Blue with Black Dots (The Caprice Trilogy Book 2) (43 page)

Chapter Fifteen    Agent in Play

Georgia knew Arthur wouldn’t send someone to kill her in a hospital.  There were too many witnesses.  The halls were full of staff and visitors.  A nurse checked in on her regularly and he would have to register himself as a visitor.  And the biggest problem of all, was one Simone had laid down for him.  She had chosen the playground, Bourges.  Bourges wasn’t a big city, less ways to escape; less people on the street; less crowds to get lost in.  The population of the city of Bourges was between seventy and eighty thousand.  It would be too difficult to make a run for it in Bourges.  People would notice you running.  It showed Arthur’s brilliance in choosing Paris as a killing field.  Paris was big.  Everything happened in Paris.  Anything that happened wouldn’t cause an eye to bat.  But Bourges was looking for something to look at.  The city wanted to bat an eye.  It just didn’t happen that often.

              Arthur arrived on the third day after the phone call.  By the time he arrived, Georgia was in a room with another woman.  There wasn’t much they could say in the open.  Arthur came through the door wearing a black windbreaker.  It reminded Georgia that it was mid September.  The weather was beginning to change.  She spent over two months at
Constance
, the rest of the summer. 

              “How are you?” asked Arthur.  Georgia raised her cast hand.

              “I see,” said Arthur.

              “Thank you for coming, Sir,” said Georgia.

              “We did need to talk,” said Arthur, “Figure this out.”   

“We do need to figure this out,” said Georgia.

              “There’s time,” said Arthur, “I’m staying at the
Bourges Club de Prix
in the city center.  One of the nice hotels you tried to stay away from.”

“That shows you’re smarter than I am,” said Georgia.

“How’s that?” said Arthur.

“I don’t think anyone’s bound to mug you there,” said Georgia.

“Let’s hope you’re right,” said Arthur, “Any word on when they’ll release you?”

“They wanted me to stay five days,” said Georgia, “Just to give my ribs the time to solidify.  Then they’ll let me go day after tomorrow.”

“Ok,” said Arthur, “We’ll talk then.  I’ll have a room waiting for you at the
Club de Prix
.  And don’t worry about hospital bill.  It’s taken care of.”

“How did you ever get to your position by being so kind?” said Georgia.

“By knowing whom to be kind to,” said Arthur winking, “We’ll talk.  I left some cash on the books for you when you are released.  You have to take your receipt to the cashier and have it stamped before you can get your personals back.  The bill is oversubscribed by one thousand francs so they’ll refund that to you.  Use it to grab a taxi to my hotel.  I’m in the North Suite, top floor.”

“I’ll be a welcome change to a hospital ward,” said Georgia, “Thanks again, Sir.”

“You just get well,” said Arthur, kissing Georgia on the forehead. “We’ll talk.”

•••

Georgia’s instructions were simple and simple to follow.  She went to the desk and was given her billing receipt.  She took the receipt down the hall to the cashier, feeling like cashing out at a casino.  She handed him the stapled papers and he looked them over, stamping each one.  He told Georgia there was a credit on her patient account of one thousand francs.  He gave her the money in fifties and one hundred in twenties.  She went to reclaim her clothes and found her staff nurse to say goodbye. 

The taxi to the
Club de Prix
was eight minutes including stops.  Georgia went to the front desk and said she was a guest of the gentleman staying in the North Suite.  The woman at the desk made a quick phone call, before showing the direction to the elevators.  The hotel was only five floors.  All suites were on the top floor.  There were eight rooms on all other floors but the top floor only had four, making each suite double the size of a regular room and with a terraced balcony.  The suites were marked North, South, East and West.  The North Suite was to the right of the elevator.  Georgia walked to the door not knowing what to expect.  She knocked anyway.  Arthur came to the door wearing a white shirt and navy slacks.

“Georgia,” said Arthur, “You look like you.”

“They took the gauge off but please don’t punch me in the nose,” said Georgia.

“Hey,” said Arthur, “No need for that.  You’ve already proven you’re tough.”

“Would you like something from the fridge?” asked Arthur. 

“Just a
Coke
,” said Georgia.

“Sure,” said Arthur, “Have a seat.”  Georgia sat down on the beige upholstered rolled arm bench that was adjacent to the matching sofa.  Arthur came to the sofa and handed a can of cola to Georgia.

“So be frank with me,” said Arthur, “Why have you brought me here?”

“I’ve already said,” said Georgia.

“That’s right,” said Arthur, “Over the phone you mentioned about something’s going on with
Full House
.  My question for you is what exactly do you think is going on?”  Georgia popped the tab of her cola and took a sip.

“Can I ask you a question, Sir?” said Georgia.

“Sure,” said Arthur.

“Did you give any of us up?” asked Georgia.

“Why would you ask me that?” said Arthur.

“I think,” said Georgia, “I think you’ve done something.“

“What something?” asked Arthur.

“I don’t know,” said Georgia, “But I have my thoughts.”

“Care to share?” said Arthur.

“Only if you do,” said Georgia.

“Ladies first,” said Arthur.

“Thank you, Sir,” said Georgia, “Something is leaking at
Full House
.  Isn’t it?  How could we be compromised so soon?  We’re college kids.  How can someone be on our trail?  How do we get found out so easily?  In only a year.”

“Unless I gave you up,” said Arthur, “Am I right?”

“
The Peer Program
had been deactivated for what?  Five years?” said Georgia.

“Eight,” said Arthur.

“All the more telling,” said Georgia, “You’re the one who submitted the proposal to have the program reinstated.  That gave you access to a lot of money under new budgeting requirements by Congress.  The Agency had more money so you applied for some of it.”  Arthur’s eyes fixated on Georgia.  She was making an impression.

“And why would I reinstated the program to sabotage it?” said Arthur, “Have you thought about that?  It’s my program.”

“Because the program wasn’t the point,” said Georgia, “It was the money.”

“If that’s a complaint about your salary, consider this,” said Arthur, “We were paid much less when I joined.”

“To complain about my salary, I wouldn’t complain to you,” said Georgia.

“That’s the most intelligent thing you’ve said so far,” said Arthur, “Did you figure out so much on your own or did you have help?”

“Wait a minute,” said Georgia, “The biggest was my assignment.  It was bullshit.  Did the Agency really want those minutes or was it you?  There are other ways to figure out what the Soviets were up to in Vietnam.”

“You have to crawl before you can walk,” said Arthur, “Besides your assignment was designed to be indetectable.  We didn’t steal that document.  We just photographed it.  You just located it for us.  That was a nice little assignment for your first outing.  What?  Did you think we would send you after Brezhnev?  Come on Georgia.  Come on.”

“That’s the cover,” said Georgia, “It was just something to get your feet wet.  That was what you planned to say all along.  When
Full House
came under review that was going to be what you said in the hearing.  They were young.  They needed to have something to get their feet wet.”

“Georgia,” said Arthur, “Are we done with this?”

“No,” said Georgia, “I’m not yet with the period on the end of the sentence.”

“Then can we be done?” asked Arthur.  Georgia took a sip of cola.

“Probably not,” said Georgia, “Because the biggest proof is right here.”

“What ?” asked Arthur.

“You,” said Georgia, “You came here, to France.  You’re an administrator.  Why are you not back at your desk?”

“You forget I was once a field agent also,” said Arthur, “I’m no stranger.  The field doesn’t frighten me.”

“You wouldn’t step out of one role back into the other,” said Georgia, “You wouldn’t leave your desk, which I’ve never seen but suppose is nice.  You wouldn’t come all this way, just for me.”

              “So are you admitting to setting me up?” said Arthur, “To bring me here.”

“You did the same to me,” said Georgia.

“Ridiculous,” said Arthur, “Now I need a drink.”  Arthur walked toward the mini fridge.  He set a miniature size bottle of
Grand Marnier
and a second can of
Coke
on the counter.  He found a whisky glass on the shelf next to the fridge.  He took something else out of the fridge and set it next to the glass.  From across the room, it looked like polished metal.  It didn’t have the shape of a flask.

“You know I hate drinking a cocktail without ice,” said Arthur.  Georgia casually stood up and walked behind the sofa, toward the edge of the shallow that was relieved for the window.  It was a subtle action but it put her upper body out of Arthur’s line of sight.  She could hear him pouring the cola.  It was a rocky sound not a smooth sound.  The smooth sound came next, the cognac.

“I’m giving you a fair shake,” said Arthur, “Usually drinking and marksmanship are at opposites.”  Arthur held his drink in his left hand and his polished metal in his right hand.  He took a sip.

“This is personal Georgia,” said Arthur, “It’s not a service weapon.”  Georgia dipped her head forward for a split second to see what Arthur had in his right hand.  It was tiny, a .22 caliber short mini-revolver.  It looked feminine in his hand.  Georgia realized why Arthur was holding a revolver.  The bullet cartridge wouldn’t go flying like with a pistol.  He didn’t want to get down on his knees looking to recover the cartridge.  It also meant he needed the bullet to go into her and stay there.  He didn’t want the bullet or cartridge recovered.  It would be easier to dispose of her body without fresh bullet fragments to worry about.  Any blood left, he would say it was his, say he got drunk.  The sound of the gunshot could be him falling off the bed—the cause of his injury.  Georgia’s recognition of events gave her a small window.  She knew Arthur needed a clear torso shot.  He couldn’t risk a headshot.  The skull was too hard.  It could cause the small caliber bullet to split pushing bullet pieces everywhere.  He’d have to find the pieces.  He would miss some.  A gut shot was better, to bury the bullet somewhere in her spine—no exit wound.  Georgia realized if she denied him the desired target she might live.

“How good of a shot were you?” asked Georgia.

“Why?” asked Arthur.

“You’ve been behind a desk for years,” said Georgia, “And you want to put me down with that thing.  You’re going to have to be a real good shot.”

“Well,” said Arthur, “Considering I have multiple rounds I should manage.”  

“I suppose it would be worth it considering what’s at stake,” said Georgia, “You must have grabbed a lot of cash to launch an entire program just to cover your budget holes.”