Which was why he’d called Quentin Sault.
“Quentin, I need a phone number for someone in Wulfram von Hannover’s security staff.” Wulfram von Hannover was Flicka’s older brother, and he was richer, more powerful, and probably more psychopathic than Pierre. Max had never been able to metaphorically pin Wulfram down and discover what he was underneath.
However, Flicka loved her much-older brother with a child’s intensity, which suggested Wulfram presented a cold, cruel face to the world but was quite different in his heart.
The exact opposite of Pierre, in other words.
Sault said, “You can’t tell von Hannover where she is.”
“That’s why I need a number for someone in his organization.” If Max rang up von Hannover and told him where Flicka was, he would have immediately launched a full-frontal assault with hisWelfenlegionsecurity people, and the guys holding her would kill her. “If there’s a hint, a rumor, and then a low-key snatch operation, maybe her captors won’t see it coming. I remember what happens when a rescue operation goes wrong.”
Sweat prickled on his neck, but he refused to feel it.
Another sigh whooshed in Maxence’s ear.
Sault was sighing a lot lately. It was unbecoming in a security chief.
Max said, “I just need a number.”
“Fine, fine. I’ll give you the number for Julien Bodilsen of Rogue Security. There are channels to get a message from Rogue Security to von Hannover’s people, and maybe it’ll look like it came from somewhere else.” Sault reeled off a US phone number.
“Thanks, Quentin.”
“I’ll see you soon.”
“I’m not coming back to Monaco. I’ve got a new assignment. I’ll be there for six months or so.”
“Where will you be in the meantime?”
“I’m sorry, Quentin.” Telling the man who had been tasked with arresting him and perhaps dropping him over the side of a boat where he was going seemed like a stupid move.
“Right. Good luck, Maxence.”
They hung up, and Maxence dialed the number Sault had given him.
The boat pitched under his feet as they crested over a swell. Max grabbed the railing for balance.
The line hesitated and then rang.
A man’s voice answered, “Bodilsen.”
Maxence asked, “Can you get a message to Wulfram von Hannover’s team?”
“Who is this?”
“Can you talk to them or not?” Maxence asked him.
A cough.“We liaise with his security personnel. I was formerly employed by von Hannover. We go way back.”
Maxence stared over the open water that spread sapphire and silver to the horizon and prayed he was doing the right thing. “Tell them this: Flicka von Hannover is being held in Geneva, Switzerland, on the estate of Valerian Mirabaud.” Maxence recited the address.
“Thank you, sir,” Bodilsen said. “We’ll get right on it.”
“You’re sure you can get that message to him?”
“Absolutely. He will hear it in five minutes or less. I would expect events to occur soon.”
“They literally have a gun to her head. It needs to be an exfiltration, not a military assault. She also has a female toddler with her, and she won’t leave without the child. Make sure you get both of them, or she won’t come with you. There may be a man with her in there, too. I’m not sure. You’ll need to surveil to figure that out.”
