Storm Season (16 page)

She gave a little moan. “Spies, Taylor, we’re all spies. Everyone working at cross-purposes. It’s why I don’t work with Thierry at Macallan, I have a clearer head than he when it comes to the simple fact that for centuries, we’ve been working against each other. It’s all well and good to hope for cooperation, but ultimately, someone will want to get payback for some perceived grievance, and it all collapses.”

“So who here had a vendetta against Thierry?”

“I don’t know.”

“Cherry, think. If you truly believe the killer is a part of the conference, think!”

Cherry went quiet, then, in a small voice, said, “There’s one other person unaccounted for. Not from the conference, from our lives. I’ve known her for years. She is a friend, of sorts. Used to be a protégé of Thierry’s before she went out on her own. We’ve worked in some pretty hairy places together. She went off grid a year ago, just when Thierry formed The Macallan Group. He wanted to recruit her, came looking, but I hadn’t heard from her in several months. We put out some feelers, to see if anyone knew where she was. She was for hire, you see, a black market baby, very hush-hush.”

Taylor knew what
for hire
meant. “She’s an assassin.”

Cherry leapt from the bed at the word, shaking her head. “I was silly to bring it up. There’s no way she could be involved in this. She fights against evil. That’s what drives her.”

“I take it the feelers came up empty?”

“Yes. Nothing. She's gone gray.”

“Gray?”

“Blending in. Hiding in plain sight. She’s most likely setting up for a major job.”

Taylor’s voice rose. “A major job? Come on Cherry, talk to me. What kind of major job would she have to disappear for a year to prepare for?”

Cherry just shook her head. “I don’t know. She’s been… reckless, lately. Taking on jobs that are out of character.”

A sense of foreboding crept into Taylor’s stomach. International assassins on the loose made her very uncomfortable, she’d come face to face with one herself a year earlier and hadn’t enjoyed it a lick. A different tact was necessary; she could see Cherry was shutting down.

“Tell me this. Something about this set-up makes you think of this woman. What is it?”

Cherry pursed her lips. “Thierry alluded once, only once, there was history between them. She still worked for DGSE then, was still being groomed to move up the ladder. Something set her off and she went freelance, and I’ve never known what it was. But Thierry did. He must have. That’s what he meant when he told me she’d become a black widow.”

Ah. Interesting. “She’d get physically close to her prey, then kill them.”

“Exactly. And she’s one of the best at what she does. She’s a legend, Taylor.”

A legendary assassin. A wicked snow storm. No power. One dead, one missing. This just got better and better.

“I take it the scene in Stamper’s room looks familiar?”

“Very.”

Taylor took the flashlight, went to the door, unlocked the bolt. Opened it into the dark hallway, then shined the light back into the room. There was no more time to lose.

“I need a name, Cherry.”

The harsh light caught Cherry’s face. She looked frightened and old, defeated, a pale specter in the darkness. She sat back down on the bed as if exhausted.

“She goes by many names, Taylor. But I believe her given name is Angelie Delacroix.”

“That’s a start. Let’s go. We need to—”

Cherry shook her head, clearly the truth of the matter was finally sinking in. “No, Lieutenant, we have a bigger problem.”

“Worse than one dead and one missing? Seriously?”

“Angelie’s uncle is active MI-6. And he’s downstairs.”

I SIT DOWN ON THE floor near Florian. “Oncle Pierre told me the whole story last year. You were on the scene. You were the one who saved me, who took me to the hospital. But you smashed me on the head first so I wouldn’t recognize you. Why did you kill my father, Thierry? My family? Why would you kill them and save me?
Pourquoi? Pourquoi?
”

I am shouting, losing control. I resist the urge to hit him again.

“Angelie. Angelie, it wasn’t me. You have the story wrong.”

I am beginning to believe Thierry Florian may be telling the truth. He is a proud man, one I’ve watched interrogate a hundred men. He is brave. And as he sits here bleeding, exposed, I must believe I know him well enough to recognize when he is telling the truth.

“Then what is the story, Thierry?”

“Don’t make me tell you. Please.”

This last word is spoken as softly as a lover’s kiss. Finally, after hours of pain and fury, the great man is begging.

I tuck the muzzle of my Sig Sauer against his chin, and I raise his head so he is forced to meet my eyes.

“Tell me and I will end your suffering.”

He leans into the gun, his voice the harshest I’ve ever heard. “Kill me, and you will never get justice.”

I stand and whirl away. Florian breathes out a sigh.

“You will not stop, will you? Ah, Angelie. I trained you well.”

I run back to him, wrench his head back. Spit the words. “The truth, now. I am sick of playing this game.”

“Pierre,” he says, speaking out loud a terrible reality I’ve never fathomed. “It was Pierre. Your uncle killed your father.”

Nausea overwhelms me. I drop my hand. “You’re lying.”

Florian shakes his head. He is disheveled, bloody, has absolutely nothing left to lose.

“I never lied to you, Angelie. I’ve protected you, all along. I did not want you to suffer the pain of this knowledge. Indeed, I’ve protected you from it since you were a child. Yes, it was I who rescued you. I got wind of your uncle’s plan, the day before the attack, though at the time I did not know he was behind it. I was in Germany, I drove all night to reach you, to take you all to safety.

“Your father ignored our attempts to get him into the safe house in Annecy. He was fleeing back to Paris on Pierre’s orders. He believed Pierre was trying to help. He listened to him, and drove directly into the trap.”

I stagger against the wall, tripping on something in the darkness. A pain I have not felt in twenty-five years rises in me, tears through my body, my brain, leaving me breathless.

“This can not be the truth.”

“It is the truth. I arrived on the scene moments after the shooting. Gregoire Campion was riding his bicycle down from the safe house, he met me on the westbound street. We were too late to save them, Angelie, too late by five minutes. But you were still alive, clinging to your mother’s skirts, covered in your parents’ blood. I couldn’t leave you there, and I couldn’t let you see our faces. I did the only thing I could, which was rescue you and get you to a hospital. And I spent the next twenty years trying to determine what happened that day.”   

I try to digest this information.

“Why did you not tell me the moment you determined Pierre was behind the execution?”

“Ah. Angelie. And cause you that much more pain? Your uncle raised you, taught you well. He knew where your heart lay, knew you would try to avenge your parents some day. He’s the reason you were hired into the DGSE. Gregoire Campion was worried about you from the first because he suspected Pierre’s involvement, kept an eye on you, eased your path in the service. And you killed him. The man who watched over you, dead by your hand. Angelie, you disgrace yourself.” 

Campion, on the side of the angels?  

I harden myself against Florian’s words. “Pierre told me Campion was the one who let my parents’ path slip, that he told the Iraqis where my father was going to be that day.”

“That was Pierre,
mon cherie
. Pierre was receiving money, so much money, that he was willing to sacrifice his brother and his family. He has lied to you, Angelie, about many things. I am not a double agent. And I did not kill your father.”

There is great finality to his words. I know he is telling the truth.

I slide down the wall, the pistol dangling between my legs.

Mon dieu
. What have I done?

TAYLOR HUSTLED DOWN THE four flights of stairs, Cherry on her heels. The minute they reached the bottom floor, Taylor asked, “What does he look like?” 

“Mid sixties, silver hair, six foot or so. He was wearing a blue suit last night, no tie, but I don’t remember what he was wearing this morning. It was dark and I was too concerned for Thierry and Ellis.”

They burst into the lobby, raced to the room where everyone was staged. The room was still shrouded in darkness, and there was no more time to waste.

“Stay here. I’ll find him.”

“But you don’t know what he looks like.”

Taylor flashed the light on the ceiling a few times, creating a strobe effect that caught people’s attention.

“Pierre Matthews. Are you in here?” she called.

Murmurs from the crowd, then one man stood, Taylor could see the outline of his bulk against the window.

“I’m here. Whatever is the matter?”

Taylor crossed the room, weaving between people, and took him by the arm. “Come with me, please, sir. There’s a problem, we need your help.”

The lobby was filled with natural light, the darkness finally easing in the early morning sun. The snow, she noticed, had stopped. Taylor turned off the flashlight, tucked it into her back pocket.

“What is this about?” Matthews asked.

“Sir, I’m Lieutenant Taylor Jackson, and you know Cherry Gregg. We have reason to believe you may be in danger. Would you please come with us?”

 Matthews was nonplussed, but nodded. Taylor took the lead, Cherry flanked. They got him across into the bar, and Taylor got him into a corner where she felt he would be safest.

“You two have been scurrying in and out all night. What’s happened? Where are Thierry and Ellis?”

Cherry spoke plainly. “Ellis is dead, and Thierry is missing.”

“Bloody hell. Are you sure?”

“Do you know a woman named Angelie Delacroix?” Taylor asked.

Matthews sucked in a breath, and Taylor raised an eyebrow. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

She saw him debating with the answer. Finally, he replied, “She’s my niece. Why are you asking about her? Is she all right?”

Cherry grabbed the man’s forearm. “Pierre, she killed Ellis. She’s taken Thierry.”

Pierre froze. “Angelie is here? Are you sure?”

“Yes. She knows.”

Taylor gave Cherry a sharp look. “She knows what?”

Cherry and Pierre were locked in a staring contest, no words needed. Taylor recognized there was a bigger issue, something major they were keeping from her.

“Tell me right now what’s happening, or I’m out. I’ll go warm my hands by the fire and let Fred shoot me dirty looks.”

Cherry nodded to Pierre. “You tell her.”

“Ah, bugger me.” He rubbed his hands over his face, the whiskers on his chin rasping loudly against his palm. “Angelie went rogue, abut two years ago. She didn’t like the politics within the DGSE anymore, didn’t want to play by the rules. We were all working together at the time, on the Allied project. The greater good. CIA, MI-6, DGSE, Freedom Forum, Futures Working Group – hell, even Pakistan's ISI was along for the ride. In the middle of the fuck-up in Benghazi, she got a bug up her bum about some old case, took off for parts unknown. All we’ve heard from her since has been at the end of a gun – she’s left a trail of bodies all over Europe, the last one found just two days ago, in London.”

“Gone rogue?” Taylor couldn’t help the skepticism that slipped into her tone.

“That’s right. You must understand, Lieutenant, Angelie is marked by tragedy. Her parents were killed, in an ambush, outside Annecy, France, twenty-five years ago. She was the only survivor, and she spent her whole life searching for the killers.”

Taylor heard the past tense. “
Spent
her whole life? She’s found her parents’ murderers?”

He cut his eyes at Cherry, who nodded imperceptibly. “She found him at last. Gregoire Campion, her latest victim, the body from two days ago. She found a letter with the details. He sold out her parents, my own brother, and for what? Money? Security? Who can know the true heart of a man like that, Lieutenant? I am sure his death assuaged many of Angelie’s troubles.”

Taylor processed that for a moment. “If she found the man who did it, then why would she come here and kill Ellis Stamper? Why kidnap Thierry Florian?”

“Stamper was most likely collateral damage. Florian worked with Campion back then. He was the DGSE equivalent of a station chief in Geneva, Switzerland, just north of Annecy. She must think he was a part of the plot.”

“Was he?” Taylor asked, trying to reconcile this information against her brief meeting with Florian and Cherry’s praise-filled backgrounder. He didn’t seem capable of that level of treachery. Taylor prided herself on being able to read people; she hadn’t caught a whiff of evil from Florian.

“I don’t know. He denied it, said he was there trying to protect them, but I never got the whole story. My brother’s death was a terrible time for us all. I took Angelie in, raised her as my own daughter. She had a massive block on what happened that day, after the head injury, it was all gone. She took a hard blow, probably pistol-whipped. It was a miracle that she survived. Florian always had his eyes on her, from the very beginning. You know what they say, keep your friends close, but keep your enemies closer.”

Taylor didn’t like Pierre Matthews. He was slick, the answers were too pat, too prepared, and something in her gut told her he was lying. Granted, a situation like this, about family, so personal, there was no reason to tell her the whole truth. But he was lying, she’d bet her life on it. About what, she didn’t know, and that made him very dangerous to her in this situation. And she realized Cherry knew more than she was letting on, too

“Are you armed, Pierre?”

“My weapon is in my room. Why?”

Thank God for small favors.

“Well, your friend, or your enemy, is missing, and Cherry believes it’s likely your niece is prowling this hotel with her own loaded weapon. We need to figure out where Thierry Florian is, and take your niece into custody while we assess what happened last night.”