dare show herself on the street in daylight to use a pay phone. She was afraid to stir from her hiding place, despite the macabre presence of Marcel's dead body.
Who to trust? Not the police; she didn't trust them not to sell her out. Whatever was behind all this killing, it was something big. The Syndicate maybe, or major narcotics traffickers, or even something political. Whoever was big enough to unleash the violence outside the Golden Pole was big enough to reach inside police headquarters, put a hand on Vikki Valence, and place her among the missing.
She told herself that she'd make a move when it got dark, that she'd have a better chance of getting away then. But she couldn't summon the resolve to make the jump. Bad as the Marcel death house was, it was better than whatever unknown fate awaited her on the streets.
She sat around in a kind of shocked stupor, trying to summon up the will to make a move. Then the decision had been made for her, with the arrival of Dooley and Buttrick, and with them, CTU agents Bauer and Malo.
That was her story, the gist of it anyway. No doubt there was plenty more good intelligence to be gotten from her, but that was a job for the full-time interrogators at CTU Center across the river.
Floyd Dooley said, 'You can believe what she says about the NOPD being full of crooks and double-crossers. Except for me and Buck. You can trust us; we're your boys.'
Jack had contacted CTU Center early on, to let them know Vikki had been found. He and Pete got her story during the twenty minutes or so while they were waiting for a detail to arrive at Belle Reve to take her to Center for debriefing.
The CTU vehicle arrived, Vikki being transferred to their custody. One of the agents was Hathaway, a field man who'd earlier been the spotter on the Sad Hill power trail, monitoring the progress of the kidnappers from the cemetery to the Kwik-Up parking lot and the blast that would ultimately send their remains to another cemetery.
Hathaway took Jack aside for a private word. 'Quite a party at Center! Not only are those two other dancers from the Golden Pole, Francine and Dorinda, down there, but so is Raoul Garros and Susan Keehan, too. And now Vikki Valence!' He smacked his lips.
Jack said, 'I know that Garros was going to be picked up by our people as soon as he was released by the kidnappers, but what's Susan Keehan doing down there?'
'Raising holy hell,' Hathaway said, showing every evidence of having enjoyed the spectacle. 'Sears balked at turning Garros over to our guys, until someone dropped a word in his ear about Susan Keehan being liable for obstruction of justice charges for helping Garros get away from us at the Mega Mart. Sears played ball after that. Garros hollered about diplomatic immunity, but we said we were taking him into protective custody to make sure nothing else happened to him before he was deported for acts of espionage against the United States of America.'
'How did Susan horn in?'
'Oh, she insisted she be allowed to accompany him, to make sure that his rights weren't violated. Cal Randolph said okay, why not? She might spill something without even realizing it, something we could use,' Hathaway said.
He went on, 'The Flea on Susan has been neutralized. The abort switch was thrown, turning it into a piece of plastic and metal junk.'
Hathaway got confidential, lowering his voice. 'You should have seen what happened at Center when Susan came face to face with Raoul's former gal pal, Dorinda! Dorinda wasn't shy about letting Susan know that she and Garros were more than, er, just friends, if you know what I mean.'
Jack said, straight-faced, 'I do, but does Susan?'
Hathaway said, 'If she didn't, she does now. Let's put it this way: if I were Raoul, I wouldn't go setting that wedding date anytime too soon!'
19. THE FOLLOWING TAKES PLACE BETWEEN THE HOURS OF 11 P.M. AND 12 A.M. CENTRAL DAYLIGHT TIME
'Al Marcel' was more than just a woman-chasing painter with a penchant for international politics.
Inputting his name and facial photographs taken from his dead body, CTU Center analysts were able to make a quick identification of the mystery man. His name was not Alan but Alain — Alain Marcel. If, indeed, that was his real name and not just another cover identity he had assumed while working in the United States.
A native of France, Marcel was revealed to be an undercover agent for French intelligence, on assignment in New Orleans.
France maintains strong political, economic, and military ties with a number of its former colonies, including the tiny South American nation that used to be called French Guyana. Guyana borders Venezuela, and with the advent of Hugo Chavez and his aggressively expansionist socialist regime, he'd been leaning hard on his neighbors, particularly Colombia and Guyana.
In his office at Elysee Palace in Paris, the newly installed, centrist French president had noted Chavez's belligerent moves toward Guyana with anger and alarm.
He'd tasked his spy service to keep close tabs on Chavez and his creatures, gathering intelligence about their present activities and future plans.
One member of that effort was the man named Alain Marcel. Marcel had been posted to New Orleans, assigned to monitor the activities of Colonel Paz at the Venezuelan Consulate and Raoul Garros at the state-owned LAGO oil company offices in the Crescent City. Paz and Garros both were major womanizers, giving Marcel a wedge to gather information on their doings.
Posing as a painter, Marcel had insinuated himself into the bohemian world of the French Quarter, that demimonde where the art world intersects the world of dancers, prostitutes, dives, and cafes.
His painterly skills were adequate for the task, while his personal charm and good looks were more fitted for success in penetrating the society of showgirls and exotic dancers frequented by Paz and Garros.
Striking up an acquaintance with Vikki Valence — which wasn't hard, since she had a yen for personable, good-looking men — Marcel had managed to collect a good deal of intelligence first on Garros, and then, after the Venezuelan playboy had tired of Vikki, on her next boyfriend.
The Venezuelans in New Orleans were Marcel's primary target, but while on assignment, he'd been informed by liaison with French intelligence that Major Marc Vollard had surfaced in New Orleans.
The French were highly interested in Vollard, whose mercenary activities had crossed some of their operations in their former African colonies. They kept a detailed dossier on him, continually updating it. They definitely wanted to get their hands on him, first for a lengthy period of interrogation to squeeze him dry of everything he knew about the sponsors and details of his past operations, and then to quietly liquidate them so he would trouble them no more.
Marcel had been tasked to keep an eye out for Vollard and his associates and find out everything he could about them. His assignment had come to fruition unexpectedly early, when he'd discovered that certain members of Vollard's permanent leadership cadre, such as Hermann Ost, had been meeting with communist Cuban spymaster Hector Beltran.
More, Vollard's men had been tailing Paz, clocking his movements. Marcel knew what that meant: they were building a profile of his pattern and routine, preparatory to assassinating him.
Paris was interested in Beltran, as any intelligence service would be, but it was Vollard whom they really wanted to get their hands on.
Marcel had pushed perhaps too hard, for in the final week leading up to Bloody Saturday and the Golden Pole massacre, he'd come to the notice of Vollard and his crew.
Instead of tailing the mercenaries, they were tailing him, closing in on him.
On Thursday he'd met with Vikki Valence to warn her as best he could of the danger encompassing Paz and all those in his orbit. She was part of his assignment, but he cared for her, too, in his way, and he didn't want to see any harm come to her. He told her as much as he dared, without breaking his cover or revealing his ties to French
