Eleven
The sharp click of a heel on the parquet floor brought Nick Carter instantly awake and to a sitting position on the living room sofa.
Carlotta stood in the kitchen alcove, a bag of groceries in one arm.
"Good morning."
Carter checked his watch. "You mean good noon."
He rubbed his eyes and watched her slip out of a fur-lined jacket and place the groceries on a counter. She poured a cup of coffee, placed it and a basket of croissants on a tray, and moved toward him.
Carlotta, Carter mused, was more beautiful than ever. It was as if the danger and excitement of the previous night had made her blossom.
The two top buttons of her shirt were open, her jeans were tucked into high black boots, and her hair was tied back. With no makeup, she looked like a college student.
"Did you sleep well?"
Carter nodded. "Amani?"
"Still sleeping. I just found this slipped under the door."
Carter took the paper from her hand and opened it.
Made the call. Do believe you're legit. Buzz me!
481–776. Henry
Carter handed her the note. "Dial this while I throw some water on my face."
When he returned from the bath, patting his face dry with a towel, she was extending the phone toward him.
"Henry?"
"Yeah. Let's talk."
"Where?… Not here."
"I can understand why," Henry said and chuckled. "The Fiat that Carlotta and I used last night is back in its parking space in the alley beside your building. The key is under the driver's side mat."
"All right."
"Do you know Paris?"
"Like the back of my hand," Carter replied.
"Pick me up in an hour on the Boulevard Berthier, in front of Cafe Trois Roussettes."
"An hour," Carter said and hung up.
"Is it ago with him?"
"Sounds like it," Carter replied, reaching for his pants.
One of the bedroom doors opened, and Pietro Amani — scrubbed, shaved, and dressed — entered the room. "Ah, coffee?"
Carlotta nodded and moved toward the kitchen.
Carter surveyed the man's clothing. "The fit is perfect."
"Yes," Amani nodded. "I am amazed."
Carlotta returned and handed him a cup. "Several people knew your exact sizes. I just added a few pounds because of the time of inactivity in prison."
Amani chuckled. "A wise move." He turned to Carter. "Do we still have an agreement?"
"We do," Carter replied. "I'll get you anywhere you want to go — for a price, and the certain introductions you mentioned."
"Good. I'll need to make some phone calls tonight, and probably send a few cables tomorrow morning."
"The phone is there."
"No. I'll need a clean pay phone of my choosing — and complete privacy."
Carter shook his head. "That means you'll have to go out. That could be dangerous."
"I'll have to risk it," the Italian replied and then grinned. "Until I am sure the both of you can be trusted."
"So be it," Carter said with a shrug, rising and moving across the room. He came back with a small case and opened it. "Carlotta will give you a haircut… a very short haircut. There is a black wig in here, and other basics to alter your appearance. I assume you don't mind if Carlotta trails you at a distance, in case there is trouble?"
"Of course not," Amani said. "But I think it will be myself — Amani — who will soon be creating the trouble!"
Jason Henry waited, slouched against a window of the cafe. When he spotted the Fiat, he motioned with his head and twirled an index finger one revolution by his ear.
Carter understood, and continued on. He made the turn at the Porte de Clichy, and swung around the large block of the Cimetiere Parisien des Batignolles. When he came down Boulevard Berthier again, Henry awaited him on the curb.
He rolled into the passenger seat before the Fiat had even stopped, and Carter was going again before the door slammed.
"Where are we going?"
"Take the road toward Clichy, and I'll tell you what to do after that."
They drove into the Clichy suburb, and Henry directed him into smaller and smaller streets until they were on a narrow country road. Finally they stopped in front of a locked gate in a long stone wall.
Henry got out of the car, took a key from his jacket pocket, and opened the gate.
"Where are we?" Carter asked.
"At the far end of Clichy. The house belongs to a friend. Had lunch?"
"No."
"Good."
Back in the car, they rolled through the gate and along a graveled drive that wound through a park filled with flower beds, lawns, and huge trees.
Eventually they came to an esplanade bordered by a low stone wall. Beyond the wall lay a second immense lawn.
"Your friend must employ a lot of gardeners," Carter commented.
"Several," Henry said and chuckled. "Turn here."
The chateau was huge, with a red tiled roof, a broad terrace, and a private lake in the rear.
They scrambled from the car, and Carter followed Henry into a marble-floored, tapestry-hung entrance hall.
"Jason, you are back! Luncheon is ready on the terrace!"
Henry's friend was tall and willowy, with a face and figure that could have stepped directly off the cover of Vogue or Elle.
"Celeste, I'd like you to meet my friend, Monsieur Carter."
"Welcome to Château Rombouard, Monsieur Carter." The woman smiled warmly. "Are you, too, in the export business?"
"Non, mademoiselle," Carter said, returning the smile. "I am merely a salesman of insurance."
"No matter. Any friend of Jason's is always welcome."
She turned to Henry. "Take Monsieur Carter to the terrace,mon chèr. I will have luncheon served immediately."
As she wafted away. Carter put it all together. "Countess Celeste Rombouard," he murmured with a low whistle. "You travel in some pretty classy circles!"
Henry shrugged. "It pays, in a foreign country, to have powerful local friends."
"Lovely lady."
"She manages to keep me warm on cold nights. Come along."
Lunch was delightful food and chitchat, but Carter was glad when it was over.
"I'll leave the two of you to brandy and business," the countess said. She pecked Henry on the cheek and disappeared.
He lit a cigar and motioned Carter to follow him. They walked to the middle of the huge rear lawn and sat in a flower-bedecked gazebo.
"I got the whole story, Carter. You got a tiger by the tail."
"Yeah, I think I do," Carter agreed. "But if I can find out where this meeting is, and get something substantial on who's there and why, you can imagine the lever."
"I sure as hell can. Are you sure Amani won't cross you when the time comes?"
"No, but it's a chance I'll have to take."
Henry nodded and sipped some of his brandy before he spoke again. "I've done a little checking on my own. In my business, you know most of the people who crawl through sewers."
"I suppose you do," Carter replied wryly.
"Word's out from Italy that Palmori and his bunch are mad and scared as hell. The Liberta factions split into two armed camps the minute it hit the papers that Amani was sprung."
"We figured on that."
"It won't be long before they'll figure he's in France, and probably Paris. They'll have a contract out on him… and probably on you, too."
"And Carlotta," Carter added. "She was supposed to use Palmori's money to get the other Liberta members out, not us."
"How does she fit?"
"Italian SID."
"That figures." Henry paused, his clear eyes boring into Carter's face. "I'll give you three days in Paris before the guns start coming out of the woodwork."