Chapter 58
One look and the American said, “Don’t touch anything.
” Even a cursory glance around revealed that not only were Russo and Nash gone, but they had taken everything with them, even the bars of soap.
The garbage-can liners were gone. The bath and hand towels had not been used.
The housekeepers, janitors, bellhops, doormen, waiters, bartenders—everyone on duty was immediately questioned.
They had not checked out. They had simply vanished.
Keefe asked about the signals from Stuart’s teeth. Nothing so far. A clear indication that he had been knocked out quickly. They could assume the same for Rae Claire.
The hotel manager resisted the DST’s demands that all guests on the third floor be awakened and interrogated.
He did agree to begin with the two rooms adjacent to the one occupied by Nash/Russo.
The newlyweds in the first room were already downstairs having breakfast. They were approached by two American agents who politely asked them questions.
No, they had neither seen nor heard anything unusual.
In the second room, once occupied by Edouard and Christine, more mysteries awaited.
On the bed were two large, sturdy black bags on wheels.
The bed was made up nicely, the pillows in their normal spots.
The bags were almost identical and placed side by side, as if just waiting to be examined.
The room’s closets and drawers were empty.
There was nothing of interest in the bathroom.
Was it safe to assume that all the clothing and accessories had been packed in the bags and left behind for some reason?
The manager said the young couple who had stayed there the past two nights were from Spain.
He called the front desk and produced copies of their passports.
The group—French detectives and American agents—loitered around the bed, staring at the bags, all mumbling on their phones in various conversations.
Finally, a French detective put on rubber gloves and reached for the zippers, but they had been secured with small locks.
No keys were in sight. They called time-out and retreated to the cramped office on the main floor where a guard in a uniform supposedly kept the hotel secure.
Records showed that the Nash/Russo couple checked in at 9:20 last Monday morning.
The guard ran the footage from the lobby’s CCTV and there they were—strolling to the counter as a bellhop pushed their bags on a luggage cart.
The two large black bags on rollers appeared to be the same as the ones upstairs waiting on the bed in Room 348.
More footage showed the couple from Spain checking in the following morning without black bags.
They traveled lighter and used only backpacks and one athletic bag with Adidas printed on the side.
The CIA agents insisted the bags be opened.
The French pushed back, but for only a moment.
In Room 348, the bags were opened and the contents arranged neatly beside them.
One held men’s clothing. The other, slightly larger, held a woman’s.
She had brought eight pairs of shoes; only three for him.
Oddly enough, there were no toiletries—no toothbrushes, makeup, razors, et cetera.
No passports, no cash, no wallets. The two purses were completely empty.
After a thorough search, the group found nothing that would identify the owners of the bags.
While they picked through the dirty laundry, Edouard and Christine boarded a flight for Marseille.
—
The Nash/Russo couple also left Paris, though by different means and unaware of doing so.
Rae Claire rode for three and a half hours in the back seat of a car, under a blanket and dead to the world.
It finally stopped on the outskirts of Dijon and disappeared into a dilapidated garage.
She was dragged to a cold room next to it and locked away.
Stuart rode for eight hours in the back of the delivery van with Nabeed behind the wheel and Ninja riding shotgun.
They stopped roughly once an hour either to change seats or to give their cargo another injection.
—
As the hours dragged by with no real clues, the Casper team faced the shameful reality that two of their agents had been taken from under their noses.
Nyall Leblanc spoke to Trevor Keefe twice an hour until noon, when Keefe rang off with the news that he was being summoned to the White House for a briefing.
—
Pascal Goff was at his desk, lost in his daily paperwork, when the call came from Dublin. Cully Pratt wanted to talk, and in his office. The matter was of the utmost urgency. All calls from Pratt seemed panic-driven.
Nevertheless, Pascal once again hurried to Dublin, this time on a U.S.
State Department jet. When he landed in Dublin, two unmarked black vehicles scooped him up and delivered him to Pratt’s office just before 6 p.m. During the past three hours he had called Washington six times but no one seemed to know anything.
He called Jean-Pierre Chalamet but was told he was not available.
After a quick search for bugs and wires, Pascal entered Pratt’s messy domain. After a cursory handshake, they sat opposite each other with a dusty coffee table between them.
Pratt looked genuinely frazzled. “You know, I don’t want to be in the middle of this. I didn’t ask for it, you know?”
Pascal nodded his head in complete agreement.
Pratt held up his right hand, wiggled all four fingers and the thumb, and said, “Now there are five and one’s a girl. The demand has been upped to two hundred million, or they will start the killing in forty-eight hours. The girl goes first, and it will be on video. I’m sorry.”
Pascal had not been briefed on the latest developments, which, though maddening, was not that surprising.
He could name at least a dozen U.S. intelligence groups, some well known, some thoroughly obscure, and it was often said that the left hand seldom knew what the right hand was doing.
He tried to maintain a poker face and asked, “Can you fill in the blanks? Who are the latest victims?”
Pratt was shaking his head. “I know nothing about what’s happened. As I have said repeatedly, I’m just the messenger. Please believe me.”
“I do.” Pascal was as uninformed as Pratt and embarrassed by it.
Pratt continued, “But, I’ve been told to convince you and your people that the threats are real.”
They certainly felt real. Pascal said, “Okay, give me a few minutes to call Washington.”
Pratt pointed to a door and said, “Use that office. I assure you no one will be listening.”