opened her heart and taught him her secrets. He was not like Leon, he was not like any of the others, she could have spared him. They could have lived on forever. Tears filled Zoya’s eyes as she reached to touch Will’s face.
“Do not wake him, mademoiselle. Please, let him rest. He has been through so much,” said the detective, holding up a piece of paper. “We will leave him a note, yes?”
Book Five
Of course, in present-day France you have to say that everything’s fine, that everything’s lovely, including death.
I
Maroc felt good as he strode down the street toward the office. He had spent the previous night in a room not far from the station with a bouncy, zaftig barmaid, Camille Vermillon. He rarely stayed through to the morning with her but the previous evening had sought her out with the full intention of burying himself deep in the folds of those generous bosoms straight through to the dawn. He had even called his wife before he went to hunt Camille down, telling Madame Maroc that he had important police business that would keep him at the office. Then he went to the bar. Camille was distant and pouty when he showed up, but after he had swatted her ass a few times and pushed her around a bit, she was ready to treat him right. He had needed it. The pressures of the previous weeks had been almost too much to endure. After a long night of great exertion, he had left his Camille a sulking pile of flesh, bruised and sore, smoking a cigarette in her bed and glaring at him as he pulled up his suspenders and left. He knew she would be there for him when he came back, some girls just needed it like that. He was thoroughly happy, reinvigorated, and relaxed, feeling as though he had just spent a week at a Swiss spa.
Approaching the station, he suddenly felt even better. For as he neared the entrance, a familiar figure stepped out from the doorway, causing him to stop dead in his tracks. It was Vidot, right there before him, alive and in the flesh. Maroc was so surprised and relieved, he almost hugged his old antagonist. “Vidot, you silly fool! Where have you been?”
The detective gave him a polite smile. “It is a rather long tale. I will put it all in my report and so I would rather not have to go through it twice. You can read it there later. But you will be pleased to learn that I have made an arrest in the Vallet case; she is resting in a cell downstairs.”
“Really? That is wonderful news, and what about Bemm?”
“I currently have some of our people looking into that. But I’m glad I caught up with you, I need your help this morning on another important arrest.”
Maroc was even more pleased. “Another one? Is that why you’re dressed in uniform?”
Vidot looked down at his clothes. “I needed some clothes, I was in a bit of a predicament. Luckily I had these at the station. Shall we go?”
Maroc shook his head. “I shouldn’t. I have work to do, Vidot, get some other officer to help you.”
“I’d happily do it on my own if I could, but I believe I will need your authority, for it is a very important arrest. Come, let us go.”
Maroc threw out his hands. “Ah, I had forgotten what a frustrating man you can be, Vidot. You reappear out of nowhere, offering no explanation of where you have been or what you have been up to. You have nothing to say regarding the fate of your colleague Bemm. You vanish, lose your partner, and now you’re ordering
Noticing that officers coming out of the station were staring at the two of them, Maroc grew a little self- conscious. He did not want to make a scene by losing his temper, but Vidot was especially skilled at getting under his skin.
The detective was nonplussed by his superior’s outburst. “Of course, sir, you give the orders and I merely carry them out, but when I come across significant crimes being committed in our city that need a timely response, you will forgive me if I expect our leaders to respond forcefully,” he said.
Maroc paused, looking Vidot over. The detective’s attitude repulsed him. As humble as the detective tried to sound with his “sirs” and his formal manner, there was an insubordinate note of condescension in his tone. The superintendent took a step back and changed the subject. “Have you been home yet?”
Vidot raised one eyebrow. “Why do you ask?”
Maroc smiled mischievously. “I only wondered if perhaps this little adventure of yours might merely be a way of avoiding returning to your apartment. Perhaps this ‘mission’ you describe is not very so important, perhaps you’re only popping up and hauling me off on some merry goose chase so you will not have to explain to your lovely wife why you have been away and out of touch for so long?”
Vidot paused for a moment before he answered. “You are correct about one thing, sir. My wife is a lovely woman.” If Vidot’s tone had been cool before, it was now arctic. “But I was not aware you had met her.”
Hearing the edge in the detective’s voice, Maroc decided to leave the subject alone for the time being. He realized it might be a good idea to come along with Vidot on this arrest: Why should the arrogant little officer get all the credit? “Very well,” Maroc said, indulgently patting Vidot on the back, “let’s look into this lead of yours.”
Twenty minutes later they pulled up in front of an ordinary-looking building. Going directly to the front door, Vidot knocked hard. No one answered.
“See if it’s open,” said Maroc. It was unlocked. “Voila!” he said with a smile.
Inside the room there was a scientific lab set up along three long aluminum tables. A line of storage cabinets stood behind them. Rubber tubes, glass vials, and various joints, pipes, and screws ran down the length of the tables, past a series of silent Bunsen burners. At the end of the tables sat a pile of loosely arranged thick manila packets. Maroc went over and pulled one open. It was filled with a white powder. “Well, well, what do we have here?” he said, dipping his finger in for a taste.
“I would not do that,” said Vidot, grabbing Maroc’s hand before it could reach his tongue.
“You want to tell me what’s going on here?” asked Maroc.
Suddenly, a loud voice with a broad American accent filled the room. “Well,
The American stepped forward and spoke again, but this time only in English, which Maroc did not understand. The American took his wallet out of his jacket, pulled out a card, and passed it to Maroc. It read:
He said a few more words Maroc could not understand and then he ceased talking and broke into a broad smile.
Maroc looked around a little bewildered until Vidot spoke up: “The gentleman says he is General Philip Strong, and he says he’s from the American embassy. He says he is waiting here for his team and he says he would like to know who we are and why we feel we have the right to walk into someone’s private property.”
“Well, tell him the door was open.”
Vidot and the man proceeded to have a conversation in English while Maroc stood there feeling increasingly frustrated. Finally, Vidot turned to him. “He says that he and his team have been working with the United States Department of Defense in conjunction with both NATO and Interpol. He claims he has oversight on a project being run out of this building and says the contents of those envelopes are United States property. He apologizes for his English, but neither he nor his colleague speaks French. And, finally,” said Vidot with a bemused smile, “he is requesting we leave the building now as it is a matter of national security.”
