“What do you mean?” Hugo said. “What people?”
“I don't know. But I heard that a cop-friendly reporter was shot on Monday.”
“What do you know about that?” Hugo leaned forward, his jaw tight.
“I know Gravois ordered it.”
“What else?”
“How do you think Gravois knew where the journalist would be? The guy checked in with the prefecture, and someone passed on that information to Gravois.”
“The journalist wasn't a ‘guy,’” he told Chabot. “Your boss is not just shooting cop-friendly journalists, he's shooting female ones.”
“Then you see why I don't want to cross him,” Chabot said.
“Too late for that,” Tom said. “Like it or not, you're on our side now.”
“Only if I get American custody,” Chabot said. “If not, I will take my chances.” He sat back and crossed his arms in front of his chest.
“OK, fine,” Hugo said. “But it'll take a while to arrange, a few hours. You should stick with us in the meantime.”
“Non,” Chabot shook his head. “If it will take a few hours, I will go back to my stall. You may think you are safe from him, but if he sees I am missing and we are together we'll make a big target for him.”
“He's right, Hugo,” Tom said.
“OK,” Hugo nodded. “Go back to your stall while we take care of this. Tom, were you followed here?”
“Fuck you,” Tom said. “You're the one who's out of practice, and I'm not a fucking idiot.”
“Yeah, sorry,” Hugo said. “OK, we'll leave one by one, Monsieur Chabot, you go first. Pick up a sandwich close to here, that'll explain your brief absence if Gravois comes by.” Hugo wrote his cell number on a napkin and handed it to the Frenchman. “And memorize this, OK? Don't keep it on you. Remember and then destroy it. If anything spooks you, call or text me. A simple SOS will do. We don't want to let Gravois know we're on to him, but if I can't get to you quickly we'll send the police. Got it?”
“Oui,” Chabot nodded. He put the napkin into his coat pocket with trembling fingers. “Merde. This is crazy.”
“Do you have any family?” Hugo asked. Close family would also need protection of some sort, given Dobrescu's proclivities.
“Oui.” Chabot looked at the floor. “I have a little girl. She lives with her mother and I don't see her too often.” He sat up. “I have to tell her good-bye. Just in case, I have to.”
“That's not a good idea. You need to be at your stall when Gravois comes by.” Hugo remembered the public slap Gravois had given Chabot. “I'm guessing he's not used to people disobeying him.”
“C'est vrai, monsieur.” That's true. “But if I go into witness protection or if…I need my Nicole to know that I didn't leave without saying good-bye.” Chabot spread his hands. “What would you do?”
“OK.” Hugo frowned. “We'll need to change the plan, then. Don't go back to your stall at all. Do what you have to do, go see your daughter, and then come back here. And remember, call me if there's a problem.”
Hugo sat and watched Chabot scurry out of the bar. He turned to Tom. “I'm no good at this secrecy business. Are we handling this right?”
“You never know until it's over.” Tom sipped at his beer. “Hey, do you want me to stick with Chabot?”
“I don't know. He's going to piss off Gravois if he's not there for their meeting. That guy is pretty paranoid, so he may well set the dogs on Chabot. And if he does, you don't want to find yourself between them.”
Chapter Thirty-One
It was three o'clock when Hugo walked into Ambassador Taylor's office. The ambassador already knew about Roussillon's death and he sat behind his desk, listening sympathetically and without interruption as Hugo articulated Chabot's request for US custody.
When Hugo had finished, he sat back. “Same question as always, Hugo. What is our interest in all this? Look, I may be the big boss around here but I have to answer to others, too. The secretary of state for one, and sometimes the president. If what you're saying is true, taking him into protective custody here is an admission that we think the French police are dirty.”
“Only one or two of them.”
“If we even suggest that, people will get upset. We spend a lot of time playing cop in the Third World, I'm not sure we want to be playing it in Old Europe, too. I need some genuine American interest to justify bringing him in here and keeping him from the French.”
Hugo nodded. It wasn't an unreasonable position. “How about the fact that a US Embassy worker was shot at?”
“Nice try.” Ambassador smiled. “The way I hear it you were the hero, not the target.”
“That seems to depend on who you ask.” Hugo stood and began pacing in front of the desk, his hands clasped behind his back as he thought. He stopped and snapped his fingers. “What if a member of the French police brought him here and asked for our help?”
“The French police…” The ambassador studied the floor for a moment. “Yes, I think that would do it. For a little while, anyway.”
“Good enough.” Hugo stood. “We're meeting this weasel at a bar across the river. I'll take a couple of my guys and bring him in.”
“Hang on.” The ambassador held up a hand. “If you do this, it's just you and the French cop. Otherwise it looks like we're running the show and that's the exact impression I have to avoid giving.”
“Point taken,” said Hugo. “I'll confirm the target has made the rendezvous and then call in my cop.”
“Good idea.” Ambassador Taylor walked to his door with Hugo. “So how is the wounded reporter doing?”
“Miraculous recovery. A little sore, of course, but physically pretty good, though shaken by her father's death.”
“I'm sure. He was a good man, I can hardly believe it myself. I trust the French have someone looking out for her,” Ambassador Taylor said. Hugo cleared his throat and looked at the floor, and the ambassador smiled. “Ah, I see. Then she's in safe hands.”
Hugo left the ambassador's office and made his way down to the security section where he found Claudia and Emma in his office. Emma was running her finger over a map pointing out where she'd been stationed over the years. Hugo went straight over and gently put his arms around Claudia.
“Are you OK?” he said.
“Yes, I think so.” Color had returned to her face and she looked more like the crime reporter he'd first met than a daughter who'd just stumbled over her murdered father. “I'm OK, Hugo, I just want to know what's going on, who did this.”
“Me too, we're working on it.” He looked at Emma and then Claudia. “Right now I need to ask a favor.”
“From whom?” Emma asked.
“Both, actually. We've got some fun and games brewing with the locals. Probably be best if you sit tight here for a couple of hours.”
“Attends,” said Claudia. Wait. “What exactly is ‘brewing’? Are you doing something dangerous?”
“It shouldn't be, no.”
“Will Tom be with you?”
“Yes.”
“Good, then you can take care of your nondangerous business while he looks after me.”
“I'll tell you all about it tonight, I promise. But you're not coming.”
“Why not?”
“Well, for one thing you just suffered a great shock. For another, you are still wounded.” His voice was calm but firm. “I think those are pretty good reasons.”
“And you think you're the one to decide that?” Sparks flew in Claudia's eyes, and Hugo saw he wasn't going to win easily.
He turned to his secretary. “Emma, tell her.”
“I'm staying out of this.” She turned and walked back out to her desk and closed the door on the way. Hugo thought he saw a smirk on her face.