Two cameras followed their progress, swiveling on silent mounts. Bodie stopped at the far end and waited, staring at a new door with a one-way vision panel. None of this was overkill, he knew. The woman on the other side of this door offered a highly specialized, much sought-after service.
Thirty seconds later they were standing in front of her.
Giselle Van Santen was tall, slim and unsmiling. Tattoos covered her tanned biceps and lower legs, in fact, much of the flesh Bodie could see around her X Ambassadors T-shirt and cargo shorts. From her name, Bodie guessed she was of French origin and, on meeting her for the first time, knew he was right.
“Nice boots,” Cassidy said, nodding at her black leather Balenciagas.
Giselle smiled. “True. And you are soaked through to the bone. Let me fetch some towels.”
Bodie nodded, taking the opportunity to study Giselle’s inner sanctum. Essentially, someone—probably Giselle—had gutted the place, turning it into one large room. The walls were white, the ceiling too. The floor was polished black tile. Everything he could see was pristine, including the impressive bank of computer monitors at the far side, a photographic set-up much like a passport-photo booth, and a kitchen area from where Giselle was retrieving black bath towels. It felt airy, bright and welcoming. Bodie relaxed despite their dire situation.
“Of course, you weren’t followed.” Giselle handed out the towels, her words a clear statement rather than a question.
Bodie didn’t answer. Last night, they’d found the tombs of Arthur and Guinevere, as well as the Holy Grail on a snow-swept peak in southern England. The surreal truth was that half his mind was still there, trying to come to terms with the enormity of that find. The other half had a far more important task.
Quitting the CIA.
“They’ll kill you if they find you.” Giselle stared into his eyes as if reading his mind.
“Yeah, and they have just the man to do it,” Jemma said.
“Kenny Pang?” Giselle nodded at their surprise. “Yes, I researched your exploits after you reached out to me. The so-called relic hunters, finders of the Statue of Zeus, Atlantis and the Amber Room. What else have you found that caused you to, finally, run?”
“Can’t say.” Cassidy rubbed her hair with a towel. “But believe me, you’ll find out real soon. After rescuing the hostage diamond in Paris, the feds imprisoned us. Interrogated us for days. Their way of saying thanks.” She shook out the towel in anger, spraying water everywhere. “After that we decided a lifetime on the run was far better than one spent in servitude.”
Giselle nodded. “Amen to that.”
“How long will it take?” Bodie got straight to the point.
“To create five new identities that will get you safely to Europe? To move your monies around to where you can easily access it? To create several ghostlines through which you can use the Internet to communicate without fear of being found and tracked? Maybe... three days. But you are invisible here. Get comfortable.”
Bodie used the towel to mop up a large proportion of the rain. Giselle’s place was sweltering, at least eighty degrees, and the heat was already drying the shirt on his back.
“One thing,” Giselle said, turning to face them and moving behind an empty table. “Where did you hear about me?”
Bodie guessed there was something other than chewing gum stuck underneath that table and Giselle had her hands on the trigger. “Hey,” he said. “Relax.”
“Yeah, you don’t wanna splatter us all over your nice clean room,” Cassidy said.
“Don’t worry. You are standing in the easy-clean area.”
Bodie again noted the tiled floor. “Shit, she’s right. Look, I’m from London. I was born and raised here. Did time here. Jack Pantera was my mentor. He was one of the old school, a real London gangster from bygone days.”
“I don’t know him. And I was born in 1990. In southern France. Your gangsters mean nothing to me.”
“Right,” Bodie acknowledged. “I’m getting there. I used to be well known around London. One of the faces. Jack and I, we have contacts. Still do. They keep their ears to the ground. And when someone as good as you pops up—they notice. I’ve known about you for five years, Giselle.”
The Frenchwoman looked surprised. “That will be... when I first arrived.”
“The good ones are allowed to continue their work in case they’re ever needed,” Bodie said, a little cryptically. “There are criminals in power, in London, who could shut you down overnight. Or worse. But they don’t, because...”
Giselle licked her lips. “One day they might need my services?”
“Yep. You aren’t as invisible as you think. At least, not to the darker, more powerful element of London’s underbelly. The cops... they have no idea.”
“And you are in touch with this... underbelly?”
Bodie shrugged. “You never burn your old contacts. That’d be like shooting yourself in the foot before a marathon.”
Giselle turned and walked away without further interrogation. Over her shoulder she said, “Food is in the fridge. Cots are upstairs. Try not to disturb me unless you want this to take longer.” Her French accent was faint but persisted in the occasional word.
Bodie breathed a sigh of relief as Lucie said, “Cots?” and Yasmine threw a soaking wet towel on the floor. “Right now,” she said. “I need pizza.”
“Is she as good as she thinks she is?” Cassidy asked in an exaggerated whisper.
“Cutting edge.” Bodie nodded. “She’s the best fixer in town. Best not only because she’s first-class, but because she’s also unknown to the authorities. Low-profile is good for us. Keeps us alive and kicking.”
Lucie hadn’t moved at all, but was still staring at the ceiling. Bodie followed her gaze, seeing
