Counterfeit Conspiracies (15 page)

"I'm hitting send to transmit all your train information now," he said, when I answered. "I'm providing some breathing room to your Visa card balance, so you have the ability to buy more than a matchbook once you get to France. Also, I topped off your Oyster card because it was dangerously low, and I don't want you getting trapped in the London underground system, and you're prone to forgetting those types of details."

"Nico—"

"You're welcome."

"That wasn't what I was going to say."

"We will say, for argument's sake, that it is. Returning to the task at hand, I was able to secure passage on a Eurostar going from London to Paris. There will be a couple of stops to board more passengers, but you shouldn't have to leave the train. I've reserved a car for the trip from Paris, and you'll drive to the small hotel in the region where I have a room reserved for one night. I'll pass on all the directions by email. Tomorrow night's stay is the best I can do, nothing more. There is an annual celebration in the region. If you need additional time in the area, you'll have to find someone's couch, or the car, or a hayloft to crash for a bed. Good luck and keep your itinerary handy."

"No change in procedures, right? All paperwork is still handled in London?"

"Absolutely. You can just walk off the train in Paris."

"Thanks, Nico. I'd be lost without you."

"You may stay lost with me. Your itinerary is pretty full, but I had to do some fancy hacking to get you anywhere near Puy de Dôme. Very popular place at the moment."

"Probably why Moran is going there," I mused. "Get himself and every
thing
and every
person
he's stolen lost in the crowd. But I will get there tomorrow, right?"

"Right. Late afternoon, early evening. You need to catch the next train out of St. Pancras to start this little adventure. I'll meet you on the train to Paris."

"You'll share this Chunnel ride with me?"

"I'm going to try. Finding a way into Moran's compound is more difficult than I expected. I hope to brief you en route. Got a new toy I want to give you, too. Besides, I think you need a babysitter, and I need to head east. And I'm
really
getting sick of helicopters."

"Poor baby." I laughed. I couldn't help it. Cassie gave me a questioning look, and I waved a hand to tell her I'd explain in a minute. "Okay. Who's paying for our little junket, by the way?"

Nico chuckled. "Found that Max's AMEX Black credit card had loads of room for a few extra expenses."

"Max has a Black card?" My fingers tightened around the phone. A Black! That sucker had no limit.

"When you're the cheapest man alive, credit card companies clamor for your business," Nico said, breaking my reverie.

The rat bastard. Max could have already reimbursed me for the outlay I'd lost prepaying the Tahoe vacation. Oh, I know what he would say—all those admonitions about mixing up personal and business money accounts. Like I wasn't having to do exactly that because he wouldn't let me have a corporate card. And now I learn he has his own personal Black?

"Nico, keep that account number handy."

 

 

 

 

 

It was surprising how many people were still up and moving through London by subway in the wee hours of the morning. Homeless with their possessions stacked beside them, looking for a bit of shadow to sleep, as well as backpacking students who carried all their possessions in duffles and checked timetables to see if their needed train lines were still running at the late hour. Or, rather, the early hours. I was surprised at the number of families with bags, obviously transferring at St. Pancras from other lines or coming from Heathrow, and still moving through the city via the underground rails. I watched one small tot rub his eyes and scrunch his nose in frustration, before turning to his mother for comfort in the confusion of jet lag and time changes. Pods of people merged and separated as they neared their destination point in the station. There were even a few business folks with briefcases, working late and finally trekking home for a few precious winks of sleep before the pattern began once more. I really related to their plight. Finally, cleaning crews who worked in pairs and singly, readying the station for brief hours of train shutdown before the hordes descended again for the next start of business day.

I checked the departure screens for the train number scheduled to ultimately get me on to Paris. While the initial entrance to the terminal normally looked contemporary in the bleak morning hours lit by only the teeming bars of fluorescents, I felt almost transported back to an earlier time, like in a 1960s movie. Darkness filled the entrance wall that by day offered outside light from the floor-to-ceiling windows and glass doors. We walked through the undercroft. The piano player had already gone home for the day, and not all shops remained open, but many, like the coffee bar, catered to the night owls as well as the daily masses.

"Remember the ski trip a few years ago?" I asked, seeing all the surrounding open space, but recalling an earlier time when such was not the case.

"Gosh that was awful." Cassie rolled her eyes. "Everyone had to get everything they needed on the train, but nothing could be checked because Eurostar doesn't do checked baggage. I never even thought about that when we made our plans initially."

"I'm sure our fellow passengers hadn't considered it either." Everyone on the train fought for overhead space, floor space, and every space in between. I vowed then if I ever took another European ski trip it would be via air, or I would ship my gear ahead.

But claustrophobic memories aside, I always looked forward to seeing the Eurostar platform at St. Pancras. The station is a work of art on an architectural level, and I silently thanked Sir John Betjeman for doing his good public best that eventually meant the landmark was saved for London and all future travelers. Eurostar's departure venue was a glorious mix of glass, steel and historical accouterments, a brilliant compilation of Victoriana and victorious twenty-first century that made the art historian in me want to sing every time I arrived on its doorstep. Luckily for those around me, I always refrain from breaking into song.

We stood in the check-in area, travelers around us taking chairs, wheeling luggage, or standing against the beige columns waiting for their turn. I scanned the overhead lighted signs, checking how far away I was from my designated platform. I found an attendant and a kiosk, gave my code to get a ticket, and check-in was easy. Passport at the ready whenever I needed, ticket in place, Prada looped around my neck, and a shopping bag in each hand, I was ready for boarding.

"Platform ten, according to the attendant." I raised one shopping bag to point. "This way."

Cassie grasped the handle of the bag in my left fist. "Let me carry this one. I feel silly with empty hands while yours are full.

"Okay, but the escalator isn't that far."

"It will make me feel useful."

I squeezed her forearm. "You are most definitely useful."

Cassie and I matched the pace of the rest of the crowd as we headed for the correct escalator and platform, fighting our desires to run and to hide. We semi-attached ourselves to groups heading in the right direction, branching off and joining others when necessary, all to make our bodies appear less conspicuous to the probing cameras. I pulled the bill of the cap down a smidge closer to my brow.

We stopped at the bottom of the moving stairs. Enough passengers were already mingling that I felt comfortable saying goodbye to Cassie and getting her out of the station. If anyone was going to come after me now, I wanted her far away from any scuffle.

"But I can stay with you." She wore her stubborn face, a bit of a pout and a lot of steel around the eyes. I knew that look well from college. She may have been a year behind me, but this look meant she was going to try to pull rank anyway.

"Cassie, you've been a godsend tonight." I set the shopping bags on the ground and gave her a hug. "I could have never gotten here without you and with all my stuff. But you have to work tomorrow. You're trying to get on full-time at the V and A remember, and sleepy interns do not impress bosses."

She shrugged, then craned her neck to review the waiting passengers. "I can't believe this many people travel in the middle of the night."

"I'm just grateful they do. It's never fun to be the only person on a red-eye flight or train run."

"More importantly, there's safety in numbers," she said, turning to stare me straight in the eyes. "Be sure to get in the busiest car, and sit near a bunch of people."

"Yes, Mom," I said, striving for levity.

The edges of Cassie's lips turned downward. "This isn't funny, Laurel."

"I'm sorry." I brushed her shoulder with a hand. "I'll be careful, I promise. But your concern for me cannot overweigh what I feel about your safety either. I want you to head straight home. Right now. And text me when you get there. I may not have good phone coverage on the train, but I will receive texts."

"Okay. Should we have code words?"

I would have made a joke about
Get Smart
or Austin Powers, but I could tell by the set of her jaw she needed me to keep things serious. "Not a bad idea. If you need help, call nine-nine-nine, of course, but text me the name of your first pet."

"Snowball. He was a bunny."

Of course he was.

"Snowball it is. And mine was a German shepherd named Bruno."

"Really? How old were you?"

I thought back to that wonderful dog, twice my size and as loveable as he was huge. He'd been trained as a guard dog, and my grandfather brought him into our household after a spate of kidnappings ran through our family's financial circle. The pain I felt as a fourteen-year-old when we had to put Bruno down for arthritis was still too close to contemplate. Arthritis aggravated by a bullet he took once while pushing me out of harm's way. Even after all the intervening years I could see the dark concern for me that showed in his eyes as he performed the act out of both love and duty. Grandfather hired a physical therapist trained to treat canines to get him back on his feet. It gave us a few extra years with him, but a few is never enough. "I was five when Grandfather brought him to me."

"A puppy?"

"No, full-grown. He went everywhere with me." My eyes focused on the near distance, and I could almost see Bruno standing guard, watching out for me even still.

So intense was the memory, I barely heard Cassie say, "What a wonderful companion. Did you always have German shepherds, or did you get another breed for a pet, too?"

The pressure in my eyes built quickly. I was too tired for this kind of emotion. "I never had another dog. Grandfather died soon after Bruno, and life got too complicated to try to bring a new pet into my life."

Above, the squeal of a train pulling in saved me. Passengers shuffled more quickly in anticipation of their own boarding.

"That's my cue, Cass," I said. "Gotta go. But I really do thank you for all your help today."

"No problem," she said, wringing her hands as she spoke. "Are you sure you're going to have enough room for everything onboard? I wish you could check your bags so you don't have to keep an eye on them, too. Will shopping bags work? Maybe I should have packed everything into one of my suitcases."

"Nico has me in business class." I retrieved the second bag from her, after unwrapping the handle from her clinging fingers, and accepted a goodbye hug. "I'll find a place to put them in the racks over my seat. No worries. Plus, I'll have no problem getting a power port to charge my phone."

"I should have done that while I had the cell."

"Cassie, you've gone above and beyond, believe me." I pressed my thumb to the center of her forehead. "Remember what it means when we do this?"

She rubbed her fingers on the skin. "One of our invisible gold stars from college."

"Right. Now accept your reward, and no more '
I should haves'
from you."

Another quick hug and we went our separate ways; me heading upward for the platform and Cassie, I hoped, grabbing a cab outside. I'm not normally leery of subways, but after being almost trapped by Weasel and Werewolf I wanted to make sure Cassie didn't risk suffering the same dilemma. She might not have a Jeremy nearby, whose foot she could trounce as a diversion.

By daylight, the St. Pancras platforms always made me feel like I was in a gorgeous giant birdcage, as the sky poured in through the never-ending skylights. By night, the fluorescents do their job, with the light reflecting back from the heavenly glass above.

Lit signs in English and French directed me to the area forming the queue for my train's business class. The timing could not have been closer. Within minutes, my Eurostar was shushing into view.

All bright and light, interior brown upholstery and brushed aluminum trim, I carefully chose one of the comfortable reclining seats in the back corner and grabbed a complementary English paper. I took a window. Yes, I was boxing myself in, but while the aisle seat offered quick exit out the door, it also afforded anyone coming from either direction a clear shot at seeing me. The business class car wasn't even half-full, so both shopping bags went into the seat beside me. Again, another barrier to my exit, but also a second visual stop before anyone looked at me. There was ample space above, but closing off access to the connecting seat not only meant I could keep an arm looped through the bag handles at all times, but dissuaded casual camaraderie from other passengers.

Doors closed, and the speaker came on with instructions and information relayed in a lovely Parisian accent. Even the English words sounded beautiful. I pulled out lip balm and swabbed my lips to fight the drying air in the car. Right on time, the train eased out of St. Pancras and headed for Paris. Above ground now, we made out way past a couple of public estate complexes, and through miles of train cars waiting their turn for departure. Streetlights lit the area, but encroaching trees masked neighborhoods, giving most houses the allusion of privacy.