Sparkles (13 page)

“Monsieur Bonnet, I am Jan Phillips.”

Bonnet, who stood a full head taller than Jan, looked down at him and said, “I expected someone older.”

“Most people do,” Jan replied as he guided Bonnet into the living room. Jan stood silent as Claude took in the room.

“Monsieur Phillips, this must be one of the most beautiful rooms in all of France. The view alone makes it special.”

No stranger to money, and what it can buy, Claude Bonnet stared in obvious appreciation at the buff-colored walls that were set off with carved moldings of cream and gold. A Turkish rug in shimmering reds and blues lay across the floor. On this sat a low table made of tiger maple. A row of Louis XVI side chairs was lined up under the windows overlooking the Seine. The afternoon sunlight glinted off gold-stamped leather-bound books shelved in uneven ranks along the far wall. The slight aroma of fresh lavender, out of season this time of year, scented the air.

“It is lovely. However, I can’t take credit for it. This home was given to me as an inheritance. But monsieur, I didn’t ask you here to discuss décor.”

“When I received your note, you mentioned the father abbot of Saint Sebastian Monastery. That got my attention. Frankly, it’s why I’m here.”

Jan pulled one of the side chairs away from the wall. “Claude, may I call you Claude? Please, sit down.”

The banker sat. He waited for Jan to draw up a chair for himself.

“Jacques asked me to look into your son’s disappearance.”

“Wait! Jacques told me he would ask his contacts at the Vatican Curia to find Armande. What have you to do with this?”

“Claude,” Jan said, “first, the Vatican, as influential as it is, cannot do the work of Interpol. Nor should it. Second, Jacques told you he would
try
. He didn’t expressly say the Vatican. He turned to me because I have, shall we say, certain capabilities at my disposal…. You must brace yourself for bad news.”

“Tell me, then, do they have him? Is he alive?”

“I’m sorry. My man reports that Armande, your son, was killed at the hands of al-Qaida.”

Bonnet tried to suppress tears that welled up in his eyes. He shook his head in disbelief. “Perhaps your man made a mistake. That is possible, isn’t it?”

Jan looked into the man’s sad eyes. “My man is ex-Mossad. You know their reputation, Claude. They don’t make mistakes. If they are unsure, they say nothing. If they mislead, it’s for a good reason. I have no cause to doubt him. I wish I could say I did.”

Claude stood and began pacing the room.

Jan waited, lost in his own thoughts: thoughts of Colin, in the hands of Louis Carew and the murderous terrorist known only as Ben.
This could have been my son.

Bonnet stopped and said, “I haven’t wept since his mother died. That was many years ago. How did he die? I mean he wasn’t… they didn’t….”

Jan looked at the stricken man and lied. “No. His death was swift, and as merciful as any death is at the hands of murderers.”

“Where is he? I mean his body. I want—”

Jan interrupted. “We don’t know. He could be anywhere in those mountains… I’m so sorry.”

Bonnet sagged back into his chair and began to weep once again.

Jan waited for the man to calm down before speaking. “May I ask you some questions?”

“If I know the answers, yes.”

“There is some suspicion that Armande was working for
La
Sécurité Extérieure
—perhaps freelance.” Jan looked Claude in the eye. “Was your son with the French
Sécurité
? And if so, why was he in Kazakhstan looking for a Russian grave?”

“
La
Sécurité
? You, a stranger, are asking me if my son was a spy? What am I to say to that?”

“Monsieur, you asked for answers. I have given them to you as best I can and with the information I have. Now I would like some answers in return. So, was your son working for the
Sécurité
, or not?”

“I suppose it doesn’t matter now who knows about Armande. The answer, Monsieur Phillips, is yes. The trip to Kazakhstan was to visit the grave of his great-grandfather. It had nothing to do with anything else.”

“Do you know what he expected to find in Iran?”

“So, you know about the Iran mission?” Bonnet shrugged as if to throw off his pain. His eyes hardened into something akin to rage. “I begged him to leave the spying to the professionals…. Do you know what he did? He laughed. He said there was more danger crossing a Paris street than in the mountains in Iran—foolish, foolish boy.”

Jan nodded a knowing
yes
.

Claude shook his head. “But to answer your question as to what he was looking for in Iran, I have to say that there have been large influxes of diamonds through Europe. Huge sums of money are moving through the banks, mine included, presumably from diamond sales. No one could pin down how the stones were getting into Europe, or where, or why they were sold. Armande decided to go to the most likely source that would benefit from so much cash. He figured al-Qaida in the East was the logical place to look.”

Jan’s mind whirled with one word—
Diamonds!

Jan faced the obvious conclusion that the gem thefts in Philadelphia and the influx of stones into the open market could not be coincidental.

“How did you come to know about Armande’s spy work?” Jan asked as calmly as he could.

“Some people from the
Sécurité
came to see me. It appeared that some of the money from diamond sales came through my bank. They asked me lots of questions about gemstones. Of course, I couldn’t tell them anything. I was worried about it. I called Armande and told him about the police inquiries. That’s when Armande told me he sometimes worked for
La
Sécurité
. I was dumbfounded. I didn’t know he was with them. I had no idea that we, the bank I mean, were laundering money… and yet. You understand! I had to know! Now Armande is gone. I have another son, a stepson actually. My wife’s first husband died. I adopted the boy. I haven’t seen him in years. I’m sorry, I’m not making much sense, am I?”

Jan rose and put his hand on Claude’s shoulder. “This isn’t over, but I warn you not to tell anyone what you know. Your life may very well depend on discretion.”

Bonnet looked up at Jan. The arrogant man who had arrived a mere hour before was now humbled and broken. He stood, retrieved his hat from the hall table, and then turned toward Jan.

“Will you do me one last service?” Bonnet said.

“If I’m able. What do you want?”

“Please, I beg of you, if you discover where he is, will you tell me?”

Jan’s mind instantly reeled back to the Iceland glacier known as Mürderkill and his own son caught in the very kind of net that had snared Bonnet’s son. The difference was Colin Phillips was a naïve teen, whereas Armande Bonnet was a spy in a foreign land. Yet the pain of father to father transcended these differences. Jan slowly nodded. “Of course,” Jan replied, knowing that the chances were slim that Armande Bonnet’s grave would ever be found.

Philadelphia

Rittenhouse Square

“THIS IS
from Spencer and Hillier. They’ve withdrawn their suit against that robbed courier,” Marsha said as she handed the letter to Jan. “Why did they send it here?”

Jan gave the note a quick glance before handing it back. “I sent Daniel to represent the defendant. I guess Jack Spencer thought better of a costly court battle. File it in my personal folder.”

“Will do.”

“Anything else?”

Marsha ran a finger down her daily log. “You’ve got a meeting here with a Mr. Stephen Roman. That’s at 10:00 a.m. Then you’re free for the afternoon.”

The thought of being alone with Stephen brought a latent tingle to Jan’s loins.

“Thanks, Marsha. That’s all for now.”

Once Marsha had left, Jan let his mind wander into fantasyland—a realm he rarely visited. He pictured himself with Stephen. Jan, pale-skinned and blond, and Stephen, olive-skinned with auburn hair, stood naked, their lips wet with kisses, their cocks running with precum. Jan wondered if Stephen Romanov could be someone he could love. Certainly he was handsome, with smooth skin, piercing dark eyes, and hair straight out of a Botticelli painting. But the man, what about the man? Perhaps today would give Jan an answer.

Jan rubbed his growing erection and moaned softly. He opened his eyes. On his desk, Michael’s photograph sat in reproach. “What are you looking at?” Jan mocked gently. He got up and moved to the sofa. He checked his watch. Five more minutes….

“WHAT A
view!” Stephen said, as he and Jan stood looking out over Rittenhouse Square. “This is one of Philly’s oldest squares, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Jan said. “The story is, Thomas Jefferson and George Washington stood right where we are now—kind of humbling, isn’t it?”

“American tradition isn’t in my background. I’m French, actually, but I do understand what you mean.”

“Really? I don’t detect an accent.”

“I was sent to Canada when I was very young. I return to Europe when there is a family gathering.”

A silver disk lying on a side table caught Stephen’s eye. Etched in the shiny metal was the Templar symbol of two knights riding one horse surrounded by the motto:
Non Nobis Domine

Non Nobis

Sed Nomine Tuo Da Gloriam.
Stephen knew the motto well and quickly translated it in his head.
Not to us oh Lord

Not to us

But to Thy name give glory.
Stephen’s mind reeled.
My God, he’s a Templar!

JAN WENT
to a mahogany sideboard and poured a cup of coffee from a brass samovar. “Coffee?” he said, offering the cup to Stephen.

“Hmm? Oh, no thanks. I’m trying to cut down on caffeine.”

Returning to Stephen, Jan stood for a moment, simply enjoying being so close to the man.

“Stephen,” Jan said, “Larry Sinclair told me something about your name, and this diamond that was stolen. Maybe I can help.”

“Larry did all but threaten me if I didn’t come here. But I’m not sure you can do anything about the diamond. It’s gone. As for my name, it’s Romanov. My father was Prince Demetri Romanov. My mother was Princess Josephine of Denmark. Father was killed in a skiing accident when I was just three. A minor princess with a small child wasn’t very welcome in the cash-strapped Danish court. They were kind to us, of course, but we could hardly stay forever… and so mother looked around for a rich husband—at least that is what I was told.”

“It couldn’t have been easy for her,” Jan said, hoping to sound understanding.

Stephen sighed. “I suppose so…. In the end she met a rich man, and he adopted me. It was the price for having a trophy wife. The bargain also included him using his influence in getting some of the Romanov fortune for me. It turned out there was quite a lot. I was five when my mother died in childbirth. My half brother stayed in France, while I was packed off to Canada. That’s why I don’t have much of a French accent. And that, in a nutshell, is the story of my life.”

“Why did you come to Philadelphia?” Jan asked.

Stephen cocked his head and narrowed his eyes. “Jan, you’re asking a lot of questions. I think I have a right to know why.”

“Fair enough, after all you haven’t known me all that long. The truth is I like you, and I’d like to help you… and I confess you’ve been on my mind ever since we first met.”

“I’ve been thinking about you too. I guess I shouldn’t say that. All the books say we shouldn’t admit it.”

“Baloney,” Jan said. “I believe in saying what’s on my mind, unless it’s unkind.”

Stephen smiled. “I’m glad. I mean I’m glad I’ve been on your mind. But you want to ask me more questions… so shoot.”

Jan thought a moment. “One more question, then, your friend’s kidnappers, do you have any idea just who you were dealing with? By that I mean did they use names? Had you ever heard of them before they kidnapped your partner? He must be more than a boyfriend, for you to go to such lengths to rescue him.”

“Boyfriend! Armande isn’t my boyfriend. He’s my half brother.”

Jan sat down on the sofa and slowly set his coffee on a side table. It was a move so he could gather his thoughts.
Jesu!
He can’t mean Armande Bonnet. So that’s what Joachim meant by a dead Romanov!

“Stephen, I’m confused. Larry said he was your boyfriend. You’re saying he got it wrong.”

Stephen sat next to Jan and sighed. “He jumped to that conclusion, when he heard what I’d done—buying the Vice-Regal Diamond so it could be cut up and given away—and rather than fend off his interest in me, I let him believe that. Don’t get me wrong. I like Larry. I like him a lot. He’s a good man underneath all that flash and sarcasm—but as a boyfriend?” Stephen shook his head. “No. The truth is, I don’t have a boyfriend. I never have. As for the diamond, it’s gone—God knows where.”

Jan looked at Stephen. Being close and alone stirred him once again. It had been years since he held someone in his arms or felt the spasms of sex wash over him.
This is not the time. How do I tell him it was all for nothing?

“Larry said you might be able to help me. What did he mean?” Stephen said.

“Stephen, you have to prepare yourself for a shock….”

Bad News; Bitter Drink

“I’LL HAVE
another,” Stephen said, sliding the empty glass toward the bartender at the members-only Wren Club. Behind him a jazz combo played a passable rendition of “For Once in My Life.”

“Sir, I think you should go easy on—”

Stephen glared at the man behind the bar. “I’ll decide when I’ve had enough. Refill,
please
,” he drawled, mocking the courtesy of the word. Once the sidecar—his fourth so far—arrived, he stared at the amber liquid without tasting it.

Armande, why did you have to be so fucking noble? What did you accomplish, except to break every heart that loved you? And for what? I don’t know. No one can tell me. Even Jan, kind, supportive Jan, beautiful Jan, couldn’t, or wouldn’t say for sure.
With the thought of Jan came an unfamiliar stirring in Stephen. He ran his hand through his hair in a failed attempt to distract his mind from thinking about Jan. Stephen’s heart, unused to anything approaching love for another man, was gradually coming alive, warming to the very one who brought the promise of a new happiness, and crushing sadness.