Alexis wandered into the kitchen. “It's half-time. Anyone fancy a glass of wine?” He had been watching a football match on the television.
“Petra was about to make a pot of tea,” said Katherine. “Would you not like a cup?”
“I'll settle for a cold beer,” he replied, opening the door to the refrigerator.
Several months had passed since their first meeting. The relationship between Petra and Alexis appeared to have blossomed. There was a vague awareness of events and experiences in their past lives, but many confidential issues in their two histories remained undisclosed.
Petra readily perceived herself as a wayward teenager who had lost both parents in tragic circumstances, but had overcome her heartbreak by accepting a career as an officer with the security services. For obvious reasons, she always omitted to mention her time as Dagmar Kowalczewska, the unrepentant serial killer.
Petra saw Alexis as a cosseted young man indulged by a protective grandmother after losing both parents in similar circumstances. She formed the opinion that he lived on flights of fancy, lurching from one escapade to the next without any predetermined sensible aims. In some ways, they were alike, especially as they were both now in similar occupations. To Petra, however, control was paramount. Alexis seemed occasionally to be quite gullible.
“Have you told Petra about the offers that you have received regarding your honeymoon?” asked Katherine.
“Honeymoon?” cried Petra. “We've not arranged the wedding yet.”
“Tell her,” said his grandmother. “At least you can think about all the options and make a decision nearer the time.”
Alexis opened a bottle of beer and gulped a mouthful whilst casting a scolding glance at Katherine. He sat at the table next to Petra. “You remember how I was involved with Roche and Dumas. Well, because of my family history, I became acquainted with several wealthy individuals, some of whom still keep in contact. You know all this.”
“I didn't know that you still had contact with these people,” Petra said. “Is this a continuation of surveillance? I thought all that had been put to bed.”
“As you know, the trafficking was stopped, but counter- terrorism units are still trying to track down those who slipped through the net. I was told to keep open as many lines of communication as possible, in case any intel came to light. It's on an outwardly friendly kind of basis.”
“But with Dumas out of the picture and his operation terminated, how do these contacts think that you can still help them?”
“They trust me and see me as a radical, wanting to reclaim my birthright,” said Alexis.
“Which you will one day,” added his grandmother, draining her teacup. A bottle of vodka had appeared on the table. She winked knowingly at Petra.
“I suppose that you have no problem leading them down that path,” Petra said, mockingly. “Are you still in contact with the Chechens? Do they still believe that you're about to overthrow Putin and the government of the Russian Federation? They must be as gullible as you.”
Alexis laughed. “They like me because I'm anti-Russian in its current state. They appreciate my idealism. They know that I would welcome change to the system of government. You called it utopia, but I sincerely believe in the possibility. If the world can address the issues of global warming, find alternative energy sources, resolve the financial crisis…surely the small matter of political evolution can be pursued.”
“Whatever.” Petra felt unwilling to be drawn further into his preposterous obsession. “Anyway, how is all that relevant to this proposed honeymoon?”
“During my friendly chats with these wealthy contacts, I have mentioned our impending marriage. Because they are fascinated by my heritage, they have offered us the use of several properties complete with servants. These are luxury residences, almost mini-hotels with every facility imaginable. We would have sole use for as long as we wished at no cost. What d'you think?”
“Sounds too good to be true.” Petra remained suspicious of the motives of his so-called contacts. “What's the catch? What do they want in return?”
“Nothing…they believe that I'm of royal descent and consider this as a normal gesture to someone of that status.”
I do not believe this, Petra thought. He's still as deluded as ever. “Where are all these properties? Not in France, I hope.”
“No, not here. They're in far more exotic and interesting locations. We have a choice of Dubai, Abu Dhabi, Lebanon or even Russia…St. Petersburg to be exact.”
A vague recollection flashed across Petra's mind…a déjà vu moment. Apart from St. Petersburg, where had she heard mention of those other places before? Her body seemed to snap like a coiled spring.
Suddenly, she was wide-awake. Trembling, she sat upright in bed, a cold sweat engulfing her skin. Everything had been so real. Despite the medication, the nightmares about Alexis were occurring more frequently. Maybe the medication was the cause. She made a mental note to arrange an appointment with her doctor.
She glanced at the digital alarm clock…eight thirty. She had overslept. Her mobile rang and vibrated across her bedside cabinet. She looked at the screen: „number withheld'. She answered it.
“Hello,” said the voice. “Is that Petra Rebovka aka Louise Charrière?”
Though it was early spring, the year following the Marseille operation, the voice was still familiar. She shuddered; it always affected her in that way. “Hi, yes it's me,” she replied, tentatively.
“How are you? I hope that I'm not interrupting some clandestine mission with the secret squirrels of the intelligence service.” D.C.I. Massey continued to view her role with some cynicism, openly using sarcasm to express his feelings.
“No, I'm on a week's leave.” She yawned. “What can I do for you? Is this a social call or strictly business?”
“Re-charging the batteries, eh?” He paused before continuing. “I have some information concerning your query about D.N.A. I'm afraid that it's not good news. At first, the members of our forensic team were sceptical of checking the samples, but relented eventually. When the results came back negative, the main discussion then focussed on what market value the cigarette case might have in a collector's antique auction. No one asked about the origins of either the case or its contents. I'm certain that someone will raise that question but I'm sure that you can concoct some vague fabrication to account for the samples' source. There's a full forensic report, a copy of which I would like to send to you privately together with the cigarette case, if you could text me your address.”
“No problem. I anticipated the results, following everything that has taken place since Marseille.”
“Another anomaly that discredits his grandmother's tale is that the results from the blood on the razor differed completely from the hair strands.”
“How gullible am I?” Petra asked with an air of frustration. “She was so convincing…I hung on every word.”
“Now you know what it feels like to be on the receiving end.” Massey still harboured some resentment over her lies when she was his prime suspect in a murder investigation. He put his feelings to one side. “Do you still keep in touch with Alexis and the others?”
“I have seen Bobo a couple of times through work. Tom Cathcart returned to Canada to set up his own security company and Jean-Marie writes to me occasionally. I stayed with him and his wife the last time that I visited Alexis.”
“How is he? I hear that he was receiving treatment following some kind of breakdown. He seemed quite an intelligent young man from my brief encounter with him.”
“He was too bright, I think. His imagination seemed to overwhelm his logic. Following the investigation, the courts found him guilty of complicity with Dumas, but, because of his undercover work for the security agencies, they merely placed him on a suspended sentence for one year. None of the other claims was proven, despite his continued protestations that he was working with Chechen revolutionaries. Like his grandmother, he had begun to believe his own fantasies. As you remarked, he is still undergoing treatment in the psychiatric hospital. On my last visit, there were some signs of improvement, but it will take time. I must admit that I had a lucky escape there. However, despite his delusions of grandeur, I still have a soft spot for him.”
Massey laughed. “You having a soft spot is almost beyond comprehension. I doubt that you'll ever change in that respect. Have you seen his grandmother since?”
“Despite her fabrications, she's the same sweet, old dear…still believing her own fairy tale. Whenever I visit, I find her just as fascinating and interesting as before. Considering her age, she has incredible knowledge and, despite her foibles, remains extremely intelligent…totally deluded, of course. It must run in the family. Anyway, how are you now? Is the shoulder in working order again?”
He grunted. “Budgets are so tight and manpower resources are at such a premium that there's no room for slackers…needs must. Consequently, I'm back chasing criminals again.”
“What about your mate, D.C.I. Harcourt? Is she still swanning around the planet?”
“I don't know and I don't want to know. I heard that she had transferred to some rural outpost where presumably, she would be less likely to cause ripples. Her superiors severely reprimanded her for her elongated French excursion. On reflection, the Marseille escapade had quite an impact on the lives of several individuals…apart from you, Petra. You always seem to come up smelling of roses.”
“That's life, Inspector…sorry, Chief Inspector. You just have to deal with it. Whatever your fate, accept it and move on. That's my philosophy.”
Massey laughed. “Just think…if the forensic results had been positive…your destiny could have been instant fame and fortune. You may have even become part of the unfolding story if you had stayed with Alexis.”
Petra giggled into the mobile. “Well, I certainly have a good pedigree. I've been swotting up on Russian history. Those Romanovs were a pretty bad lot in their day.”
“You've definitely led a charmed and chequered life so far, despite your criminal background. Doubtless, you'll meet your future comeuppance, just as they did…hopefully, not in such a violent fashion. Anyway, apologies for the disappointing news…it's a pity that the dream is over. I was looking forward to participating in a massive celebration in eight years time.”
There we go again, thought Petra, that number eight just will not go away.
James R. Vance
January 2011
e-mail: james.rvance@sfr.fr