“May I help you?” A short, round man bursting out of an old three-piece suit waddled over to him.
“Nothing comes to mind.” Alex craned his neck for a better look at Magda Fischer, but Kane and the limousine driver were in the way.
“The museum is closed for the next hour,” the man said.
“Thanks for that.” Alex caught a glimpse of blonde hair, but the crowd drew in closer to the actress and he could no longer see.
“I must ask you to move along,” the officious man said. “A private group will be entering soon.”
“That is why I’m here. I’m with the Bureau,” Alex bluffed.
“The Bureau?” The man nodded, knowingly. “I knew that woman was lying.”
“What woman is that?” Alex asked.
“The blonde girl who showed up an hour ago claiming the Bureau had sent her to keep an eye on things while our guests visited.” He nodded in the direction of the limousine, where Trinity was chatting amiably with Magda Fischer.
“Did she give a name?” Alex’s mouth was dry.
“Constance something.” The man scratched his balding head.
“Constance Cray?” Alex asked. Curse his luck!
“That’s the one. A tasty little muffin, but she’s got a holier-than-thou attitude if you ask me.
It required all of Alex’s self-control to maintain a straight face. He knew Constance well, and more importantly, she knew Alex was not employed by the Bureau.
“She is an agent, but a junior one. Makes a fine cup of coffee but requires supervision.” Alex winked at the man. “I’ll take care of it.”
“Through the atrium, turn right, and follow the signs.”
Alex walked with a sense of purpose, and no one bothered to question him as he made his way through the quiet corridors. He flashed a wink at a brunette with big green eyes, who smiled back. He considered asking her name, but he froze when Constance came stalking down the hallway in his direction.
Constance Cray was blonde with creamy skin and blue eyes as cold as ice. She had a way of looking down her nose at everyone, even someone as tall as Alex.
“What are you doing here, Alex?” Her voice was the hiss of a viper.
“It’s a museum, and it’s open to the public.”
“Do you take me for a fool?” Constance hissed. “You are here because of John Kane.”
“And you aren’t?” He could tell by the way her eyes bulged that his shot in the dark had hit the bullseye. “The Bureau didn’t send you, did they?”
“No, but that doesn’t change the fact that you should not be here.”
“I’m not leaving until I see the exhibit.” Alex stood straight, folded his arms, and tried to appear imposing.
“I could take you into custody.” There was a twinkle in her eye that suggested she had tried the idea on for size and liked the fit.
“Not without your superiors finding out you’ve gone rogue… again.”
“You’re wasting your time. I have already searched the exhibit and found nothing of interest.” Constance smirked. “And stop standing like that. You look like the statue of Ramesses II holding his crook.” She tapped Alex’s hook.
“That is unkind,” Alex said.
“So is never calling on a lady after making your feelings known.”
“Can we discuss this later?” Alex tried to suppress the wave of guilt that threatened to overwhelm him. “Trinity can only stall Kane for so long.”
“Trinity is here?” Constance closed her eyes, put her hand to her forehead. “Let me guess. While you distract me, Brock Stone is sneaking in through the back door, and Moses is waiting around the corner in a getaway car.”
“No. This is my and Trinity’s operation.”
“Operation? Listen to me, Alex. You are not an agent.” She said the last slowly as if speaking to a small child or a West Virginian.
“No? Well, the man at the front door believed me when I told him I was your superior.” The words were out before he could stop himself.
“My superior?” Constance’s voice was dangerously soft. “Fine, then. You are on your own… Agent English.” Her cheeks crimson, Constance shouldered past him and stalked away.
“Your conduct will be in my report, Agent Cray,” Alex called. Constance ignored him. “Well done, Alex,” he chided himself. “You fail so often you ought to play for the Senators.” He checked his watch. Time was running short. He hoped Trinity could stall Kane, or else his goose was cooked.
Interlude 1
Brock Stone stepped off the train and into the sparkling new Pont Neuf Station in the heart of Paris. Weary from lack of sleep, he let the sea of passengers break around him as he made his slow way out to the street. Traffic was heavy on the Quai de Louvre, the thoroughfare that ran along the Right Bank of the Seine. Horns blared as bicycles and horse-drawn carriages weaved their way through a steady stream of automobiles.
To his right stood the Louvre, the medieval palace that had been converted into a museum in the late 1700s. The sight made his heart sink. Trinity had always wanted to visit Paris, and the Louvre was at the top of her list. He had long dreamed of visiting the city, but not without her.
He crossed the street and headed east to the Pont Neuf, the three-hundred-year-old stone bridge that joined the Left and Right banks of the Seine. He strolled across the old bridge flanked by a group of young ladies carrying parasols, and gentlemen clad in three-piece suits and bowler hats. Stone was similarly dressed, and he felt like a fool. Give him fatigues or dungarees any day.
“Quel est ton nom?” A girl with big blue eyes peered up at him from underneath the wide brim of her picture hat.
“Sorry, I don’t speak French.” That wasn’t true, but Stone was here on business. Making new acquaintances was not part of the mission.
“What is your name?”
“Smith.”
“Is that your first name or your given name?” She batted her lashes at him.
“I’m Brock…” Cripes! He had used his real name. Lying didn’t come easy to him, which made this cloak-and-dagger assignment a challenge. “Brock Smith.”
“A pleasure to meet you, Brock. My name is Marianne, but if you are nice to me, you can call me Manon.”
Stone couldn’t deny her beauty, and there was a twinkle of mischief in her eyes. Give her an independent spirit and a stubborn streak a mile wide and she would be exactly his type.
“Nice to meet you.” He lengthened his stride, but Manon matched his pace with ease.
They walked along in silence as they crossed the western point of Île de la Cité, or City Island. Situated in the middle of the river Seine, the island was home to Notre Dame Cathedral.
“The Romans built a fortress on the island in the fourth century,” Manon said unprompted. “In 508, Clovis, the first King of the Franks, built his palace here.”
Stone nodded. In other circumstances, he would have enjoyed the history lesson.
“Are you impolite or are you merely con comme un balai?”
Stone cocked his head. “Am I stupid as a broomstick?”
Manon giggled. “I thought you did not speak French.”
“I understand it better than I speak it.” Why wouldn’t this woman go away?
“You are a terrible liar, Brock ‘Smith’.”
“The only thing I am is late for a meeting. Good evening.” He tipped his boater and made to walk away but Manon grabbed him by the arm.