The Gilded Seal (35 page)

laughed.

Tom set off in the direction he had indicated, trying to re-

main inconspicuous as he negotiated his way through the

bustling corridors, although in truth everyone seemed far too

distracted to notice him. Interview Room 2 was at the far end

of the building, next to a fi re exit.

t h e g i l d e d s e a l

2 5 7

The technician working the video and recording equip-

ment jumped up as Tom announced himself, stubbing out his

cigarette.

“Jean- Pierre Dumas,” Tom flashed his badge but kept to-

ward the back of the darkened room, the only light coming

from a small lamp angled over the main control panel. “Can

she see us in here?” He nodded toward Jennifer, who was sit-

ting at a small table on the other side of a glass wall, her head

resting in her hands.

“Not while it’s switched on.” The technician grinned.

“Electrochromic glass. The current makes it darken.”

“And she can’t hear me either, right?” He removed his

jacket and placed the files down on the desk in front of him.

“Not unless you turn the mike on here first.” He pointed at

a switch, a puzzled frown creasing his face. “It’s a standard

set- up. Where did you say you were from again?”

“I didn’t,” Tom said firmly, picking up a half-empty bottle

of mineral water and swinging it against the side of the man’s

head, the glass echoing with a hollow clunk as it connected

with his skull. He fell back in his seat, out cold.

Wheeling him out of the way, Tom turned the microphone

on, hesitated, and then spoke.

C H A P T E R F I F T Y- E I G H T

23rd April— 1:43 p.m.

Jennifer lifted her head, her eyes incredulously searching

the room before settling accusingly on the mirrored panel

set into the wall.

“Tom?”

“Yes.”

“How did you get in here?”

“What are you doing here?”

“What the hell does it look like I’m doing here?” she shot

back angrily, her surprise evaporating. “They think I was in

on it with you.”

A pause.

“I’m sorry. I never thought that they would . . .”

“Save it,” she cut him off, and stepped toward the glass,

“the only person you thought about was yourself. You used

me, Tom. You used me to make them move the painting.”

“They didn’t believe me,” Tom’s voice echoed back. “I had

no choice.”

“Except now I’m the one stuck in here being asked the

same dumb- assed questions again and again.”

“What about the Bureau? Why haven’t they got you out?”

“Good question.” She gave a sad laugh. “They’re saying I

acted wihout their agreement and that it’s not their problem.

t h e g i l d e d s e a l

2 5 9

And the French are kicking up too much of a shitstorm for

the Embassy to get involved beyond the standard handhold-

ing.” Her anger was replaced by a sudden melancholy. “I’m

on my own.”

“No you’re not.”

“Why are you even here? You’ve got the painting. That’s

what you wanted, wasn’t it?”

“The cops caught Jean- Pierre. I was hoping to break him

out.”

“Dumas is in on this too?” she spluttered. She’d met Jean-

Pierre Dumas with Tom last time she’d been in Paris. It

hadn’t been a pleasant experience, Dumas having threatened

her with arrest for trespassing on a crime scene and then

more or less ordering her out of the country. She wasn’t sure,

therefore, if her outrage stemmed from this tainted memory

or her shock at a French government agent having crossed

over to Tom’s side.

The glass suddenly went clear. Tom was standing directly

in front of her, no more than a foot away.

“I could get you out instead.”

“Oh, that’s a great idea,” she snorted, stepping back. “Let’s

go on the run together. That should help clear things up.”

“We don’t have much time,” he urged her. “You want to

take your chances with the French legal system, fine. Or you

can leave here now and help me figure out what the hell is

going on and how to put it right.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Milo’s still got Eva. I tried to make an exchange with a

forged version of the
Mona Lisa
today but the police must

have been following him. That’s how they caught J-P.”

“So you’ve still got the one you took from the convoy?”

she asked with relief.

“Yeah. Except it’s a forgery too.”

“That’s impossible.” She snorted disbelievingly. “They

lifted it off the wall and took it straight down.”

“Henri ran some tests on it. He says—”

“Hold on,” she interrupted with an angry shake of her

head. “Besson is working with you too? Since when?”

“Right from the start.”

2 6 0 j a m e s

t w i n i n g

“Has anyone been straight with me since I got here?” she

fumed.

“He thinks that at some stage in the last couple of hundred

years, it’s been switched.” He quickly ran through Besson’s

findings concerning the discrepant X-rays and paint pigment.

“Unless I can prove what Milo’s up to, they’ll pin the whole

thing on me. Dumas will go down for it. You, too, from the

look of things.”

“It’s got nothing to do with me.” She sat down heavily in

the chair.

“Really? Then where did you get that Louvre accession

number?”

“That’s none of your business.”

“It had something to do with your case, right?”

“I can’t tell you,” she insisted.

“The FBI have thrown you to the wolves, Jen. You owe

them nothing. Where did you get that number?”

She stared at him blankly.

“They could send somebody down any moment now to

continue the questioning,” he reminded her. “Every second

counts.”

She shrugged and then gave a heavy sigh. He was right.

Besides, what possible difference could it make anymore?

She quickly told him about Razi and Hammon and the piece

of paper they’d found on his fax.

“How was it signed?”

“It wasn’t. It just had an M with a circle . . .” She tailed off,

the significance of that letter only now dawning on her.

“Milo,” Tom confirmed what she had just guessed. “Don’t

you see? We’ve been working the same case from different

angles. Hammon must have been acting for one of Milo’s

buyers.”

“Then why did he kill him?” she asked.

“Once you’re free we can figure that out together. But we

need to leave now.”

“The FBI will—”

“The FBI don’t give a shit about anyone other than them-

selves,” he cut her off impatiently. “There’s no one to help

you now apart from me.”

t h e g i l d e d s e a l

2 6 1

“But if I run now, they’ll think we were working to-

gether.”

“They think that already,” he retorted.

“Yeah, but if I stay put, there’s a good chance this will

work itself out,” she said firmly, wondering if she was trying

to convince him, or herself.

“A good chance? Are you really willing to roll the dice

with the next twenty years of your life?”

“That’s not what I—”

“Look, I listened to you once Jen,” Tom pleaded. “I lis-

tened to you, and I was right to do so. Now you need to do the

same for me before someone comes and it’s too late.”

“That was totally different,” she shot back, even though

she could sense her re sistance fl agging.

“Why? Because then I was the thief and now you’re the

one in a cell? We’re both looking for the same answers. Mi-

lo’s the key to everything. If we stop him, we’ll both be in the

clear.”

She hesitated, knowing he was right and that it came down

to a simple choice: Wait here and trust the system, or get out-

side and force the issue. In the end, the decision was easier

than she might have expected. She’d never been the trusting

type.

“Even if I say yes, how are you planning to get me out of

here?”

Tom grinned with relief.

“Straight out the front door.”

He disappeared from the other side of the glass. A few mo-

ments later, the cell door buzzed open.

“Put these on.” He tossed her a pair of handcuffs and

slipped his baseball cap back on.

“You must be kidding.”

“You got a better idea?”

She shook her head sullenly and held her arms out in front

of her with a sigh. An FBI agent being cuffed by a thief. It

wasn’t exactly how she’d seen this case playing out when

she’d first taken it on.

“This place is crawling with people from about fi ve differ-

ent agencies. No one knows anyone anymore,” Tom explained

2 6 2 j a m e s

t w i n i n g

as he snapped them shut. “We can use that. Just keep your

head down. Everyone will assume you’re being moved to a

different cell or interview room.” He cracked the door open

an inch and peered into the corridor. “Okay. Let’s go.”

He led her back toward the entrance. As he had predicted,

no one gave them a second glance. Reaching the security

barrier, he signed Jennifer out and then pushed her roughly

ahead of him through the revolving gate.

“Does Ferrat know you’re transferring her?” The same of-

ficer that Tom had questioned earlier stepped into their path

just as they were about to exit on to the street.

“What do you think?” Tom shot back irritably.

“Just checking.” The man held his hands up apologetically

and stepped aside.

Tom steered Jennifer toward where Archie was waiting for

them, the engine running.

“Wait a minute . . .” The offi cer had followed them out on

to the street. “Don’t I know you from somewhere?”

“Keep walking,” Tom whispered to Jennifer as he turned

to face him. “I don’t think so.”

“Yes . . .” A look of shocked realization spread across the

officer’s face. “You’re . . .”

Tom threw the radio at him before he had a chance to fi n-

ish his sentence, catching him on the side of his head and

sending him reeling to the fl oor.

“Run!” he shouted, shoving Jennifer toward the waiting

car as the officer staggered to his feet and raised the alarm.

“What the hell is she doing here?” Archie exclaimed an-

grily as they leaped inside. “Where’s J-P?”

“Can we do the explanations later?” Tom nodded toward

the pack of officers loping toward them.

“They’d better be good,” Archie insisted, putting the car

into gear and pulling away. They stalled with a sudden lurch.

“Archie!” Tom exclaimed as the officers reached them and

tried the doors.

“French piece of shit,” Archie fumed as he started the en-

gine again. “Clutch is shot to bloody pieces.”

The window nearest to Jennifer shattered as one of the

t h e g i l d e d s e a l

2 6 3

policemen swung his torch against it. Another man leaped on

to the hood and reached for his gun.

“Whenever you’re ready,” Tom shouted as he leaned across

to help Jennifer fight the man off.

With a roar, the car suddenly swung out and accelerated

away, sending the man on the hood spinning to the ground.

Meanwhile a well- aimed kick from Jennifer dislodged the

officer who had forced his upper body through the window.

The remaining men gave chase for about five hundred yards

before giving up.

“You’d better be right about this.” Jennifer glared at Tom.

“You’d better hope I can get those handcuffs off,” he

smiled.

C H A P T E R F I F T Y- N I N E

AVENUE DE L’OBSERVATOIRE, 14TH ARRONDISSEMENT,

PARIS

23rd April— 2:17 p.m.

How long have you known Besson?” Jennifer asked Tom

as he closed the gate behind them and pressed fi ve.

“Almost since I got started, really. He’s been clean for

years, but that didn’t stop him helping out here and there.”

“He’s a handy bloke to know,” Archie confi rmed, having

calmed down a bit now that Tom had explained exactly how it

was that he’d gone in for Dumas and come out with Jennifer.

Even so, Tom sensed that Archie was already taking a per-

verse pleasure in her tasting life on the other side of the law.

“He’s a convincing liar,” she retorted as the elevator shud-

dered and scraped its way up the shaft.

Tom wasn’t surprised by her resentful tone. No one liked

having the wool pulled over their eyes, least of all Jennifer,

who from what he’d seen, already suffered from a slight ten-

dency to think that everyone was out to get her.

“Don’t hold that against him,” he urged her. “He didn’t lie

to you about your case. Anything else he did or said was to

help me and Eva. It’s nothing personal.”

Besson greeted them warmly until he caught sight of Jen-

nifer and stopped in his tracks, peering out beyond her into

t h e g i l d e d s e a l

2 6 5

the corridor with a worried frown that pulled one half of his

face into a question mark.

“Where’s Jean- Pierre?”

“The police were on to us,” Archie explained. “Someone

must have followed Milo from the meet this morning. J-P got

pinched.”

“And her?” Besson asked as if she wasn’t there.

“Ask Tom.” Archie shrugged.