Allegro 3

Rated PG

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Moore, Lloyd, WB and others.

Dominic pretended to be deeply absorbed in the text that was slowly scrolling across his monitor. His new partner sat across from him at the double desk they shared at the British Embassy in Paris. Dominic had a pencil in his left hand poised over a note pad. Learning to write left-handed was a trial in itself, having to listen to Tandy prattle on about the political churning at home was almost too much to bear. He wrote down a phone number, glanced down to see if it was legible. It was not. He sighed, "Tandy."

"Yes, sir. What can I do for you, sir?

"Tandy. Do a search for hotels in Paris, say, limiting your search to three stars and above."

"Sure, Mr. Stone. I'm on it."

"Just print out the list and start calling them. You are trying to locate Mrs. Abernathy."

"Mrs. Abernathy? Is that what the terrorist's tart is calling herself? Cor. I heard the bastard was shagging her. My mates at the Yard said so. You heard that?"

Dominic closed his eyes, counted ten. "No. I didn't hear that." But I know it is true.

"Yeah. My mates there told me he was seven feet tall and smelled of brimstone. He was in Jordon Tower, remember that? Fred told him all about it. Fred said that if he hadn't had that bomb he would have taken the terrorist down. I dunno, though, seven feet of terrorist is a bit much for Fred to handle. Fred hasn't seen the inside of a gym in some time. You know? You know Fred from the Tower? Mr. Stone?"

"Yes. I debriefed Fred."

"Oh. So you know everything that happened there."

"Yes."

"I wish I had been there. I would have like to have seen him for real. Brimstone. That's a good one. Seven feet tall. Yeah. And that black costume. Shit. I wonder if he took the mask off to shag her. Nah. He probably just scooped her up and laid her flat and then…"

"Tandy."

"Sir?"

"Your search?"

"Oh, right. Sorry, sir."

Dominic felt sick. He pulled out a drawer, looked at the pills in their orange canisters. There's the migraine pill. The pain pills. The antibiotics. He had trouble opening their caps with one hand. The pain made it hard to think. When he took the Oxycodone the pain went away, but so did his ability to concentrate. He closed the drawer and picked up the pencil again. Tandy would not shut up. I need to take a pain pill just for him.

"Yeah. Before I got assigned to you I was working for Higgins. He's a good man. Getting married soon. Fine girl. He had a photo of her on his desk. You got a woman, Mr. Stone?" Dominic saw Tandy look around the monitors for a photograph on his desk.

"No." It was hard to say the word. He saw Eve's face every time Tandy said "woman".

"Too bad. Nice French girls here. You'll get one. I'm shagging the coffee girl from the Embassy cafeteria. She's a brunette. Terrorist's woman is a blonde. She's pretty. Guys in forensics said she was a real blonde, too."

"What?" Dominic sat up straight. "What guys in forensics?"

"The DNA report on the Hammond girl. They have hairs from her hair brush. She's a real blonde, that's what I said. They have nothing on the terrorist, though. Nothing yet.

Mates at the Yard said he was a ghost. Nothing. I don't know. Kinda creepy thinking about a ghost shagging a blonde girl." Tandy snickered. "I wonder how she put up with the odor of brimstone. Do you think he was real?"

Dominic pressed fingers to his eyes. I need to stop up my ears as well. He couldn't stop the image of V poised over Eve's naked body from entering his mind. He pressed harder, but instead of fading he could hear her voice, see her slender white legs wrapped up and around the black silk of his back. She is pregnant. That means he…Dominic tried not to see, but Tandy had poisoned his mind. Dominic heard the sounds of a man making love to a woman, saw her face and heard her small cries of pleasure. His stomach tightened further. He saw V arched over her smaller body, entering her, taking his pleasure from her…V had trusted her. V had trusted her while he was at his most vulnerable. That moment when every man, no matter a king or a beggar, is laid open to the world, that moment when the world collapses to a single point in space and time. That point when everything fades but the intensity of that one event, the one instant when a man loses control as his body takes over from his mind. There is no stopping that moment, that point of no return as a man spills over and into a woman. The terrorist trusted her enough to allow himself that moment of defenselessness. He let his guard down for her when he filled her with the essence of himself. Dominic clenched his jaw, thinking of it. V was real. He was no ghost.

"Cor Blimey, Mr. Stone. You've broken your pencil!"

XXX

Chief Inspector Finch tapped his keyboard, glanced at his monitor. The Lab had put a rush on his case. I will have to call in a few favors for this one. I need this moved to the top of the list. He sighed, remembering. He had found the Hammond girl in the underground gallery. She had let him in. She had smelled like a crime scene. She was a crime scene. It wasn't right that she had not yet cried. Twelve hours. She should be crying by now. All women cry. Well, except Delia. Miss Hammond had just looked at him. Finch winced with the memory. Those big eyes. Shock. She was in shock. He knew the look. He had seen it too many times in the eyes of others. He had taken her to the bathroom and washed her down and put her nightgown over her head. She had stared at him the whole while, never taking her eyes from his. She seemed to be asking him to make it stop. He shook his head. It won't stop, Miss Hammond. Ever.

After she had fallen asleep he had gone to the hall and retrieved his attaché. He had put on some latex gloves and got to work. The dress went into an evidence bag. He took the Luminol to the bathroom and sprayed the tile walls and floor, then he had killed the lights and flipped on his infrared torch. The whole room had lit up with a purple glow. This room had once been a bloody mess. He frowned. Purple numbers were written on one of the wall tiles. He had bent closer. 70/0 80/30 90/40 90/50 100/50 110/60 They looked like they might have been blood pressure readings if they hadn't been so low. He had moved his light to the cabinet. It was a huge cabinet, a nasty dent in one side, as if it had fallen over at one time. Inside were medical supplies of all kinds. Mostly first aid and other kinds of trauma treatment supplies. Finch pushed them around inside, looking. Some things for burns. Lots of painkillers.

The tub was clear. No blood there. He had swabbed a few places around the tile and tucked away his sample. I will find out who he was. But now it is time to meet him. Finch started at the lowest level, looking in each room with his camera. Here are his supplies. Crates and crates of everything imaginable. Here, Champagne. Caviar. Truffles. There, soap, lotions. Rare emollients. Cocoa butter. Priceless. Like gold. He opened a crate. Masks. More of them. Cloaks. Wigs. Hardware. Tools. Wire.

The cell block was curious, but there was nothing in there. Four of the cells were dummies. Only the one where he found Dominic was real. That one was exactly as he had left it two days before. He took some photos. As the flash went off he noticed something he had not seen before. Finch lowered the camera, went down on one knee. Dominic's Mum. His school football photo. The two small framed photographs lay under the camp bed, which was now tilted down toward the end. The leg had snapped completely off. How did these photos?…he frowned. That night. He picked up Dom's pictures? After that night Finch had gone over every inch of Dominic's flat. He knew someone had taken clothing and the medicines. He didn't know about the photos. Why?

Finch picked them up and put them in his attaché. I will send them to him, post.

He continued through the terrorist's home with his camera.

This room. Looks like an office. Finch went immediately to the desk. He lifted the roll top with a latexed finger. He recognized copies of things from his briefcase; he glanced at the wall where there was a low table. Photocopier. Business machines. A desk drawer held Exacto blades. Things with which to make forgeries, ID cards. A bar code printer. He took photos. Swabbed. He did not touch the papers. Miss Hammond's papers now. This is not an official investigation. It is personal.

Other rooms held more supplies. He found the laboratory. He backed up and lowered the camera, thinking. No. No one goes in there. He had a feeling that even Miss Hammond was an unwelcome guest in this room. He remained in the doorway a moment, thinking. I don't want to make a mistake. He could see packages of gelignite from where he stood. He raised his arm and slowly allowed the camera to pan the lab from the doorway. He moved it carefully, deliberately, thinking about how he would go over every frame back in his office. But he did not enter there. The lab felt strange to him. Haunted. Finch lowered the camera and took a step backwards out of the doorway. Yes. That is how it feels.

The next floor contained the computers and monitors. Finch checked a few cameras, recognized some that belonged to the Eye. Saw the one in his own townhouse, the top of the screen said "Finch, E.". Scrambled. Good. The next level was where the art began. He set the camera on pan and began to walk.

XXX

Eve stepped out of the cab onto the sidewalk in Geneva. The city was beautiful, but she didn't see it. The snow was crisp and white and glistened with crystal reflections from the sun. But she didn't blink. Before her the imposing Swiss Bank loomed five stories above her. Each of the many tall windows held a hopeful flower box at its sill, now empty for the winter. At the very apex of the roof flew a red flag with a white cross on it. A red cross symbolized more than a bank, or a country. She wondered absently if she would find the help she needed. Eve stepped through the main doors and entered the lobby.

She was astounded. The mere mention of her name at the reception desk brought no fewer than three men to her side at once. One was older and gray. Two were much younger, handsome in a blonde way. The two younger men were sent to bring her tea. The elder gentleman offered her his arm after introducing himself as Herr Von Bergmann. He led her to an office across the immense lobby. Eve looked up at the high ceilings and wooden panels as she passed through the room. All eyes were on her as she walked beside the banker like a bride. She felt self-conscious with every clicking step on the glossy marble floor. Finally, relief when the massive wood door closed behind her. The warm office beckoned with an overstuffed wingback chair and mahogany tables. Von Bergmann bowed her into the chair and offered to take her satchel. Eve declined politely and tucked the satchel against her leg.

"Mrs. Abernathy. We have been expecting you." His voice was deep and authoritative. Years of experience and competence were expressed in that voice. Evey felt herself relax for the first time in five days. Here was someone she could trust. He had trusted him. He had left a note telling her to come here. She tried to smile up at Herr Von Bergmann. She was aware her smile probably appeared to be a grimace. His eyes were kind. "On behalf of the Swiss Bank, I want to express our deep sadness for your loss, Mrs. Abernathy. I admired your husband very much. His passing will be felt by all whose lives were touched by his generosity and patronage."

Eve's eyes widened with surprise. "You knew him?"

"I never had the pleasure of meeting him in person, Mrs. Abernathy. I have spoken to him many times, for we share a deep love of art and music. He sent me many of the paintings you may have seen as we passed through the lobby. He was a discerning and astute art dealer. Many times he astounded me with his ability to negotiate a purchase. Pieces I never thought would ever be on the market in my lifetime."

Eve suppressed her reaction. Kept her face impassive. What were you doing, V? She had to know. She asked a carefully worded question, "He was always very thorough with his research, and you were always satisfied with the provenance?"

"Absolutely. In fact, I received correspondence from the previous owners of the art praising his professionalism and his courtesy, recommending him for other transactions. With the"…the man paused, obviously searching for an appropriate word. "With the troubles in Britain over the past decade there were many art patrons who had difficulties putting their art on the market. Your husband was a great facilitator. We have been associates for nearly fifteen years. He will be sorely missed."

Yes. He will. He is. Evey breathed a bit easier knowing that V had not sold any State Treasures to the Swiss. How did you know he was dead? She had not the courage to ask question, not matter how carefully she worded it. She might say something that would disturb what was obviously a meticulously orchestrated event.

Herr Bergmann continued, "He told me he would send you to us. I have all his papers, his death certificates, everything. You need not be concerned with any legal aspects of his business. I will need a few signatures from you, Mrs. Abernathy, and a thumb print. After that you will have access to his safe. We will take care of you in this trying time. He asked me personally to see to it." Herr Von Bergmann bowed just as the two other men entered with a tea tray. One of them had a silver filigreed stamp pad and a gold pen. Eve signed some papers, pressed her thumb to several more, and then looked into a scanner that photographed her eye. After she was finished, after the tea was drunk and more pleasantries exchanged, one of the younger men pressed a bouquet of brilliant red roses into her arms, saying shyly in heavily accented English, "He asked us to give these to you." The other young man lifted her satchel for her. She was escorted out to the sidewalk. There was no cab waiting for her. Instead a long black limousine idled warmly at the curb. The driver bowed and opened the door for her. In a stupor Eve allowed him to seat her in the back, roses on her lap as a blonde banker set her satchel carefully beside her. He backed away as Herr Von Bergmann stepped forward and took her hand. He bent over it and lightly touched his lips to her fingers. He placed a linen-backed business card among the roses. "Call me if you need anything at all, Mrs. Abernathy." The door closed and the limousine pulled away.

Eve blinked. In a small voice she asked the driver, "Where am I going?"

"Mr. Abernathy requested you stay at the Metropole. He booked a suite for you that overlooks the Lake. I am taking you there now."

Eve's throat tightened and she hugged the roses to her, their thorns felt…sharp. She welcomed their bite.