“I understand.” Rodrigo rubbed his forehead, thoughts racing. Security video! He had Denise’s face on security video, plus much clearer pictures on her identity paperwork and the investigations he’d done. “Who has these facial-recognition programs?”
“Interpol, of course. All the major organizations such as Scotland Yard, the American FBI and CIA.”
“Are their data banks shared?”
“To some extent, yes. In a perfect world, speaking from an investigational standpoint, everything would be shared, but everyone likes to keep some secrets, no? If this woman is a criminal, then Interpol might very well have her in their data banks. And one other thing-”
“Yes?”
“The landlord said that a man, an American, was here yesterday asking about the woman. The landlord didn’t get a name, and his description is so vague as to be useless.”
“Thank you,” said Rodrigo, trying to think what this meant. The woman had been paid in American dollars. An American man was looking for her. But it followed that if this man had been the one to hire her, he would already know where she was-and why search for her anyway, when she had completed her mission? No, this had to be something totally unconnected, an acquaintance perhaps.
He disconnected the call, a grim smile twisting his lips, and punched in a number he’d called many times before. The Nervi organization had contacts all over Europe, Africa, and the Middle East, and were expanding into the Orient. As an intelligent man, it behooved him to make certain one of those contacts was very conveniently placed within Interpol itself.
“Georges Blanc,” said a quiet, steady voice, which was indicative of the man himself. Rodrigo had seldom met anyone more competent than Blanc, whom he’d never met face-to-face.
“If I scan a photograph and send it to your computer, can you run it through your facial identification program?” He had no need to identify himself. Blanc knew his voice.
There was a short pause; then Blanc said, “Yes.” There were no qualifications, no explanation of the security measures he might have to sidestep, just that brief affirmative.
“I will have it to you within five minutes,” Rodrigo said, and hung up. From the file on his desk he took the photo of Denise Morel-or whoever she was-and scanned it into his computer, which was properly safeguarded with every security measure known. He typed a few lines, and the photograph was on the way to Lyon, where Interpol was headquartered.
The phone rang. Rodrigo picked up the receiver. “Yes.”
“I have it,” said Blanc’s quiet voice. “I will call you as soon as I have an answer, but as to how long it will take…” His voice trailed off, and Rodrigo imagined him shrugging.
“As soon as possible,” said Rodrigo. “One other thing.”
“Yes?”
“Your contact with the Americans-”
“Yes?”
“There’s a possibility the person I’m seeking is an American.” Or had been hired by an American, thus the payment in United States dollars. While he didn’t think the United States government had anything to do with his father’s murder, until he knew for certain who had hired the bitch, he intended to keep his cards close to his chest where they were concerned. He could have gone directly to his American liaison and asked the same favor he was asking of Blanc, but it was better, perhaps, that he approach this from a more oblique angle.
“I will have my contact check their data banks,” Blanc said.
“Discreetly.”
“Of course.”
Chapter Nine
Despite the cold rain blowing in under the protection of her umbrella, Lily kept her head high so she could see what was going on around her. She strode briskly, pushing herself to see how her stamina held up. She was gloved, booted, and wrapped against the chill, but she left her head uncovered so her blond hair was visible. If by chance Rodrigo’s men were looking for her here in Paris, they’d be looking for a brunette. She doubted Rodrigo had followed her path back here, though, at least not yet.
The Agency, however, was a different matter entirely. She was almost surprised she hadn’t been detained in London as soon as she got off the plane. But she hadn’t been, and she hadn’t spotted a tail, either when she’d left de Gaulle airport or this morning.
She began to think that she might have been incredibly lucky. Rodrigo had kept Salvatore’s death secret for several days, then released the news only after Salvatore’s funeral. There hadn’t been any mention of poison, just that he had died after a brief illness. Was it possible the dots hadn’t been connected?
She didn’t dare let herself hope, couldn’t afford to let down her guard. Until she’d finished the job, she would stay alert for trouble from every corner. After the job-well, she really had no idea. At this point, all she hoped for was survival.
She hadn’t chosen an Internet cafe close to her sublet studio, because for all she knew there might be a trap on any online requests for information pertaining to anything about the Nervi organization. Instead she had taken the Metro to the Latin Quarter, and opted to walk the rest of the way. She had never used this particular Internet cafe before, which was one of the reasons she’d chosen it. One of the basic rules for evasion was to not follow a set routine, not be predictable. People got caught because they went where they were most comfortable, where things were familiar.
Lily had spent quite a lot of time in Paris, so that meant there were a lot of places and people that she would now have to avoid. She’d never actually had a residence here, instead staying with friends-usually Averill and Tina-or at a B and B. Once, for about a year, she’d rented a flat in London but gave it up because she’d spent twice as much time traveling as she had at the flat and it was just an added expense.