Dead Bishops Don't Lie, page 20
“Preposterous.”
“Is it?” said Dulac, looking at de Ségur coldly. “Justice Pierre Bellet doesn’t agree with you.” He waved the warrant in de Ségur’s face and rushed past him towards the large corner office down the hallway.
“You can’t barge in like this. I’ll contact the Minister of the Interior. You’ll be cleaning police cars, Dulac,” yelled de Ségur, trying to keep up.
“Go right ahead. I’ll enjoy the rest,” said Dulac, not bothering to turn around.
“Enough, I’m calling our lawyers,” said de Ségur.
“I want to see minute books, ledgers, financial statements, disbursement records, everything,” said Dulac, as he approached the large office, presumably de Ségur’s. “Especially your donations records.”
In his haste, Dulac almost walked right by the small room with its door ajar. He stopped. A meeting had seemingly been interrupted, and the room’s four occupants sat passively, as if waiting for its resumption. Dulac couldn’t help but smile. “Well, well, what have we here? Good afternoon, Lady Sarah, Archbishop Fiore,” said Dulac. “Just passing by?”
Fiore stood, flustered for a moment, but regained his composure and extended a hand to Dulac. “Inspector Dulac, this is quite a surprise. We’re having an executive meeting of Miranda,” Fiore said, slightly defensive. “What brings you here?”
“Police business. We’re investigating Miranda’s books.”
“We have nothing to hide,” said de Ségur, standing behind Dulac. “The inspector has this crazy notion that someone at Miranda has to do with supposedly phony donations to the Vatican.”
Dulac spun and glared at de Ségur:” How could you possibly suppose that? I didn’t mention how the money laundering might be done and it’s not in the writ. Why would you mention donations specifically?”
“Well, ah… you did mention you wanted to see our donations records, so naturally I assumed that---“
“Perhaps I can answer that, Mr. Dulac,”interrupted Fiore. “You see we were discussing that very issue just a moment ago. I can assure you all our donations are quite genuine, Mr. Dulac.”
“But where does the money come from, Monsignor Fiore?” replied Dulac.
Fiore blushed as Lady Sarah rose, finally, to extend her hand to Dulac.
“My dear Dulac, we seem to meet in the strangest of places.”
Dulac noticed a slight curl in her lower lip again.
“Lady Sarah,” acknowledged Dulac.
At that moment, one of Dulac’s men signaled for him to come outside, and handed him the phone.
“Excuse me,” said Dulac, as he turned and left the room.
“What the hell are you doing?” it was the Minister of the Interior.
“Minister, I mentioned to you during our meeting that I would be investigating Miranda’s books,” replied Dulac calmly.
“You’d better be right, Dulac, or you’re out. Understand?”
“Thanks for your support, Monsieur le Ministre.”
The line went dead.
* * *
It was late afternoon before Dulac’s men finished carrying the finance department’s ledgers and corporate books into the vans. De Ségur, his temper barely in check, watched expressionless, his lawyer by his side. As the vans left finally, he returned to the small meeting room, where Lady Sarah and Monsignor Fiore waited anxiously.
“Listen, Hugues,” said Lady Sarah, resolve in her voice, “I’m not going to be the sacrificial lamb here. I won’t go down alone. Stephanopoulos won’t hold out much longer. Now that they’ve arrested Oleyev, one of them is bound to crack.”
“Not so,” replied de Ségur. “Stephanopoulos won’t talk. My men have assured him a pension. And Oleyev knows he’s as good as dead if he reveals his contract. The Russian mafia has rules that you don’t break. That’s rule number one.”
De Ségur became conciliatory. “Lady Sarah, we’re all in this together. Can’t you see that the only way we win is to close ranks? Otherwise, Dulac will divide and conquer.”
“He’s right,” said Fiore.
“Ha! You should talk. If it weren’t for your ideas, I wouldn’t be here,” she replied, her eyes burning.
“Perhaps,” said Fiore, smiling coolly, “but your scheme was well underway before we joined.”
“Dulac has probably linked the monthly payments to Miranda’s monthly donations,” said the marchioness.
“He can’t prove it. One doesn’t win cases with coincidences,” said de Ségur.
“And it’s just one step to tie the donations to the deaths. I didn’t have anything to do with those deaths,” replied Lady Sarah.
“Yes, but try to convince a jury of that,” said de Ségur. “My dear Marchioness, when will you realize that fraus omnia corrumpit, as my Latin professor used to say. fraud incriminates everyone?”
“What do you suggest we do?” replied Sarah nervously.
“Nothing. Dulac doesn’t realize what he’s in for. Besides, we don’t have much choice. If we panic, that’s playing right into his hand.”
“May I remind you that we all have to go along with this, or risk the same fate as Salvador and Conti,” said Fiore.
Chapter 59
The registration formalities of the arrest completed, Oleyev was whisked off to one of the ex-KGB safe houses. Petrov wasn’t risking another Lubyanka fiasco. Nicola had been freed, after depositing her passport and Canadian visa with Petrov at FSB headquarters. She had accepted the risks of testifying against Oleyev, in exchange for the FSB providing her with an identity change, and was under heavy FSB protection.
Two days after Oleyev’s arrest, Petrov received a call from the Vladivostock police. A travel agent had become suspicious when Kurganski used his US dollars to pay for a ticket to China. Upon notification by the agent, and the profiling of Kurganski, the Vladivostok police arrested him and contacted FSB central. Accompanied by two policemen, Kurganski was being flown in to Moscow.
Petrov was jubilant. The cards of good old luck were finally falling his way.
“We have Kurganski,” Petrov announced to Dulac. “We will be holding him in a secure place. You have news?”
“I’m waiting for the extradition request for the marchioness. We want to arrest her in France. Have you charged Oleyev yet?”
“In Russia, laying charges is a slow process. Maybe two months, maybe three.”
“Any chance of a confession?” said Dulac.
“Not now. Maybe later.”
“Petrov, there are some jurisdiction issues we should clear up. Could we meet next Thursday in Moscow?” Dulac had to insure that Petrov didn’t take the lead in the archbishops’ files. If Petrov decided to indict Oleyev on these counts, Dulac’s case was history. Oleyev was Dulac’s key witness, and would be no good to him rotting away in a Siberian jail. He had to convince Petrov to let him testify against the marchioness and de Ségur.
Chapter 60
The following morning, Dulac’s Swiss contact at Interpol came through. “Yes, we have news. You’re going to like this, “said Gustav Thoeni.
“Make my day.” said Dulac.
“The numbered company belongs to two brothers, Henrique and Renaldo Gonzalez, Venezuelan citizens who deal through a Swiss agent, Soperca SA. Its corporate headquarters are in Zürich, 31 Banhoffstrasse, a one-room suite. The company is listed as a trading company. They bank with Bank Zulder .We did a check on them.”
“Go on.”
“Our Bogota people have been trailing them for two years. The brothers are experts at corporate layering and camouflage. We think they’re members of the Vega cartel.”
Dulac listened, taking in the consequences of the development. The Vega cartel was the most powerful drug organization in South America, having roots in the defunct Medellin and Cali cartels. “Did you obtain any financial information?”
“No, but I will try to contact someone at the bank. My wife’s cousin works there.”
“Gustav, I’m in your debt.”
“Good luck,” said Thoeni.
Chapter 61
Dulac felt depressed. He needed distraction from his daily dose of the underworld’s dirt. Concerts being his old, reliable escape, he asked Karen to join him for the first performance of the “Nozze de Figaro,” a black-tie affair, and dinner afterwards.
“Hello, Thierry, come in,” said Karen warmly, as she opened the door. She wore a sleeveless black dress. Her shoulder-length auburn hair framed her oval face, accentuating those sensuous, slanting eyes.
“You’ve died your hair,” said Dulac as he stood for a moment in rapturous contemplation.
“Only a bit. You like?” she said, winking enticingly.
God she’s beautiful, he thought, but didn’t have the courage to tell her. “Well, yes. We don’t have much time,” he said. “The performance starts at eight.”
“What’s new in the investigation?” asked Karen as she grabbed a small black purse.
“A lot. I have an extradition request for Lady Sarah’s arrest, sitting with the Minister of the Interior.”
Karen blushed at the news that ignited thoughts of Isola Rossa.
“Let’s go, I’ll tell you the rest on the way.”
As Dulac took Karen’s coat and draped it over her naked shoulders, he caught a glimpse of the sensuous curve in her lower back, highlighted by the deep V of the dress.
They got in Dulac’s Renault and wound their way towards L’Opéra. The traffic was heavy.
“Will we make it?” asked Karen, while Dulac weaved impatiently between lanes.
“Plenty of time,” replied Dulac, looking at his watch. “I have to convince Petrov not to try Oleyev for the archbishops’ murders. We want him here.”
“Sounds like a tall order,” exclaimed Karen.
“Exactly, especially since he now has Kurganski as a witness. We’ll need a confession from Oleyev.”
“I see. You want Petrov to agree to press lesser charges in exchange for a confession.”
“Correct.”
“Where does de Ségur fit in?”
“Everywhere, nowhere. I have to prove that, as a board member of Miranda, he knew of the transfers from Vega to Miranda.”
“As did Fiore.”
“We’ll have to prove that also. Speaking of which, I met Lady Sarah and Fiore at Miranda’s headquarters. The Vatican and Lady Sarah are also shareholders of Miranda. See how it all fits?”
“I’m beginning to.”
“The money comes from offshore, probably Venezuela, and is dropped off at Isola Rossa. The Eastland sucks it up, delivers it to Naples. Miranda’s contractor picks it up and deposits it in Vega’s bank in Zürich. Then, through their numbered company, also a shareholder of Miranda, they transfer it to Miranda’s account. Miranda, in turn, makes donations to the Vatican for almost the same amount.”
“But what’s Vega’s interest to do this, if the money ends up in the Vatican?”
“It legitimizes Miranda, but that side of the equation, we’re not sure of yet. I suspect some of the money goes back to Venezuela. But even if it stays in Miranda, the money is already laundered. As the majority shareholder, Vega gets yearly dividends on its investments, tax-free. I’m checking with Cardinal Legnano tomorrow. He’s reviewing the activities of the Vatican’s finance committee.”
“So the Vatican is in on this also?” said Karen, looking sideways at Dulac.
“Not necessarily—Damn.” The car in front of them had stopped at the yellow light. “You chickenshit. You could have made it.” Dulac gave him a horn blast. “Now, where was I? Ah yes, don’t forget Miranda has legitimate interests in real estate all over the world. The Vatican’s being a shareholder doesn’t automatically incriminate it.”
“With the use of drug money?”
“That’s where things get tricky. Suppose Miranda receives, say, fifty million dollars of laundered money per year. Small change compared to the Vatican’s investment of five hundred million, as a shareholder. Can’t the Vatican argue that its portion is untainted? Miranda has other, perfectly legitimate interests and investors.”
“So if I understand, you’re asking how rotten does the apple have to get, before you throw it away?”
“Basically, yes. Do you remember the Roberto Calvi scandal?”
“You mean God’s so-called banker?” Wasn’t he found hanging off Blackfriars Bridge in London?”
“On June 17, 1982, to be exact. Why do you think Calvi died?”
“You’re telling me it’s not because he knew too much?”
“Yes, but we think he threatened to go public with the scheme and expose the Vatican.”
“So Salvador and Conti were murdered for the same reasons.”
Dulac nodded. The light turned green, and he floored the accelerator.
“But who would have planned such an elaborate and grisly scheme, and planted the Pistis Sophia letter?” said Karen.
“Answer your own question, Karen. You have all the essentials, and the suspects.”
As the Renault reached the opera house, Dulac stopped in front and said, “I’ll drop you here and park the car.”
Moments later, they rushed up the steps with the last stragglers, Karen struggling to keep up to Dulac’s long strides. They reached the landing and Dulac looked around for directions to the mezzanine. Karen said, “Only a person with a good knowledge of mythology and access to the Pistis Sophia letterhead could have planted that letter. Wouldn’t that point to Fiore?”
“Did I forget to tell you? We found wooden plaques at Dessault’s workshop. The wood is identical to the plaques found around the archbishops’ necks. They were ready for other informers.”
They took the escalator up to the mezzanine, where Dulac led Karen down to their seats. Five minutes later, the opening bars of Mozart’s opera engulfed them with pure delight.
At intermission, they walked down to the bar, and Dulac ordered two glasses of white wine. As Karen waited, slightly aside, and looked around the assembled glitterati clad in Dior, Versace, and Gaultier, she caught sight of Hugues de Ségur, talking to a young woman, visibly enthralled. As Dulac was about to rejoin Karen, a man walked up to de Ségur and they shook hands. The woman smiled and left. Karen signaled with her head to Dulac, to look over her shoulder.
“Well, well, speak of the devil. And the Minister of the Interior. Misery seeks its own company,” said Dulac, carrying the glasses of wine.
“I thought you might be interested.”
“I know they’re friends. We’ll soon find out how close.”
At that moment, the lights flickered three times, announcing the resumption of the concert. As Dulac and Karen retook their seats, Dulac had a persistent feeling of being watched.
The concert ended to thunderous applause, and minutes later, they started to leave.
“Let’s go quickly, said Dulac to Karen. “I don’t want them to know I’ve seen them.”
“Understood,” replied Karen.
They walked towards the exit doors, and someone approached from the side.
“If it isn’t the ubiquitous inspector,” said de Ségur.
Dulac walked on, ignoring the offered handshake.
“I didn’t know you had time for such frivolity. Shouldn’t you be knee-deep in my ledgers? After all, that’s what the taxpayer pays you for, isn’t it?”
Dulac kept walking, taking Karen by the arm.
“By the way, I’m suing you personally for abuse of police authority and business interruption. My lawyers are preparing the lawsuit right now. You should be looking at, say, a million Euros per day.”
“Good luck,” replied Dulac, turning slightly in mid-stride. “Maybe you know of some assets that I don’t know about.”
“Make no mistake, Dulac, I always get my pound of flesh.” said de Ségur, hard pressed to keep up to Dulac’s quickening pace.
“That sounds like a threat.”
“Wouldn’t cross my mind.” Then smiling at Karen, de Ségur said, “I must admit you have good taste…for a policeman.”
As they made their way down the steps into the parking, Dulac tested his suspicion and looked back discreetly.
“We’re being followed,” said Dulac, annoyed.
“De Ségur?”
“Someone else.”
“Great, aren’t I supposed to feel safe with an Interpol senior officer?”
“Not funny. I’ll call headquarters.”
“Yes, it’s Dulac. I’m at the Opera parking. We’re being followed. Get a patrol car here, now.”
Dulac and Karen waited in the car. He took the 9 mm Benelli Parabellum pistol out of the glove compartment and placed it on the console, between Karen and himself.
“You can’t be serious,” exclaimed Karen.
“Just a precaution.”
Suddenly, the tall tuxedo who had been following them jumped into a white car, started it, and roared towards them.
“Get down,” yelled Dulac. Karen ducked onto the seat and Dulac covered her.
Sharp cracks shattered the Renault’s windshield and the side rear window, and the car sped past, disappearing into the night.
“Jesus,” said Karen, while Dulac got up and tried to read the license plates.
“Are you all right?”
“I think so,” said Karen, whiter than Dulac’s shirt.
“Maybe I took his parking spot,” he quipped.
At that moment, a patrol car screeched to a stop next to Dulac’s Renault. Two officers got out, looking first at the shattered glass, then at Karen and Dulac.
“We’re fine, said Dulac. White car, recent Opel, but I couldn’t get the plate number.”
“We’ll send a dispatch,” replied one of the officers.
“They’re probably aren’t enough officers in all of Paris to search for the underground parking they’re hiding in by now,” replied Dulac.
Moments later, Dulac hailed a taxi.
“I need a drink,” said Karen.
“So do I.”
Dulac climbed into the taxi after her, and Karen gave the driver her address.
“Is it?” said Dulac, looking at de Ségur coldly. “Justice Pierre Bellet doesn’t agree with you.” He waved the warrant in de Ségur’s face and rushed past him towards the large corner office down the hallway.
“You can’t barge in like this. I’ll contact the Minister of the Interior. You’ll be cleaning police cars, Dulac,” yelled de Ségur, trying to keep up.
“Go right ahead. I’ll enjoy the rest,” said Dulac, not bothering to turn around.
“Enough, I’m calling our lawyers,” said de Ségur.
“I want to see minute books, ledgers, financial statements, disbursement records, everything,” said Dulac, as he approached the large office, presumably de Ségur’s. “Especially your donations records.”
In his haste, Dulac almost walked right by the small room with its door ajar. He stopped. A meeting had seemingly been interrupted, and the room’s four occupants sat passively, as if waiting for its resumption. Dulac couldn’t help but smile. “Well, well, what have we here? Good afternoon, Lady Sarah, Archbishop Fiore,” said Dulac. “Just passing by?”
Fiore stood, flustered for a moment, but regained his composure and extended a hand to Dulac. “Inspector Dulac, this is quite a surprise. We’re having an executive meeting of Miranda,” Fiore said, slightly defensive. “What brings you here?”
“Police business. We’re investigating Miranda’s books.”
“We have nothing to hide,” said de Ségur, standing behind Dulac. “The inspector has this crazy notion that someone at Miranda has to do with supposedly phony donations to the Vatican.”
Dulac spun and glared at de Ségur:” How could you possibly suppose that? I didn’t mention how the money laundering might be done and it’s not in the writ. Why would you mention donations specifically?”
“Well, ah… you did mention you wanted to see our donations records, so naturally I assumed that---“
“Perhaps I can answer that, Mr. Dulac,”interrupted Fiore. “You see we were discussing that very issue just a moment ago. I can assure you all our donations are quite genuine, Mr. Dulac.”
“But where does the money come from, Monsignor Fiore?” replied Dulac.
Fiore blushed as Lady Sarah rose, finally, to extend her hand to Dulac.
“My dear Dulac, we seem to meet in the strangest of places.”
Dulac noticed a slight curl in her lower lip again.
“Lady Sarah,” acknowledged Dulac.
At that moment, one of Dulac’s men signaled for him to come outside, and handed him the phone.
“Excuse me,” said Dulac, as he turned and left the room.
“What the hell are you doing?” it was the Minister of the Interior.
“Minister, I mentioned to you during our meeting that I would be investigating Miranda’s books,” replied Dulac calmly.
“You’d better be right, Dulac, or you’re out. Understand?”
“Thanks for your support, Monsieur le Ministre.”
The line went dead.
* * *
It was late afternoon before Dulac’s men finished carrying the finance department’s ledgers and corporate books into the vans. De Ségur, his temper barely in check, watched expressionless, his lawyer by his side. As the vans left finally, he returned to the small meeting room, where Lady Sarah and Monsignor Fiore waited anxiously.
“Listen, Hugues,” said Lady Sarah, resolve in her voice, “I’m not going to be the sacrificial lamb here. I won’t go down alone. Stephanopoulos won’t hold out much longer. Now that they’ve arrested Oleyev, one of them is bound to crack.”
“Not so,” replied de Ségur. “Stephanopoulos won’t talk. My men have assured him a pension. And Oleyev knows he’s as good as dead if he reveals his contract. The Russian mafia has rules that you don’t break. That’s rule number one.”
De Ségur became conciliatory. “Lady Sarah, we’re all in this together. Can’t you see that the only way we win is to close ranks? Otherwise, Dulac will divide and conquer.”
“He’s right,” said Fiore.
“Ha! You should talk. If it weren’t for your ideas, I wouldn’t be here,” she replied, her eyes burning.
“Perhaps,” said Fiore, smiling coolly, “but your scheme was well underway before we joined.”
“Dulac has probably linked the monthly payments to Miranda’s monthly donations,” said the marchioness.
“He can’t prove it. One doesn’t win cases with coincidences,” said de Ségur.
“And it’s just one step to tie the donations to the deaths. I didn’t have anything to do with those deaths,” replied Lady Sarah.
“Yes, but try to convince a jury of that,” said de Ségur. “My dear Marchioness, when will you realize that fraus omnia corrumpit, as my Latin professor used to say. fraud incriminates everyone?”
“What do you suggest we do?” replied Sarah nervously.
“Nothing. Dulac doesn’t realize what he’s in for. Besides, we don’t have much choice. If we panic, that’s playing right into his hand.”
“May I remind you that we all have to go along with this, or risk the same fate as Salvador and Conti,” said Fiore.
Chapter 59
The registration formalities of the arrest completed, Oleyev was whisked off to one of the ex-KGB safe houses. Petrov wasn’t risking another Lubyanka fiasco. Nicola had been freed, after depositing her passport and Canadian visa with Petrov at FSB headquarters. She had accepted the risks of testifying against Oleyev, in exchange for the FSB providing her with an identity change, and was under heavy FSB protection.
Two days after Oleyev’s arrest, Petrov received a call from the Vladivostock police. A travel agent had become suspicious when Kurganski used his US dollars to pay for a ticket to China. Upon notification by the agent, and the profiling of Kurganski, the Vladivostok police arrested him and contacted FSB central. Accompanied by two policemen, Kurganski was being flown in to Moscow.
Petrov was jubilant. The cards of good old luck were finally falling his way.
“We have Kurganski,” Petrov announced to Dulac. “We will be holding him in a secure place. You have news?”
“I’m waiting for the extradition request for the marchioness. We want to arrest her in France. Have you charged Oleyev yet?”
“In Russia, laying charges is a slow process. Maybe two months, maybe three.”
“Any chance of a confession?” said Dulac.
“Not now. Maybe later.”
“Petrov, there are some jurisdiction issues we should clear up. Could we meet next Thursday in Moscow?” Dulac had to insure that Petrov didn’t take the lead in the archbishops’ files. If Petrov decided to indict Oleyev on these counts, Dulac’s case was history. Oleyev was Dulac’s key witness, and would be no good to him rotting away in a Siberian jail. He had to convince Petrov to let him testify against the marchioness and de Ségur.
Chapter 60
The following morning, Dulac’s Swiss contact at Interpol came through. “Yes, we have news. You’re going to like this, “said Gustav Thoeni.
“Make my day.” said Dulac.
“The numbered company belongs to two brothers, Henrique and Renaldo Gonzalez, Venezuelan citizens who deal through a Swiss agent, Soperca SA. Its corporate headquarters are in Zürich, 31 Banhoffstrasse, a one-room suite. The company is listed as a trading company. They bank with Bank Zulder .We did a check on them.”
“Go on.”
“Our Bogota people have been trailing them for two years. The brothers are experts at corporate layering and camouflage. We think they’re members of the Vega cartel.”
Dulac listened, taking in the consequences of the development. The Vega cartel was the most powerful drug organization in South America, having roots in the defunct Medellin and Cali cartels. “Did you obtain any financial information?”
“No, but I will try to contact someone at the bank. My wife’s cousin works there.”
“Gustav, I’m in your debt.”
“Good luck,” said Thoeni.
Chapter 61
Dulac felt depressed. He needed distraction from his daily dose of the underworld’s dirt. Concerts being his old, reliable escape, he asked Karen to join him for the first performance of the “Nozze de Figaro,” a black-tie affair, and dinner afterwards.
“Hello, Thierry, come in,” said Karen warmly, as she opened the door. She wore a sleeveless black dress. Her shoulder-length auburn hair framed her oval face, accentuating those sensuous, slanting eyes.
“You’ve died your hair,” said Dulac as he stood for a moment in rapturous contemplation.
“Only a bit. You like?” she said, winking enticingly.
God she’s beautiful, he thought, but didn’t have the courage to tell her. “Well, yes. We don’t have much time,” he said. “The performance starts at eight.”
“What’s new in the investigation?” asked Karen as she grabbed a small black purse.
“A lot. I have an extradition request for Lady Sarah’s arrest, sitting with the Minister of the Interior.”
Karen blushed at the news that ignited thoughts of Isola Rossa.
“Let’s go, I’ll tell you the rest on the way.”
As Dulac took Karen’s coat and draped it over her naked shoulders, he caught a glimpse of the sensuous curve in her lower back, highlighted by the deep V of the dress.
They got in Dulac’s Renault and wound their way towards L’Opéra. The traffic was heavy.
“Will we make it?” asked Karen, while Dulac weaved impatiently between lanes.
“Plenty of time,” replied Dulac, looking at his watch. “I have to convince Petrov not to try Oleyev for the archbishops’ murders. We want him here.”
“Sounds like a tall order,” exclaimed Karen.
“Exactly, especially since he now has Kurganski as a witness. We’ll need a confession from Oleyev.”
“I see. You want Petrov to agree to press lesser charges in exchange for a confession.”
“Correct.”
“Where does de Ségur fit in?”
“Everywhere, nowhere. I have to prove that, as a board member of Miranda, he knew of the transfers from Vega to Miranda.”
“As did Fiore.”
“We’ll have to prove that also. Speaking of which, I met Lady Sarah and Fiore at Miranda’s headquarters. The Vatican and Lady Sarah are also shareholders of Miranda. See how it all fits?”
“I’m beginning to.”
“The money comes from offshore, probably Venezuela, and is dropped off at Isola Rossa. The Eastland sucks it up, delivers it to Naples. Miranda’s contractor picks it up and deposits it in Vega’s bank in Zürich. Then, through their numbered company, also a shareholder of Miranda, they transfer it to Miranda’s account. Miranda, in turn, makes donations to the Vatican for almost the same amount.”
“But what’s Vega’s interest to do this, if the money ends up in the Vatican?”
“It legitimizes Miranda, but that side of the equation, we’re not sure of yet. I suspect some of the money goes back to Venezuela. But even if it stays in Miranda, the money is already laundered. As the majority shareholder, Vega gets yearly dividends on its investments, tax-free. I’m checking with Cardinal Legnano tomorrow. He’s reviewing the activities of the Vatican’s finance committee.”
“So the Vatican is in on this also?” said Karen, looking sideways at Dulac.
“Not necessarily—Damn.” The car in front of them had stopped at the yellow light. “You chickenshit. You could have made it.” Dulac gave him a horn blast. “Now, where was I? Ah yes, don’t forget Miranda has legitimate interests in real estate all over the world. The Vatican’s being a shareholder doesn’t automatically incriminate it.”
“With the use of drug money?”
“That’s where things get tricky. Suppose Miranda receives, say, fifty million dollars of laundered money per year. Small change compared to the Vatican’s investment of five hundred million, as a shareholder. Can’t the Vatican argue that its portion is untainted? Miranda has other, perfectly legitimate interests and investors.”
“So if I understand, you’re asking how rotten does the apple have to get, before you throw it away?”
“Basically, yes. Do you remember the Roberto Calvi scandal?”
“You mean God’s so-called banker?” Wasn’t he found hanging off Blackfriars Bridge in London?”
“On June 17, 1982, to be exact. Why do you think Calvi died?”
“You’re telling me it’s not because he knew too much?”
“Yes, but we think he threatened to go public with the scheme and expose the Vatican.”
“So Salvador and Conti were murdered for the same reasons.”
Dulac nodded. The light turned green, and he floored the accelerator.
“But who would have planned such an elaborate and grisly scheme, and planted the Pistis Sophia letter?” said Karen.
“Answer your own question, Karen. You have all the essentials, and the suspects.”
As the Renault reached the opera house, Dulac stopped in front and said, “I’ll drop you here and park the car.”
Moments later, they rushed up the steps with the last stragglers, Karen struggling to keep up to Dulac’s long strides. They reached the landing and Dulac looked around for directions to the mezzanine. Karen said, “Only a person with a good knowledge of mythology and access to the Pistis Sophia letterhead could have planted that letter. Wouldn’t that point to Fiore?”
“Did I forget to tell you? We found wooden plaques at Dessault’s workshop. The wood is identical to the plaques found around the archbishops’ necks. They were ready for other informers.”
They took the escalator up to the mezzanine, where Dulac led Karen down to their seats. Five minutes later, the opening bars of Mozart’s opera engulfed them with pure delight.
At intermission, they walked down to the bar, and Dulac ordered two glasses of white wine. As Karen waited, slightly aside, and looked around the assembled glitterati clad in Dior, Versace, and Gaultier, she caught sight of Hugues de Ségur, talking to a young woman, visibly enthralled. As Dulac was about to rejoin Karen, a man walked up to de Ségur and they shook hands. The woman smiled and left. Karen signaled with her head to Dulac, to look over her shoulder.
“Well, well, speak of the devil. And the Minister of the Interior. Misery seeks its own company,” said Dulac, carrying the glasses of wine.
“I thought you might be interested.”
“I know they’re friends. We’ll soon find out how close.”
At that moment, the lights flickered three times, announcing the resumption of the concert. As Dulac and Karen retook their seats, Dulac had a persistent feeling of being watched.
The concert ended to thunderous applause, and minutes later, they started to leave.
“Let’s go quickly, said Dulac to Karen. “I don’t want them to know I’ve seen them.”
“Understood,” replied Karen.
They walked towards the exit doors, and someone approached from the side.
“If it isn’t the ubiquitous inspector,” said de Ségur.
Dulac walked on, ignoring the offered handshake.
“I didn’t know you had time for such frivolity. Shouldn’t you be knee-deep in my ledgers? After all, that’s what the taxpayer pays you for, isn’t it?”
Dulac kept walking, taking Karen by the arm.
“By the way, I’m suing you personally for abuse of police authority and business interruption. My lawyers are preparing the lawsuit right now. You should be looking at, say, a million Euros per day.”
“Good luck,” replied Dulac, turning slightly in mid-stride. “Maybe you know of some assets that I don’t know about.”
“Make no mistake, Dulac, I always get my pound of flesh.” said de Ségur, hard pressed to keep up to Dulac’s quickening pace.
“That sounds like a threat.”
“Wouldn’t cross my mind.” Then smiling at Karen, de Ségur said, “I must admit you have good taste…for a policeman.”
As they made their way down the steps into the parking, Dulac tested his suspicion and looked back discreetly.
“We’re being followed,” said Dulac, annoyed.
“De Ségur?”
“Someone else.”
“Great, aren’t I supposed to feel safe with an Interpol senior officer?”
“Not funny. I’ll call headquarters.”
“Yes, it’s Dulac. I’m at the Opera parking. We’re being followed. Get a patrol car here, now.”
Dulac and Karen waited in the car. He took the 9 mm Benelli Parabellum pistol out of the glove compartment and placed it on the console, between Karen and himself.
“You can’t be serious,” exclaimed Karen.
“Just a precaution.”
Suddenly, the tall tuxedo who had been following them jumped into a white car, started it, and roared towards them.
“Get down,” yelled Dulac. Karen ducked onto the seat and Dulac covered her.
Sharp cracks shattered the Renault’s windshield and the side rear window, and the car sped past, disappearing into the night.
“Jesus,” said Karen, while Dulac got up and tried to read the license plates.
“Are you all right?”
“I think so,” said Karen, whiter than Dulac’s shirt.
“Maybe I took his parking spot,” he quipped.
At that moment, a patrol car screeched to a stop next to Dulac’s Renault. Two officers got out, looking first at the shattered glass, then at Karen and Dulac.
“We’re fine, said Dulac. White car, recent Opel, but I couldn’t get the plate number.”
“We’ll send a dispatch,” replied one of the officers.
“They’re probably aren’t enough officers in all of Paris to search for the underground parking they’re hiding in by now,” replied Dulac.
Moments later, Dulac hailed a taxi.
“I need a drink,” said Karen.
“So do I.”
Dulac climbed into the taxi after her, and Karen gave the driver her address.
