"Somehow she managed to elude me, sir."

"I find that most unusual and distressing, Murray."

Murray calmly related the events over the phone, including how Monique managed to leave the grounds.

"My theory, sir, is that she had someone waiting or, and this is highly unlikely, she fortuitously hitched a ride. The vehicle she sped off in was still on the grounds because the main gate was closed. By the time I got to where I hid my van they were well down the highway."

"Who, do you suppose? How did she arrange it? Something is askew here, Murray." Nathan dragged on his hundredth cigarette of the day and coughed the last of his remark. His thoughts skipped nervously to the mysterious Council.

"Another fact I have discovered, sir," Murray said, ignoring the questions, "is that the bank gave a draft in the full amount of the account to a young woman named Signorina Morreau, representing a Mister Arthur Glebeholme. I could not determine the amount."

"You mean the money is gone!" Nathan looked with dismay at his feet. "Who is this Glebeholme? Who the devil is that?"

"The bank manager told me he was some high level businessman with the government. My best guess would be Mister Carstairs, sir; there is nobody else active in our little drama that we are aware of.

There is another thing, sir. I have since learned that a young woman who was present at the restaurant debacle was also under attack in her own home. I deduce that this was the woman at the bank and that she and Carstairs are acting in tandem. The manager kindly gave me a succinct description."

"Not Monique."

"No. Don't forget, she gave Richard up to Tremblay. I hardly think that would have been received with grace. Besides, she was Tremblay's guest at the time."

Nathan shifted the phone to his other ear. "You said this woman was attacked at her home? What happened there?"

"According to a local source, the two attackers were summarily dispatched, or so he assumed, since they have never been seen anywhere and never left by boat."

"By this woman?" Nathan exclaimed.

"Doubtful, sir."

"You think Richard and this woman . . .?"

"As I said, sir, the players in our little drama are limited."

Nathan chewed his lip and stared absently at his cigarette. "What have you learned about this Council?"

"I'm afraid nothing, sir. It frankly has me baffled."

"Do you think it- they might be involved here? With the bank and the business with Monique getting away?"

Murray answered in the negative.

Silence hovered like a predator and Nathan ran out of cigarettes; his anger rising with each passing moment.

"So Richard and this woman have the money and are in the wind. Who then aided Monique?"

"I would have to go with Carstairs, sir as I suggested. Who else is there?"

Again, the name Council flashed behind Nathan's eyes. He cleared his throat, "To what end? She turned on him."

"I chased the car for a short distance but lost it in the back roads. The driver was more than normally skilled, sir."

"This is a very confusing set of circumstances. Find them, Murray. Find them, get the money and kill them both."

"Richard and the young woman or Monique, sir?"

"The lot!"

Nathan broke into a fit of coughing and had to end the call. He stumbled to his chair where half a glass of scotch awaited and he gulped it down, exacerbating the cough. His future was dissolving in a wispy haze of blunders and terrible luck.

Italy

Jean's men found their way to Petrolia's shop and when they entered, they faced the twin barrels of a massive shotgun resting on the counter, aiming directly at them.

"Not another step." Petrolia snarled. He shifted the gun a little to ease the discomfort of his broken arm; the cast was from his bicep to his wrist.

"There's three of us." One of the men goaded.

"All the more to clean up."

"Arrogant little turd, aren't you."

"This is loaded with shot that spreads to ten feet at short range so let's just see who wants to be arrogant."

They stood trying to stare each other down and then the men turned and left with a swagger that belied the fact they were very uncomfortable in the sights of that gun.

"The harbor master should have a list of all the boats in this marina; let's see what we can learn there."

"I'd like to go back in and break the little bastard's other arm." The taller of the three said.

"We can always come back later, Marcello. Leave it for now."

"He knows what we need. I don't see why we have to go through all the bother of looking up all the boats here." He waved his arm. "There's millions of them."

"You want to face that shotgun be my guest. Marco and I will do the legwork at the harbor master's."

"Fine, I'll catch up with you." Marcello stomped away, heading back to Petrolia's shop.

"Do you think we should let him do that?" Marco asked.

"Marcello's a mug. If he can bully and beat then that's the route he'll take, every time."

"I still think it's a mistake. Jean will have our balls for his bocce court."

"Are you eager to look down those barrels too?"

"No, Seb, but it's the fastest way to the information."

After some more arm waving and harsh words, Seb agreed to go back to the shop and help Marcello.

*********

Working on his own theory and personal agenda, Murray had already made the connections between the young woman's home and the Genoa marina; she travelled by boat, ergo, find the boat. To that end, he canvassed some of the other boat owners and learned that René Morreau of Portovenere matched the description of the woman he was asking about and The Swallow was the name of her boat.

If he was correct, she would be the route to Richard and from Richard to Monique; the dominos would fall neatly in order. Murray rented an outboard and with a map marked with directions, he set off for Portovenere. He realized her being there would be an extreme piece of luck but still cross every T and dot every I.

Christopher was plainly worried and Murray saw it in his eyes when he asked about René Morreau. The implied threat, delivered in a low, flat voice directly into Christopher's ear . . . the one that wasn't pressed flat against his serving counter. Christopher gave up the information and felt a sharp lingering pain in his good arm as he was let go.

Murray waggled a finger, pointing to the telephone, and with an evil smile, left by the back door. The boat was nowhere to be seen but he still might find something useful at her house and to that end, he called a taxi and gave the driver the address.

************

Richard pulled into the underground parking lot and shut the engine off, absorbing the silence while he got his breathing under control. Monique sat silently, staring at the stained concrete wall in front of the car.

"I think we've ditched Murray for the moment." He said, looking over at her.

Monique didn't speak.

"You are welcome, by the way."

She faced him and considered his face for several seconds, then leaned across and attempted a kiss.

"Hold on, Monique. Hold on. We aren't going there again . . . at least I'm not." He eased her back to her side of the car. "I just wanted to see you make a decent break from the Agency and arrange to give you your share of the account."

"You really mean that, don't you?" Her surprise was evident.

"Of course. I never wanted any more than what we decided was mine. When I get a new account set up, I'll contact you and arrange for a money transfer of your share. Opening one in the St. George is out of the question now."

She turned and stared out the passenger window again and her chest rose with the intake of a huge breath.

"I have no place to go; I don't even have decent clothes."

Richard heard a hint of the 'poor me' tone again and he looked away, rolling his eyes.

"You have plenty of contacts, Monique, people who will take you in, feed you and even dress you, it's time to use them, so don't try pulling any heart strings here, okay?"

With a thin-lipped smile she asked his reflection in the window about some money since she had absolutely nothing available at the moment.

"I can give you a few hundred; it's all I've got. You're welcome to it but then you are gone, Monique. Out of my life, until I get the new account, and then I will send a message to our contact number and we can conduct our business through that. Do not attempt to reach me personally." The last was in a warning voice that Monique knew to be very, very serious.

"Well, Richard, it has been a hell of a ride." She held out her hand for the offered money and when she got it, tucked it away in her bra. It would be a nice supplement to the thug's wallet she took.

"Good luck, Monique, keep your eyes open for our friend and steer clear of Jean Tremblay as well." She started to get out and he stopped her leaning toward her.

"Do you know anything about something called the Council?"

Her expression remained blank but her negative answer faltered.

"Sure? Nothing in Agency traffic?"

"No."

He nodded. "Be safe, Monique, oh, and Merry Christmas."

Her face screwed up in an ugly frown as she exited the car.

"That sadistic bastard Tremblay will get his one day, mark my words." The door closed and she planted a finger kiss on the glass before vanishing through the line of parked cars.

Richard stared at the smudgy print wistfully. He sighed and took out the cell phone and called René's number.

"Richard? Are you okay?"

"Fine, I'm fine. Mission accomplished and you'll be pleased to know, without any gun play."

His statement was followed by a long silence.

"René?"

"I am watching the early news and according to this station, there was a lot of gun play at the villa of a notorious crime lord just outside of Genoa."

"It's on the news already? Listen, I meant that I didn't use any gun play. I'll explain in detail when I get back, okay? I'm not lying, René."

"I can't wait," she said with a touch of sarcasm, and hung up.

Monique watched the car disappear up the ramp from behind one of the concrete pillars and then gave herself a moment of feeling sorry before taking out the phone she had lifted from the man at Jean's villa and calling a cab.