H.J. Gaudreau - Betrayal in the Louvre (14 page)

CHAPTER 25

I

At 7:48 P.M. Air Canada flight 5946 departed Montreal for Paris, again via Chicago.  Jim and Eve sat in first class, enjoyed the food, watched the movie, drank the free wine and slept in comfortable seats.  The next morning they quickly cleared customs.  Then, found the bus to the car rental lots and were on their way to the rental garage.

After a short wait in line they reached the clerk.  There they showed their international drivers licenses and passports and were soon presented with a set of keys and a Paris map.  A short exploration of the parking lot, and they soon found slot number 42 and their economy class Citroën.  Jim stopped short.  “Kinda small isn’t it?” he said glancing at Eve. 

“Hon, you know as well as I do, small cars are better in Europe.  Now, quit complaining and take me to a hotel room in Paris!”  Eve looked at him and grinned.

Twenty minutes later they were on their way to the hotel Britannique, a small boutique hotel with rooms reserved for them by Monsieur Marcil’s assistant.  They spent the rest of that day resting and touring Paris.  They toured the Cathedrale Notre Dame de Paris and walked the West Bank.  It was truly a magical day, topped only by a wonderful dinner at Le Voltaire.

“So what’s the plan Mr. Bond?” asked Eve as she pushed a mushroom to the side of her plate.

“For this evening or tomorrow?” Jim asked with a grin. 

“I know the plan for this evening,” she said with a mischievous smile.  “I’m curious about tomorrow.” 

“We meet with Marcil at what?  Two O’clock?” he said.  “I think we have to have him validate the Patent and the container.  He needs to do that, and frankly, I don’t know the law on this.  Is it theirs?  Is it ours?  Can he just keep it?  I think we need to see what he says.”  Jim didn’t like the idea of the Louvre just taking what his great grandfather had found.  It didn’t seem fair.  But then again, maybe it did belong to the people of France.  “We probably should have hired a lawyer or something,” Jim sighed.  His fear of having the Louvre simply take the Patent and the tube by claiming it was theirs in the first place had been bubbling up about once an hour for the past week.

“Well, at least we get a free trip to Paris,” Eve said with a satisfied smile. 

“In any case, I think we check out of our hotel tomorrow morning.  After we leave Marcil I think we should hit the road for Chehery.  I’d like to start looking for the barn as soon as possible.”

Eve finished the last bite of her Coquilles St. Jacques a` la Parisienne.  “Works for me,” she said with a smile.  “Waiter, check please.”

II

They arrived at the Louvre thirty minutes early for their meeting with the deputy director of the Art Acquisition Department.  “The title must mean something to these folks,” said Jim.  “Did you see how everyone jumped to it when I mentioned the guy’s name?” 

“I sure did.  You’d think we were going to see the Chief of Staff or something,” Eve whispered.  Jim smiled.  She’s always been a perfect military spouse.

A few moments later a portly man in a badly fitting suit approached them.  “Madame and Monsieur Creen-shaw?” he said.  They winced at the pronunciation, and answered in the affirmative.  “Would you follow me to the Deputy Director’s office please?”  He said in fine English.

After several minutes of walking and one long staircase, upon which Jim thought their guide was going to breathe his last, the trio finally found a humble door with only the number ‘102’ above it.  The round man knocked and they entered an outer office.  A pretty young secretary with a radiant smile greeted them.  She said something in French to their guide, who promptly left, and then offered seats, coffee, juice or water to Jim and Eve.  Her visitor comfort duties taken care of she then passed through an interior door to the inner office of the deputy director. 

She returned seconds later, a bit flushed it seemed, and they were immediately shown into the inner office.  For only being a deputy director, Paul Marcil had a grand office.  Jim had seen the inside of a good number of high-ranking people’s offices during his tours at the Pentagon and various headquarters, but this one was huge.  From the window behind his desk the top of I. M. Pei’s Pyramid could be seen.  The desk looked large enough for a game of ping-pong.  Opposite the desk was a large fireplace.  In front of that sat two large couches, facing each other as if ready to duel.  A beautiful, Louis XVI table stood between and to one side, it seemed to serve as referee.  Marcil motioned for them to sit and took his place opposite them.   

He began by offering them chocolates and a cup of coffee or tea.  He then described the Louvre’s many museums and displays.  His conversation was practiced and polished.  A trait which did nothing to ease Jim’s wariness.  The man knew how to schmooze.  He promised them a private tour of the displays and the more private collections.  Eventually, he got around to the business he had with them. 

“Madame and Monsieur Creen-shaw,” he said, completely missing Jim’s involuntary wince. 

“The Royal Patent and its container are without question an important part of French history.”  Marcil was warming to his speech.

“These items are extremely rare and represent the last legitimate heir to the throne of France.  The artistic skill devoted to the fabrication of a Royal Patent is some of the finest of any age.  Sadly, most of these art pieces were destroyed in the Revolution.”

At this point Marcil’s tone changed from conversational to businesslike.  “We wish to display them in their legitimate place in the museum.  I understand your claim to these pieces.  And, in an attempt to avoid a long, costly and embarrassing legal battle which I’m assuring you, would not end in your favor, I wish to purchase them from you on behalf of the Louvre.”

He cleared his throat and sat straighter on the couch.  “We are prepared to offer five million dollars US for the container and the Patent.  I am certain they would be purchased for much higher should they ever reach an auction.  But, given our legitimate legal claims to these items I am also certain it would be many years before they did, if ever.” 

Jim and Eve glanced at each other.  Eve suppressed a grin.  “Well, sir…” Jim began.  “I would, um, well; I think we’ll have to discuss this.”

“Of course, Monsieur Creen-shaw, of course.  Now tell me, Monsieur Creen-shaw, your stay here in Paris is for how long, please?”

“We’re not staying in Paris our entire trip,” Jim replied. 

“Oh, not staying in Paris?”  He actually appeared physically injured. 

“But sir, Paris is the most beautiful city in the world.  We have the world’s most important art.  The food in Paris is without equal and our wine – ahhhhhh, our wine is…well, there is none better.  Naturally, you would see some shows, no?  And the Tower Eiffel, she is
incroyable
.”  Marcil was playing his part perfectly.  He had always been proud of his ability to elicit information without the object of his questions realizing they were, in fact, being questioned. 

“I intend to visit some World War One battle sites,” said Jim.  “My great grandfather’s war so to speak.” 

“Oh, well that is perfectly understandable.  It is regrettable that you will not spend time in our beautiful city….was your great grandfather in the Battle of the Somme?”  Marcil asked innocently.

“No, no, that was of course, predominately English, and of course, nearly two years before the United States was in the war,”  Jim corrected.  “No, he was in the Argonne area.”

Marcil looked a bit embarrassed. “Oh yes, how foolish of me to forget my schoolboy history.  What part of the Argonne did your grandfather, no…your GREAT grandfather fight in? 

“Oh, he fought the entire way up to Germany.  He was with the 32nd Infantry Division known as the Red Arrow Division.  He was with them from the beginning, through the liberation of Sedan and marched into Germany itself.”  Jim proudly recounted.

“Ah, well, we owe your country a debt of gratitude I am sure,” Marcil politely offered.  “Now, to return to our business at hand.  Five million dollars is, of course, a great deal of money.  Before I can authorize the transfer of such sums, as I am sure you can understand, we will have to authenticate these items.  May I ask when you intend to leave France?” 

“We’re only here for a week,” Eve replied.

“A week?  Oh Madame, that is much too short a time.  There is, how do… there is too much to see, no?  You should extend your stay certainly.” 

“I’m sorry.  We would love to, but I have a seminar to attend in one week,” Eve politely insisted. 

“Ah…
C’est dommage
.  I am of course sure you will understand we will need to complete our studies of the Patent and its container.  I will need you to give them to me so that our laboratories may begin work immediately.  I am sure you would like to have your money before you leave, no?” Marcil said rather more firmly than Eve thought appropriate. 

III

Having shown the Americans out of his office Marcil locked the door and contemplated the tube lying on his desk blotter.  He thought it was beautiful. It was a light coffee brown with gold caps at each end.  Crenshaw had shown him how to open one end.  Its secret catch was a remarkable piece of machinery.  The cap itself had delicate scrollwork engraved completely round.  But, the true treasure was the piece of leather laid out next to the container.  A Royal Patent, its colours still bright, its engraved leather surface as clean and clear as the day it had been painted.  It was remarkable. 

He carefully rolled the Patent into a scroll and placed it back inside the tube.  Then, he removed a velvet bag from a credenza drawer and placed the tube inside.  Having finished the housekeeping he rolled his chair back, slid the chair mat to one side and bent to a floor safe.  He dialed the combination and placed the tube inside. 

Marcil sat back in his chair.  He glanced out the window, noticed the sky deepening in colour and thought about his time at University and art studies.  After a moment, his worries and fears dealt with, he was ready.  He made the phone call.  On the first ring a voice answered, “Oui?” and Marcil gave the Council’s representative an update on the Americans’ visit.  When Marcil came to the end and paused the voice at the other end asked, “
C’est fini
?”  Marcil winced, answered yes, and the line went dead.  A moment later he made another call, this time the roles were reversed and he was the superior. 

CHAPTER 26

Claude “Le Couteau” Recheau snapped open his cell phone.  He hated the damn thing.  It was shrill, kept him on a leash, and it’s buttons were a pain in the ass to use.  It was a necessary evil however because this one cell phone was his contact with his most prolific employer and the attendant future paydays.

“Oui,” “The Knife” answered. 

Recheau did not consider himself to be a small time hood.  No, he considered himself to have reached the big time, and therefore he was due the appropriate respect.  The past two years he’d stepped into some rather large commissions as a result of his work for the AF.  He’d dealt with a Mexican drug lord who made the mistake of attempting to move cocaine into the village where the Duke of Burbon’s granddaughter lived.  A Mexican in France?  The man was, emphasis on the word “was”, a fool.  And, he’d done other work for the Council; he’d “persuaded” two
députés
to vote on defense and budget bills as they properly should.  His skillful use of a knife had provided him with a nickname he rather enjoyed, and which seemed to help his efforts in collecting various debts owed to the AF, and to himself.  His routine employer was Monsieur Paul Marcil; and it was this never-ending source of funds that he was speaking to now

“I have two Americans I want you to follow.  Just follow.  Do you understand?”  The tin voice came across the little speaker like a shrill girl. 

“Oui, d’accord.”

“Follow these two.  Do not be discovered.  They are looking for something.  I do not know what.  I do not know what it is contained in.  I want to know where and when they go someplace.  If they stop at a barn or start digging in a field, I want to know.”  Marcil’s voice squeaked.  “Do not bother them or stop them.  But, if they discover something I want to know immediately.” 

“D’accord; where are they now?” hissed Recheau, thinking that he was being sent to follow two American fools.  Dig in a field?  What the hell kind of thing was Marcil wrapped up in now?” 

Marcil gave him what details were available.  Recheau grabbed a small travel bag and quickly stuffed his gun cleaning kit, a change of clothes, his toiletries and several thousand Euros into the bag.  Then, because a man in his business made deadly enemies, he placed several booby traps throughout the apartment.  Satisfied, Recheau locked the door and walked to his garage.  Selecting the most boring car there, a nine-year old, faded blue BMW, he set off to find the Americans.

Chapter 27

Having turned over the case containing the Patent and its container to Paul Marcil, Jim and Eve were anxious to be on the road.  They intended to spend the evening in Chehery, but a review of their tour book made that seem problematic.  Nevertheless, they elected to try their luck and see how far they could comfortably go.  If they left now, they could avoid much of Paris’ famous traffic. 

Within the hour they entered the A4 toll road leading to the D764 highway.  Eve closely monitored her cell phone GPS screen.  She checking off each exit as they passed and compared them to the map and notes she had prepared.  Having some experience with European driving they were not totally shocked by the speed and complexity of the trip.  She expertly plotted their location on the map, keeping careful track of the upcoming exits and relayed to Jim the distance to their next turn or change.

Swinging into a long line at the tollbooth on the A4 Jim relaxed.  “We’re good from here,” he said, more to himself than to Eve.  She nodded and double-checked her map and notes and relaxed.  Then, as was her habit, she began to examine the cars in the lines about them.  Her goal was to guess their livelihood and determine if they were happy in life or not.  Her guesses could never be confirmed, but she fancied that she was pretty good at the game.  There was a funny old man in the battered car to the left, probably retired; and there a young couple that didn’t look too happy; probably students.  Over there a young girl, clearly supported by her parents, off on an adventure, and immediately behind her sat a young man on a motorcycle with shinny black road leathers, probably a store clerk. 

She also examined the cars.  They had lived in Italy for three years early in Jim’s career, and in those days she rarely saw German cars.  The roads were filled with Fiats and Alfa Romeros.  Surrounding her now were Mercedes, Renaults, and BMWs.  She noted several cars that looked new or sporty, including a Lamborghini.  She couldn’t help herself and smiled.  She loved Europe, and the three years she and Jim had spent stationed in southern Italy had been one of the happiest times of her life. 

Eventually they paid their toll and were speeding along.  Jim struggled to stay on course and out of the way of the aggressive French drivers.  Eventually they joined the D764.  After another thirty miles the road opened up, traffic thinned, and they were much more comfortable.

Twenty minutes later Jim said, “You know, it’s odd, but there’s a blue car back there that’s been behind us since Paris.  The rest of these jokers blow by us like we’re standing still, but that guy seems to hang back.”

Eve looked at Jim “I’ve noticed him too, every time I looked in the side mirror I’d see him all the way out of the city.” 

Just then they passed an exit.  Instead of following along behind them the blue car left the highway.  “Well, guess I spoke too soon,” Jim said and soon the conversation lagged.

By early evening they had completed the drive to Charleville-Mezieres; a modest town near Sedan and the village of Chehery.  They found an acceptable hotel, checked in then went in search of the evening’s dinner.  Eventually, they landed at a small restaurant with a large outdoor porch.  They spent the evening sipping the local wine and watching the people. 

Later, as they walked back to the hotel Jim noticed a blue BMW in the parking area of a small guest-house on the opposite side of the street.  They stopped and Jim tried to focus on the car in the distance.  “Eve, is that the car from this afternoon?” he asked.  She stared hard at the car for a moment.  The only light came from a distant street lamp and the light from the windows of a few businesses still open.  “I can’t be sure,” she said. 

They stood and studied the car for several minutes.  “I can’t be sure either,” Jim acknowledged.  He looked it over for several more minutes.  Finally, unable to decide if it was or not, and not thinking the matter important in either case, they dismissed the BMW and finished their walk back to the hotel.