H.J. Gaudreau - Betrayal in the Louvre (26 page)

Chapter 54

I

Paul Marcil could not be a happier man.  His day had been spent receiving congratulations on a tremendously successful fundraiser the previous evening.  He had been the center of attention.  He’d rubbed elbows with the elite of Paris.  This, plus his recent chairing of a major new art exhibit were highlights in his “normal” life that he truly appreciated.  His training in art and art history had been successful and vindicated.  Even more gratifying and definitely more enriching, he now had four of the rarest, most valuable historical and artistic items in the history of France locked in his office. 

That thought gave him pause.  He smiled.  He estimated their worth in the thirty to fifty million euro range.  Of course, there would be authentication issues, but he felt reasonably certain these could be dealt with; the preponderance of the evidence seemed to support his belief that these were the real thing.  The coronation crown, even melted to a lump of gold, was worth a small fortune.  He had no idea of the value of the Holy Ampoule, but the gold, rubies and jewels making up the necklace were certainly worth several million.  The Patent and its tube would sell conservatively for something north of five million; but the
piece de resistance
was the sword of Charlemagne.  He could only fantasize about its value. 

Hitler had tried to find the sword, believing it held great power and would make him invincible.  The French Kings had paraded it at their coronation as a symbol of their power.  He tried to imagine a value.  It was impossible.  He had an item that was priceless.  When he presented it and the other items to the Council they would have to welcome him to the table.  Surely he would be made a nobleman.  This was his chance to have real power.  He was going to be well taken care of.

II

At 5 PM the museum offices closed for the day.  Office workers streamed out of the elevator.  Jim hadn’t thought about this.  He’d assumed that Marcil would come to the garage well before the office workers and day shift personnel went home for the day.  That didn’t appear to be the case.  A young woman approached his hiding spot.  She got into the car to his immediate right and started the engine.  Jim quickly crawled around the front bumper of the car to his left.  The girl pulled out of the slot and drove away.  Fortunately, Jim was in deep shadow. 

A prudent man would standup, join the crowd and leave right now he thought.  He stayed.  Binoculars centered on the elevator doors.  Thirty minutes passed.  Another fifteen.  Eve was calling.  What was the status?  Status?  Zero, nil, nothing that was the status.  Jim was bored, stiff and sore. 

Finally!  Marcil stepped off the elevator.  He carried a backpack and had what appeared to be a cloth shopping bag.  He must have the Patent in one of those bags.  Marcil walked the length of the parking garage until he was parallel with Jim.  The taillights of a large, luxury sedan began to flash on and off, its horn sounding in rhythm with the lights.  The car was two rows in front of Jim.  Jim quickly glassed the license plate.  Then the trunk popped open.  Marcil glanced around to ensure he was alone and then placed the book bag and shopping bag in the trunk.  Taking a last look he slammed the lid shut. 

Jim placed the helmet on his head and, remembering to act like he belonged, calmly walked out of the shadows toward his motorcycle.  Glancing sideways at the vehicle he identified it as a Renault Latitude.  Marcil was now getting into the car.  In a moment the motor was running. 

Jim found the bike, took his seat and keyed the microphone.  “Eve, it’s a Renault Latitude, that’s the big one.  It’s dark blue or black.  I’m not sure because of the light in here.  I think he’s got everything in the trunk.” 

“Okay, I’m ready,” she replied.     

The Renault backed out of its slot and Jim started the bike.  Raising the visor and keying the radio at the same time Jim whispered, “Here he comes.”  

The car rolled to the exit, paused and then joined the traffic on Rue de Rivoli.  Eve had timed her departure perfectly.  She placed the Citroën three cars behind the Renault and matched his speed.  Jim waited thirty seconds, exited the garage and accelerated to catch his wife and his target.  “I’m three behind him,” she said into the microphone.  They traveled through the city for ten minutes like this.  Approaching the traffic circle at the Arc De Triomphe, Jim again accelerated.  He passed Eve and settled into a spot just one car length behind Marcil.  Eve turned onto Avenue Victor Hugo and parked.  Moments later Jim’s voice shouted in her ear, “He’s taking Pelouse de la Muette.” 

“What?  Wait.”  Eve studied her map.  “I can’t find that.  What the heck is that?  Your French is terrible.”  Eve exclaimed.  “Spell it.”

“Spell it?  Eve, I’m on a friggin’ motorcycle; I don’t know how to spell French.”  Jim sounded exasperated over a radio. 

“Eve, never mind!  It’s the A13, it’s the per-pen-frique extra something.

She studied the map.  There it was the A13 or Peripherique Exterieur.  “It’s the Peripherique Exterior.  I’ve got it.” She shouted into the microphone.  She pulled on to the street and raced to intersect her husband. 

Jim decelerated.  He was on a highway now.  The advantage was that he could legitimately stay fairly close without passing his prey.  The disadvantage was the he was very visible to every driver on the highway, including Marcil.  Suddenly his ear piece barked, “I’m just entering the A13 where are you?”  “Just passed exit four,” Jim replied.  “Okay, I’m at exit two,” came the welcome response.  Eve accelerated again, hoping there were no Paris policemen in the vicinity.  A few moments later she swung her car behind Jim’s motorcycle and matched his speed.  The Renault then left the road at exit 5 and joined the D182.  Jim spotted a hill and slowed the bike.  Eve passed him and assumed his position two cars behind their target. 

When the Renault and the Citroën crested the hill he braked to a stop on the side of the road.  He dismounted and quickly removed his black leather jacket.  He opened the left touring case and removed a red windbreaker.  He then stuffed the jacket into the case and removed his helmet.  He clamped the helmet in its lock and pulled wraparound sunglasses and a small cap out of the other case.  Jim put them on, turning the cap backward so it wouldn’t blow off in the wind then remounted the bike and sped after Eve and the Renault.

Jim spotted the Citroën as they neared Versailles.  Accelerating hard he caught the quick moving but unintended procession and settled into a cruise some two-hundred feet behind her.  There were two cars between Eve and Marcil, and to Jim’s relief he didn’t believe they had been spotted – at least not yet.  After several minutes like this Jim again accelerated and passed Eve and then the first car.  He was now just one car behind Marcil.  Here he settled into a gentle cruise.  He keyed his microphone and shouted over the wind, “Eve, drop back about a mile so you’re out of sight.”  She slowly decelerated and soon was a distant spot in Jim’s rearview mirrors.  Jim followed for another few minutes then spotted a sign whose meaning was clear in any language, an outline of an airplane with the words “Toussus le Noble” underneath.  He immediately keyed his radio “Eve, I think he’s headed to Too-sus lay noble airport.”  She winced at the terrible French then picked up the map and held it against the steering wheel.  Repeatedly glancing down at the map then up at the road she searched for the airport.  It took her a moment, but finally she spotted it.  “Okay, I’ve got it, do you want me to go there?”  “Yes!” came the reply.    

Chapter 55

Toussus le Noble airport is one of a series of regional airports which ring Paris.  The two parallel runways, known by their respective compass heading and differentiated with a Left or Right are perfectly capable of handling most large commercial aircraft.  However, there is no need as Charles De Gaulle Airport handles the vast majority of those flights.  As a result, the airport plays host to a number of private jets belonging to the rich and famous, various Fortune 500 companies, the French government, medical and emergency services aircraft.  But, because flying in Europe is significantly more expensive than in the United States the airport is generally quiet.  It was especially quiet now in the early evening as all the airport workers had left for the day. 

The Renault turned into the long airport drive.  Jim, not wanting to be spotted, drove past the airport road and stopped behind a bank of shrubs which hid him from view.  Marcil drove to a parking area across from the airport’s small general aviation terminal.  The parking lot was sparsely filled.  A delivery van was parked at the far rear of the lot and five identical Fiats were parked all together in a middle row, a numbered sign in front of each.  They must be rental cars Jim thought.  In the front row was a Jaguar XJ.  Marcil parked next to the Jag.  Using the binoculars Jim watched him exit his car and walk into the terminal. 

Just then Eve’s panicked voice exploded in his ear, “Jim, I missed the exit!  I’ve got to turn around.  Where are you?”  Jim explained the layout of the airport and the entrance road to the terminal.  “Eve, he’s going to fly outa here.  You’d better hurry.”

Suddenly, Marcil and another man walked out of the building to the Renault.  Jim studied the new man carefully.  It was their kidnapper!  They walked toward the car.  Its lights flashed as it was unlocked.  As they rounded the rear of the vehicle the trunk lid popped open.  Marcil lifted the backpack out of the trunk and put it on.  He then picked up a black box and paused to wait for his companion.  The well-dressed man had gone to the rear door of the four door sedan and pulled a long black box from the backseat.  He quickly put it under one arm and closed the door.  “That’s the sword,” Jim said out loud.  The two men then walked into the terminal.

Jim’s shoulders slumped.  These two were going to fly away with a treasure of immeasurable value, and he was powerless to stop it.  Jim wasn’t certain what to do, but he did know that nothing good was going to come from just sitting on a motionless motorcycle waiting for an airplane to take off with what he now considered to be his and Eve’s treasure.  He started the bike and rode to the parking lot.  There, he parked the motorcycle out of sight on the far side of the delivery van.  Jim carefully stepped to the front of the van and began to watch the terminal through the van’s passenger window and out the windshield.  The time had given him a chance to relax a bit and begin to think over his next step.  And that was the issue.  What to do now?

A moment later the doors of the terminal building opened and their dapper kidnapper exited.  He walked to his Jag, opened the trunk and removed a suitcase and suit carrier.  The timing couldn’t have been worse.  Looking up, he froze as Eve drove the Citroën past the front doors of the terminal and into the far entrance of the parking lot.  She didn’t see the man at his car, her attention was focused on the terminal’s front doors.  She turned into the parking lot, drove past the rental cars and parked one row from where Jim now stood, unobserved by the van.  The Corsican smiled, replaced his suitcase and suit carrier and walked toward the Citroën.  Eve place the car in park and opened her door.  Looking up she spotted the man and instantly recognized him.  Fearing Eve would panic Jim quickly keyed his radio.  She’d forgotten she wore the radio and she jumped when Jim’s voice barked in her ear.  “Eve, stay calm, keep talking to this guy and keep his back to me.  Do you understand!”

The Corsican stopped ten feet from the car.  “Mrs. Creen-shaw how are you?” he said with a smile. 

The Corsican had approached directly from his car.  Jim couldn’t think of worse luck.  But, before he could radio Eve it became apparent she’d figured the angles already.  Slowly she began to talk, all the while edging around in a wide circle.  “Perfect, good girl,” Jim thought.  “I thought Jim told you its Crenshaw, not Creen-shaw,” Eve shot back.  

“Ah, how forgetful of me.  Well, I’m certainly pleased that we’ve met once again.  Tell me, Mrs Creen, ah…there I go…forgive me please.  Tell me, Mrs. Crenshaw, tell me where your husband is right now would you please?”  She continued to creep to her left, around the car, forcing him to turn to meet her gaze.  Finally, his back was to Jim.

“I’m not telling you anything,” Eve retorted.  “Oh, how’s your side?  Understand you were in a bit of an accident?”  Eve was going into her attack mode.  “Hope your hip isn’t bruised too badly.”  Jim couldn’t believe it; she was taunting him!  She had stopped with the car between herself and her antagonist.  She was perfect; the taunts kept coming.

Jim started to creep across the parking lot; he was now twenty feet behind the man.  His soft soled shoes were silent on the pavement and the Corsican’s attention was on Eve.  “Mrs. Crenshaw…” the Corsican spoke as he removed a silencer from his jacket pocket with his left hand.  “…sarcasm does not become you.  Now, I must again tell you that honesty is the only acceptable answer to my questions.”  He removed a pistol from under his jacket and placed the silencer at the end of the barrel.  He paused before turning it onto the threads of the barrel.  “You see Mrs. Crenshaw, it is very painful to have ones knees shot by a pistol.  And, of course, it causes one to limp the rest of their life.  You do not want this tragic fate to befall you, no?”  His voice remained steady.  Eve could feel the blood drain from her face. 

Try as she might she was having problems staying composed.  This latest threat didn’t help.  “No one is shooting my knees!” Eve nearly yelled. 

The Corsican had the silencer on the threaded end of the barrel.  He began to turn the silencer, tightening it down the threads and onto the barrel.  Jim figured this was as vulnerable as the man would get, and he broke into a run.  “Sort of like sacking the quarterback,” thought Jim as he launched himself at the man’s shoulders.  He hit the Corsican high, driving him to the pavement and bouncing the side of his face on the blacktop.  His gun hand hit the pavement.  The pistol bounced once and slid under the car.  Jim continued over the back of the Corsican and landed in a heap between the man and the Citroën. 

Both the Corsican and Jim were up and facing each other immediately.  “Ah…Mr. Creen-shaw, there you are.” The man said slowly as he went into a classic
Savate
fighting crouch and began to circle Jim.  “Ouch, you look terrible, that skinned up face has got to hurt,” Jim replied. 

The two men circled each other.  After a moment the Corsican moved a step closer.  Jim fought down his fear.  A detached, other world voice spoke inside his head, “I’ve got him by a couple of inches and maybe thirty or forty pounds.”    They continued to circle.  “Who am I trying to kid?  I’m not really trained for hand to hand combat.  I’m going to get my ass kicked.  This is going to hurt.” 

The Corsican inched closer.  He shifted his weight to his left leg and began a circle type kick.  He didn’t perform the move smoothly, his bruised hip prevented that. 

“That son-of-a-bitch is going to try to kick me!” Jim thought.  He was right.  The Corsican’s right leg shot out in the classic French kickboxing roundhouse style kick.  Jim, anticipating the move had his left arm up.  The man’s shin crashed into Jim’s elbow, shooting pain up the arm, but doing no permanent damage.  The leg bounced off Jim’s elbow and crashed into his ribs.  Jim thought he heard a rib crack.  Instinctively, Jim dropped his arm over the leg and pinned it to his side, leaving the Corsican on one leg. 

The Corsican now had two choices.  He could attempt to punch Jim in the face or jump and kick Jim with his other leg.  He began to try the latter move.  Jim, not knowing what he was supposed to do next, did what came instinctively.  He hung on to the man’s leg with his left arm and punched the smaller man in the nose with his right.  Jim heard a distinctive crunch and then blood spurted from the man’s broken nose.  Suddenly, as the man reflexively raised his hands to protect his face Jim remembered watching Chuck Norris movies.  He raised his right arm over his head and brought his elbow down on the pinned knee as hard as he could.  A scream of pain erupted from the Corsican and he collapsed.  Jim let go of the now limp leg and kicked the down man as hard as he could in the stomach.  The Corsican, dazed, hurting and certainly not expecting any of this tried to get up; he rolled to his stomach and quickly got to his hands and knees.  Jim had by this time completely lost control of himself.  Seeing another opportunity he kicked the man’s face as hard as he could.  The Corsican’s head snapped back, a tooth flew across the parking lot and he rolled over.  Jim began kicking the man repeatedly in the face and body.  Eve, having grabbed the gun from under the car screamed, “Jim stop, you’re going to kill him.  JIM STOP!” 

The second yell penetrated Jim’s now manic world.  He snapped out of his trance.  He stopped his kick in mid air and looked at the man on the ground.  His first reaction was horror.  He’d nearly killed a man and didn’t realize what he was doing.  The man’s face was a mass of blood and his nose was bent to one side.  He lay on his side in a fetal position trying to protect his body and head.  His beautiful suit was bloodied and torn. 

Jim glanced at Eve.  “Are you alright?” he asked, still in a bit of a daze.  She nodded yes and handed Jim the pistol.  Before anything more could be said the distinctive winding sound of a jet engine filled the air.  Then, a “poof” as the engine lit and a scream as the pilot advanced and retracted the throttle.  Quickly it settled into a steady jet engine drone. 

They turned in the direction of the terminal, looked past it to the idling jet, and there was Marcil running up the steps of the doorway ladder wearing the backpack and carrying the two boxes.  He turned, scanned the tarmac and the terminal for his companion and, not seeing him, lifted the door into place.  Immediately the plane began to taxi.

Jim looked at Eve.  The sound of the aircraft had snapped him back to reality.  She appeared pretty calm, considering, and seemed to be in control of her emotions.  “Eve, keep a gun on this jerk.  Call the US Embassy, ask to speak to the military liaison.  You’ve got to get them here immediately.” 

“How can I do that?” She asked.

“I don’t know…make up a story.  Tell him that your husband is a retired Colonel, with a top secrete clearance and is being kidnapped by a terrorist; tell them there’s a bomb, just something!  See the letters on the side of the airplane?  Those are the same as the numbers on airplanes back home.  Tell them those letters.  Tell them where we are and to get the police here fast.  Also, tell them to get an Embassy person here pronto.  Got it?” 

Eve nodded, “What are you going to do.”

“Make sure that plane doesn’t take off!” Jim yelled as he sprinted toward the motorcycle.