“Oh, Hugo, you’re such a dork sometimes. I do miss you.”
“Thanks, I think.”
“Welcome. Anyway, as far as this little task goes, it would’ve helped if I’d known what I was looking for. But I found out a few things, so how about I info dump and you use what you want?”
“That’d be perfect, thanks.”
“Sure. Tell you now or email it?”
“Give me the highlights, then email whatever else you have. And thanks, Merlyn, I owe you.”
“Yeah, you do. Coming to England any time soon?”
“Not that I know of. Visit me in Paris, it’s prettier than London.”
“Can’t argue with you there. All right, here’s what I know. The Bassin family is as old as the hills. And they’ve lived in that house for a couple of hundred years, exact numbers will be in the email. Nothing out of the ordinary, a kid here and there, marriages and deaths, but only one blip, so to speak. I think that something dodgy happened toward the end of the 1700s.”
“What do you mean, ‘dodgy’?”
“Hard to tell. But if I had to guess, there was some kind of family dispute or something. One branch of the Bassin family up and moved out of the house, and another moved in. No idea why, of course. Anyway, two interesting things related to that. First, the ones that moved out changed their name.”
“How can you tell?”
“Well, after the revolution in France the new regime conducted an exhaustive census. Actually they got the idea from us Brits, basing it on the one in 1086 ordered by William the Conqueror.”
“Which produced the Domesday Book.”
“Right, same idea. Interestingly, it was much less well organized, to the point where the same towns and villages got recorded twice within months of each other. Most of the information was the same, of course, but if people moved about in that time, well, it was essentially recorded. That’s what happened here.”
“And those records were kept?”
“It’s so weird how Americans think two hundred years ago is a long time. I mean, we have the Domesday Book from a thousand years ago, so yes, those records were kept.”
Hugo smiled. “Thanks for the lecture.”
“Welcome. Anyway, the ones that moved out were a husband, wife, and their son. They moved to Marseille and filled out the right forms which got put in a box for a hundred years, then got put onto microfiche, and finally scanned into a computer sometime in the modern age. And for the record, whoever made that family tree that you sent me had figured it out, I’m guessing. So many records are digitized now that if you have the right access, you can trace people quite well, even that long ago and especially when they move countries.”
“Wait, you’re telling me the Bassin family left their house for Marseille, and then moved abroad?”
“That, my Yank friend, is interesting part number two.”
The moment he got off the phone with Merlyn, he called Tom, leaving a hasty message when his friend didn’t pick up. “Where are you? I need some help. Listen, find Senator Lake and stick with him. I don’t care if he throws a fit or not, just keep eyes on him. And call me when you get this.”
He then tried Lieutenant Lerens, who answered immediately. “Hugo, I was about to call. Where are you?”
“Heading to the embassy. Did you get something on Alexie Tourville?”
“Yes. We tried pinging her phone after getting the number from her brother, but had no luck. However, one of our junior detectives was going through the papers we collected from her apartment and found bills for a second cell phone. You’ll never guess who she’s been in contact with?”
“I’m ahead of you on that one,” Hugo said. “Senator Lake.”
“Yes, how did you know?”
“It’s a long story, but we need to find both of them as soon as possible.”
“Well, Lake left yesterday evening. He flew to London so he could get on the Queen Mary II.”
“He’s taking the boat back to America?”
“Yep. Doesn’t like flying, apparently. I spoke to Ambassador Taylor, he said Lake had talked about the romance of a transatlantic crossing. Mysterious and romantic, he said. He’s a strange man, your senator.”
“He’s graduated from strange, I’m afraid. But his leaving is not good news.”
“Why not?”
“Long story. You were saying that Alexie Tourville has a second phone.”
“Oh, right. We got the number from the bill and we’re pinging it. As we speak, quite literally. I wanted to make sure you were available in case we got a hit.” She paused. “And here we go … hold on, I think it’s the tech people.” She went quiet for a full minute, then came back. “Still with me?”
“I am.”
“Good. We’re on the way to the embassy to pick you up. She’s heading south. We should be able to catch up with her before she gets too far, but we need to hurry.”
“I’ll wait outside. Just open the door and I’ll jump in.”
Tom called back as Hugo stood on the Place de la Concorde, waiting for Lieutenant Lerens.
“The Queen Mary, eh? Nice,” said Tom.
“Can you get someone on board, security, to check on him?”
“Probably. What are you afraid of?”
“I just want to make sure he’s safe.” Hugo waved an arm as a procession of three white police cars, lights flashing but sirens quiet for now, split the traffic and headed toward the sidewalk where he stood. “And Tom, if you can wave your magic wand and get yourself on board, do it.”
“I’m not following.”
“And I’m not going to be any less subtle. Nice day for a boat ride, Tom. Take a hint.” He hung up as the passenger door of the middle car opened. He slid in and the three cars immediately took off again.
“Ready for a chase?” Lerens asked.
“Always.”
Lerens nodded and picked up the handset for her radio. She spoke to the cars in front and behind, using a number code Hugo didn’t recognize. In unison, the sirens began to wail and the growing rush-hour traffic slowed and parted in front of them, promising a fast-track exit from Paris.
“Do you know how far she is?” Hugo asked as they swept alongside the river, the magnificent cathedral of Notre Dame looming to their right.
“Not far. She made a stop just a few minutes ago in the Thirteenth, was there a while. We’re keeping tabs with a police chopper. If she gets too far south we’ll use local cops, too, just have them stay a couple of miles back. The chopper is high enough she won’t see or hear it, and the pilot has been told to report in every five minutes with her location.”
“Do we know why she stopped?”
“Underground garage, so no, but we have officers headed there to see what they can find. She’s been back on the road about ten minutes.”
The lead car turned right on the short Pont d’Austerlitz, taking them south toward the main arteries that led out of Paris and toward the road known as the autoroute du soleil, which so many Parisians used to begin their vacations, the highway of the sun that ran down to Lyons and connected it with the sprawling and industrial port city of Marseilles. The highway that now carried Alexie Tourville out of the city and, Hugo assumed, to some place of perceived safety. Given her demonstrated ruthlessness and undoubted resourcefulness, he knew that losing her was not an option.
The radio came alive and they listened to the exchange.
“Air One.” The pilot, Hugo assumed.
“Go ahead, Air One.” The dispatcher, a woman’s brusque and efficient voice. She’d be charged with coordinating the converging forces and making sure information was shared.