The Gruinard Project Chapter 19

[khandy]

No Spies just bad guys.

Chapter 19 Georges V Paris.

The Eurostar pulled into the Gard de Nord at 10.56am. There had been no delays, he had travelled in the comfort of first class and had enjoyed an excellent breakfast. Arriving at St Pancreas Station at seven am he had brought a paper to read during the journey. There had been no mention of the double murder and he would be long out of the country before there was. He passed through customs with the practised ease of an international traveller; with the greater links with the European Union travelling in Europe was far easier and in his opinion more relaxed.

Sands came out through the main entrance of the station and thought, not for the first time, that some of the finest architecture around the world could be found at Railway stations. The huge Norman styled arches in the façade of the front entrance could easily grace a cathedral. He had more than an hour until his meeting and having been cooped up on the train for more than two hours he decided to walk to the hotel. Paris was a lovely city and the walk would give him an appetite.

He had much to report including the need to silence Henry James and the dumb tart Sally Kerr. Henry James had been sharper than he had given him credit for. He had been surprised when he saw James following the Kerr woman. The report he had removed from the office after he had killed James had indicated that the investigator had worked out that the man he was following was an MI5 agent. He smiled; it amused him that the public always thought of them as agents it sounded more glamorous than field officer.

It had been a satisfactory hit; quick and clean, no witnesses. Henry James had not even been able to cry out in death it had been that fast. Unfortunately for him London had a high serious crime rate and his murder would just become one of many unsolved crimes.

He supposed that he should feel some remorse at Sally Kerr’s death but he didn’t. Once Henry James had to be silenced she became a liability, a loose end and like all loose ends she was snapped off. Killing her had been easy; he had enjoyed the game. Chatting her up in the pub, sending out the signals that he would not mind getting in her panties. The cheap tart had been gagging for it. He wouldn’t have minded sleeping with her but he wasn’t stupid enough to leave anything for the forensic boys. Instead he had come up behind her and had whispered sey words in her ear. She had moaned in anticipation; then he had strangled her.

His mind returned to the meeting he was heading to. No doubt he would face a grilling about the minor problems over the weekend. He would be pleased about the killing though. His boss, if it were possible, enjoyed killing more than he did.


***********

He insisted on the best and just as he did in London, New York, Tokyo or wherever he happened to be in the world his hotel fit the criteria. Paris was no different. The George V was opulent, ostentatious and unmistakably French; a pre-revolutionary France. It might have been built in 1928 by an American but the décor would not have been out of place in The Palace of Versailles. The guests half expected Marie Antoinette to join them for lunch.

The pool was empty as it often was in that hour before lunch was served. He was pleased; he enjoyed the majestic solitude of the place and the space to take in some serious exercise. He swam his usual sixty lengths and then floated his body relaxing after the intensity of the exercise. The illusion of Versailles was very prominent here with the stunning trompe l’oeil gardens covering one wall. Were it not for the meeting he would have headed for the spa. It was one of the best in Paris and he usually had at least one massage while staying at the George V.

His mind soon returned to business. He was lunching with the Prime Minister on Thursday ahead of next week’s Commonwealth Heads of State conference. He expected to be able tell if the PM was worried about the conference. MI5 had almost certainly informed the PM of the threats. It amused him to think that he was the one person who knew who the target was. He wondered what the PM would do if he suggested a solution to the Commonwealth’s problem. He sighed, nothing, which is why he acted alone providing what the PM could not ask for.

He pulled himself from the water his body toned and lightly tanned. He enjoyed looking good and worked hard to maintain it. The newspapers referred to him as a lucky son of a bitch, wealthy and handsome with a beautiful wife and children. It was a comment that always made him smile; luck didn’t enter in to it, everything in his life was planned to the smallest detail. He took nothing for granted; not his business, himself or his family. His wife was no plain Jane with little breeding. She was the daughter of a family that could trace its roots back to Henry the Eighth, debutante of her year with refined English rose looks, chosen specifically for her genes. The plan had worked well his children were stunning to look at and already showing signs of being highly intelligent. He would accept nothing less.

A young woman entered the pool area as he was about to leave, her seductive gaze taking in his long lean body. If he invited her he was certain she would make a more than suitable sexual partner but he had an image to maintain; the devoted family man. He certainly would not risk a liaison with a woman like that and put his whole life style at risk. No any woman he slept with was dead the day after with no means of tracing them back to him. Besides his wife was here with him and even after fifteen years of marriage she was still an excellent screw.

He showered and dressed and headed for the marble courtyard. The day was pleasantly warm so they would lunch outside. He left word at reception where he was and settled back to enjoy an aperitif before his guest arrived.

Michael Sands entered La Galerie, noticing a piano, which would later provide melodic background music for people relaxing with afternoon tea but now there were just the very quiet murmurs of the idle rich as they decided what to order from the fabulous menu. Reception had told him that his business associate was waiting for him in the marble courtyard; it seemed they were dining alfresco. He passed through the elegant French doors into the warm midday sunshine. There were only a few people dining outside and Sands spotted his boss immediately. The table he had chosen was well positioned to see the whole courtyard. Sands was pleased about this, where possible he sat with his back to the wall, with a good view of all the entrances and exits.

“Michael it is so good of you to join me. I took the liberty of ordering a bottle of Chateau Chantegrieve Graves ‘Curee Caroline’; it would be sacrilege to drink anything other than French wine in Paris.” He smiled as he spoke but Sands didn’t trust the smile. A sudden chill swept over him as he took in the feral grin.

“Thank you,” he said accepting a glass of wine.

“I am surprised that we are meeting out here in a public dining area. Are you not worried about being recognised dining with a stranger?”

“How many times do I have explain, men look suspicious when they do something out of character. What you have to ask yourself is do I have business luncheons in Paris often? The answer is yes I do and the vast majority are held in public restaurants. If I start dining in my suite it looks suspicious and the hotel staff would pass this information on to local journalists. Out here I have nothing to hide.” The Tycoon made it seem so straight forward.

Sands glanced around the courtyard as he sat down.

“I seriously doubt there are any agents out here. Enjoy your wine.”

Sands settled back and sipped the golden liquid, it was an excellent vintage. He smiled for the first time. The food and wine served at these luncheons were always excellent. He might be a renegade MI6 officer but he still appreciated the fine things in life.

“So Mr Sands I am assuming that as Mr James is dead that you encountered a problem which you have dealt with.” The Tycoon spoke quietly even though no other diners were close enough to hear.

“He figured out that he was following a man called Lucas North. I figured it was better to silence him before he began to piece together anything else.”

“The woman, will she be a problem?”

“Have TF1 also reported the death of a young woman in London today?” Sands asked.

“Yes they have.”

“Then she is not a problem.” Sands smiled.

“You enjoyed killing her?” The tycoon noted the gleam in Sands’ eyes.

“I gained a certain satisfaction from it, yes” Sands admitted.

The Tycoon studied Sands. Yes, he thought, I bet you did get satisfaction from it. He knew the type. Sands was the kind of man who would get off on the power of murder.

“I suppose you have ensured that they cannot be traced to each other or to you?”

Sands was insulted and it showed in his face. He was about to speak but the tycoon cut him off.

“Don’t Mr Sands. If you were as good as you think you are this situation would not have occurred. You appear to have contained the situation which is as I would expect from a man with your experience.” He paused momentarily so Sands remembered who was the boss. “Do you have anything else to report?”

Privately Sands thought the man opposite an egotistical bastard but he knew better than to say anything. Instead he kept his tone neutral.

“Lucas North slipped off Henry James’ radar over the weekend. It turns out it was nothing to be concerned about. Lucas attended a family birthday at the weekend. It seems he has a new girlfriend and she went with him. They returned to London yesterday evening. It seems Harry Pearce is allowing his Field Officers a private life,” Sands told him. “I have somebody looking into who the girlfriend is.”

“Very well keep me informed of any developments. Now the next note, is that ready to be delivered?”

“Yeah it will be left on Harry Pearce’s desk tonight”

“Good.”

“May I ask why you are leaving the notes?” Sands said.

“Because I can. It’s like a cat playing with a mouse before he kills it. The kill is only half the fun.”

“I never thought of you as taking risks,” Sands said.

“Looks are deceptive Sands. I have always taken risks, life would be boring otherwise, I just manage them better than most.” He smiled that feral grin again.

“Word to the wise, don’t underestimate Harry Pearce and Lucas North,” Sands told him.

“Thank you for the warning. It is of course completely unnecessary. I never underestimate anybody. This is my game I set the rules and other people play by them. Shall we order lunch before we go over the plans for the day?”

Unsure why he was even asked, as the Tycoon always dictated the agenda at the meetings they had, he nevertheless nodded that this would be ok. The food he knew would be exceptional, the man sat opposite would accept nothing less. He was nearing the end of his main course, pan-fried Atlantic bass served with creamy leeks and shredded bacon that had almost melted on the tongue, when the conversation returned to the plans for the biological weapons attack. Sands would have liked to savour the dining experience a little longer but obviously the Tycoon was ready to return to business.

“So tell me Michael, how are the plans to infiltrate the emergency services coming along?” he asked.

“They are well in hand. We have been listening in to all emergency calls for Edinburgh for two weeks. My men and I are fully briefed in the paramedics’ role. They will be first on the scene.” Sands answer was full of confidence.

“The cylinders?”

“They have been contaminated and are ready for use. The operatives know the intended targets they will focus on them entirely.”

“Good, the attack is still scheduled for three pm?”

“Yes it is that time when the delegates will be getting weary.” Sands answered. He had been at many political summits and the late afternoon slot was always sleep inducing

“MI5, do you believe that they have taken the bait over the intended target?”

“It would seem so. My source tells me that Harry Pearce and Lucas North had a hastily arranged meeting with the PM. Although he was not privy to the discussion it makes sense that it was to discuss the attack.”

“So they are walking into our carefully laid trap, excellent.”

“Now when the weapon has been activated you will leave the country immediately. Five million pounds will be deposited in the Swiss bank account. We will not meet again for three months.” The Tycoon rattled his orders off.

“I already have my ticket,” Sands informed him.

“As I am a guest speaker at the conference I will be unable to leave the country immediately, however I shall be leaving for my private island retreat with the family at the end of the week. This trip has been arranged for several months. So the press will think nothing of it.”

“The sale of the weapon, have you determined how you will proceed with that?” Sands asked.

“That is all in hand I have a team in place already. I just have to sit back and count the cash.” The Tycoon smiled. “Now Michael do you have time to sample some cheese before you leave?”


**********************

He returned to London on the 16.13 train from Paris. He was back in England, travelling across Kent towards the capital when he received a text message informing him that Louisa Ross had disappeared from her home. The neighbours said that she had gone to stay with family. The hairs on Sands neck rose as he considered this information. He looked at his watch, nothing he could do about this now but tomorrow he would head up to Leeds.