The de Vere Deception (David Thorne Mysteries Book 1) (25 page)

            “I need a contact in London. A fence in London or Paris who can provide a passport, driver’s license, and travel ID. That sort of thing.”

            “I’ll call you back in a few minutes,” said Willis.

            Thorne finished packing and was sitting on the edge of the bed when Willis called back.

            “Dassin Stockton. Runs Stockton and Rohmer, Ltd., a photography studio in London near the Tower Bridge. From what I hear, he’s discreet, does excellent work, has a lot of contacts, and is expensive. Tell him you were referred by Mr. Mittelmeir of St. Paul, Minnesota. He’ll ask for the given name of Mittelmeir. Tell him it’s Helmut—Helmut Mittelmeir.” He gave Thorne the London address and phone number. “Let me know how things work out. Keep in touch.”

            “Thanks. Let me know if I can return the favor,” Thorne said and hung up. He looked at his watch and decided it was too late in the day to drive to London and make connections with Stockton. He would drive down the following morning.

            He dialed the telephone number given him by Tom Willis. A man answered the telephone. “Yes?”

            “I’m David Riley. I was given your number by a Mr. Mittelmeir of St. Paul. I understand you take passport pictures.”

            “St. Paul?”

            “St. Paul, Minnesota.”

            “Oh yes. How is Dietrich?”

            Thorne played along with the qualifying procedure. “I don’t know Dietrich, but his brother Helmut is doing just fine.”

            “All right, come by tomorrow around eleven. Bring cash—in pounds.”

            “I’ll need to wait for the identification.”

            “No problem. Be here at noon.” He repeated the address and hung up.

            Now that Roberts was dead, he was sure Kelly, Forestal, and his partner would intensify their efforts to get the necklace and silence him. They would not give up shadowing him. They would follow him to London, and on to Dover where he planned to catch the ferry to Calais the next day.

Chapter 57

LONDON

Tuesday, December 21

10:45 AM

The following morning Thorne put maps and the packet with the necklace in a large expandable file folder and took them with him when he went down to breakfast. He studied the maps over breakfast and traced the route he would take to Paris.

            Back in the room, he put the packet back in the laptop briefcase before carrying his luggage down to the Land Rover. As he left the hotel parking lot, he did not see the now familiar van fall in behind him. After he had driven a mile or so, he saw the van following about two hundred yards back. .He couldn’t make out who the two men in the van were, but he assumed they were Kelly and Forestal. He could not see anyone else in the van.

            The van followed at a distance of a quarter of a mile or so.
That was interesting
.
Why so much distance behind him?

            He suddenly realized they had bugged the Land Rover, probably with one of those GPA devices that was transmitting his exact location. They could have planted the GPS device on the Land Rover while it was parked at the hotel the night before, or possibly earlier. They must be confident of his location as they kept a distance of ten to twelve cars from him throughout the trip to London. When an opportunity presented itself, he would look for the suspected transmitter on his Land Rover.

When Thorne arrived in London, he drove to the Tower Bridge and found the address given him by Dassin Stockton and the sign displaying STOCKTON & ROHMER, PHOTOGRAPHERS AND REPRODUCTIONS in the second floor windows. He didn’t see the van, but was sure they were close by.

            He took his laptop briefcase with him as he went up to the narrow stairs to the office. Inside the large well-lit reception room, photographs of wedding parties and brides covered the walls. A door to the rear opened and a mild middle-aged woman in a long black rubber apron and straight hair the color of dried grass appeared. She smiled and the corners of her calm blue eyes crinkled into crow’s feet behind rimless glasses. She had a pleasant voice that would have coaxed relaxation from any subject being photographed. “Hello? May I help you?”

            “I’m David Riley. I have an appointment with Mr. Stockton.”

            She pressed the intercom button on the desk. “Mr. Riley is here.” She smiled again, and went back through the rear door.

            After a short interval, a gruff voice came over the intercom. “Come in, Riley.”

            Stockton was a portly red-faced man with an unpleasant smirk on his fat lips. He didn’t rise or offer his hand as Thorne entered. “What is it you need?” he asked abruptly and popped a chocolate bonbon into his mouth.

            “You’ll recall Mr. Mittelmeir of St. Paul, Minnesota referred me to you. I need a passport, license, pocket litter, and—”

            “Where do you want to go?”

            “France—Paris. Then back to London, and then to New York. I’ll also need the name of a contact in Paris who deals in gold coins, expensive antique jewelry, and crystal—that sort of thing.”

            “That’ll be a thousand pounds, and two hundred extra for a Paris contact. I’ll contact him and say you’re coming”

            Thorne reached into his coat pocket, withdrew a book of traveler’s checks, and placed it on the desk and reached for a pen.”

            “Cash—in pound notes,” said Stockton as he examined another bonbon.

            Thorne withdrew his wallet, counted out twelve one-hundred pound notes, and pushed them across to Stockton.

            The round man leaned forward with effort and picked up the money. He pressed a button on the intercom. “Adele, come in.” He continued staring at Thorne as they waited, his fat lips moving as he enjoyed another mouthful of chocolates.

            Adele came into the office wiping her hands on a towel.

            “Take Mr. Riley back and take his picture. Then give him the usual ID—passport, pocket litter, etcetera.”

            Thorne followed Adele to a small room off the lobby where she photographed him and searched through a file cabinet for various documents. He waited in the reception room while she printed the photographs and put the identification and papers together in a packet. She carefully inserted the photograph onto the passport, stamped it, and handed him the packet of documents.

            Thorne went back into Stockton’s office and Stockton handed him a card. “That’s my partner, Marcel Rohmer, in Paris,” Stockton said. “He can give you the name of a buyer for your what-ever-it-is you have for sale. I don’t need to know—I don’t want to know.”

             He popped another chocolate bonbon in his mouth, swiveled his chair around, and looked out the window. “Remember, you weren’t here.”

            Thorne slipped the business card in his shirt pocket and followed Adele to the outer office. Holding out his hand, he smiled. “Thank you ma’am, the work you did was not just good, it was exceptional. I enjoy seeing a true artist at work.”

            Adele blushed and said softly, “Well, Thank you much, Sir. It’s nice to work with a gentleman who appreciates what I do. I wish you the best of luck.”

            Thorne descended the stairs, went out onto the sidewalk, and looked around for the van.

It was nowhere in sight, but he suspected it was close by. He paid no attention to the two men across the street with their backs to him, leaning on a gray Nissan. As he pulled out into the traffic, the two men got into the car and followed him to the Dover ferry terminal.

Thorne glanced in his rear view mirror as he handed the ferry conductor his ticket. The van remained in the queue six cars back and followed him onto the ferry. He could now see the driver was Kelly, but couldn’t make out the other man in the van, but he assumed it must be Forestal. His attention was fixed on the van, and he gave little notice to two men in the gray Nissan parked in the next row, their faces obscured behind newspapers, The large engines churned furiously as the ferry worked its way out into the channel. Thorne relaxed, read the map of northern France and made notes during the crossing

PART 4

Chapter 58

FRANCE

Tuesday, December 21

4:30 PM

The Land Rover was jolted as the ferry moved into its slot at the dock in Calais. The lorries were directed to a covered shed, and the remaining traffic pulled straight ahead to a custom booth at the head of their line.

            Thorne showed his new passport and ID and asked the attendant the best way to get to Dunkerque. He eased onto the main highway, making sure the van was within sight. At Dunkerque, he turned southeast, hoping the van would assume he was headed to Antwerp via the longer but more traveled route. He saw them and sped up, hoping to put distance between himself and the van on the crowded highway.

            As he passed the Antwerp and Lille intersection, he had the option of heading north to Antwerp or south to Lille and then on to Paris. He quickly pulled off the motorway at a truck stop and drove to the rear and the cover of the building. He got out quickly and asked a waiting truck driver which truck might be going to Antwerp or Brussels.

            The truck driver pointed to a truck with the lettering on its trailer reading TRANSPORT HOLLAND-FRANCE. “That truck travels between the two cities, but I don’t know which way it’s going this time.”

            When the driver left, Thorne opened the door to the cab and looking at the manifest. It read LYON TO BRUSSELS. Satisfied the truck was going to Brussels, and not to Paris, he rushed back and crawled under the Land Rover. He quickly found the GPS transmitter attached to the frame of his Land Rover with a strong magnet. He easily detached it, and placed it under the frame of the truck.

            He pulled the Land Rover out of sight behind a line of parked trucks at the rear of the property, and waited for the van to get closer. As he waited, he opened his laptop and made room reservations for the night at La Chateau Rameau, a small hotel off the Boulevard Périphérique, a main highway north of Paris. He calculated he had put about two kilometers between himself and the van after they came off the ferry. They would be content to follow the GPS transmitter and receiver link instead of following by sight.

            A few  minutes later, the TRANSPORT HOLLAND-FRANCE truck pulled out. Thorne continued to wait another ten minutes before driving to the side of the building.

            He took a pair of small binoculars from his briefcase and glassed the parking lot in front of the station. There was no sign of the van, only three vehicles, and a small truck with a Belgium license tag, a brown Peugeot with a French tag, and a gray Nissan with a British tag. The Peugeot and the Nissan were parked with their backs to him and there were three men in the brown Peugeot. There was none in the Nissan or the truck. He wrote the numbers of the license tags of the three vehicles in his notebook and gave one last look before retracing his route back behind the station. He searched the lot behind the station. There were no cars, only trucks at the rear of the building. He left the station by the way he’d entered, watching closely to make sure he wasn’t being followed. Satisfied the van would be following the truck and transmitter on its way to Brussels, Thorne headed back in the direction of Dunkerque. As Thorne’s Land Rover pulled out of the service station, the brown Peugeot followed and kept a safe distance between the two vehicles.

Kelly was driving the van and Forestal sat in the passenger’s seat. Their eyes were glued on the receiver screen and they failed to see Thorne’s Land Rover clustered in a long line of cars on the opposite side of the roadway

            Forestal said, “Look at the screen of the receiver. It looks like he’s on his way to Antwerp.”

            Kelly looked at Forestal. “We’re dealing with a smart cookie here. You don’t think I’d rely on only one transmitter do you? Sure, he thinks we’re in the dark now, but he quit looking after he found the first GPS transmitter.

            “The first GPS transmitter is on that lorry that just passed on its way to Brussels. The second and most important one is in his laptop briefcase. I had a man go into his hotel room in Stratford on the morning he was at breakfast, and glue it under the cover of his laptop carrying case. It’s one of these tiny, very high-tech GPS transmitters—nanotechnology or some such thing. Clever, what? Of course, I never told my man about the necklace, for obvious reasons.”

            He looked down at a map on the other receiver screen. “From the looks on this second screen, the second transmitter shows he’s headed back to Dunkerque. We just missed getting a visual on him. We should be on our way.”

            As Kelly pulled the van back on the motorway, Forestal glanced at the map overlay on the receiver screen. “Wait a minute, it looks like he’s turned off and heading south. My guess is Paris.”

Chapter 59

PARIS

Tuesday, December 21

6:45 PM

As Thorne drove slowly into the outskirts of Paris it began to rain. It was getting dark when he stopped and waited in the parking lot in front of the La Chateau Rameau Hotel where he had reservations for the night. None of the cars stopped or turned around, and he didn’t recognize any of the cars as they passed.

A kilometer back, the van pulled off the highway and into a parking lot when the map on the GPS receiver screen showed the Land Rover had stopped.

            Forestal said with annoyance, “Kelly, get rid of that first receiver. It’s of no use to us now, and it’s just confusing. Show me how to work that second receiver, the one that’s receiving a signal from his lap top.”

            He flipped open his cell phone and spoke into it. “Thorne’s stopped at a hotel north of Paris. It looks like we’re going to have to spend the night here and catch him in Paris. We assume he has what we’re after. We’ll get him when he stops to make contact with the fence, or sooner if we can get him alone.”