Love Is for Tomorrow (10 page)

CHAPTER NINE

DEAD DROP

“Deo Juvenante” (With God’s Help) - Motto of Monaco

Monte Carlo, Monaco

Racing on the high shore road along the Cote d’Azur between Nice and Monaco, where waves crumbled below against the rocks of Eze, Antoine appreciated two things: Salim had lent them a convertible Corvette and Kovac was driving. It let Antoine savor the turquoise bay, the wind on his face and the taste of salt water and sand.

Entering Monte Carlo from the West through a natural tunnel, Kovac hit the brakes. The car lurched to a stop in front of the famous Place du Casino. It reminded Antoine of a Disney World castle, only for grown-ups.

Kovac wiped beads of sweat from his brow. “Damn it’s hot,” he complained. “Why did we sign up for this?”  

Antoine indicated to his right.

Supercars lined up along the street and in the parking lot as if they were toys, shining in all colors. They rolled by, lurid green, pink, yellow, red, white, silver and black. The hues matched the fashion of the super model-type women strolling nearby.

“On a second thought, I could stay here for a while,” Kovac said, looking for a parking spot. They found one and rolled into it.

“Definitely,” Antoine replied, not able to draw his gaze away.

“You know who else would love it here,” Kovac said, getting out of the car and stretching his back for the first time in hours. He didn’t wait for an answer. “My girl.”

Antoine nodded with a smile. It was true. His wife would love it here too. She adored Paris, New Orleans and all things French. He remembered their dates in Belgium at Maison Antoine. That was partly why Antoine had chosen this name, a French name for him. It was the joyful part of his name. The other was for Saint Antoine, the patron of lost souls. He could imagine Kerrie lying on the sand beach of Cannes, squeezed into a tiny bikini. They would go to movie festivals, eat oysters and taste the French cuisine, all while drinking French wine.

“You are right, I should take her here,” he said with a smile. “And you and your girl too.”

Kovac looked at him with an inscrutable expression.

“Yes, we should someday,” he said. Then, nodding toward the ladies by the sport cars, he added, “Make those girls jealous. What do you say?”

Antoine looked at one of the models. “Mine has better legs.”

“Yeah, mine has a better shape,” Kovac answered, sizing up another. They walked past within earshot. Kovac caught her eye. “I mean she is good, but not Serbian.”  

The two of them strolled in front of the Hotel de Paris where Khabib had arranged a meeting. The top priority was finding which entranceways and security camera angles they could use. It was opposite the Casino, with a view of a colorful rose garden and fountain.

Kovac used his phone and selfie-stick to capture their surroundings.

“There’s no place opposite the hotel where we can monitor the whole front side,” Antoine said, turning around three hundred sixty degrees.

Antoine walked to the back of the Casino, overlooking the terrace. The drop off from the cliff towards the sea would give anyone vertigo. He braced himself on the railing and nodded to the port situated to his right.

“That’s where Salim can moor his yacht,” he said. “Anyway, we should check into the hotel and find out which room Khabib is going to take.”  

Antoine followed Kovac to the Hotel de Paris. An ordinary flight of stairs led into a lavish lobby with white marble floors, cream colored stucco and pillars so wide Antoine would have trouble hugging them.

The receptionist looked up from the counter as they approached.

“I’m looking for my friend Khabib. I need to give him back the keys to his car,” Kovac said. “Can I have his room number please?”

“I’m sorry, I’m afraid I’m not allowed to give out that information,” the receptionist said.

Kovac frowned. “It’s just a key.”

“Do the gentlemen wish that I call your friend?”

Kovac’s jaw twitched.

“Yes please,” Antoine said. “We’ll wait for him here.”

The receptionist turned to the phone and dialed Khabib’s room number.

“You know what?” Antoine interrupted. “Forget it. We will meet him in the casino later.”

He turned to Kovac and gave him a tap on the shoulder to come with him. They found a corner booth and sat down.

Kovac lit a cigarette.

“What do we do now?” he asked.

Antoine leant forward, holding his phone between his knees.

“Khabib is in room three-hundred twenty-six.”

He turned on the screen, browsed for a document and opened it. It was a blueprint of the hotel building.

Antoine zoomed in and pointed out the location.

“That’s third floor, obviously, but on the west side, here.”

“There is no building from where we can spy,” Kovac said.

“We have to go into his room,” Antoine said. “Let’s get a room nearby.”

Kovac got up and walked to the reception.

“What can I do for you, sir?” the receptionist asked.

“I’d like to make a room reservation for Mr. Hendrix,” Kovac said. “One night, two people.”

A porter led Antoine and Kovac into their third floor room. It faced the east side and shared the same hallway with Khabib’s.

Antoine glanced down the corridor to locate Khabib’s room. The door was closed. The only sound was a vacuum cleaner from another suite. A maid had left her service trolley outside the open door.

Antoine entered their suite, obtained with false documents. He thanked the porter and tipped him five Euros.

Antoine scanned the sky-blue, Fleur-de-lis spattered room. He memorized the measurements and array of objects. Khabib’s room would be very similar to this one.

Kovac’s luggage dropped with a bump.

“Baby blue? What, they didn’t have a pink one for us?”

“There’s a red one for extra charged nights,” Antoine answered.

“Now we wouldn’t need that one, would we?” Kovac said.

Antoine slid into a comfortable chair next to the window. Kovac peeked out the curtains then jumped onto the bed.

“Priya, we have established base,” Antoine spoke into his micro bead. “Do a camera check and see what you can get.”

They had time to relax in the room before Priya’s surveillance report would come back. As Kovac fiddled with an open suitcase full surveillance equipment, Antoine looked for something to do.

The room had everything a modern man would need: A fully stocked minibar, body lotion, bathing caps, face moisturizer, tissues. Even the toilet had a bidet. There were more TV channels than he could possibly ever watch. It left Antoine wondering how people spent their time when their lives seemed endless. His and Kovac’s were not. The economic principle of scarcity applied to time as well. You tended to see time as more precious when you knew it was short.

He breathed in the soapy perfume smell. It was supposed to make you all cozy and comfortable, like in your rich grandmother’s villa. A home you never had. A home for royalty and blue blood.

A chime in Antoine’s earpiece made him sit up.

“What’s the deal, Priya?”

“I’ve gotten into their security cameras,” Priya said. “From a replay of the recordings, Khabib should be in his room now. Just be careful. I’ll keep an eye on the feeds and give you an update as soon as I see him or his friend.”

“I will,” Antoine said, ending the call.

He looked at Kovac and the suitcase of gadgets. Kovac had dozed off. Antoine decided to let him rest. It could be a long night.

Antoine left the room and closed the door behind him. Antoine walked down the corridor keeping close to the wall by Khabib’s suite. The maid’s service trolley was stationed a room away from his target’s. The sound of a vacuum cleaner could be heard coming from the room with the open door.

The vacuuming stopped and Antoine used the opportunity to listen for sounds coming out of Khabib’s room for a few seconds. Nothing. He drew out the optic fibre from his pocket, bent down besides the door and wedged the long fibre in the door crack. The video feed flashed up on his phone screen. The inside was a mirror-image of his own suite. Antoine thought to himself,
Objective one, success. Confirm the rooms are identical
.

A shadow passed over the optic inside the room. There were no audible footsteps but Antoine knew someone was inside. Then he saw Khabib coming at him.

Antoine recoiled. He had seen enough to confirm the target’s position. Now he had to get out of here but the fibre was stuck. If he ripped it out, the sound would give him away. The vacuum started again.
Perfect timing
, Antoine thought. He yanked out the fibre optic cable and headed towards the lift. A chime sounded close to Antoine’s ear, but it wasn’t Priya. Antoine could not see Khabib but he had already opened his door.

“You have company behind you.” Priya warned Antoine, who was fully aware of the situation.
      

Antoine continued to walk down the hall fumbling with the cable that he placed in his jacket pocket.

“Excuse me, can you do mine next. I am going across to the casino. I feel lucky,” he heard Khabib tell the maid.

“That looked close. Khabib is heading down on the lift,” Priya spoke up in Antoine’s earphone.

“It was.”

“Priya, keep an eye on the security cameras, I am going into his room,” Antoine said.

“Khabib is in the lobby,” Priya said. “He’s leaving the building.”

“Good,” Antoine said. “That gives us a window. Priya let us know if Khabib or the art dealer come back up.”

“It would be easier if we knew who our friend is meeting,” Priya said.

“It could be anyone, be alert. Hey buddy,” Antoine called his partner in crime. “I need you to provide a distraction, as soon as possible.”

“I hate to do this,” Kovac said.

Antoine stood at the corner of the hall when he heard a bottle smash against a door.
“That would have been some great champagne. Chilled to the right temperature and everything,” Kovac said regretting his need to have to waste alcohol. “Maid!”

The maid ran out of Khabib’s room.

“At least it is working,” Antoine said as he slipped into Khabib’s room through the open door. He would have to be quick. He was not sure how long he had.

He took out a button-sized camera and installed it in a corner. Antoine placed microphones on the underside of tables. The cameras went into all ceiling corners to provide overlapping fields of coverage.

“I am almost done here,” Antoine said. “Just need another minute.”

“You always need more time than I can give,” Kovac replied.

“You might have even less time. There’s a man coming up the elevator,” Priya said. “He’s heading to your floor. I know we are in Monaco but he is wearing a really nice suit and a massive gold watch.”

“Priya can you stop the lift?” Antoine said fearing it might be the art dealer coming early.

“I just have eyes,” Priya said. “There is nothing I can do. You have to get out now.”

The curtains waved beside the open window. He looked down from the third floor. It wasn’t high enough to kill him outright if he fell but he was guaranteed to get hurt.  

“He’s out the lift and walking down your hall.”

Antoine turned from the window. “Plan B, I will talk to him. Do we know if he has met Khabib before?” Antoine asked while gaining his composure and adjusting his shirt to be more presentable. He could now hear the sound of the footsteps in the hall walking towards the room. He was anticipating a knock at any moment. He heard a key card activate a door.

Priya spoke.

“He just walked into the room opposite Khabib’s, false alarm. Get out now.”

Antoine walked back into his room, with the maid still collecting pieces of glass from the floor. “Excuse him,” Antoine said to the maid, “I always have to clean up his mess.”

The sun sank below the horizon behind the sea and Antoine and Kovac changed shifts.

“It would be beautiful to vacation here,” Kovac said as he gazed at the sunset.

Antoine watched. His mind was somewhere else: another time, another place on the other side of the globe.

“Beautiful,” he said.

Antoine sat on the bed. The remains of his sushi box lay on the blanket.

They monitored all movement inside Khabib’s suite from two laptops and two tablets.

“You know the difference between your girl and mine?” Kovac asked.

Antoine shrugged and waited for the answer.

“I didn’t hide what I do for a living from her,” Kovac said.

“It was just on the first couple dates,” Antoine said. “Well, until she got pregnant, but that’s not the point.”