22. Griffin #4
I thank the man, and we make our way to the exit. Once we’re out of earshot, Elodie turns to me, her expression softening slightly. “Thank you, Griffin. On behalf of the Swiss Federal Intelligence Service, I want to express our deepest gratitude for your cooperation.”
“Happy to help catch a crook,” I say cheerily. “So what will happen to all that money?”
“It will be held up as evidence for a time. But once we can trace Mr. Chase’s accounts, it will be distributed among all his fraud victims.”
“That makes it all worth it.”
She winks at me. “I like to think so.”
The floor manager reappears, holding my lucky Loonie and the Bugatti key fob on a small tray.
“Your personal effects, sir.” He presents them with a slight bow. “We will oversee the vehicle transfer paperwork on your behalf. We’ve also taken the liberty of upgrading you to our Alpenglühen suite for the remainder of your stay. Our finest accommodation.”
“Alpenglühen,” I repeat, mangling the pronunciation. “Sounds fancy.”
“It’s named for the red glow on the mountains at sunset. Seven thousand square feet of luxury, private hot spring bath on the balcony overlooking the lake, and a complimentary bottle of Dom Pérignon awaiting your arrival.”
“Sweet.” I grin. “Does it come with those little chocolates on the pillows?”
The joke is lost on him as he tips his head and walks briskly away.
Elodie checks her watch. “If you’ll excuse me, I should retire for the evening. It’s been…eventful.” She offers her hand with cool professionalism. “Congratulations again on your win.”
“Thanks for your…coaching.” I wiggle my ears slightly, referencing the missing earpiece.
She gives an elegant shrug. “You managed perfectly well without us in the end.”
As she glides away, Durand detaches from his spot by the bar, following her at a discreet distance.
All I want now is to find Anika, sweep her into my arms, and celebrate properly. Ideally with a repeat of that elevator make-out session, minus the abrupt ending and subsequent stairwell assault.
“Mr. McGregor!”
I whirl around to find Agents Bruderlin and Showalter approaching from a side corridor, looking surprisingly casual in evening wear. Bruderlin sports a midnight blue tuxedo while Showalter rocks a perfectly tailored charcoal suit.
“Holy smokes, you clean up nice,” I blurt. “Much better than those off-the-rack suits from before.”
Bruderlin chuckles. “Undercover work has its perks.”
“We came to congratulate you,” Showalter says, extending his hand. “Impressive performance. Especially after losing the earpiece.”
I shake his hand. “Sorry about that.”
“No need to explain,” Showalter cuts me off with a wave. “Even though our operative upstairs nearly had a coronary.”
“Poor guy was screaming into his microphone for twenty minutes,” Bruderlin adds with a smirk. “Kept insisting you fold every hand.”
I wince. “Would’ve been nice advice to hear.”
“But unnecessary, as it turns out.” Showalter claps my shoulder. “You proved quite capable on your own.”
“You made a professional poker player out of a job,” Bruderlin says.
“So what happens now?” I ask. “Chase gets arrested?”
The agents exchange glances.
“Chase vanished through a service entrance,” Showalter says. “But we’ve frozen his accounts and flagged his passport. He won’t get far.”
Showalter straightens his already impeccable tie. “We wanted to say goodbye. Our involvement here is officially concluded.”
“So this is it?” I ask. “No more spy stuff?”
“No more spy stuff,” Bruderlin confirms with a rare smile. “You can go back to catching pucks instead of international criminals.”
“Though you’ve proven surprisingly adept at both,” Showalter adds.
“Does this mean I can keep the Bugatti?”
The agents exchange another look.
“Consider it hazard pay,” Bruderlin says dryly.
My jaw drops. “Seriously?”
“The paperwork to seize it would be a nightmare,” Showalter explains. “Besides, Malcolm Chase no longer legally owns it. You won it fair and square.”
“Or as fair as one can win anything with government agents feeding you poker moves,” Bruderlin mutters.
“Hey, I won without the earpiece in the end!”
“Indeed, you did,” Showalter acknowledges. “Which brings us to our final point. Nobody can know about our operation. The FIS involvement remains classified.”
“My lips are sealed,” I promise, making a zipping motion across my mouth. “No one would believe me anyway.”
“Mr. McGregor, it’s been…interesting,” Bruderlin extends his hand again.
“Likewise, Agent Bruderlin.”
As they walk away, Showalter calls over his shoulder, “Enjoy your retirement from espionage.”
I watch them disappear around a corner, then sprint toward the elevators.
Upstairs, I burst into my room, grabbing my duffel bag and stuffing clothes inside. My brain spins with possibilities for the evening ahead. Champagne on the balcony? Room service? Or skip straight to kissing Anika senseless?
A cool draft catches my attention. The adjoining door to Elodie’s room stands open, swinging slightly from the air current from the hallway.
I approach cautiously, knocking on the doorframe. “Elodie?”
Silence greets me. I push the door wider, revealing an immaculate room. Bed made, surfaces clear, closet empty.
She’s gone. Not a trace remains, as if she never existed.