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“AND I SUSPECT ADÈLE planned to put the heroin in the paint, then use a 3D printer to mass-produce these paintings and sell them to distributors.” Colin sat back as he finished his part of the briefing.
President Raymond Godard’s eyebrows rose. “Would that have worked?”
“Possibly.” Colin thought about this. “She would’ve needed a great chemist to make sure the paint-drug mixture is correct and also the way they would extract the drug would have to be very precise.”
Manny, Colin and I were in the president’s residence here in Strasbourg, where he had also his office. It had a very similar design to the Salon Doré, or the Golden Room in the Élysée Palace in Paris, an office that had served as the personal study for many French presidents. The gilded filigree on the walls, doors, tables and chairs made the name of the room self-explanatory, as did the ceiling-to-floor golden curtains. Everything in this room was a work of art, including the chandelier above us and the beautiful ceiling.
We were seated on wingback chairs at a round table next to the president’s antique desk. It had been only two and half hours ago when Manny had called the president and had revealed our findings.
The president had assured us that Amin, Shahab and Hamid would be here when we arrived. They were currently waiting in the adjoining conference room with the Iranian ambassador. The president had insisted on first getting all the information before walking into a conversation that could have devastating political and economic repercussions for both countries.
He looked at Manny. “Tell me everything you found out about the men next door.”
“We don’t have much.” Manny grunted in frustration. “They entered the country eleven days ago—a day before Adèle was murdered. They rented a charcoal-coloured SUV at the airport, using a credit card issued to a company registered in Iran.”
“The same company that sent the wine?”
“No. This company is more transparent. They do all the arrangements for accommodation and transport for official trips by Iranian law enforcement officers.”
“Was that SUV the one that was pursuing Colin and Genevieve?”
“We’re not sure.” Manny had uttered a few rude phrases in frustration when we’d not been able to find a lot more information. “The car that blew up was definitely not the one these guys rented. I got the Iranians’ GPS information from the rental company. They’d successfully manipulated the car’s system to show they were only at their hotel, at shopping malls and a few tourist sites. We were also not able to find much information on them personally. My sources tell me that it’s most likely because they’re not on anyone’s watchlist.”
“Well, why don’t we go and speak to them and find out more.” President Godard got up and we followed him to the door connecting his office to the conference room.
It wasn’t a large room, but the high ceilings created the impression of space. The dark wood of the rectangular table in the centre of the room was highlighted by the bright white walls and classical décor.
The leader of the three men, Amin, was sitting at the table next to a middle-aged man. Both men got up when President Godard entered the room.
President Godard shook the older man’s hand. “Ambassador Sirvan Kanian. Please forgive me for making you wait so long.”
“Oh, it’s no problem at all, President Godard.” His smile was genuine. He liked the president. “You know how I always enjoy our meetings. But I must say that I’m slightly perplexed as to why we are here.”
President Godard gestured at the chairs and we sat down. I studied the ambassador. The president had told us about this man. His Oxford education was evident in his accent as he spoke English. We were also told that he was highly intelligent and, despite being open to many trade and cultural agreements, he was still very conservative.
“We’ll get to that in a second.” President Godard introduced himself to Amin. “Where is the rest of your team?”
“They’re waiting in the reception area.” The ambassador answered before Amin could. “We thought it would be best for only their team leader to be here.”
Amin’s reaction to the ambassador’s words was telling. I narrowed my eyes, determined to observe every micro-expression. “You suspect something.”
Amin looked at me, trying to school his features into a more neutral expression. “Yes. I told you this morning we were here about the artefacts.”
President Godard held out his hand to stop my response. “This is not what Doctor Lenard meant and you know it.”
Ambassador Kanian looked at Amin. “What are they talking about?” He looked at the president. “Please explain what is going on here.”
“We’ve had four brutal murders which are all connected to each other. More importantly, they are all connected to drugs being smuggled into France from Iran.”
Amin closed his eyes, his expression resigned.
The ambassador’s lips thinned and he straightened in his chair. “That is an outrage. You have to know that we have nothing to do with any of that. We fight so hard against all the drugs entering our country, yet it sometimes feels like a losing battle. Anything, we’ll do anything to help.”
I looked at Amin. “Tell us what you know.”
“I really wished it wasn’t true. I didn’t want to find any evidence here to confirm my suspicions.”
“Was this drug investigation your true mission?” the ambassador asked Amin.
“We were here for the artefacts too.” He glanced at Colin. “Apparently, some pieces have been found and will go back with us.”
“The drugs?” President Godard asked.
Amin crossed his arms, then immediately uncrossed them. “My team is only one of many investigating crimes. But we were tasked with finding out who was looting our cultural heritage and selling it to the West. We don’t mind that it’s on display in museums, but at the end of the day these pieces belong to the people of Iran. It’s our history.” He took a calming breath. “The more we investigated the artefacts, the more evidence we found that connected recent exports of heroin to the art.
“I contacted the narcotics team about the drugs. They specialise in finding these dealers and stopping the in- and outflow of narcotics. They told me that they’ve been trying to shut down one specific syndicate, but the leader has been one step ahead of them all the time. Apparently, this syndicate is so good that we don’t even know the names of the players.”
“Why were you in the café?” Manny asked.
Amin glanced at the ambassador, who nodded. He then looked at Manny. “We received intel that the young man had knowledge of the artefacts and possibly the drugs.”
“Who gave you that intel?” Colin didn’t even attempt to disguise his scepticism.
Amin smiled. “You know I can’t, and I won’t, tell you that.”
As he spoke, his smile disappeared, numerous micro-expressions moving over his face. He was busy piecing together the information he had with the questions we were asking and the result was causing him distress.
“Where did you go after you left the café this morning?” Manny’s tone was no longer friendly.
Amin frowned and shifted in his chair. “We split up to cover more ground.”
President Godard held out his hand to stop Amin’s explanation. He looked at Ambassador Kanian. “My people were never informed you had an investigative team here, Sirvan.”
“President Godard, please.” The ambassador raised both his hands, palms out. “Don’t even think this was espionage. This is not what was happening here.”
Manny snorted. “What do you call Iranian detectives in France following a young French citizen to a café and surveilling him?”
Amin’s face lost some of its colour. “We’re not spies. We were just following up on a lead that might give us back our artefacts.”
“Where did you go?” Manny asked again.
“After the café, I went to my hotel room to meet with a contact. And no, I won’t tell you his name. He’s a good man. He helps many of our people here in your city.”
“Hassan? The hawala broker?” The risk I took to voice my suspicion was immediately rewarded.
Amin’s eyes widened, then narrowed. “Don’t make trouble for Hassan. He’s a good man.”
“We know,” Colin said. “Where did you go after your meeting with Hassan?”
Amin looked up and left—recalling a memory. “I went to the ATM to get more cash. Then I went to the mall to buy my wife perfume. She has enough bottles to open a shop, but she wanted something from France.”
Manny’s phone rang. The ambassador frowned, the corners of his mouth pulling down. President Godard wasn’t surprised when Manny answered the call and put the phone on the table. “You’re on speakerphone.”
“Hi, everyone.” Francine’s voice was clear. She was excited. “I’ve been listening to your conversation and Amin has been telling the truth.”
Amin jumped out of his chair and looked around the room. “You’ve been listening? Wait. How do you know I’ve been telling the truth?”
Colin also got up and walked to Amin. He reached out, but didn’t touch Amin’s jacket. “May I?”
Amin frowned, looked at Colin’s hand, then to the ambassador before nodding.
Colin lifted the jacket’s lapel and took out the button camera.
“This is not acceptable.” Ambassador Kanian pulled the cuffs of his suit jacket and pushed his shoulders back. “Actually, this is an outrageous invasion of privacy.”
“Pah! I wouldn’t be calling the kettle black here, Ambassador. That button camera just exonerated Amin.”
“What do you mean?” Amin walked back to the table and sat down, staring at the phone.
“Hold your horses.” Manny pulled his phone closer. “Did you alert Dan?”
“I did. They’re on their way to pick up Shahab.” She paused. “Well, that’s a problem.”
“What now?”
“Shahab’s button camera just went dead.”
“You planted one on Shahab as well?” Amin’s brows pulled together in grave concern. He blinked a few times and I watched as he added yet another piece of information to his conclusions. He gasped and looked at Colin. “What did he do?”
“First problem is where he is.” Manny looked at his phone. “Is he still in the building?”
“Uh, no,” Francine said. “He left as soon as you guys went into the conference room.”
“He suspected something.” Colin sighed. “Can you track him on the city cameras?”
“I’m working on it.” The sound of a mouse clicking and keyboard strokes came through the phone.
“Officer Shahab was the one who suggested they wait outside and only Officer Amin and I meet with you.” The ambassador looked just as worried as Amin. “What did Officer Shahab do?”
“He went to the house of one of the victims,” President Godard said. “Only our investigators know about that crime scene. And the killer.”
“We think he killed all four of the victims.” Colin paused. “After he tortured them for hours.”
Amin put both his hands over his mouth, his eyes wide.
“What can we do?” Ambassador Kanian asked.
“Help us find Shahab.” Manny glared at Amin.
He lowered his hands and put them palms down on the table. “I honestly don’t know where he is.” He shook his head. “It all makes sense now.”
“What does?” Colin asked.
“The fact that we were always at least three steps behind the art looters and the drug traffickers.” He fell back into his chair. “Shahab has been controlling the inflow of intel for years. He’s been in this unit for eleven years and on my team for two. He knows every case and every lead.”
Ambassador Kanian’s mouth opened in shock. “We have to let the police chief know about this breach.”
Amin nodded absently, then looked at Colin. “Does our damaged rental car have anything to do with this?”
“What damage?” Colin’s tone was harsh. “When did this happen?”
“Yesterday. Shahab took the SUV to meet a friend for lunch.”
“That was around the time we were being pursued by two SUVs.”
“Two?” Amin shook his head vigorously. “No, we only rented one.”
“How was it damaged?” the ambassador asked.
“Shahab came back and said that some hooligans had thrown rocks at the car and even burning rags when they saw he looked Arabic. They were shouting all kinds of racist slurs at him.” He frowned. “There were really burn marks on the paint.”
I swallowed. That moment when the SUV came racing through the explosion and the shots entered Colin’s vehicle, the glass raining down on us—it all rushed back at me and brought tightness to my throat.
“Um, guys?” Francine’s voice pulled me out of my spiralling thoughts. “Shahab’s gone.”
“What do you mean, he’s gone?” Manny was almost shouting.
“I caught him on three city cameras leaving the president’s residence, but then he went into a private parking area and disappeared.”
“Cameras in the parking?” Colin asked.
“They’re on a closed system.”
“Get that intel.” Manny got up. “Now.”
“Oh, God.” Francine’s voice broke, sending a rush of adrenaline through my system. “Oh, no.”
“Francine, what’s wrong?” Manny’s words were breathless, a flash of fear joining his concern.
Even Amin and the ambassador leaned closer to the phone.
“Caelan.” Emotion made Francine’s voice extremely unsteady. “Oh, Genevieve, our boy genius is missing.”
