Crouch smiled for the first time. “We’ll see about that, won’t we? My own assets may not be on the outside, Miss Nash, but they’re just as large as our French friend’s.”
This time, Caitlyn choked on her wine.
TWENTY THREE
The next morning their first act was to visit the Arc de Triomphe du Carrousel. Crouch led Caitlyn to the Place du Carrousel and the two stood in the early chill, staring up at the grand monument.
“Still feeling ropey?” Crouch asked, giving her space.
Caitlyn groaned. “The next time I decide to swig an entire bottle of red wine please just kill me first.”
“I’ll do better than that,” Crouch said. “I’ll render you unconscious. That way you get to see tomorrow.”
“Sounds fantastic.”
Crouch made a move toward the arch. “Built between 1806 and 1808. A high central arch flanked by two smaller ones.” He motioned. “See all the bas-reliefs?”
Caitlyn made an agreeable sound, taking in the raised sculptures across the front of the arch. She moved aside as an older man knelt beside her to take pictures. Crouch waited until he wandered off.
“The quadriga on top is what we’re really interested in. It is a direct copy of the Horses of St. Mark but even so, while the French had them, the originals were still brought up for special occasions.”
Caitlyn seemed to fathom his meaning despite her stupor. “So the originals were usually hidden away?” Her face broke into a grin. “Shit, that’s perfect. The masses get to marvel at a copy whilst Napoleon and his cronies ogle the original.”
“You got it. And that poses the question — what else did they ogle?”
Caitlyn nodded, saying nothing.
Crouch continued. “It’s likely that, like most of these triumphal arches, there are rooms inside or perhaps an underground chamber. Who knows what goes on beneath our feet?”
“Tunnels?” Caitlyn questioned. “Secret passages and byways?”
“Perhaps. Every old city, especially those with an underground train system, has them.”
“All right.” Caitlyn looked around. “Now we just need to prove it.”
“It always comes back to the Horses,” Crouch said. “Until now. It says here that they were looted and then paraded in front of Parisians along with a vast war booty in much the same way that Roman Emperors commemorated their victories.”
Caitlyn took several deep gulps of water. “Which leads us to the 1815 Congress of Vienna.”
“And to the Louvre,” Crouch said. “Which I believe is over there.”
The most visited museum in the world welcomed the new arrivals as it did almost everyone else, first through the large glass and metal pyramid and then a descent into a spacious lobby whereupon they would be required to re-ascend into the main buildings. Though the hour was still early the area was jam-packed. The ambiance was pleasant, excitement helping to stimulate tired tourists in their quest for ancient wonders. Crouch paid whilst Caitlyn used the old-fashioned method to locate the document that related to the 1815 Congress of Vienna.
“Here,” she waved the guide book at him when he returned. “Richelieu Wing. There’s some kind of temporary exhibition hall where it’s being housed for now.”
“Good. We have thirty minutes to get there.”
“We do? Why?”
“I’m sure you remember me mentioning my assets?”
Caitlyn colored a little. “It was a rather memorable moment.”
“A curator will be meeting us there and, hopefully, allowing us a few minutes access to the document.”
“Is that long enough? How big is it?”
“Oh, it’s big but the curator knows his stuff. He should be able to help.”
Caitlyn allowed Crouch to lead the way, trying to imagine how wonderful it must be to at least know someone who knew someone who could make things happen. Of course, Crouch had been in authority for decades and had traveled the world dozens of times. If a person was clever he never missed an opportunity to make a valuable contact. Crouch, to his team’s unceasing gratefulness, appeared to have taken that advice wholly to heart.
The Richelieu Wing stretched before them, lined to either side by old masterworks, a perfect white vault above, allowing a huge amount of inspirational light to shine down upon the ambling worshippers.
As they strolled arm in arm to help deter onlookers Crouch spoke softly. “As things stand, I don’t like introducing outsiders. We don’t know where Riley has bribes and hooks in place. But with this I had no choice. Without this curator’s help we’re all hammers striking at a nail made of rubber. Getting nowhere fast.”
Caitlyn squeezed his hand. “Riley’s sent you all off kilter, huh? I’ve never seen you like this.”
Crouch gave a half chortle. “Caitlyn, despite the hand-holding, we’ve known each other for about five minutes. You don’t know me and I don’t know you. Not really. It’s a credit to you that I already regard you as an indispensable member of our team.”
“Well, thank you. My time at MI5 was vital. In one way I’m sorry it was cut short, but in another…” she indicated their position. “I never would have come this far.”
Crouch asked a question that had worried him since he first heard about Caitlyn Nash and her burnout. “Did MI5 fail you?”
Caitlyn instinctively pulled away, but then came back to show her reaction had been unintentional. “No. They were entirely professional. I guess you could say it was my father who failed me.”
Crouch did not want to pry any further. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. It wasn’t your fault, nor mine. To save myself from what happened I would have to turn back time.”
Crouch gave her hand a lighthearted squeeze. “Oh, the wrongs I could right…”
Caitlyn pointed toward a floor sign, showing the way to the temporary exhibition. “We’re here.”
Crouch stopped before a fourteenth century French painting, pretending to have an interest but in reality scanning their peripherals. The Richelieu Wing in his experience had always been the quietest, probably because it didn’t contain any of the more famous works of art popular in the Denon Wing, but it still maintained a high frequency of foot traffic. After a minute with no warning sensors triggering in his brain he moved along.
A narrow offshoot to the Richelieu Wing appeared ahead. On one side stood a row of all-glass display cabinets, stretching from floor to ceiling, with knee-height pedestals inside upon which sat many documents and manuscripts. Black signage ran along a supposed centerline. Crouch quickly moved to the one that read ‘Congress of Venice 1815’.
Caitlyn almost touched the glass in her urgency, but Crouch pulled her away. “We’re ten minutes early.”
Caitlyn whistled. “I can’t believe we’re about to read passages from one of the most important international conferences in European history. It’s… a little sublime.”
The official document before them, under glass, was yellowed but perfectly legible. The title page read: Acte du Congrès de Vienne, Du 9 Juin, 1815. It was signed, though Crouch could not make out the name, and attested as the ‘official edition’. Of course, he thought. Otherwise why would it be displayed in the Louvre?
A man approached noisily, dressed in a blue suit and sporting a bright red tie. His hair, professionally styled, swept up over the top of his head into a fin-like shape. He was much younger than Crouch had expected.
“Are you Amaury?”
“I am. We should be quick.” Amaury’s eyes darted left and right as if expecting a surprise attack at any moment.
Crouch nodded. “My thoughts too. You seem nervous?”