Monique Roche, a supervisor in the CNIL - Commission nationale de l'informatique et des libertés (National Commission on Informatics and Liberties), was a well paid and long time source of information for Jean Paul. She secured her position with him by monitoring information that would benefit and protect his operation.
With Nice being the most surveilled city in France – if not Europe – and embroiled in privacy debates over facial recognition usage, she was in the perfect position to detect long distance transmissions, and her knowledge of who JP was watching for popped up, thanks to her personally programmed algorithm.
"The phone box at Avenue Pierre Isnard, 232 Route de Grenoble Anciennement." Monique breathed seductively into the phone.
"And the accommodation?"
"A number of small hotels, bed, and breakfasts. Could be any one, but it is a small area to go on foot, chéri."
Jean Paul smiled at the sobriquet. "You have done well, Monique. Your reward will be waiting for you in the usual place."
"I had hoped it might be delivered personally . . ."
"I think you would prefer the business arrangement we have now. Any other could lead to dangerous complications." He ended the call and frowned slightly. Monique was a source he couldn't afford to lose, but anything else meant trouble, and he didn't need more trouble.
He contacted his man with Monique's information and gave him his orders. Soon he would have his property back and all those connected to it would be taken care of. He returned to his patio balcony and beckoned the young woman sunning by the pool.
***
The knock on the door brought Keith awake with a start. He checked his watch – five-thirty then glanced over at Barbara, who was rubbing her eyes and sitting up, and held a finger to his lips.
"Yes, who is it?"
"Bonjour! J'ai apporté vos petits déjeuners."
"It's the concierge with breakfast." Barbara got off the bed and looked with dismay at her crushed and wrinkled clothes.
Keith opened the door and smiled, accepting the tray. "Merci."
"De rien. Je peux presser les vêtements aussi si tu veux."
He smiled again, closing the door and repeating his thanks. "What was that last bit?"
Barbara opened her bag and searched through for something to wear. "It was a shot at our appearance." She fingered her wrinkled pants.
"Ah, sorry. I didn't want to wake you last night. How come she brought this so early?"
"It's fine. I needed a good sleep. I told her we had to be on the road early when you went out to phone." She pulled out a blouse and skirt, frowning. "I hate wearing skirts on the plane."
"The pants don't look that bad," he said, setting the tray on the little table and removing the cover. "Mmm, warm croissants, bacon and jam – and coffee not espresso!"
"Then you wear them and lend me yours."
He grinned through a mouthful of croissant. "So now you want to get into my pants."
The pillow missed and nearly spilled the coffee, and he raised his hands in surrender, laughing. Barbara changed, and they sat and had breakfast together, Keith sneaking glances at a pair of attractive legs.
"We have to arrive at the last possible moment for the flight. I don't want to take any chances hanging around in a strange crowd."
"Be ready to flash your police credentials then. The French aren't above just leaving without you."
YOU ARE READING
Caveat Emptor
Misteri / ThrillerAll Barbara Spence had to do was meet the courier at the airport and deliver him to the hotel. Murder, a handsome detective, and the theft of an ancient scroll from a French crime lord, sends ripples across the ocean, where she is swept up in the ki...
