“Because you’re one of the Valois-Montevor royals’ most trusted people,” he replies. “And you’re here in Annecy on your own, pursuing an unknown goal.”
“I’ll tell you what goal I’m pursuing,” I say. “My physical recovery is complete now. My current focus is on the mental issues caused by spending a month in captivity.”
“Is that why you met with a young woman we identified as Stella Jezequel from Vosier-en-Haut at your hotel?”
Shit!I should’ve been more vigilant that night.I should’ve been looking less at Stella, and more around me.On the plus side, he didn’t ask about Charlie. I’ve been extra careful about everything linked to my mission.
“I met with Stella Jezequel because she saved my life,” I say. “I owe her, and I’m trying to be of help to her. You can tell that to your boss.”
It is a little-known fact, but a truth can be more effective in throwing people off one’s scent than the most elaborate web of lies.
“Can I go now?” Kurt’s man grunts. “I’ve told you everything.”
I release my hold on him. There’s no point threatening him to never come back. With his cover blown, I doubt I’ll ever see him again.
He scrambles to his feet, rubbing at his sore arms, and scurries to his car without a backward glance.
DARREL
That night in my hotel room, I did a lot of research and a lot of thinking.
I researched all the places Adele Gotteland may have called Queen Charlotte’s “home” and I narrowed my list down to three. The first one is the Castle of the Dukes of Savoy in Chambéry, where Charlotte was born and spent her childhood. The second is the Château d’Amboise on the Loire where she settled as a married woman and queen. Away from the court and its intrigues, she lived a reclusive, bookish life there. A contented life. Her third and final home on my shortlist is the Notre-Dame de Clery Basilica in Clery-Saint-André. It’s where she was buried, next to her husband King Louis XI.
Figuring out those homes was the fun part of my night.
The less fun segment was analyzing the unfortunate implications of the parking garage incident. The man I’d roughed up won’t be coming back, I’m sure of it. But someone else will no doubt take his place. Kurt Ozzi considers me an important enough piece on the chessboard. He won’t let me be after I busted the first agent who tailed me.
That realization led me to a painful but necessary decision in terms of the hunt for the fifth key. Now, the best thing I can do for the success of the operation is to step aside and let someone else—someone who’s presently not on Kurt’s radar—follow the leads related to Queen Charlotte.
In the morning, I got into my car and drove for three and a half hours to Mount Evor. Once on my home turf, I continued straight to Pombrio and the royal palace. A secret meeting was convened involving Princes Theodor and Max, Reigning Prince Richard, Princess Felicia, the PM, our new foreign minister Louis de Valois, and our chief spook Adam Von Dietz. I reported on my progress and on my encounter in the garage. I recommended that separate teams be sent to each of the locations identified with Queen Charlotte, while I remain in Annecy, conducting personal business unrelated to the mission.
My proposal was green-lighted.
The next day, three specialized teams were dispatched to the three locations. Analysts at MESS worked on establishing if someone had donated an antique key to any of the locations six years ago. No one had.
The next working hypothesis was that, rather than making a formal donation, Adele stashed the key away somewhere on the grounds where it would rest undisturbed. Being a regular person with regular means, she obviously couldn’t have hidden the key in the spaces closed off inside those edifices. Certainly not in the prefecture that occupies part of the castle in Chambéry! That reduced our agents’ search perimeter and made their jobs easier and safer. It’s one thing to break into a museum or a cathedral, but quite another to force your way into the offices of the departmental prefect.
Our agents went in under the cover of darkness and combed through the accessible spaces in each location methodically, making sure they didn’t miss a thing.
In addition to a good old visual inspection, they employed some cool tech that can scan walls and floors in search of hidden compartments or objects buried deep down. They failed the first night and went back in the following night. When after a thorough search spanning three nights produced nothing, it was safe to conclude that the key wasn’t in any of those three locations.
We needed a new lead.
And that brings me to the Healing Touch Wellness Center of Annecy, where I’m currently pacing the secret room in the back and killing time.
The owner of the center is a former MESS agent. He settled in Annecy and reinvented himself as a wellness guru after hanging up his hat. But despite his retirement and expatriation, he’s still happy to render a service to the old country when he can be of use.
This hidden room, for example, is one of the ways in which he does it.
I came here early this morning for some physiotherapy. Given my recent injuries, my visit should be as unsuspicious as it gets. I don’t think I was followed, but just in case, Samson, a MESS agent of similar build and height walked out of the Wellness Center an hour after I’d come in, wearing the same clothes and cap as me. He got into my car and drove to the hotel, while I retreated into this room where I’m pacing now.
My phone alerts me that I have new mail. I sit down at the table and open it. It’s a message from Arthur, the PI, reporting from Vosier-en-Haut. The subject of his email is “You were right to smell a rat.”
Yesss!
I begin to read his report, but then the door opens, and Charlie steps inside. I stand up to greet her.
She looks around the room with a mixture of curiosity and amusement. “Why the secrecy?”
