, they found Rue Stanley without difficulty and now sought out the Manoir Valentin.

Jackie peered out of the Explorer passenger window at the addresses on the old buildings. “It’s difficult to see the numbers in the dark.”

Aly had given him the name of the hotel, and his secretary, Vivian, had made reservations for them. “Don’t worry, Sam,” Aly had told him, “you’ll get further information on the meeting after you arrive.”

“What time is your meeting?” Jackie asked.

“Another thing I don’t know,” Sam replied. “I’m supposed to find out when I arrive.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“Good question, but I don’t know.” Sam shrugged his shoulders. “I know it’s frustrating, but we’ll have to wait and see.”

Jackie raised an eyebrow but didn’t push any more.

Darkness settled in like an omen, and the temperature hovered around one degree Centigrade. Light mist in the air made both of them shiver in spite of the heat in the car.

“Glad it’s not any colder.” Sam edged the car down the street. “We’d be skiing down this hill.”

“There it is.” Jackie pointed out an aged, three-story brick building similar to the other buildings on the street. “And there’s the sign—Manoir Valentin. Isn’t it beautiful?”

The buildings reminded Sam of those he’d seen in Europe. These had been built against one another, three stories high, with stone steps leading up to the front doors. The brick fronts had a multitude of designs. Each had at least one dormer window jutting out from the rest of the building. Some houses had a sloped turret on top of the roof, and one even had a helm roof with a weather vane on top.

The windows on either side of the front door of the Manoir Valentin stood at least six feet high and jutted out toward the street in a series of bay windows. One lonely tree in the front yard, stripped of its leaves by the cold, seemed to be the only symbol of nature along the cobblestone street. Cars lined both sides of the street. Sam didn’t see anywhere to park.

“These streets are narrow, and the cobblestones are probably slippery.” Sam gripped the wheel and pumped the brakes to prevent sliding.

“Give you a chance to relearn all your Minnesota driving lessons.” Jackie pointed toward the curb. “Look, we can park there while we unload and check in.”

Sam backed the Explorer into the tiny space. He opened the trunk and carried their bags up the twenty-some stairs. Jackie struggled to open one of the two gold-framed double doors.

As they stepped into a narrow hallway, a blast of heat hit Sam and he opened his coat. About fifteen feet down the narrow hallway stood a four-foot high wooden counter. Sam sighed and set down their bags, wiping sweat from his forehead. Music played from somewhere behind the counter.

“Do you see a bell?” Jackie asked.

A voice behind the counter sang out to them. “Bonsoir.”

Jackie laughed. “I didn’t see you back there.”

A short, stocky woman stood and smiled. “Welcome. My name is Madam Camille.” She looked at Sam. “You must be Colonel Thorpe.”

“Yes.” Sam extended his hand. “Wish I spoke French, but I haven’t mastered that yet. You don’t want to hear me slaughter your beautiful language.”

“That’s all right. We all speak English. I understand you’ll be staying with us for three nights.” She patted her tightly combed gray hair. “And you are Ms. Mc-Carthy?”

Jackie nodded. “It’s great that you’re located right in the heart of Montreal.”

“All the wonderful sites of our city are within easy walking distance. Have you been to Montreal before?”

Jackie smiled. “Always on business. I’m looking forward to seeing everything.”

“If you’ve got sturdy legs, you can see quite a bit during your short stay. We always tell people they’ll want to come back.”

Madam Camille checked them in. “I opened an entryway between these two buildings a few years ago.” She pointed to Sam’s right. “You’ll need to walk up those stairs, then back down on the other side. At the bottom of the stairs, turn right. Your room is on the first floor with a nice view of the front. Here are your keys.”

Sam picked up the luggage.

“You can park in back. It’s pretty small, so I suggest you not move your car while you’re here. Parking is a problem all over Montreal.”

Sam nodded.

“Oh, I almost forgot. Colonel Thorpe, you have a message.” She handed him an envelope.

Jackie reached over to take the envelope, but Sam set the suitcases on the floor and took it first.

Jackie gave Sam the raised eyebrow again but didn’t say anything.

When they closed the door to their room, Sam hung up Jackie’s clothes bag. He was surprised at the amount of clothing she had brought for just three days, but she always looked great.

He turned away from Jackie and opened the envelope. Inside was a typed, two-line note. “Meet me at the Pasta Basta at seven o’clock. It’s across Rue Sherbrooke from McGill University, only four blocks from your hotel.”

“What does it say?” Jackie’s voice sounded sharp.

“It gives the name of the restaurant and the time for the meeting.” Sam glanced at his watch. “I’d better get a move on. It’s 6:15 and they want me there at 7.”

“What am I supposed to do? Sit here by myself?” Jackie put her hands on her hips. “It’s going to look pretty silly that we’re here on vacation together, and you go out to dinner alone.”

“It’s not smart for you accompany me to the meeting itself.”

“Sam, for Pete’s sake, think about it. We’re here in Montreal supposedly on a vacation. We arrive, and right away you go out to dinner by yourself? That makes no sense. Anyone watching us will know that something’s not right.” She stuck out her chin in a pose that Sam knew from experience meant she wouldn’t back down. “And don’t for one minute give me that ‘could be dangerous’ stuff. I’m not some weak-kneed pansy. I can take care of myself.”

Sam thought for a moment. “Why don’t we walk to the restaurant together? When my contact arrives, I’ll have to leave you.”

“That’s better. Use your head, for goodness’ sake.” Jackie walked toward the bathroom. “Let me freshen up. Who knows? I may run into a cute Frenchman.”

Jackie’s cut had hit its mark.

There was a couch along the wall below the window. Sam placed his bag next to it. “I’ll bunk on the couch, and you can have the bed.”

Jackie nodded. “Fine.” She walked into the bathroom and shut the door.

Sam grabbed his cell phone and pushed in Bob O’Brien’s number on speed dial. “Pasta Basta Restaurant, seven o’clock.”

He had just disconnected when Jackie opened the door and called to him. “Sam, look at this.”

Sam peeked through the door. A large sunken tub with a massage nozzle sat in one corner of the bathroom. He laughed. “Gotta love Montreal.”

Oh, how he wished they were on a real vacation and all he had to worry about was sitting with Jackie in a hot tub.

T
he tables at the Pasta Basta restaurant were about half full when Sam and Jackie entered. A slender young woman sporting a dishwater blond ponytail and a big smile met them at the door.

“Good evening.” She motioned for them to follow her. Her ponytail bounced as she walked. She wore a white turtleneck and black jeans covered by a maroon chef’s apron.

No one signaled to Sam or seemed interested in his arrival.

The restaurant was arrayed with variously shaped tables: round, oblong, and curved. She seated them at a table with a wood-grained Formica top. The same design decorated each of the pillars throughout the restaurant and then splashed halfway up the walls. From that point to the ceiling, cream-colored tiles with tiny floral decorations brightened what might otherwise have been a dull interior. Sam had to duck under a couple of the hanging flowerpots.

Their hostess smiled at Sam. “My goodness, you’re a big guy!”

Sam laughed. “I spend half my life banging my head.”

The waitress paused while they were seated, then handed them menus.

“Your English is excellent,” Jackie said. “How did you know we were Americans?”

She smiled. “I can tell.”

The smell of garlic and the smoky aroma of baking pizza made Sam realize he hadn’t eaten for a while. Tiny white and pink lights, shaped like bunches of grapes, decorated the center of the table, and lights in the shape of a flower hung over each table. Sam wondered if someone could have hidden a microphone in the centerpiece. Was their waitress setting them up?

Behind them, four boys and a girl hunched over a table. They were engaged in a discussion about the European Union. It surprised Sam that they were speaking English. Then he remembered that McGill University, across the street, was an English-speaking college.

While Sam held the wine menu, he again scanned the restaurant looking for his contact.

Sam ordered a bottle of Viodo di Sasso Merlot and leaned back, resting his hand over Jackie’s wrist.

“Excellent choice, sir. I’ll get it for you right away.” The waitress hurried off.

Jackie withdrew her hand and placed her napkin in her lap, folding and then refolding it.

“Guess we can relax for a few minutes.” Sam glanced around again. “I don’t see anyone who looks like they’re waiting for me.”

The front door opened. A man dressed in a black turtleneck under a black and white-checked sweater walked in, followed by a redhead who looked young enough to be his daughter.

They sat at the table behind Sam and Jackie. The man ordered wine, and when it came he filled the young woman’s wineglass. Her words seemed slurred, and her voice got louder when she laughed. The man put his arm around the young woman and kissed her.

Sam winked at Jackie. “Ah, romance.”

Jackie bumped his arm. She leaned over. “Mind your own business.”

The waitress returned and told them the specials for the evening. Sam ordered the pasta primavera, and Jackie, the fettuccini with clam sauce. Still, no one appeared interested in what they were doing. Maybe bringing Jackie had been a mistake.