43. The Disappearing Plane
The Disappearing Plane
Belle had been on the phone for the past several minutes talking to our guy in France.
Apparently, things weren’t going too well because Belle’s face had contorted more times than I could count; she looked like a kid trying out new retainers.
I found it amusing, though. Trying to figure out if she was getting good news or bad news.
It became a game of sorts until she hit the speaker button.
“Say that again,” Belle said into the receiver. She turned the phone our way and got closer.
“Special Agent Sarfati, it’s John. The consulate attaché in Paris. Is this a good moment to speak?” John said.
“Yes, go ahead.”
“The plane you tasked us with watching. And intercepting. It never arrived,” John said. Cash looked to Spider, who let out a smirk.
“That’s impossible. The plane was headed for Paris. The flight logs and the transponder,” Belle said.
“The transponder was shut off, and the plane disappeared off our radar as they entered French airspace. I sent out a team to see if it crashed, but I doubt it. The plane was small enough to land on a private strip or a regional airport. My French colleagues and Interpol are working now to find where it ended up,” John said.
“What now?” I said. Belle looked at me and then at Spider.
“Plan B,” Spider said.
“Did you hear that, John?” Belle asked.
“Got it,” John replied and hung up.
“What’s this Plan B?” I asked out of concern. “You’re not going to force us to take the pill, are you?”
Belle ignored me. I got some laughs from the others, though; helped ease the tension. She bolted straight to the cockpit and said something to the pilot. Then, suddenly, the plane pitched right aggressively, forcing me to jump at the railing and hold on.
“Hey!” I yelled. The rest of the team looked on in amusement.
“We’re going to Monaco instead. Landing in Nice, rather than Paris. The Bateleur clan will try to offload the merchandise there. And when they do, we’ll stop them,” Belle explained.
“Monaco? Are you sure? The guy on the phone just said he has no idea where the hell the plane went?” I replied.
“Interpol and our CIA assets are working together to figure that out right now, but the intelligence shared with me shows this group has used the event to fence their ill-gotten products. It was rumored that they were behind the disappearance of a shipment of high-end rifles and grenade launchers from a military warehouse in Italy last year,” Belle said.
“I remember that,” Professor said.
“Those weapons ended up in the Middle east and we traced the transaction through Monaco,” Belle replied.
“Monaco will be filled with tourists and spectators. Are you sure they’re going to be there to sell it?” Thor said. “Wouldn’t some Eastern European country or a middle-of-nowhere site in the Middle East be better for this?”
“It would, but the Bateleur clan’s leader, Amir Pons, assumes this is the best place to conduct his business.
He feels safe in the city. CIA sources have told me he has hundreds of men working under him in the area and effectively controls all illicit activities within hundreds of miles,” Belle said.
“And they’ve been busy expanding. Mending relations with other rival gangs and growing into new territories. ”
“A gangster with a corporate structure,” I said.
“Essentially,” Belle replied.
“But the money will leave a trace. Billions moving this way into Monaco or wherever it goes; the transactions will be flagged,” I said.
“Everything leaves a digital footprint nowadays. Even taking out sizable sums of cash to use in an exchange sets off red flags,” Spider said.
“What about crypto?” I asked.
“We monitor all transactions. Including crypto. Only thing we can’t track are stolen goods,” Belle said. “If they use that as payment, then it’s more difficult.”
“But not impossible,” Cash said.
“There’s always a trace,” Widow said.
“And these guys are walking around with the most advanced tech ever created in their back pocket,” I said.
“Worth billions,” Belle said.
“Trillions,” Cash replied. The room went silent once more.
At that moment, the speaker came on overhead. “We’ll be entering French airspace in ten minutes. The Nice airport has approved our landing, and we should reach it in about thirty minutes,” the pilot said.
“You heard him. Gear up. We’ll be landing soon,” Spider said to his team. He turned to me and handed me a metal plate for my vest. “You too.”
I felt jittery. Like someone who’s tasting an exotic brew for the first time. I couldn’t shake the feeling it was about to get so much worse.