Chapter 11
Eleven
COAST OF FRANCE
The ferry bumped against the pilings of the slip at the Port of Calais. The lights of the harbor spread along the wharf, across warehouses, shipping offices, brick taverns, and row houses. Then the explosion of light from the casino on the beach.
The casino was their destination, as Brodie and Alex Sinclair followed the crowd of passengers from the steamship onto the deck at the wharf, and found a driver to take them to a hotel.
He had been here before with Mikaela on a case, the inn familiar as they passed by, the innkeeper a man who had provided information to them. For a price. Always for a price.
The man Brodie had come to meet with was Emil Fournier. They had met before in London, courtesy of Mr. Browne. Once again he was relying on Browne’s connections.
He had called on Mr. Browne in the past, an acquaintance, if he could be called that, from his days with the MET. And connection that had benefited both, in spite of the fact that he was with the MET, and Browne oversaw an extensive criminal organization that owned many of the streets of London.
It was, as Mikaela had called it, a case of ‘strange bedfellows.’ It was something from Mr. Shakespeare, whom her good friend Templeton claimed to speak with, in spite the fact that the writer had been dead for a good two hundred years.
“I’d not want to share a bed with the man,” he had told her referring to Mr. Browne, recalling the conversation as he and Alex rode along the beach frontage toward the casino.
“I am so very glad to know that,” she had replied at the time. “Neither would I.”
Brodie wasn’t unaware of the fact that Browne would most definitely have been interested in sharing a bed with her, if not for their understanding.
There was no compromise to it. Though he was doubtful that Browne would have survived the remote possibility of such an encounter.
She was remarkably efficient with the revolver.
And now there was Fournier, French for ‘the baker,’ who was hardly a baker, unless one considered the ‘arrangements’ he created, connecting an interested person to another interested person. For a fee, of course.
It was that skill, the man’s knowledge and connections, that Brodie wanted now. And those he worked with in the CID were willing to pay for that knowledge and those connections.
“I have never been to a casino before,” Alex commented as glaring lights spilled through the open window of the coach as they arrived.
“It’s a bit like a dance hall, with some sports, gambling, and usually a restaurant or tavern inside.”
“All in one place?”
“Aye. And easy enough to lose the contents of yer pockets if yer not careful, and perhaps yer head. Forewarned is forearmed.”
It was something that he’d learned on the streets, and it had prevented him from being injured or worse.
“I’ll remember that,” Alex said, but there was an excited gleam in his eye as they left the coach and entered the casino.
The music was loud, the stage performers across the great hall dressed in colorful costumes with a great many feathers over a few parts of the body.
Tables spread across the floor where cards were dealt, along with roulette wheels where coin and pound notes changed hands.
And a mummer in a garish costume with face paint walked the floor on stilts.
The restaurant was in the adjacent part of the casino, along with what Fournier referred to as his business office. No doubt where he counted the night’s winnings of the house. And the house always won, some nights more than others.
Brodie had met Fournier previously through Mr. Browne. Someone to see for information about certain others who operated outside of the law.
The man had provided valuable information regarding a particular terrorist in a previous inquiry case. And he might well know something about the Celeste Marie and her captain that could be important.
Not that he trusted the man. He trusted his greed, and he’d persuaded Sir Ridley that it could be important in connecting other information they had from CID sources on the Continent about a certain financial transaction that had been set in motion.
“Remember the man’s reputation,” Browne had cautioned the last time they met. “He’s not a man to be crossed.”
“Much like yerself?” Brodie inquired. “Are ye worrit that somethin’ might happen to me?”
“We are much the same, you and I, Brodie.” Browne shook his head at the time. “And there’s not another man I trust to keep his word. Not even those who work for me. It’s a rare thing.”
It was rare. And for the most part, he could trust Browne, as long as he had information the man needed.
Quid pro quo. Something for something, Mikaela had once explained.
“Did you make an appointment to meet with Monsieur Fornier?” Alex inquired.
Brodie smiled to himself. “No.”
“How do we know that he’ll be here?”
He grabbed Alex by the arm and pulled him aside as a man in a dress shirt with armbands and bow tie, and formal black trousers nodded sharply, what appeared to be a heavy a cash box in hand.
“Rest assured, he’s here.”
Alex glanced at the dealer with the cash box as he disappeared down the hallway, then through a carved wood door where a guard had been positioned.
“Yes, I do see.”
Brodie approached that same door. The man positioned there spoke in French. He asked what his business was there, according to Alex’s translation.
“Tell him that I am here to see Monsieur Fournier, and give him my name,” Brodie instructed Alex, who promptly translated.
The man studied him for several moments, then knocked at the door and stepped inside. It promptly opened once more.
“Do come in, Monsieur Brodie,” the man behind the desk across the large room beckoned as he signed a paper for the contents of that metal box, then handed another metal box to the man who had entered only moments before.
Fournier made a gesture to the man to return to his work, then reclined back in his chair.
“Monsieur Brodie. What brings you here? The message I received spoke nothing of it,” he inquired in flawless English. “How is our mutual friend, Mr. Browne?”
“He is well and prosperous,” Brodie replied, then waited until the door behind them had closed once more. He trusted no one, not even the man across from them. But Fournier was well connected. He needed information the man had a way of acquiring.
“And now you are here. Who is this young man?” Fournier demanded.
“An associate.” The less said the better, Brodie knew from experience.
“He can be trusted for wot we need to discuss.”
Fournier rose from behind the desk and went to a side table. He removed the stopper from a decanter and poured two glasses of amber liquid.
“It has been some time since you and the Englishwoman paid a visit. First we drink.” He crossed the room and handed Brodie a glass.
“I drink with those I know,” he explained.
Alex nodded.
Brodie didn’t bother to explain who the Englishwoman was.
It wasn’t necessary to the reason that he and Alex were there now.
He accepted the toast when Fournier held his glass aloft, then quickly downed the contents, a rich whisky with the taste of the forest where it was distilled, with just a trace of cinnamon.
“I keep a stock of this very fine spirit,” Fournier commented. “Those in Paris would certainly disapprove if they were aware of it. Still, they receive enough taxes from the casino and it keeps them happy. They have no need to know about the whisky your friend has delivered each month.”
He referred to Munro who frequently made trips across the channel on behalf of Lady Montgomery.
“Now, tell me, my ‘friend of a friend,’ what is it that brings you to Calais?” Fournier indicated the two chairs that sat before the desk.
Over another round of Old Lodge whisky, Brodie explained about the information the CID had obtained from their contact in France about a man named Balogan, a known terrorist with ties to a group known as the Black Hand.
“Do ye know the man?” he asked as he caught the slightest reaction to the name.
Fournier lit a cigarette and shrugged. “In my business, one meets a great many people.” He made a sweeping gesture that obviously referred to the casino.
“But please continue, Mr. Brodie.”
He then explained about the Celeste Marie that had put in several days previous and the death of Captain Caspian.
“There was no cargo to speak of. The Celeste Marie was empty and put in to port. The harbor master was told by Caspian that he was there to await a cargo.”
“What do I care about Caspian and his business dealings? The man is dead.”
“He was seen meeting with Balogan.”
“And you believe that whatever reason he was in London has to do with Balogan,” Fournier concluded.
Brodie nodded. “It is said that Balogan doesn’t come out of hiding unless it is worth a great deal of money to support his activities.
It is that reason that there is a...concern, that Balogan and his people may be planning to retaliate against the Crown after the capture last year of one of his men who was vital to the terrorist activities. ”
“The Serbian,” Fournier concluded. “I had heard of it. And now you are working for the CID, a new secret organization?”
Brodie knew to be cautious and chose his words carefully.
“I am making inquiries through those I know. It could be worth a great deal of money to know what Balogan had planned with Caspian, and what will happen now that the man is dead.”
“How much?” Fournier demanded.
“Ten thousand pounds,” Alex Sinclair named the amount he was authorized to offer in exchange for information.
Fournier scoffed. “I make that in a month from travelers who come to my casino. And to risk myself and those I know for une somme dérisoire?”
“A pittance,” Alex translated for Brodie.
“I have a family to feed,” Fournier continued, even though he had never been known to have one. “And those here who depend upon me. It is not worth it,” he lamented.
“Twenty-five thousand pounds,” Brodie replied. “Is that worth it to ye?”