The Agency

46 - Identities

If she left now, she could be anywhere in the world and with another change of papers and appearance she would be gone forever. The promise, however, hung in her mind like rotting meat on a hook. Jean Tremblay and his mistress could not be forgiven for what they had done to her; it would haunt her forever. She needed this revenge . . . badly.

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

Louise left the café, if possible, faster than she arrived. Gravel and dirt showered the façade as her car spun off the lot and back down the mountain. This could be an opportunity of a lifetime. If Louise Albert could take out Alaine Monet, she would vault into the stratosphere of her profession.

Offers would fall on her like raindrops, far too many to accept, leaving the plum assignments as she desired. She was very happy she had not included Robert in this job; she would see to his ego later.

As she came off the mountain road, the setting sun made her windshield opaque and she had to slam on her brakes and steer to the shoulder. God! Settle down, girl. You want to live to enjoy this moment.

The rest of the drive was controlled while Louise planned her approach. She needed to get to Monique before Monet. That would be no trouble, it was actually getting Monet first. She pulled into the parking garage of the hotel, found a satisfactory spot, and ran through her moves in her mind.

***********

Monet thanked the concierge and placed a handsome tip on the counter. Signorina Beauclaire was indeed in her room and had not signified any intention of checking out soon. He also learned she had another caller who left her a cryptic message and was treated to a repeat of said message for a generous benefit. Mister Tweed was obviously referring to another alias; Monique was being sought by others besides him.

This could pose a problem if she should decide to run; her current cover might vanish and he would have to trace her all over again. Much against his preference, Monet concluded his business should be dealt with now, at the hotel. He would remove her to Tremblay's villa, there they could extract the information on the shooter, and Jean could have whatever else he wanted.

Monet took the elevator to two floors below Monique's and then used the fire stairs the rest of the way. He moved silently down the hall and paused outside her room number, listening. In a professionally confident move, using a special custom piece of electronics, he bypassed the card lock and let himself into the room. The silence bothered him . . . it was too quiet. He moved swiftly through the suite, checking closets and drawers. Nothing.

Signorina Beauclaire was not in her room and had apparently left without checking out. He scoured the desks and the wastebaskets checked the phone book for torn pages or circled numbers then he called the switchboard and asked about the calls that would be charged to the room. There were no outgoing calls, just one in and the message he already heard.

"Please put Christopher on the phone." A moment later the concierge came on the line.

"Signorina Beauclaire has flown your little coop I'm afraid."

"No! I have her deposit here; she wouldn't leave that, surely."

"She received a call, that message. I need to hear that again please?"

He hung up and plucked at his lip. Mister Tweed, now who might that be and what did the message mean? He moved to the window and automatically scanned the street below, dwelling for a few seconds on each parked car and the many pedestrians. Where might she have gone? Where indeed? He was disturbed that all his tracking had gone for naught and he would have to begin again.

In the hallway, outside Monique's room, Louise removed the spray from her purse and held it at her side. She would render Monique unconscious first and then deal with Monet when he arrived. She squared her shoulders and rapped lightly on the door, standing to one side and tilting her face down.