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Avalanche (Kindle Single) (BookShots) by James Patterson (4)

The helicopter rises above the tundra, and Robert stares intently into the gloaming, willing something to move, something to wave at him. Feeling empty and ill, Robert wonders if he has been both cuckolded and widowed in just three days.

Hervé puts an unlit cigarette in his mouth, but one of the Rega crew shakes his head sternly and wags his finger. Hervé shrugs his shoulders in exasperation.

  

At the police station Robert is taken to a small room and put behind a desk. He notices a stainless-steel rail screwed onto the surface. “You bring me into an interrogation room? What is this all about?” he asks Hervé.

“We are short on space; I apologize. This is the form. Please fill it out.” Hervé puts a pen and paper on the table and walks out of the room.

Robert nods aimlessly and taps the pen on the Formica surface.

A tall blond woman comes in and sits down opposite Robert, her brow knitted in concern. “Hello, I’m Greta. I work for Interpol. Came up from Geneva to talk to you.”

“Okay,” says Robert.

Greta extends her hand to shake. “I’m so sorry but I need to ask some questions.”

“Sure.”

“Have you ever seen this man?” Greta slides a photo of Ken onto the table.

“Yes, I have met him.”

“Did he give you anything?”

“No.”

“Are you certain of that?”

“Yes.”

“We have surveillance video of the two of you in the Geneva airport walking into the bathroom. And in the lobby in the Gstaad Palace.”

In his mind Robert replays the scene in the airport restroom. Ken’s finger on his cheek. Ken’s hand slipping down the tweed jacket and into his pocket.

“Jesus,” Robert says. “How could I miss that? Yes! He did give me something.”

“Ken works for us,” says Greta. “We have reason to believe he is in grave danger.”

“Is he CIA?”

“All I can tell you is he’s on our side.”

“God. Everyone falls in love with my wife,” Robert says, shaking his head.

“What does this have to do with Ken?”

“That Italian, Eugenio, he drugged me. He must have come back to my hotel room. I thought he wanted my wife, but really he wanted whatever it was that Ken gave me.”

“How did the Italian know you had it?”

“How did you know?”

“Ken radioed us, before he disappeared.”

“The Italian must have a mole inside your operation.”

“You catch on fast,” says Greta.

“And now he’s dead?” asks Robert. “A bit too much of a coincidence, wouldn’t you say?”

“All of it really. Whom exactly do you work for, Professor Monroe?”

Robert shakes his head. “We have to find Ali. I have to get her back.”

“Hervé tells me you were at the Freeport in Geneva doing business for Abdul Al-Fayed.”

“Yes.”

“What was that?”

“He hired me to authenticate a painting.”

“Is this the painting?” She slides out a photo of the Modigliani. Robert tries not to react but is sure she can read his expression.

“I can’t discuss his business.”

“Funny,” she says, “this painting was owned by an ayatollah. What do you think the religious police would think of that—a supreme leader owning a nude? Though you know, the Nazis had it before him.”

“If this doesn’t have something to do with finding Ali, I don’t want to waste another breath on it. Okay?”

“Look, Robert, we need to know who you work for. Is it Al-Fayed? Is it the CIA?”

Robert shakes his head, trying to clear his confusion. “I came here at the request of Christie’s.”

“You just said Al-Fayed paid you.”

“So?”

“We’re trying to figure out his part. The whole espionage world is abuzz right now—a major terrorist strike is coming. Somehow you’re in the middle of it. You’ve got to help us stop it.”

“Look, I’m just an art historian,” says Robert wearily. How had he landed in an international heist film? “A dad…a husband.”

“We’re offering you the chance to be so much more.”

“There’s only one thing I care about right now.”

“Al-Fayed made his fortune in private security, during the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan. Some say he was both the sickness and the cure,” says Greta.

“What does this have to do with Ali?” Robert asks, exasperated.

“Sometimes, Robert, the left hand doesn’t know what the right hand is doing.”

“My wife is missing and you’re calling me a pawn? To an unseen hand?”

“No, no, no. I’m asking for your help, and I’m warning you.”

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