Counterfeit Conspiracies (16 page)

In a blink, I'd plugged in my phone. Normally I would have used the device to watch a movie to cover the length of the journey, but I didn't have the interest or the attention span at that point. Simon's laptop was tempting, just to see if I could get a heads-up on anything, but Nico would do a much better job of unearthing its secrets than I, so the machine stayed safe and buried until I could pass it on. He said he was bringing a new toy. This way I'd be able to offer one in return.

I took a moment to lower the lens of my glasses, and improve my vision to scan my fellow passengers. No one seemed especially keen on watching me, no quick movements when I glanced a different way, so all seemed safe for the moment. I kept the cap pulled low, daring CCTV to peek through my subterfuge. I tried not to make eye contact anyway. I wanted this to be an opportunity to rest, not chitchat with someone who spent the whole trip marveling at all the people who travel in the wee hours of the morning, and wanted my full Curriculum Vitae in the process so they had a reason to impress me with theirs.

A rummage through my Prada unearthed a couple of luggage tags I used to close the bags at the handles, and provide identification. From past experience I knew Eurostar got snarky when you didn't have names on everything, and if my stuff ended up in overhead storage, the bags definitely needed a means of getting tagged back to me. Yes, my Prada was a treasure trove of unexpected necessities, but traveling as much as I did meant I picked up emergency luggage tags like Post-It notes, so having two available was no great surprise. I've even used Beacham business cards before in a crunch, but didn't want to do so while attempting to dance through incognito on this journey.

I worried over whether my picture would be one flashed at all security checkpoints. Until I knew how much clout Jack truly had, it was important to plan for the worst and hope for something better. At least I could pick my seat. The Eurostar cattle car option annoyed many, but I found not having a designated seat was a great way to make sure I monitored who sat next to me, and who did not. Of course, I didn't have to travel with children either.

By the time we cleared London's environs we were thundering along at just under one-hundred-ninety miles per hour. This little informational tidbit came via the nice French-accented attendant who wanted to know if I needed anything—I didn't. The train stopped at Ebbsfleet International to take on more passengers, but still no Nico. Again at Ashford, strangers boarded, but not my friend. I remembered both places from coverage during the London Olympics, since the sports venues were spaced so far apart. Surely, Nico hadn't missed his own train after reading me the riot act about the itinerary.

The man in the aisle seat across had an app on his phone that told how fast we were going, and constantly told his seatmate the current speed. I hoped the toy Nico promised was more interesting than that guy's.
Sheesh!
Finally, one of the blokes in the row ahead of him said, "Will you bloody well shut up about the train speed, mate?"

A man after my own heart.

My interested porter returned to inform me the train would soon be rolling through the fields of Kent. Unfortunately, we'd see nothing of the landscape at this hour.

When he offered to bring me a juice, I acquiesced. I hadn't realized how thirsty I was until he mentioned it.

The plan had called for breakfasting in Paris before grabbing up the rental car Nico promised for the next leg of the journey. I wasn't sure how he accomplished it all, but I hoped not to be anywhere near Max when our boss got the next credit card billing.

My personal Eurostar attendant returned with my juice and explained where the train's bar/buffet was in case he wasn't around when I needed something. I was pretty sure he was giving me special privileges, since I didn't have any breakfast service on this trip.

After a few more words of small talk, he glanced at my cap and touched his own. "From Chicago?" he asked in his lovely accented English.

"It's a friend's."

He smiled, nodded, then slipped out the back door. The paranoia in me rose again, wondering if he was reporting on the American blonde who wore her hair up in a Cubbies cap. Maybe I should have let someone sit beside me so I wouldn't stand out, and look like I was traveling with a friend.

Speaking of friends, where was Nico? I expected to see him before I boarded, and now we were already en route. I hadn't seen a sign of him in the station or on the train. I checked my phone, but the only text was from Max, and I was ignoring that one.

To tamp down the concern, I hit a few keystrokes to send a "Where are you?" alert to Nico's number. I hoped he'd answer soon. My nerves were stretched enough.

A second later, I got a text from Cassie saying she was safe in her flat. Well, I could strike off one worry at least.

We hit the Chunnel and rode underground in darkness for just under half an hour, but the cabin stayed bright and light. The trip always amazed me, especially when we reached the other end, since it meant we'd gone from London to France in less than an hour.

I dropped off asleep at some point, and woke when the loudspeaker greeted us on arrival in Paris, first spoken in French, then English, and thanked us for traveling with Eurostar. I remembered the words of the medical tech, how he'd told me to have someone along to wake me throughout the night. Thank goodness I hadn't taken his advice, since what little sleep I had accomplished was well worth the risk.

For just a second, I wondered where Jack was, and whether he had someone to wake him.

The multi-storied glass façade of the Gare du Nord was a welcome sight, and our train slid into one of Eurostar's upper story platforms. The business car passengers rose as a group. I waited until everyone else departed before moving into the little hallway that led to the exit. The platform was not as airy as St. Pancras but visitor-friendly just the same.

Signs noted taxis to my left and the Metro to my right.

I stayed with the crowd, but kept distance between myself and others, while the cap rode low over my eyes. Since there were stairs in my near future, I slipped off Cassie's reading glasses and put them in the Prada. No point in risking a broken neck. I walked with the shopping bags held loosely at each side just in case I needed to move one way or the other in a hurry. So, I was ready when a hand grasped my shoulder from behind.

 

 

 

 

 

Anger and adrenalin pumped through my body, and instinct took over. I stuck out my foot, tightened the grip on my cargo and twirled, breaking my attacker's hold with the pivot and catching his mid-section with a roundhouse kick. The guy's backpack threw him off-center, and helped complete his quick trip to the ground. Best of all, everything I carried stayed safely in the shopping bags. Not one item spilled. Even my Prada hardly swayed.

Then I got a good look at my attacker. His curly black hair. His angry dark eyes.

"Oops. Sorry, Nico." I crouched down and pulled him into a hug, supporting his shoulders as he doubled over and moaned. It's amazing how rage dissipates almost immediately when the person you've been looking for suddenly becomes the one you hurt. "I was beginning to really worry about you."

He smirked. "I can tell."

"Well, you did say you were going to make the trip with me. When you didn't show my angst increased." I shrugged, and moved the shopping bags into one hand so I could help him get back to his feet. "Besides, you should be grateful for small favors. I could have slammed you in the groin."

"Yes, all those small favors." He rolled his expressive eyes at me as I got him by the arm and hustled us toward the staircase.

Just like at St. Pancras, the Gare du Nord banishes shadows through use of skylights, in addition to all the wonderful window walls on the outside of the structure. From previous trips, I knew the rental car companies operated from the area located right below the Eurostar arrival zone.

"I assume picking up the rental car is our next destination," I said as my feet hit the next floor. "But I don't suppose we could squeeze breakfast in first."

"If you prefer train station food, that is entirely possible."

"It would give us the chance to exchange our gifts to one another."

Nico stopped and turned toward me, raising both dark brows as he said, "I don't want another gift like the one you just gave me."

"Nah." I waved my hand. "My kicks come as a bonus."

He laughed, and propelled me toward the bistro area. "Then by all means. Let us find some croissants and a café for each of us."

Ah, coffee. My drug of choice.

We soon had our own outside table in weak Parisian sunshine. We scooted the chairs close enough to gain privacy as we talked and both ordered the same thing,
petit déjeuner français
. The croissant was flaky, the juice the best second
jus d'orange
of the day, and my cup of Americano hot and highly caffeinated. I reveled in my food. Horns sounded in the street, and a stiffening breeze kept the morning crisp. Leaves fell with a sigh, people hurried by us, and I luxuriated in the ability to relax for just a moment.

"That hit the spot," I said. "Should hold me for a couple of hours."

Nico twisted to reach the backpack hanging on the other chair and looked inside for a few seconds. His hand came out with a flourish, and he grinned when he put something unexpected in my hand.

"Glasses?" Not even attractive ones at that. They kind of looked like safety glasses without a bottom rim. And there was a funky second window in the top of the right lens. I noticed the earpieces were wider than normal, as wide as the plastic rim across the top of the frames.

Nico opened the earpieces and slipped the glasses on my face. "Be impressed. These are prototypes. With a few modifications I added, of course. Have you heard of Google glasses?"

"They aren't on sale yet."

He grinned, leaning close to whisper, "Hence my opener about these being prototypes."

"What can they do besides make me look a little nerdy?"

"Prepare to be impressed."

Step by step, Nico showed me the capabilities of the glasses. How I could unobtrusively shoot video while peering through the lenses. Why the tiny square in the upper right corner of the right lens was a secret weapon when I needed to know additional information. The way I could open stream what I was looking at, so Nico or anyone else could view it on their phones or a computer.

"Think about the implications for gathering both intel and evidence and the ease of documenting it for later use," Nico waxed poetic. "And with the modifications I've added, well, be prepared to be dazzled."

"More so than I already am to use nerdy spy glasses for every occasion?" I laughed at the affronted look he shot at my remark.

"When you need a heat or radiation detector, you're going to be glad you have Nico in your corner."

"I'm always glad you're in my corner. I just wish you could give me some snazzier looking glasses."

He threw up his hands, the Italian in him overrunning his emotions as he burst into a tirade. I couldn't understand half of what he said, it was a bit more colloquial than the social Italian I was used to using, but the gist was that I was ungrateful and should be happy people care enough to give me tools to help me. I didn't punctuate his comment with the fact they still looked a little too nerdy to wear with any of my Vera Wang's.

"Give me the case and the glasses, Nico. I promise to use them anytime I need their special powers." I held out a hand. "But I can still use our patented method of my calling you and leaving the line open so you can hear what's going on if I feel I need backup, right? I don't have to just count on my Buzz Lightyear glasses alone?"

Again with the Italian that I probably shouldn't repeat, followed by, "Yes, you can still do the open line." He let out a really long sigh then, so I knew I needed to switch the subject.

"Well, Christmas is early for you, too," I said, slipping the glasses into my Prada, and pulling Simon's laptop from the nearest shopping bag. The fake coral was the second item I grabbed.

Before I could tell him what I had, however, he pulled on the Prada and made another disparaging sound. "What is this? Did you drag this bag out the back of the Eurostar?"

"I'm afraid it's soon due for a hero's funeral. Maybe a Viking funeral, so we can set it ablaze to float out to sea." I rubbed the side of the Prada, much like one would a genie bottle. "The poor thing has truly done its duty in the last twelve hours. It faithfully bungeed along with me while we've been nearly abducted in the subway, kidnapped by the person I hurt to get me away from the abductors, chased several times while in taxis, shot at while in another cab, rescued by motorcycle after I hit the pavement during gunfire, and—"

"I get it. The purse should be retired with honors."

"Yes." I brushed the leather again. "But not today. It still has miles to go before it sleeps."

Nico gave me one of those glorious Gallic shrugs, and pulled the laptop close. "Is this Simon's?"

"Got it in one." I opened the coral and slid the USB drive his way. "And so is this. Has a few corrupted files on it, but it could be interesting. Cassie copied what she could onto her personal computer, and she's researching the art objects that are in the photo array. What she recognized at first glance, however, is detailed in a file she added to the drive."

"Looking for ringers or MIAs?"

"Both. Anything else she can come up with as well."

"Good idea."

"Have some more information that may be related." I went into detail on the tale Hawkes told me about the micro drive and the snuffbox, and the possibilities created when the courier was found dumped in an Italian alley.

Nico rubbed the thumb drive between his fingers like one would a comforting icon. I knew from past experience it was his way to engage his brain. I kept silent and waited. A sudden horn blast shook him out of his reverie.

"Have you told Max about any of this?"