| Subject: À la Vie! – Chapter 21 |
Author:
Diane
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Date Posted: Saturday, October 30, 09:01:53pm
In reply to:
Diane
's message, "À la Vie!" on Tuesday, October 19, 01:16:54am
Michael and Nikita talked for hours—at least, they held hand across the table and stared at each other for hours. Sometimes they had actual conversations.
“When I was coming here, I thought I saw Detective O’Brien leaving your table,” commented Nikita. “Are you two friends, or is he working for you?”
“How do you know Marco O’Brien?” asked Michael, nonplussed.
“It’s about my mother and her gambling debts,” Nikita said wryly. “He helps me find out who she owes so I can pay them before it gets out of hand.”
“I’m sorry, Nikita, but I have no sympathy for your mother,” Michael replied, voice chilling, his eyes darkening. “I remember what she did to you when you were a child. The woman should be in prison.”
“I know you hate her, Michael, and with good reason. But she is my mother. She’s the only family I have.
The two sat silently for a while, lost in their own thoughts. Nikita remembered that Michael had not answered her question.
“What about you? Why did you meet with Detective O’Brien?”
Michael stayed quiet for a moment, trying to think how to best word his answer. Finally, he was blunt and to the point. “Elena has my son. I want to get him back.”
Nikita dropped Michael’s hands. Married. She’d forgotten that he was married.
Seeing the look on her face, Michael was quick to reassure her. “I’m having the marriage annulled. I’ve already started the proceedings. It could take up to two years though,” he warned. He took her hands back in his and stared at her with all the warmth and sincerity he had in his heart. “Will you wait for me?”
She couldn’t lose him again. Not after coming so close. The words came out of her mouth before she knew what she was saying. “Yes, Michael. As long it takes. I will wait for you.”
* * *
“Just how well do you know your in-laws?” Helmut Volker put to Michael. He was seated on the leather couch in Michael’s office, smoking one of his favorite cigars.
“I know that Salla Vacek is the East Indian ambassador to France, he was formerly assigned to Turkey, and that he has my son. What more is there to know? Michael asked dismissively.
“Did you know that he has ties to the Russian mafia?”
Helmut waited for Michael’s reaction after dropping that bomb. “The *mafia!*” Michael exclaimed. “My son is being held captive by a member of the *mafia*!?”
“Apparently, Vacek does quite a bit of money laundering for them under the guise of philanthropic organizations. He’s been on Interpol’s Green List for years.”
“Green List?” asked Michael. “What the hell is that?”
Helmut knew that he had said too much already, but this was Michael, a fellow Musketeer. He couldn’t let him down. “The Green List is a list of bad guys who we know exist, but they’re not important enough to do anything about.”
“Can’t you do something?” demanded Michael. “Move him up to the Red List?”
Helmut shrugged. “It’s not my call to make. Technically, I don’t know anything about him, and I never called in any favors to find out the intel that I did.”
He stood to leave, wishing that he had brought Michael better news. As he put on his jacket, a sheaf of papers fell to the floor. “If it were me, I would start by investigating his charitable organizations—work backwards from there. It will be time-consuming, but it’s the only plan that I have.”
Michael and Helmut hugged briefly, then the shorter man left, still puffing on his cigar. Michael gathered up the papers Helmut had “accidentally” dropped. They were lists of philanthropic organizations, some of which Michael had contributed to himself.
“Yvonne,” he said, buzzing his secretary. “Téléphonez à l'Inspecteur O'Brien à San Francisco.”
“Oui, Monsieur Samuelle.”
Two minutes later, O’Brien was on the line.
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