"Louise?"

"Mister Tweed! Why are you calling me, I was going to report in as soon as there was news?"

"Where are you, I hear gulls?"

"With Gunther, on his boat. We just returned from Cannes."

"How is old Karl?"

"Old." The giggle was mischievous and muffled.

"I need you to do me a favour. This is as well as what you are supposed to be doing now." A hint of reprimand drew a momentary silence on the line.

"Don't pout now." Murray soothed. "Nathan is exhibiting characteristics that are raising red flags and I think it would be prudent if we prepared a responsible Plan B."

"What's he doing?"

"Killing himself with his smoking and fixating more and more on the acquisition of the Agency funds that Richard and Monique stole."

"Wasn't that the reason for this whole exercise? The money I mean?"

"Indeed it was, Louise and it still is only I have decided that Nathan is no longer qualified to be a recipient. He talks very loosely of retirement from the Agency. We both know that just doesn't happen."

"It sounds like Mister Murray Tweed is assuming that role now. Qualified I mean."

"And those who side loyally with me, Louise."

"Aaaah . . . so what is this favour?"

"When I have located Monique and you have dealt with her, I want you to pay Nathan a visit."

"He's been your master for a long time Murray."

"Too long, my dear, too long."

"In that case I suppose Nathan Fischer should retire . . . or be retired?"

"Thank you, Louise, you will benefit most profitably afterwards."

"I look forward to it. Oops, Gunther's coming; I must go. I will call as soon as I have word."

"Tell him Merry Christmas."

Murray closed his phone and took a deep breath. Things were coalescing nicely. He knew that Richard would be contacting Monique at some point, as he said. Otherwise why bother with his rescue at the Tremblay villa? The odds of him running off with the young woman with the boat seemed slim at the moment. He knew that as long as Monique was around he would never be totally free; keeping her alive and on a short leash was the best plan.

The call to the hotel should have been enough to shatter any complacency she might have been feeling. His diggers had done an excellent job in tracking her down in spite of the new cover and appearance. Murray was eager to see the result himself. It shouldn't be long.

When he felt comfortable enough he would pass her location on to Louise. Meanwhile, he would let her churn up the countryside and see what else was uncovered.

**********

Breakfast was rolls and coffee in the room with Richard keeping a constant watch on the street in front of the rooming house where he and René had holed up. He sipped his coffee and turned at the sound of the bathroom door opening. She came out looking very unhappy and Richard felt the tug of remorse for how he had interfered in her life.

Money or not, she was a person with the need to make her own decisions, map out her own future to her satisfaction. He had landed with a thump and seduced her into abetting his materialistic plan completely screwing up her comfortable life.

She pulled on her t-shirt and slipped a light sweater over top. Her bare legs drew his eyes and he felt guilty thinking below the belt when they were in their current predicament.

"Would you like some more coffee?" He asked.

"No thank you." Terse.

"I hope the pants fit; the woman was as helpful as she could be with the size. The Christmas sales were in full swing and there wasn't much left to choose from."

"I'll try them later." She curled up on the bed and began going through a magazine.

"René, I'm sorry about all this. I never meant for half of this to happen, you have to understand."

She lowered the magazine and looked at him with a sad expression.

"I believe you, Richard, but I can't accept what has gone on. I liked my life before."

"I swear if I could give it all back to you I would." He walked to the bed and looked down at her; a distant image of Cora doddled at the edge of his attention. "Truth is I can't. All I can do now is make sure you are safe and-" He set his mug on the night table. "And find a way to make things right for you."

She set the magazine aside and studied her hands, avoiding his stare.

"I will do whatever you want. The money I promised is still yours, you can take it and do whatever you wish. I can't give back what you have lost but I can give a good start at a new life."

She looked up at him and her face softened into a sad smile. "I still want that new life, Richard." His grin was crooked and he slipped his hands into his pockets. "I had slammed a door that protected me from commitment, a door you opened against my better judgement."

"How can I make it right? What will make you feel comfortable, let me know."

"In that case, Mister Glebeholme, show me the money."

His face bloomed red and his mouth opened in surprise. Her hand came up and took his, pulling him down onto the bed.

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

Jean Tremblay slouched on the white leather lounge in his den. The giant wall TV was showing a newscast covering the unaccountable number of shootings and other violent deaths that had occurred over the last few weeks. The news anchor shook his head and read the latest report from the polizia public relations office. It was a sad day for Genoa. "In other news", he intoned, people are eagerly getting into the spirit of the sea—"

Jean swore and pounded the remote until the screen went blank.

"Don't be hard on yourself, baby. It's the quality of people you have around you."

"Marie, shut up." Jean glared at her and she closed her robe about her naked body. "I have no people around me; the stupid pigs are all dead!"

"You could always call Monet." She flinched when he increased his glare.

"And spend a fortune as well as look like a fool." He pouted.

"He's good, Jean."

"He's an egotistical bastard."

"He gets the job done, cher."

"What, are you his agent?" He threw the remote across the room and stalked to the phone.

The call was made and the man known as Alaine Monet arrived at Jean's villa the following day.

"I don't need all the sordid details, just give me the target and my money; the job will be done." Monet sat comfortably in a flowered upholstered, armchair with carved rests and rungs, listening to Jean's story. A ring sat like a large gold cyst on his small finger and he twisted it casually as he considered Marie in her mauve peignoir.

Jean looked miserable when he finished and then turned to counting out the full amount of Monet's fee from his strong box.

"I don't like paying up front with no guarantees."

"Then don't; I'll be on my way." The threat was mild because they both knew it wouldn't happen. Jean handed over the sum and closed his box, pocketing the key.

"Is there a time line?"

"As long as it takes. I just want that bitch back here and the shooter that rescued her at the bottom of the sea."

"Disposal is my preference but the woman will be here." He rose with an easy grace and straightened his handsomely tailored jacket.

"I will be in touch." His eyes drifted over Marie once more and then he left.

"He has excellent taste in clothes," Marie noted, watching him to the front door.

"Something you could learn when we have visitors." Jean snapped. He left the room with his strong box, slamming the door after him. Marie raised a solitary finger.