Chapter Twelve

Hugo didn’t wait to be waved into the ambassador’s office, silencing his secretary’s rising objection with a look he normally reserved for suspects.

Senator Holmes was alone inside the spacious office, striding back and forth in front of Ambassador Taylor’s desk, talking on his cell phone. He looked up as Hugo entered and hung up immediately.

“Where’s Tom Green?” Holmes said.

“We don’t need Tom for this.”

“For what? What do you think we’re doing here, Mr. Marston?”

“Senator, we don’t need Tom to cancel a press conference or to conduct an investigation that has nothing whatsoever to do with terrorism.”

“And you’re the one who gets to decide this?”

“It’s not who decides that’s important, it’s who’s right. And I’m right.”

Holmes looked at him, then slipped the phone into his jacket pocket. “We’re on the same side here, Hugo. We both want the same thing. I want whoever killed my son brought to justice. I trust you do, too.”

“Wanting something isn’t the same thing as getting it, Senator. With all due respect, you’re a politician with no law enforcement experience. And on top of that . . .” Hugo trailed off.

“On top of that I’m emotionally involved.” Holmes held his stare. “Hell, yes, sure I am. I don’t deny that, how could I? It was my son killed in that cemetery. But don’t forget, I also have the power to make this investigation get up off its ass and move.”

“And what if it moves in the wrong direction?”

“Then we find a terrorist. That’s bad?”

“In some ways no, but if we’re looking for whoever killed you son, it’s useless. Look, Senator, I don’t doubt your motives for a second. But there are thousands of dedicated agents out there, American, French, Israeli, British, all looking for jackasses like Al Zakiri. If we waste time chasing him, we’ve done them a favor but not much else.”

“What if he’s here to blow up a bridge, an airport, the Eiffel Tower?”

“Then he wasn’t here to kill your son. And that’s my priority.”

They turned as the door opened. Ambassador Taylor stood in the doorway and looked back and forth between the men in his office. “Sharing sound bites?” he asked, the smile forced.

Hugo looked at Holmes to answer.

“Not exactly,” the senator said. “Mr. Marston here is trying to persuade me to forego a great asset, the press.”

“Maybe an asset if Al Zakiri is our man,” Hugo said. “Which he isn’t.”

“Then who is?” Holmes colored. “Some random guy who magically appeared in the same cemetery as them? You have no fucking idea who killed my boy, do you?”

Taylor walked farther into the room, like a referee coming between two fighters. “Senator, I think that’s Hugo’s point. If we don’t know who did it, we might not want to start pointing fingers just yet.”

“And as I said to your precious chief of security, even if Al Zakiri didn’t do it, what the hell’s the harm in finding the son of a bitch? He’s a terrorist for fuck’s sake.”

A voice from the doorway. “Which is precisely why peckerheads like Marston shouldn’t be allowed anywhere near this operation.”

Three heads turned to see Tom leaning against the jamb, hands in pockets and large black circles under his eyes.

“What operation?” Ambassador Taylor asked.

Tom shrugged. “Fucked if I know. But if Al Zakiri’s in France you can bet your last French franc that several intelligence agencies know where he is, why he’s here, and what’s he’s doing while you’re all standing around here comparing dick sizes.”

Holmes took two steps toward him. “Who the hell do you think you are, talking to me like that?”

Hugo bit back a smile. “I’ll answer that, Senator. He’s a consulting analyst with the CIA who knows what he’s talking about, even if he doesn’t quite know how to say it politely.”

Holmes glared at Tom. “You’re telling me that my son wasn’t killed by Al Zakiri? That it was pure coincidence he died on foreign soil in the company of a woman who came to this country with a known terrorist?”

“No clue,” said Tom. “Missed my briefing this morning.” Hugo thought he saw a shadow of regret on his friend’s face. “Point is,” Tom continued, “we need more answers before we go around flinging poo like drunk monkeys.”

“What answers?” Holmes demanded.

“I’d like to hear more about the second break-in.”

“Me too,” said Ambassador Taylor. “Hugo?”

“I’d planned to meet with Capitaine Garcia this morning, still will if I can. I think they are connected, I’m just not sure how yet.”

“Jesus, people.” Holmes threw up his arms. “I don’t give a shit about a bag of old bones from that goddamn cemetery.”

“Maybe you should,” said Tom. “Because my pompous big friend is usually right. Whoever stole those bones also killed your son. And I know you care about that.” He slouched to an armchair, impervious to the senator’s furious gaze, collapsing into it and closing his eyes with a sigh of relief.

“I can do this press conference whether you like it or not,” Holmes snapped.

“Not here, you can’t,” Ambassador Taylor said. “Not in my embassy.”

“You would fight me on this?” Holmes said, incredulous.

“My interest is in maintaining good relations with our French cousins. Setting off a manhunt for the wrong man doesn’t further those goals. But,” he held up a finger, “I also don’t believe we need to harbor terrorists, or risk harboring them.” He turned to Hugo. “Get me something, Hugo. Twenty-four hours. Get me something solid in twenty-four hours or I’ll give the good senator here the backdrop of the US Embassy to make whatever announcement he pleases.”

The three men looked at Holmes.

“I’ll wait that long,” the senator said. “But not a moment longer.”

 

 

 

Garcia picked up the phone on the second ring and Hugo breathed a sigh of relief. This was no time to be playing phone tag.

“Sorry for the late call,” he said. “Emergency at the embassy.”

He filled Garcia in on Holmes’s plan and heard the air whistle through Garcia’s teeth.

“Merde,” the capitaine said. “You stopped the press conference?”

“The ambassador did. That’s the good news. The bad news is that we have twenty-four hours to show we’re getting somewhere.”

“Twenty-four hours?”

“Oui.”

“Bon. Then we have time for coffee. Café Panis is between us, do you know it?”

“I do.”

“Half an hour. See you there.” Garcia hung up without waiting for an answer.