Read Online The Bookseller by Mark Pryor - Free Book Online

bouquiniste. It also explained how the Seine's band of booksellers were able to undercut the book shops and tourist boutiques.
    A knock at the door interrupted him, and he stood as Ambassador Taylor came in.
    Rotund, balding, and somewhere around average height, one could walk past J. Bradford Taylor on the street and, assuming you noticed him at all, would imagine him to be a bank clerk or accountant. Actually, Hugo had joked with Ambassador Taylor over brandy one night that he'd make a master criminal—utterly unrecognizable and hugely intelligent. Typical of the ambassador, he'd taken the joke as a compliment.
    â€œMorning, sir,” Hugo said.
    â€œMorning to you. Aren't you on vacation?” He gestured for Hugo to sit, and plopped down in a chair opposite him.
    â€œYes and no. Something came up.”
    â€œSo I heard. I got your messages and made a couple of calls.”
    â€œThank you.”
    â€œDon't thank me, Hugo, I'm not going to be any help.”
    â€œHow's that?”
    â€œI talked to a couple of people and they say there's nothing much to investigate. Which confused me. What the hell's going on?”
    Hugo leaned forward, the last hope of official cooperation evaporating before his eyes. “Ambassador, a friend was kidnapped in front of me. A man with a gun took him from his book stall by Pont Neuf.”
    â€œYou saw this?”
    â€œI was right there, I couldn't do a damn thing except call the police afterwards. The detective made all the right moves but never really…I don't know.” Hugo sat back. “It's hard to explain. He went through the motions, but since a couple of people told a different story, he's just thrown up his hands and stopped looking.”
    Taylor stroked his chin. “That's very odd. Why would he do that?”
    â€œI have no idea, but I was hoping you might be able to find out.”
    â€œI'm sorry Hugo, but this is one of those jurisdictional things.” He held up a hand as Hugo started to protest. “Yes, I know, we both hate that kind of talk, but the fact remains. If they don't want to investigate, there's nothing you or I can do about it. And I know what you're thinking, but don't. We have a sensitive conference coming up, our friends from Zimbabwe, and this isn't the time to be ruffling French feathers.”
    â€œHonestly, ambassador, right now I don't care about French feathers.”
    â€œWell I do,” Taylor said, standing. “And you better start because that's your job. I'm sorry about your friend, Hugo, I mean that. But if the locals are satisfied there was no crime, then what can I do? Between nothing and very little. Which,” he added, holding up a warning finger, “is what I want you to be doing.”
    â€œMeaning?”
    â€œMeaning you stand down, vacation or not.”

 
    Â 
    When Emma walked into his office with a cup of coffee, Hugo was staring into space.
    â€œHugo, you look pale. Are you OK?”
    â€œYes, fine. Just thinking, that's all. I just had some…news.”
    â€œOh dear. Bad news, from the look on your face. And the look on the ambassador's when he walked out.”
    Hugo looked up. “Oh, I'm not worried about him. He has a job to do. No, this is something else, something good but mysterious, you might say.”
    â€œCare to share? We could use some excitement around here.”
    â€œLions and Martians not enough for you?” He thanked her for the coffee and, when she left, he turned back to his computer.
    What had that bouquiniste said his name was? Ah yes, Jean Chabot.
    One of the things Hugo had done as embassy security chief was to negotiate access for himself and senior members of his staff to the databases of France's foreign intelligence agency, the Direction Générale de la Sécurité Extérieure, or DGSE, and the databases of the French version of the FBI, the Direction Centrale du Renseignement Intérieur, or DCRI. If he'd