THE SPANISH REVENGE (Craig Page series) (25 page)

53

MARBELLA, SPAIN

Musa heard a knock on his office door. “Come in,” he bellowed.

Omar entered holding a cell phone away from his body as if it were a poisonous snake ready to strike.

“It’s Professor Etienne’s phone. He just received a voice mail from Elizabeth Crowder. You have to hear it.”

“Well, isn’t that nice.”

As he listened, Musa felt increasingly worried. If Elizabeth had the evidence she claimed, the parchment would be exposed as a phony before he gained traction with it. His brilliant plan to confer legitimacy on his attack of Southern Spain would be ruined.

Musa summoned General Zhou, who had been upstairs studying maps and reviewing plans for the attack on Southern Spain.

“We have a problem,” Musa said. He replayed the voice mail.

“I can’t let her publish that article,” Musa said emphatically. “I
have people in Paris who can abduct her and bring her here. We’ll put her in the room downstairs next to Etienne.”

General Zhou shook his head. “Let’s talk about this for a moment. Before you take action.”

“We have to grab hold of the snooping bitch. That article would hurt us immeasurably.”

General Zhou fired back. “You’ll lose the benefit of the parchment. So what? You’ll be right back where you started.”

“Wrong,” Musa said bluntly. “Incredible pressure would be brought against Professor Khalid. We have to assume he’d break and admit I was responsible.”

“He doesn’t know where you are.”

“True. But his words would wreck my claim to the moral high ground in the fight for Muslim equality. My enemies would claim I’m a fraud and a charlatan. The popular uprising I’m hoping for in Europe would never occur. Who would risk his life for a man like that?” Musa paused and stared at General Zhou, “Why don’t you want me to abduct her?”

“It’s not wise to raise the stakes with Craig so close to the time of attack.”

Musa spit on the ground. “To hell with Craig Page. He’ll never be able to stop me.”

“Alright,” General Zhou said in a tone of resignation. “What are you planning to do? Have your people walk into the newspaper and pull her out?”

“No. Of course not. We’ll have Etienne call Elizabeth and tell her he’s on his way home. Have him set a meeting with her somewhere easy for my men to snatch her.”

Musa looked at Omar who had been listening. “You picked up the Professor. Tell me where we should do this?”

“In front of the Professor’s apartment. It’s on a quiet residential street on the Left Bank, close to the University. In the late evening, likely to be deserted.”

“Good. Go get Etienne and bring him up. Meantime, I’ll write out the script for his call with Elizabeth.”

A few minutes later, Omar led Etienne, limping into the room. “Can I go now?” the Professor said. “I’ve done everything you wanted.”

“Not yet. One more day. You’ll be home for Easter. Do you have plans for your holiday?”

“Just to be with my wife and daughter.”

“You’ll be able to do that. Meantime, I have one final thing.”

“What’s that?” Etienne asked apprehensively.

“Elizabeth Crowder, a reporter for the International Herald, she’s …”

“I know who she is.”

“Have you ever met her?”

“A couple of times. She spoke with me about a book she’s writing.”

Good, Musa thought. Their prior relationship would make this go down easier.

“She wants to talk to you about the parchment.”

“What do you want me to do?”

Musa handed Etienne a piece of paper. “Call her on your cell. If you get her voice mail, read this statement. If she answers, talk to her, but stick with the substance.”

While Etienne read the script, Musa picked up his gun. “If you say anything different, I’ll immediately blow your brains out. Then kill your wife and daughter. Do you understand?”

Etienne nodded. Musa was confident the Professor wouldn’t deviate from the script. He was a broken man. He’d do anything to save his life and those of his daughter and wife. A pity he had to die.

Musa turned up the volume to max and dialed Elizabeth’s cell. He heard her answer, “Elizabeth Crowder.” Then he handed Etienne the phone, put his face close to Etienne’s so he could hear what Elizabeth said, and pointed his gun at the Professor’s head.

Sounding natural, Etienne said, “Elizabeth: This is Professor
Etienne. I just listened to your voice mail. I, of course, heard Professor Khalid’s press conference. I’d be delighted to talk to you.”

“Great. I’m convinced the parchment is a fraud. I’d like confirmation from you on a couple of points.”

“What are those?”

“First of all…”

Etienne interrupted her. “Oh dear. I’m at Heathrow. They just called my flight. I’m on my way home. Tell you what. I’ll be back in time for your deadline. Here’s my address.” Etienne recited it slowly so Elizabeth could write it down. “Nobody’s home this evening. I’d like you to meet me in front of the building at ten. I’ll be arriving in a cab from the airport. We can go up to my apartment and talk. If I get back earlier, I’ll come down for you.”

“I’ll be there,” Elizabeth said.

Musa took back the phone and turned the power off. He was confident Etienne avoided raising any suspicion.

54

PARIS

Elizabeth took a cab to Professor Etienne’s apartment and arrived fifteen minutes before ten. It was dark. Heavy clouds covering the sliver of a moon. Two street lamps at the corner burnt out.

She sent the cab away, planning to call another when she finished talking to the Professor. She was thinking about the draft she’d written thus far. A damn good article. With a couple of pithy quotes from Professor Etienne, she’d put it to bed.

Her laptop in the briefcase held the draft. She planned to make the revisions with Etienne in his apartment. Then transmit to Rob.

She was particularly proud of the last two paragraphs. “When scholars like Professor Khalid perpetuate a hoax, the public must search for their objective. Is it merely to enhance their standing in the academic world? Or are they serving some master with a political agenda?

“This parchment is so highly charged, cutting at the heart at
European stability, threatening to destroy the existing order, that suspicion of a larger goal is justified. It behooves the governments of Western Europe to force Professor Khalid to disclose all of his partners in this intellectual crime.”

Looking around, Elizabeth felt increasingly vulnerable and nervous. She was the only pedestrian on the sidewalk. In the five minutes since the cab pulled away, no cars had passed. Odd, she thought, Professor Etienne wanting to meet her on the street. She tried to rationalize. If no one was home and he was coming from the airport, perhaps it wasn’t so unusual.

She should have insisted that he come to her office. But face it, I never had a chance. Our phone conversation was rushed because his plane was boarding.

She walked over to the front door of his building. Above the doorbell were name plates for the occupants. Etienne was on the third floor. The only apartment on that floor.

She backpedaled to the curb and looked up. Lights were on in the third floor apartment. But Etienne had said no one was home. Nobody goes to London and leaves lights on in his apartment.

Her nerves were giving way to fear.

I was stupid to do this.

Craig. I better call Craig. He’ll know what I should do.

She pulled out the cell phone from her bag. As she did, she saw a cab rounding the corner. That must be Professor Etienne. Exactly at ten o’clock, as he said. I was being paranoid.

She put back the cell phone and stood at the curb waiting to greet the professor.

The cab was a gray minivan. It stopped right next to her. The back door slid open. Instead of Professor Etienne, a bearded, swarthy man jumped out. He had a white cloth in his hand. The unmistakable order of chloroform was in the air.

She thought about the monk with his eyes gouged out.

I can’t let these people take me.

He was a lot bigger, but she had the element of surprise.

As his left hand lashed out for her face with the cloth, she swung her bag with the laptop as hard as she could at the side of his head. It hit him on the cheek and nose, tearing open flesh. He screamed, blood pouring down his face. The bag slipped out of her hand.

A wild man, he lunged for her. Having grown up in Brooklyn with four brothers, she knew how to fight. She ducked away, then raised her foot and smashed the pointed toe of her black leather pump into his balls. While he was doubling over, she rolled her hand into a fist and threw an upper cut at his bloody chin, knocking him to the ground, clutching his face and groaning in pain.

She would dearly love to haul him in for questioning, but that was too risky. At least one other was in the minivan. The driver.

I have to get the hell out of here.

Her heart was hammering. Terrified, she grabbed her bag from the sidewalk, put her head down, and ran. As she passed the back of the van, two men jumped out. One was holding a two by four like a baseball bat. He swung at her from behind, whacking the wood against her ribs.

“Ah,” she cried out. “Ah.” The pain was excruciating.

Every instinct was screaming at her to keep running.

Run fast.

He swung again, hitting her on the shoulder, knocking her off balance. She stumbled a few more steps, then collapsed to the sidewalk, landing on her chest.

The other man pounced on her back. He looped a powerful arm around her neck. She was thrashing while screaming for help, but he was too strong. He was squeezing her throat. She felt her windpipe closing. She was gasping for air, the life draining from her body.

I was set up. God what fool I was.

PART THREE

EASTER

55

PARIS

Craig left the office at nine in the evening and stopped for dinner—steak and frites—at a neighborhood bistro on the way home. When he reached the apartment there was no sign of Elizabeth, but he wasn’t worried. With her midnight deadline, he often didn’t see her until one in the morning.

He settled down in his study and read Jacques’s report about the riots, which were now dying down. According to Jacques, the riots began at nine, the morning after Lila was killed in Marseilles. The triggering event was a speech my Mohammad, a cousin of Lila, inciting a crowd about her death. But how did Mohammad know Lila was the victim at that time? Craig wondered. The police were still withholding her name. There was only one explanation: Someone else from Clichy, a pal of Musa, had told Mohammad. And he knew it, because one of Musa’s men had killed her. Jacques’ report confirmed what Craig had suspected.

He was interrupted by the ringing of his cell phone. Carlos in Madrid. “Sorry to call so late, but I have something.”

Craig’s hopes were soaring. “It’s never too late.”

“General Zhou must have taken the train to Seville. Using the phony ID, Wei Shu, he rented an Avis car at Seville train station. We have the license number. All of my men are searching for it.”

Carlos’s last words pricked Craig’s balloon. By now he had hidden the car. And as Carlos had previously said: Southern Spain is a large area. General Zhou and Musa could be anywhere. Craig would have to find him some other way.

He thanked Carlos and returned to the report about the riots, reading about damage to property and injuries in France and elsewhere in Europe. The numbers were staggering. Musa had done a helluva job. At midnight he was tired, but he never went to bed until Elizabeth came home.

At one o’clock, she hadn’t appeared and he hadn’t heard from her. Craig was alarmed. Elizabeth always came home by now or called. He tried her cell phone.

Damn it. Answer.

Voice mail. Something had happened to her. She always answered her cell. He tried her office. More voice mail. God, he hated voice mail.

Maybe she was in the newsroom going over edits. He threw on clothes and sped across the Paris streets to the
Herald.

Frantic, he charged down the corridor of the foreign news department, bumping into people scrambling, shirts out, trying to make the deadline, to Rob’s office. “Where’s Elizabeth?” Craig asked her editor.

Rob was shaking his head. “That’s what I want to know. The receptionist downstairs checked her out at nine ten this evening. Since then nothing. I’ve been calling her cell every ten minutes, but no response. I was holding, front page, top right for her article about
Professor Khalid and the parchment. She told me she had proof it was a phony, but that’s all I know. There’s nothing on her office computer. She must have the draft on her laptop. In ten minutes, I’ll have to let the space go.” He shook his head again. “This isn’t like Elizabeth. I hope she wasn’t hit by a car or something like that.”

Christ! Thought Craig. Musa. He knew what had happened to her. Musa had abducted Elizabeth to stop her from publishing the article exposing the parchment as a hoax. Craig had to find her. And fast. Before Musa killed her. If he hadn’t already.

Goddamn you Musa. Where did you take her?

Panic stricken, Craig tried to recall what she said when they spoke earlier this evening. She wanted to check her article with Professor Etienne at the University of Paris.

His heart racing, Craig dashed out of the newspaper building without sharing his fears with Rob. On the sidewalk, he took out his cell phone. Though it was past two in the morning, he called Professor Etienne’s house. He knew immediately that he woke the woman who answered. “Yes,” she said sounding groggy.

“This is Craig Page, the Director of EU’s Antiterrorism office. I’m very sorry for disturbing you at this hour, but it’s an emergency. I would like to speak with Professor Etienne.”

“I’m sorry, but he’s not here. He’s in London on business.”

“Are you his wife?”

“Yes. Jacqueline Etienne.”

“I think we have to talk Mrs. Etienne.”

“Is it about Gerard, my husband?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“Oh God. Is he hurt?”

“We should talk in person.”

She gave Craig her address.

“I’ll be right here.”

Craig parked in front of Etienne’s building. Walking toward the entrance, he noticed liquid on the sidewalk. It hadn’t rained. He reached down and touched it. Blood.

As he headed into the building, his stomach was churning.

Jacqueline Etienne was about fifty, Craig guessed. Attractive woman, five two, prematurely gray. She’d gotten dressed in a navy skirt and white blouse. The living room was overflowing with books. Not merely the shelves, but the tables. Craig even saw a pile on the floor. Jacqueline’s face was drawn tight. “Can I offer you something to drink,” she said. As if that was required.

“No thanks.”

“What’s happened to Gerard?”

“I don’t know. A reporter from the
International Herald
was trying to get in touch with him.”

“Elizabeth Crowder?”

“Yes.”

“I gave her his cell phone number and told her he was in London on business.”

“Are you sure he’s there?”

“Two days ago, he told me that’s where he was going. He’s never lied, but …” she brushed back a few strands of hair, “usually he’s called me from a business trip. This time he didn’t. I just thought he was busy. And I have been as well. I’m an architect, involved in a large project. So you don’t think he went to London?”

“I don’t know. Did he give you a hotel?”

She shook he head.

“What if you called his cell now?”

“He’d answer it. When he’s away, he always has it next to him when he sleeps, in case I have a problem. We have medical issues with our daughter.”

Craig was thinking. If Etienne had been abducted by Musa, they’d never let him answer his cell phone, and they’d listen to any
voice mail messages. If Musa thought Craig knew that Elizabeth and Etienne had been abducted, he’d probably kill both of them immediately. So he told Jacqueline, “If he answers, tell him you couldn’t sleep and realized you didn’t know where he was staying in London. See what he says. But if you get voice mail, tell him nothing’s wrong. You missed him and wanted to talk. Call when you get a chance.”

She nodded and picked up the house phone. Sitting next to her, he heard it kick into voice mail. She grimaced. Then she left the message Craig had given her. After she powered off the phone, she said, “I don’t understand. My husband has no enemies. He’s a professor.”

“Unfortunately, I don’t have answers for you.”

“I’ll bet it has to do with this parchment of Professor Khalid. That’s Gerard’s field.”

“I think so.”

“What should I do now?” she asked.

“Do nothing. This is extremely important. Believe me, I’ll have all the resources of France and the EU trying to locate them. Anything you do could further endanger them. Don’t even tell your daughter. I know it’s difficult, but…”

“You don’t have to convince me. I’m a professional. I hate it when ordinary people think they know more about architecture than I do. Just please keep me informed to the extent you can. Here’s my cellphone number.”

She recited it, and he entered it into his system.

He started toward the door. Then thought about the blood on the sidewalk. “Earlier this evening, maybe around ten, did you hear any commotion on the sidewalk out front?”

“Actually, I thought I heard screams. I ran to the front window. By the time I got there, I saw a van driving away. I didn’t call the police or anything like that.”

“What’d it look like?”

“Gray. I didn’t see the license. You think it involved Gerard or Elizabeth?”

“I don’t know.”

Out on the sidewalk, Craig took out his cell and called Jacques.

“It has to be Craig. Nobody else calls at three in the morning.”

“Musa abducted Elizabeth and Gerard Etienne, a professor of medieval history at the University of Paris.”

“Because they’ll rip apart Khalid’s phony parchment.”

“Exactly. I don’t have any clue as to where he’s taken them.”

Craig summarized for Jacques everything he knew about their disappearance. Jacques responded immediately, talking fast. “I’ll get an investigative unit over to Etienne’s apartment to check the sidewalk and talk to neighbors. Also I’ll have all police units in and around Clichy begin searching and asking questions. Musa may have taken them there.”

“Good idea. I’ll call Carlos and have him on the lookout in Southern Spain.”

“Meantime, let’s pay a visit on Androshka. She might know where General Zhou is. That’ll be a start. Besides, I’ve been hoping to get at her after she helped General Zhou lose my guys.”

“I want to be there. Meet you in front of their building in thirty minutes.”

The beauty of driving around Paris at three thirty in the morning, Craig thought, is that there is no traffic. Some street cleaners. Not much else. A light mist began falling. A traffic signal changed to red. Not wanting to risk skidding, Craig blew threw it. All he could think of was Elizabeth. And finding her.

Jacques was waiting for Craig in front of General Zhou’s building. No umbrella. The collar up on his tan windbreaker.

“How do we do this?” Jacques asked.

“Bad cop. Bad cop.”

Jacques repeatedly rang the bell of the building manager’s
apartment. From inside a man shouted, “Wait a damn minute.” Jacques was holding up his ID. “French Intelligence. Open up.”

The man did. Elderly, disheveled, dressed in black striped pajamas that made him look like a zebra.

“We want to go up to General Zhou’s apartment,” Jacques said.

“Be my guest.”

“Let’s skip the elevator,” Jacques said. “My doctor told me I need more exercise.”

Jacques took off up the stairs with Craig right behind. By the time they reached the fourth floor and General Zhou’s apartment, Jacques was puffing so much, Craig was worried he’d have a heart attack. This time, Jacques ignored the bell and pounded on the door. For a minute, there was no response.

“Maybe she’s gone as well.” Jacques sounded dejected.

“I hope not.”

They heard a woman call through the closed door. “Who’s there?”

“French Intelligence,” Jacques shouted, and held up his ID.

When the door opened, Craig, who’d never seen Androshka before, thought she was one good looking woman, even at this hour with her blonde hair falling over her eyes. She was wearing a blue silk robe tied loosely enough to show some of the sheer peach nightgown beneath, and half of her breasts, in case that would solve whatever problem she had.

Once they were inside, Craig looked around. Ming vases were scattered throughout the room. A sword hung above the fireplace. Chinese art lined the walls.

Jacques said, “Androshka Ilyvich?”

“Yes.”

“Where’s General Zhou?” Craig asked.

“Not here. I have no idea.”

Craig left Jacques alone with her and searched the apartment. No one else was there. He returned and repeated. “Where’s General Zhou?”

“I don’t know.”

Jacques went on the attack. “Show me your citizenship papers.”

She looked chagrined. “What papers?”

“Exactly. You entered this country two years ago as a tourist and never applied for citizenship or a visa. Go get dressed. We’re arresting you for being in the country illegally and as a material witness to a crime.”

“What crime?”

“If you watched more French television, you’d know we don’t have to specify. Now get dressed.”

“Where will you take her?” Craig asked as if he wanted to know.

“To the jail in the First. Let her share a cell with killers, druggies, prostitutes, and perverts we pick up at night. Maybe that’ll help her remember where General Zhou is.”

She was shaking.

“Where is he?” Craig asked again.

“I don’t know. I swear it.”

“Get dressed.”

She loosened the tie on the robe. She’s certainly not a natural blond, Craig thought, from the dark pubics showing through the thin peach silk.

“Can’t we solve this another way?” she said.

“You really are something,” Craig said.

She gave him the finger, turned around and headed toward the bedroom.

“I’ll get dressed.”

“Good,” Jacques said. “I’ll watch you.”

At the jail, a female guard supervised Androshka’s changing into an orange prison uniform and handed Jacques her cell phone. She was trying to look defiant. Craig thought she was ready to cry.

They led her into an interrogation room, windowless, dirty beige walls, suggesting an aura of despair, with a phone on a table.

Jacques was holding a file. “Turns out you’ve been in this jail before, Androshka Ilyvich.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

He was leafing through pages. “A month after you arrived in Paris, you were giving sex for money to a wealthy Dutch businessman. You stole his watch and five thousand Euros. Obviously, you thought what he paid you was insufficient for the outstanding services. They brought you in here and threatened to deport you back to Russia. I’ll notify all the Russian police and security agencies. You pleaded that Mikail Ivanov, a Russian Oligarch, would kill you if you came back. I guess you stole money from him too.”

“Mikail was an evil man.”

“Was?”

“He’s dead.”

“Did you and General Zhou arrange his death?”

“I’m not saying any more.”

You have a choice,” Jacques said, “Tell us where General Zhou is, or we’ll begin processing papers in the morning to deport you to Russia. Even if Mikail’s dead, I imagine his pals would like to get hold of you.”

“No,” she wailed. “No.”

Jacques pulled a page out of the file. “Hey look at this. On your last arrest, a year and a half ago, the detective left you off with a warning. What’d you do, let him fuck you on the table?” He smacked the palm of his hand against the tabletop. “Sorry, we don’t do that. This time you’re shit out of luck.”

“You can avoid deportation,” Craig said. “All you have to do is tell us where General Zhou is.”