He dropped the gun to the floor. The clank echoed through the room for a few seconds before surrendering to the silence once more.
“You served me well, Nicholas,” Dufort said, standing over the strong man who’d been made so weak. “Because of that, I will spare your life.”
The Russian’s eyebrows lowered. He wondered what the Frenchman was up to.
“You will be useless to the world, now. That arm will never heal. No one will hire you to do their dirty work. And you will have to live in humiliation for the rest of your life.” Dufort reached into his pocket and removed a small, metal object. It was a single .50-caliber round.
He held it up, pinched between two fingers and his thumb. “I will not take your life, Nicholas. That is my reward for the years you’ve served me.” He spun around and walked toward the exit, stopping halfway. Dufort bent over and set the bullet on its flat end with the firing pin facing the floor. Then he straightened up and left the room. His bodyguards followed, save for Caron, who stared at the American Petrov had hired.
“You work for Monsieur Dufort now,” Caron said in a monotone voice.
The American stuck out his lower lip for a second, glancing at Petrov one last time. “Sounds good to me,” he said finally.
“Good.” Caron put his arm around the man’s shoulders and led him out of the room.
The door bolted behind them, leaving Petrov alone in the room.
Up on the main floor, Dufort was waiting for the rest of the men. When they had all gathered in the massive dining room, he stared at each one of them, then at Caron. “Find me those Americans. Take whatever they found in that crypt, and bring it to me at all costs.”
A bang echoed through the lower sections of the mansion, muffled by several feet of concrete. Everyone’s eyes darted around the room, save for Dufort. Only he stood unwavering. “That is the price of failure, gentlemen. Success, however, will be richly rewarded.”
Chapter 24
Gerard Dufort stood in his plush study, surrounded by hundreds of volumes of first editions, cherry wood paneling, and lavish navy blue curtains with frayed gold edges. He took a sip from his glass of cognac as he stared out his window to the busy street below.
Pedestrians hurried down the sidewalks in both directions. Traffic seemed at a standstill on the road, though Dufort knew it was just that time of the day when things were backed up more than usual.
He placed one hand on his hip and took another sip, deep in thought about something. Finally he asked, “What would you do?”
Up until then, Caron had been sitting in one of the two guest chairs facing the massive oak desk with his head cocked to the side, awaiting orders.
“I would use her as leverage.”
Dufort turned around with an eyebrow raised. Clearly, his interest was piqued. “Go on.”
Caron tilted his head to the side and explained. “She’s an American agent. That much we know. What we do not know is who she is working for. We could use her to flush out who exactly is watching you, and why. Plus, we could possibly even work out a deal for her.”
Dufort balked at the last idea and gave a quick shake of the head. “No. The Americans never go for those sorts of things. They don’t make deals.”
“Well,” Caron shrugged, “I would say the next thing we do is make her part of your stable. It would send a message to the Americans to leave you alone.”
Dufort nodded, following that line of thought, but he pointed with one of the fingers holding his cognac. “It would send a message, but then they would come here looking for her.”
“Not if we sold her quickly. Then her blood would not be on our hands, and we would have plausible deniability. There would be no trace that we ever even knew she was here.”
To this, Dufort nodded slowly. It was a good idea. Actually, he’d thought of the same thing, but he wanted to consult his right hand before making the final decision. When it came to dealing with things of an international nature, it was always good to have a second opinion, even if he didn’t always go with it.
Caron and his men had found the female American agent trying to leave a nearby hotel. They followed her to a cafe where she met with another woman, a brunette, probably in her late thirties or early forties. She was dressed like a businesswoman, in black pants and a matching black jacket over a red blouse. When the blonde finished her coffee, she excused herself and quickly left, heading back toward the hotel.
Caron had two men in place, waiting for the American to return to her hotel room. When she entered, one of the men grabbed her from behind, while the other pointed a gun at her chest. The man holding her quickly placed a rag over her face, the ether doing its work in a matter of seconds.
When she’d come around, Caron and his men questioned her for a few hours, but she wouldn’t break. They hadn’t tortured her. At least not yet. He figured that his employer might not want such a pretty prize damaged.
Now, in Dufort’s office, the young blonde woman stared straight ahead. Her eyes were still somewhat glazed over, the aftereffects of the drug still lingering. In spite of the daze, she was still aware of what was being said. She tried to respond, but the gag in her mouth only allowed a few muffled words to escape. She tossed her head back and forth, trying to free herself of the rag wrapping around her face and into her teeth, but to no avail.
“Shhh,” Dufort said, turning around to face her full on. “You got yourself into this mess.”
He walked casually over to where she was sitting, bound at the ankles and wrists. One of Dufort’s bodyguards stood behind her, making sure she didn’t try any sudden movements or attempt to get up.
Dufort stopped and reached out a hand, taking a strand of her golden hair and letting it fall through his fingers. She snapped her head away from him. He smiled wickedly and grabbed her jaw between bony fingers. “You have been a very naughty girl.” His face was only inches from hers.
The woman’s nostrils filled with the scent of his expensive cologne, and she tried to pull away. Dufort held her firm, though, and took in her smell as well. He looked down at her neck, and let one of his fingers drag its way from her ear to the top of her chest. His finger found its way to the top button of her white blouse and plucked it free with a swift motion, loosening the shirt and revealing a matching white bra beneath. He stared at her undergarment for a moment, her breath causing her breasts to heave up and down.
Dufort lingered for a few seconds more, considering what to do next. Part of him wanted to take her for himself, but that wasn’t typically his style, especially not with other men in the room. Despite his criminal history and current mode of business, Dufort was no rapist.
Murderer? Certainly.
Seller of sex slaves? Absolutely.
But even he had his limits.
Dufort stood back up and let out a deep breath. “She will make a fine addition to this month’s stock. Put her in the group that will be presented in two weeks. I have a feeling some of our friends from Russia will be very interested in her.
The blonde struggled again, but the guard behind her kept her firmly planted in the chair.
“Put her with the others,” Dufort said. “Make sure she doesn’t hurt herself before the presentation in two weeks. The customers don’t like it when the girls look beat up.”
“Of course, monsieur,” the guard gave a single nod and yanked the girl up by her armpits.
Another guard, who’d been standing quietly in the corner, moved over and grabbed her by the ankles. The two men disappeared through the two large French doors and around the corner in the other room, leaving Caron and Dufort alone.