more
information on Cervantes' schedule and asked if there was any
reason for him to be in Paris. He said he'd check again, but as
far as he'd found, London was the only town on the
schedule.
Next I called Alexandra to see if Winchell's Mideast
headquarters in Dubai had turned up anything on the
Saudi.
"They've got only one name, Ibrahim. What are they
supposed to do with that? It's a common one, isn't it?"
I took her response to mean no. "I have a photo."
"Mike, I'm busy. I will talk to you later." The line went
dead.
I set out for a walk, not to go anywhere, just to be in
motion. When I focused on Oddsson's arrest, memories of
Sabine and possible connections among Cervantes, the Saudi
and Mumby overwhelmed my capacity for logical analysis.
When I tried to shake them, images of Trevor rose up.
Giving up on trying to focus, I put my mind on free spin
and took in the city as I strolled through it. When I did,
Grandmas Fitzgerald and Sanchez joined me for a quality-time
visit. They brought remembered aromas of homemade tortillas
and ginger muffins, the unforgettable taste of mint tea and a
soothing memory of warm soapy water and a gentle hand
cleaning skinned knees. Best of all were their soul-healing hugs.
By the time I reached the Seine, my psyche was riding an even
keel.
I'd also found out how condensed central Paris is. I'd
walked halfway across it in what for me was an easy stroll.
Notre Dame was just up river. I headed toward it and entered a
warren of restaurants and cafes on the Right Bank. In a close
skirmish with nostalgia, I stopped in front of a Tex-Mex eatery,
checked the menu and passed it by. No reason to gamble that
the fare might disappoint and break the mood.
Without consciously thinking about it, I was mentally
on the job again as I turned back toward Montmartre. The
Venezuelans must be doing more than selling emulsified tar for
PDVSA. I needed to know what that was. I also needed to know
what happened to the twenty-five thousand euros that Trevor
had sent to Mumby's bank and what Mumby himself knew
about it.
I called Pascal and asked if he could set up video or at
least audio surveillance devices in Ruiz's office and apartment.
He said he'd get back.
McNulty was next on my list. I called him, and he
agreed to bug Mumby's home, but he didn't think he could get
into the office. That was fine. I doubted we would get much
from there anyway.
Then I called my old boss. Abe Granger's company,
Global Risk Management, had resources that I didn't. He said it
was good to hear from me, but he didn't sound jovial about it.
Nevertheless, he'd be happy to follow the trail of the
twenty-five thousand euros. His good-bye was friendly. Must have
been something I said, like my promise to pay by wire transfer
for the service.
Quick as that, I was done with business. It was growing
dark out, and I had an evening to face. I called Alexandra again.
She responded to my voice with an edge of irritation, but I
plowed ahead anyway and invited her to dinner. No work
agenda, I just didn't want to eat alone. To my surprise, she lost
the edge and said yes.
We met at an upscale restaurant near her office. At the
waiter's advice, we ordered a bold claret "with complex hints
of currants and black cherries" and a vibrant bouquet of some
other fruit that wasn't a grape. Whatever it was, maybe
raspberry, went fine with braised beef. Alexandra had no
exotic tales to match Marie's. She grew up in a middleclass
family, had an older brother and a younger sister. Her biggest
adventure had been to study hard enough to win a scholarship
to INSEAD. Her family would not have been able to afford the
tuition. Her second biggest thrill had been landing a job with
Winchell & Associates. That was even tougher competition
than the scholarship.
I kept my own stories to a minimum. Born in Laredo,
way long time ago. Did a stint in the Air Force, wounded in
Vietnam spotting for bombers, switched my occupational
specialty to legal aide and served in
information on Cervantes' schedule and asked if there was any
reason for him to be in Paris. He said he'd check again, but as
far as he'd found, London was the only town on the
schedule.
Next I called Alexandra to see if Winchell's Mideast
headquarters in Dubai had turned up anything on the
Saudi.
"They've got only one name, Ibrahim. What are they
supposed to do with that? It's a common one, isn't it?"
I took her response to mean no. "I have a photo."
"Mike, I'm busy. I will talk to you later." The line went
dead.
I set out for a walk, not to go anywhere, just to be in
motion. When I focused on Oddsson's arrest, memories of
Sabine and possible connections among Cervantes, the Saudi
and Mumby overwhelmed my capacity for logical analysis.
When I tried to shake them, images of Trevor rose up.
Giving up on trying to focus, I put my mind on free spin
and took in the city as I strolled through it. When I did,
Grandmas Fitzgerald and Sanchez joined me for a quality-time
visit. They brought remembered aromas of homemade tortillas
and ginger muffins, the unforgettable taste of mint tea and a
soothing memory of warm soapy water and a gentle hand
cleaning skinned knees. Best of all were their soul-healing hugs.
By the time I reached the Seine, my psyche was riding an even
keel.
I'd also found out how condensed central Paris is. I'd
walked halfway across it in what for me was an easy stroll.
Notre Dame was just up river. I headed toward it and entered a
warren of restaurants and cafes on the Right Bank. In a close
skirmish with nostalgia, I stopped in front of a Tex-Mex eatery,
checked the menu and passed it by. No reason to gamble that
the fare might disappoint and break the mood.
Without consciously thinking about it, I was mentally
on the job again as I turned back toward Montmartre. The
Venezuelans must be doing more than selling emulsified tar for
PDVSA. I needed to know what that was. I also needed to know
what happened to the twenty-five thousand euros that Trevor
had sent to Mumby's bank and what Mumby himself knew
about it.
I called Pascal and asked if he could set up video or at
least audio surveillance devices in Ruiz's office and apartment.
He said he'd get back.
McNulty was next on my list. I called him, and he
agreed to bug Mumby's home, but he didn't think he could get
into the office. That was fine. I doubted we would get much
from there anyway.
Then I called my old boss. Abe Granger's company,
Global Risk Management, had resources that I didn't. He said it
was good to hear from me, but he didn't sound jovial about it.
Nevertheless, he'd be happy to follow the trail of the
twenty-five thousand euros. His good-bye was friendly. Must have
been something I said, like my promise to pay by wire transfer
for the service.
Quick as that, I was done with business. It was growing
dark out, and I had an evening to face. I called Alexandra again.
She responded to my voice with an edge of irritation, but I
plowed ahead anyway and invited her to dinner. No work
agenda, I just didn't want to eat alone. To my surprise, she lost
the edge and said yes.
We met at an upscale restaurant near her office. At the
waiter's advice, we ordered a bold claret "with complex hints
of currants and black cherries" and a vibrant bouquet of some
other fruit that wasn't a grape. Whatever it was, maybe
raspberry, went fine with braised beef. Alexandra had no
exotic tales to match Marie's. She grew up in a middleclass
family, had an older brother and a younger sister. Her biggest
adventure had been to study hard enough to win a scholarship
to INSEAD. Her family would not have been able to afford the
tuition. Her second biggest thrill had been landing a job with
Winchell & Associates. That was even tougher competition
than the scholarship.
I kept my own stories to a minimum. Born in Laredo,
way long time ago. Did a stint in the Air Force, wounded in
Vietnam spotting for bombers, switched my occupational
specialty to legal aide and served in
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