Chapter 2
Cole stood in the dark electrical access closet and pressed the button on his watch to illuminate the time. Any minute, the guard should pass by and take the elevator to the next floor down. Cole had already spent two nights hiding in here to time his approach and set up a visual override of the security cameras in the hallway.
Cole’s boss at the CIA had lent him to the Brussels field office specifically to break through the defenses of Lamar Peeters’s headquarters and infiltrate his private office.
Interpol and the CIA both suspected Peeters himself had been involved in the theft of the designs of a new military drone, a theft that had occurred only last week. If their sources were correct, Peeters intended to sell the designs to the highest bidder in a matter of days.
The mere thought of such advanced weaponry falling into the wrong hands sent a shudder through Cole. Ready or not, tonight he had to make his move and recover those schematics.
Footsteps sounded in the hall. Cole counted off the seconds to when the guard would reach the elevator. The elevator dinged.
Cole waited for the hum of the doors opening and closing before he engaged the override on the cameras. Then he pressed his watch again, this time engaging the timer. Ninety seconds until the laser sensors would activate. Thirty-nine minutes to break into Peeters’s office and get back out of sight.
Cole opened the door and sprinted down the hall. He reached the cipher lock and held a code override device to the scanner at the top. Seconds ticked by, the display on the device flashing numbers with ridiculous speed. Thirty seconds left. Maybe less. His heartbeat quickened. Stay and hope the six-digit code cleared in time, or run back to the closet and try again after the next guard pass?
The fifth number clicked into place. One more.
Cole remained in the hall. Fifteen seconds left. Ten. Five.
The last number illuminated his screen, and Cole quickly typed it onto the keypad with his gloved hand. The lock clicked back. He opened the door and quickly slipped inside, closing the door silently behind him.
A sigh of relief escaped him. First obstacle down.
Cole pulled out his night-vision scope and looked through it to verify that Peeters didn’t have any laser sensors in his office. Once satisfied, Cole crossed to the desk. No laptop. He opened the top desk drawer easily, finding notepads and pens neatly arranged inside. He pulled on the second one, but it was locked.
The metal key lock took only a few seconds to pick, but when Cole opened the drawer, he discovered a new challenge. The entire inside of the drawer had been fitted with a custom safe, only this time Cole had to work through an old-fashioned tumbler system rather than a digital keypad.
“Great,” he muttered under his breath.
Too bad his girlfriend wasn’t here. With her years of working undercover at a bank in Austria, Isabelle was a pro at this. He knew he could get the job done, but he would have preferred facing this type of lock with a bit more time to spare or with Isabelle at his side.
He pulled his listening device from his coat pocket and attached the three receivers to the left side. Then he slipped the earbuds into his ears.
Slowly, he turned the dial one number at a time. Nine minutes later, he reached the first: twenty-two. He started back in the other direction. Another ten minutes. Eighty-seven.
His palms sweating inside his gloves, he slowly turned the dial to the right again. Twelve minutes left. He clicked past the final number: sixteen. Frustrated that he had gone too far, he spun the dial several times and went through the combination again before turning the dial back to zero. He pulled on the handle and opened the safe.
Relieved to finally be in, he peered at the contents: a laptop, three rolled documents secured with rubber bands, a pistol, several stacks of hundred-euro bills, and a manila file folder at the bottom. Cole took everything but the pistol and the money. Once it was all secured in his backpack, he started to close the safe, then reconsidered. No thief would leave the money, and Cole needed this to look like a robbery.
He grabbed the stacks of cash and stuffed them into his backpack. Then he secured the safe, locked the top drawer, and checked the time. Two minutes left.
Ensuring he left the desk as he found it, sans the contents of the safe, Cole rushed to the door.
He counted off the seconds. Then with a silent prayer, he opened the door, did a quick scan to ensure the lasers were turned off, and sprinted back to the closet. He shut the door behind him as the elevator doors chimed. Cole grabbed the connection to the security override and pulled it free.
His breath rushed out of him. That was close.
He leaned against the wall and willed his heart to settle. Another four hours until the offices would open for the day and the guards would change. Until then, he had nothing to do but remain invisible and silent.
***
After twelve straight hours of casting calls, Marit was more than ready to be off her feet. If every designer let her cut through red tape the way Ralph had yesterday, the week leading up to Paris’s fashion shows wouldn’t be half so exhausting. Rolling her shoulders, she unlocked the door to the agency flat she shared with Nadia and walked in.
Moments later, her phone rang. A quick glance at the name on the screen put a smile on her face. “Hi, Lars!”
“Hey, am I catching you at a good time?”
“Yes. I just arrived back at the flat.” She set her bag on the counter. “How’s the inventory going?” Lars was still in Amsterdam, preparing the Coster jewelry for transportation to Paris.
“I just finished,” he said. “And now that I have a better idea of how much the contents of these cases are worth, I’m doubly glad I’m in charge of recording images of each piece, not safeguarding them once they leave here.”
“I think you’ll get some great shots of the jewelry on the models at the shows.”
“I’m sure I will,” he said. “I only wish I were heading to Paris today.”
“Me too.” Three more days. It shouldn’t seem like a long time, but it did.
Lars must have been feeling the same way, because he sighed. “I miss you.”
“I miss you too.” A knock sounded at the door. Puzzled, Marit glanced at it. “Hey, Lars, someone’s at the door, and Nadia isn’t here right now. I’d better go see who it is. Can I call you later?”
“Sure,” he said. “I’ll be working late tonight. If I don’t answer right away, I’ll call you back.”
“Sounds good. Thanks.” Disconnecting the call, she set her phone on the counter next to her purse and crossed the short distance to the door. She pulled it open. Two uniformed police officers stood outside. “ Bonsoir ,” she said, automatically switching to French.
“Marit Jansen?” the taller of the two men asked.
“Yes.” Marit’s grasp on the doorknob tightened. How did they know her name? More to the point, why did they know her name?
“My name is Capitaine Dupont.” He gestured toward his colleague. “This is Brigadier Blanchet. We’re conducting an official investigation of a recent incident and believe you can help shed some light on it for us.”
Marit’s thoughts immediately flew to her involvement in helping to apprehend drug smugglers in Amsterdam almost two months before. But there could not possibly be a connection between that episode and these officers. Cole had assured Isabelle, Lars, and her that the authorities had the final phase of that investigation well in hand. Besides, even if they’d discovered another loose thread, why would the local French police be involved?
“I doubt that I can be of any help to you,” she said. “I don’t even know what you’re investigating.”
Capitaine Dupont inclined his head as though conceding the point. “That can be remedied. If you will come with us, we shall go over things in more detail at the police station.”
Marit stared at them, the first hint of fear stealing into her heart. “You want me to come with you now? For questioning?”
“Yes, mademoiselle.”
She looked from the capitaine’s stern expression to the brigadier’s. Neither gave anything away. Her fingers ached from their grip on the doorknob, a sure sign that she was not dreaming. “What’s this all about?”
“As I said, mademoiselle, we shall discuss it further at the station.”
Marit battled her racing thoughts. What was she to do? She had no experience with police interrogations. She didn’t even know her legal rights in France. Would they let her call someone? Or at least text Esmee or Nadia before forcing her to go with them?
“I must let someone know where I’m going,” she said. “My friends will worry about me if I’m gone for long.”
“One phone call,” Capitaine Dupont said. “I see you already have your coat on. If you wish to bring your handbag, you may do that. You’ll need nothing more.”
Attempting to think through the fog of shock, Marit backed into the room. The police officers stayed in the doorway, watching. She slipped the handles of her bag over her shoulder and reached for her phone. Who should she call?
Realistically, it was doubtful that Esmee would miss her until tomorrow. Her agent would only start panicking if Marit didn’t show up for her final fitting with Kyle Adams. Nadia would probably assume that she was out with others this evening and would think nothing of going to bed before Marit arrived back. Lars was too far away to do anything but worry if she told him what she was facing. The same could be said for her parents. Her fingers hovered over the names in her favorites list. As far as she knew, there was only one person who might have the contacts and experience necessary to help her out of this situation.
She pressed Cole’s number and put the phone to her ear. “Please pick up, Cole,” she whispered. “Please pick up.”
The phone rang five times before rolling into Cole’s voice mail. Swallowing her disappointment, she turned her back on the police officers and spoke into the phone in English.
“Cole, this is Marit. I’m in Paris for Fashion Week, staying in an agency flat on Place de la Madeleine. Two police officers just arrived at my door and claim they need to take me in for questioning. I have no idea what it’s about, but the vibe they’re giving off tells me it’s serious. I don’t know if they’ll let me make a phone call once I’m at the police station, but if you get this message soon, I could use your advice.”
“It’s time to go, mademoiselle.” Capitaine Dupont’s tone barely hid his impatience.
Marit disconnected her call and tucked her phone into her pocket. Grabbing her flat keys from the counter, she walked to the door. She may not know what this was about, but she knew she had nothing to hide. Her trembling fingers notwithstanding, that fact alone was enough to keep her chin up. “All right,” she said. “I’m ready.”