17. The French Connection
The French Connection
Belle tapped her feet rhythmically. She was furious.
And anxious. The hard drive was right here in this very building hours before, but she missed it; the device exchanged hands and now the foreign buyers had what they wanted free of charge.
The flashing camera lights snapped behind her in unison.
They must’ve taken two hundred photos by now she thought to herself.
She wanted them to finish quickly so the coroner could come in and do his job before the bodies roasted any longer in the hot and humid warehouse; Belle couldn’t stand being near the bodies anymore.
She turned and walked away from it as James Brown called to her.
“I got a call for you,” James Brown said, holding a cellphone in his hand. “It’s your contact in France. The one you asked me to reach out to.”
“I’ll take it,” Belle said, swiping the phone. She pressed it against her ear and walked further into the warehouse. “This is Isabelle. Can you hear me, Alain?”
“Isabelle? It’s nice to hear your voice again,” Alain said. “How long has it been since I saw you last?”
“Too long,” Belle replied.
“Right you are,” Alain said. “How’s America treating you? Hopefully better than your time here in Paris.”
“Impossible. Nothing will ever beat that. The summers I spent at your farm are some of my most cherished memories,” Belle said.
She stopped for a moment and looked at the sole window in the warehouse; it reminded Belle of her old mirror back home.
Old and yellowed in parts but still had charm and elegance seldom seen anymore.
“Listen, I’m sorry I’m calling you at this time.
And after so long since we’ve spoken?—.”
“Nonsense. Come, Isabelle. Ask away,” Alain said. “You know you are like a daughter to me.”
“Yes! Okay. I’ve been tracking some men for a while now who stole something from a company. It has to do with the American government and military contracts; I can’t give you any more details,” Belle said. “But those men are dead. We found them today. And the thing they stole?—.”
“Is gone?” Alain said cheerfully. “Sounds like it went according to plan. They paid someone to take the heat and disposed of them once they secured the item. It makes your job harder and theirs easier.”
“That’s the problem. I’m not sure who had the means to pull something like this off. I’ve reached out to other government agencies here in America, but so far they’ve given me a list with more than a dozen names. I was hoping you could help me filter it out a little,” Belle said.
“Ah! Now, I see. My dear Isabelle, I have long since retired from the intelligence services in France. You know this. I am but an old fool now with fanciful stories,” Alain said.
“You may be old, but you’re no fool,” Belle replied, sternly. “I need your help, Alain. The technology stolen is far more dangerous than you can imagine.”
“Perhaps. But it’s been years. Things change. And so do the people!” Alain said. “Regardless. There are some I can think of who might be involved. But without any information from you, this is an impossible task.”
“I don’t know much,” Belle said.
“Then start with what you do know. Why did you call me of all people?”
“The Intel I’ve been given points to a group based out of North Africa.
With connections to France and French intelligence services; even the French Foreign Legion is implicated.
I’ve received several names of groups active in the region that might be behind it.
Are you aware of the Bateleur Clan?” Belle said.
“Oh, my. Yes! I have heard of them, but only in the news. They are rather new. A group born from the merger of older criminal elements in the country and as far as North Africa. But what you say is unfortunate,” Alain said, his voice sharpening.
“An unfortunate truth. There are men who have served in the French military and later join these criminal groups where they use their skills for ill gain; some even join the military while already members of these clans as they call themselves. They have strong roots in North Africa where the Foreign Legion has a large presence; I am not surprised many would join them after leaving the legion.”
“Is that all?”
“I’m sorry I can’t be of more help, Isabelle.
These groups change leaders and names like hotels with their guests; they are constantly at war.
They kill each other in the streets for territory.
Many of those I investigated are no longer living and those that are have moved to their new home in prison; but there is always a new leader.
And these men are vicious. They normally stick to drug sales or weapons trafficking; some diversify into prostitution and gambling.
It’s endless,” Alain said, letting out a deep sigh.
“But if one did emerge, greedy and ambitious enough, to expand his black market weapon business into technology, I would bet the new players in town are responsible; not the old guard.”
“Young and Ambitious. Eager to expand and eliminate anyone who stands in their way,” Belle said. “Vicious indeed.”
“Enough talk of criminals and the like. Tell me about the boy,” Alain said.
“Boy? What boy?” Belle replied.
“That boy you met. What was his name? Jason!”
“That was years ago! We’re no longer seeing each other,” Belle said.
“Ah! What sadness. You seemed so happy with him. I’m sorry it didn’t work out,” Alain said.
“It’s fine.”
“Come see me!”
“What?” Belle said.
“Come visit me in Paris. We can catch up. It’s been so long since I’ve held your hand my dear girl.
I’ll take you to the Louvre and afterwards we can visit the ice cream shop your father used to take you to as a child,” Alain said.
James Brown quickly tapped Belle on the shoulder; it was time to go.
The bodies had been picked up and stored in the coroner’s van.
The crime scene technicians had finished collecting their samples and photos and were on their way out.
“Oh, I will. I promise! I have to go, now.” Belle said, her voice cracking. “And thank you! Adieu.”
“Adieu,” Alain said. “See you soon!”
Belle ended the call and passed the phone to James Brown.
“Watch it!” James Brown said.
“It is them,” Belle said.
“What did he say?”
“It’s what he didn’t say; he would do the same thing when I was a teen.
The moment I mentioned the Bateleur clan, he stopped speaking, and let out this nervous laugh; it only shows up when he’s lying.
His inability to say anything about them worries me; it probably means that the men are involved heavily with French intelligence,” Belle said, looking at the window once more.
She walked over to the waiting car and sat in the front seat.
“Former or current. It doesn’t matter. The men in this criminal organization are trained operatives.
Many of them former Foreign French Legionnaires, too. ”
“How do you know he was lying? Who is he?”
“He was my father’s best friend and a former French intelligence officer.
Before my father died from cancer, Alain promised him he’d watch over me until I was old enough to take care of myself.
Though, that was a lie. He continued to watch over me long after I left France; he even flew out several times to visit me at the university in New York City. ”
“Quite a friend. Your father was lucky to have him. But I had no idea you were French,” James Brown said.
“I’m not. Well, not originally. I was born in Israel. My father took me to France after my mother died for work; he was a normal staff member at the Israeli consulate in Paris. An accountant; nothing exciting like a spy or what have you. Just a normal guy,” Belle said.
“I had no idea,” James Brown said. “So, what do we do now? Should we contact the French government directly?”
“No, they won’t acknowledge anything. The hard drive is still somewhere in the city; we need to stop them from leaving with it by any means.”
James Brown agreed and hurried to the driver’s seat. The two sped out of the warehouse and northbound towards the FBI field office headquarters. Belle had a plan in mind and she was going to need some help to see it through.