It featured a man with a wreath wrapped around his head. He brandished a short broadsword, and men in Greek military garb from the Bronze Age surrounded him.
“That is Alexander the Great, one of the most brilliant military tacticians of all time.”
“You must have a great deal of admiration for men of power.” She kept the thoughts to herself about what that usually meant. Typically, she felt it meant the person was hungry for power themselves. Emily doubted Dufort was any different.
“They are all deserving of respect and admiration,” Dufort answered. “Each one of these men had certain characteristics that I aspire to incorporate into my own life.”
“You mean global domination?” Emily asked the question and waited a moment before allowing a narrow smile to cross her face, a look that said, “Just kidding.” Even though she wasn’t.
He held up a finger at her and smiled. “I like a woman with a sense of humor, Miss Starks. No. I do not seek to conquer the world. Nothing even remotely close to that. I simply hope to enjoy the finer things in my life and perhaps help someone in need when I am able.”
The last part of his speech nearly made her vomit. She retained her stoicism, though, and continued. “Yes, your charitable deeds are very well documented. One might wonder as to the reason why they are so well documented.”
“What do you mean?” Dufort asked with a puzzled look.
“Oh,” Emily shrugged. “It just seems like your good deeds get an awful lot of publicity. I’ve noticed you donate a great deal of money to several charitable organizations, all of which is highly publicized in the local and national media. You must have a shrewd public relations person.”
He held out his hands as if to say, “You got me.” A glimmer of cynicism escaped his eyes. “Seriously, though, is it wrong to take credit when doing something good for someone?”
She pursed her lips before speaking, as if considering the question. “No. I don’t believe so, unless you’re trying to exploit someone. Although you don’t seem the type to do something like that.”
Dufort cocked his head to the side with a “who me?” look on his face. “A good Samaritan deserves some credit. Besides, I need all the good press I can get. There are a great many people in the world who try to damage my reputation. At this very moment, I fear there are those attempting to conspire against me.” He took on a crestfallen demeanor. “I wish it were not the case, but it is, like I said, the price I pay for being a high-profile citizen.”
He turned at the end of the hall and motioned to another chamber at the end of the next corridor. “Please, step into my sitting room. We can discuss whatever you like, although I am quite curious as to what the American government wants with me. I don’t believe I have ever crossed a line with your country.”
“I work with a special unit within the U.S. government,” she said, following the host down the hallway. She gave a quick glance back. Habits from years in the field died hard. Emily was thankful for her desk job, but it made her weaker, less alert. A big part of her actually liked the rigor of fieldwork. It kept her sharp.
“Yes, I believe you mentioned that,” he said and motioned for her to enter the sitting room ahead of him. He left the door open, whether on purpose or not, she wasn’t sure.
A nineteenth century fireplace adorned the far wall, surrounded by a granite frame. The mantel matched the gray stone, and featured a few pictures of people Emily immediately recognized as Dufort’s parents. She’d done her homework on the man before beginning operations to figure out what he was up to.
The rest of the room was as elegant as anything she’d ever seen. Luxuriously upholstered chairs faced each other, with ebony drink stands sitting next to them. A cigar ashtray rested in the center of a square coffee table, nearest a two-seat, chocolate-brown leather couch. The maroon drapes were speckled with various golden emblems, likely symbols from Dufort’s family crest. At the top of the window dressings, golden tassels hung from matching ropes.
Dufort motioned for her to have a seat and made his way over to a bar made from deeply stained poplar. “Would you like something to drink?” he asked in a welcoming tone.
“No, thank you,” she said, and looked around uneasily. “I never drink on the job.” Even though a team of special agents knew where she was, there was an overwhelming sense of danger that came with going behind closed doors with a known criminal at the level of infamy Dufort had achieved.
“I don’t blame you,” he said, pouring himself a glass of light-brown liquid from a crystal decanter. “I enjoy a bit of cognac myself. Clichéd, I know, but what can I say? I’m French, and I like to indulge in local things.”
Emily didn’t care what he drank. What she did care about was where her missing agent was. And every second she spent listening to this guy BS his way along was a second her agent could be moving farther and farther away.
After she sat down in one of the club chairs, Emily crossed one leg and folded her hands over her knee. “I’m going to cut through the bull, Monsieur Dufort, and get right to the point of why I am here.”
“Good,” he said, replacing the top of the decanter. He took a sip from the clear glass and winced slightly as the quick burn of alcohol eased down his throat. “I don’t like to waste time.”
Emily didn’t wait for him to go on. She decided a bit of a ruse might be the best plan of action to extract the information she needed. “My team is here in Paris to investigate a possible nuclear arms purchase, and we need information. Sooner rather than later would be better, to say the least.”
Dufort’s face turned puzzled. “Nuclear arms? What would I know about such a thing? You think I am a smuggler of some kind? Or perhaps a terrorist?” His voice expressed offence with the latter two questions.
“No,” she quickly defended. “Nothing like that. But as a man of, as you put it, a high public profile, we believe that you may know one of the people involved with the deal. It could even be someone you consort with on a regular basis.”
Dufort was genuinely surprised at the suggestion, but after she explained her angle, he seemed more at ease. “I see.” He took a seat across from her and crossed a leg over the other knee. “I have to say, Miss Starks, I do not believe I have heard anything of that sort in my inner circles. And I keep my circles very tight, I assure you of that.”
“I’m sure you do.” Time to ramp up the pressure a little and see how he will react. She pulled a picture out of her inner jacket pocket and handed it to her host. “Do you know this man?” she asked plainly.
Dufort stared at the image for a few seconds, but his reaction was as bland as a professional poker player. “I don’t believe so.” He continued to peer at the glossy photo of a muscular blond man with steely-blue eyes. “Should I know him?”
He handed the picture back to Emily, who took it and put it back in her suit jacket pocket. “I hoped you would. His name was Nicholas Petrov. His body was recently found badly beaten with a gunshot wound to the head. I guess you wouldn’t know anything about that either.”
“No,” Dufort said coldly. “But again, I do not know this…Nicholas you speak of.”
“I see,” Emily responded. “We have reason to believe that he was one of the people trying to make the deal for the nuclear warhead. Rumor had it he was the connector for a few wealthier folks. Folks who have a tremendous amount of money, not unlike yourself.”
Dufort laughed. “Now, Miss Starks, what would I want with a nuclear device? I can’t imagine one reason why having one of those would help me in any way.”
She shrugged. “Well, you could make a lot of money with one. Or destroy an entire city.” Emily continued to lay it on thick. From the looks of it, he was taking the bait.