After walking exactly one block, Zane stopped and pretended to make a phone call. He waved his arms around and laughed, while at the same time scanning the surrounding area for anything out of the ordinary. Seeing nothing that aroused suspicion, he pretended to end the call and continued toward the bank.
As the building came into view, Zane’s thoughts turned to Amanda Higgs. He and Carmen had agreed that she might be needed if her father left another cryptic puzzle like the one in Vienna. Zane did have some concerns about bringing her along. Operations could turn south at a moment’s notice, and while certainly bright, she was still an untrained civilian who would be extremely vulnerable if things deteriorated. But despite their misgivings, Zane and Carmen were certain that they would be able to keep Amanda safe.
Zane walked through the front entrance at precisely five minutes before noon. When he did, he was pleased to see people filing in and out, a sign that their due diligence from the day before had paid off — they had determined that activity peaked around lunchtime.
After entering the lobby, Zane paused for a brief moment. The layout was exactly as anticipated. Just to his right and through another set of glass doors was the bank, which presumably took up most or all of that side of the building. Directly in front of him was a hallway that extended all the way to the back of the building. To his great satisfaction, Zane could see that the elevators and restrooms were exactly where he thought they’d be.
He had hoped to move directly back to the elevators if no one was looking, but just inside the bank was a customer service representative helping an elderly couple at a kiosk. She was facing in his direction and had probably seen him come in.
Unzipping his coat slightly, Zane transitioned to Michel Bergeron. He threw open the door dramatically and made eye contact with the woman at the kiosk. She smiled at him.
The operative was just about to take a seat at a small waiting area when the couple in front of him finished their business and turned to leave. The kiosk worker, a striking woman with high cheekbones, looked up and spoke to him in Russian-accented French, “Yes, sir. May I help you?”
Zane walked over and looked at her much like a glutton would look over items on a buffet line. “Absolutely,” he said, his accent now that of Michel Bergeron. “How could I refuse service from such a beautiful woman?”
She blushed, “Thank you.”
“You know, I’ve been here many times and yet never had the pleasure of speaking to you,” Zane remarked. “How unfortunate.”
“Well, thank you again,” the woman said, extending her hand. “My name is Katarina Popova. How may I help you, Mister…?”
“Oh, please forgive me,” he replied, taking her hand and kissing the top before releasing it. She pulled it back so quickly that it popped against her body. Zane smiled as if the reaction didn’t faze him in the least. “My name is Michel Bergeron,” he continued. “I’m here to follow up on a call I made earlier.”
“And who did you speak to?”
“It was one of the investment advisors, I forget his name. But first things first.” He glanced around the office and then leaned forward and said in a low voice, “I must ask to use your restroom.” He made a show of reaching down and rubbing his abdomen. “I had a little foie gras at lunch, and it isn’t sitting too well.”
The woman motioned toward the door with a smile, clearly happy that he was leaving. “Go back out into the hall, and the bathrooms are down on your right,” she said.
He bowed slightly and said, “Rest assured, I will be back.”
The woman gave him a faux smile and turned quickly to her computer screen.
As he exited the back into the lobby, Zane felt a sense of relief wash over him. So far, everything was falling perfectly into place. Not only was the woman glad to be rid of him, but he also noticed that another man had just entered and was talking to her. In a matter of minutes, she would likely forget about Monsieur Bergeron and his cramping intestines.
Just to be on the safe side, Zane entered the restroom first. Despite his overall satisfaction with how things were playing out, something had just hit him moments before when he walked away from the kiosk. It was the strange sense that someone else had been watching the whole ordeal. He finally shrugged it off, having nothing concrete to base it on.
Walking over to the sink, Zane removed the fake glasses and tucked them into a coat pocket. He then turned on the water, and after giving it time to warm up, he splashed it onto his face several times.
After counting silently to thirty, the operative exited back into the hallway. He glanced toward the bank to make sure no one was looking and then strode over to the elevator and pushed the Up button. He waited for what seemed like an eternity before the car finally arrived with a ding.
When the doors slid open, Zane stepped inside and quickly removed the card from his jacket pocket. It was the moment of truth. If the card worked, it meant Nigel and the Agency had done their job. If the card didn’t work, the whole operation would be turned upside down.
As soon as the doors closed, Zane pushed the button for the second floor and then inserted the card into the slot just above. For a moment nothing happened, which caused the operative to curse under his breath, but three seconds later the light turned green, and he could feel the elevator begin to move.
It was by sheer coincidence that Lucien Lafevers, investment banker, happened to be staring out the window as the long-haired man crossed the parking lot. His mind had been preoccupied with thoughts of how to shelter the funds of a shady client, but he soon found himself paying more and more attention to the figure moving toward the entrance to the bank. There was something about him that bothered Lafevers, although he couldn’t quite put his finger on what it was.
The man was wearing an expensive jacket with stylish chest pockets and olive dress pants, so Lafevers had to admit he certainly looked the part of the bank’s exclusive clientele. So what was it about him? Was it the way he walked? And then it hit him. It wasn’t the way he walked at all. It was what he did as he walked. Although subtle, there was no doubt that the man was taking a careful survey of his surroundings. His head would turn slightly at every movement.
But what bothered Lafevers even more was what the man did when he finally entered the building. Instead of proceeding directly into the bank, the man paused and looked to the rear of the building before looking anywhere else. What was he looking at?
Fully alert, Lafevers sat up straight in his chair and watched as the man crossed the lobby and began to talk to Katarina at the service desk. A minute or so later, the man headed down the hall, the very place he’d been staring at before.
Smelling trouble, Lafevers rose from his seat and approached the kiosk.
“What did that man want?” he asked Katarina in broken Russian.
“You mean besides me?” she asked. “What a creep.” She made a gagging motion with her fingers. “He said he talked to someone earlier on the phone, something about an issue he was having. Why?”
Lafevers ignored her question. “Where did he go?”
“He said he felt sick and was going to the bathroom.”
Lafevers frowned at her answer. While that seemed to explain why the man had been looking toward the rear of the building, he still didn’t like it. He’d been acting strange in the parking lot, and the request to use the restroom just seemed like an excuse.
The banker took a position near the door. If the man wasn’t back in five minutes, he’d make a trip to the restroom himself.
About two minutes later, Lafevers thought he hear a distant ding. The elevator? No one should have been using it during the day.