Quartermaine Mansion
Luke filled his plate with eggs, sausage and a croissant. The rest of the family were engrossed in their breakfast and morning paper.
"Grandfather, will you be ready to go in a half hour?" asked Dillon Quartermaine.
"Getting an early start? Very good, my boy," said Edward.
"I have so much reading to do about the cannery deal," said Dillon. He looked at Edward then Tracy, his mother. "I don't understand why we're asking for the price that we're asking for? The canneries are decades old and haven't been upgraded in fifteen years. Based on my calculations and research on comparable real estate, the cannery plant and equipment are worth only a quarter of our asking price."
"The value is in the land and the contracts, Dillon," said Tracy. "That's really what the Asian Consortium is after."
"Suki Kwon is a sharp businessman," said Edward. "Don't be led to underestimate him by the jive talk. He's a tough negotiator."
"Land value is maybe fifteen percent of the price we want. Okay. But contracts are worth seventy-five percent of the total price? How is that possible?" asked Dillon.
"Let's take a can of tuna as an example. Before it gets to the supermarket, it has to go through a lot of hands," explained Edward. "The fisherman has to catch the fish. Then hustle back to port to get the best price per pound from the processing plants and canneries. They in turn have to assure quality and cost control so they can sell the canned product at a profit to supermarkets and chain stores."
"But, we don't make an enormous profit from the canneries. I checked the books," said Dillon.
"Ah, true, but the profit is steady. And, our expenses in running the plants are flat. We've streamlined the plant process to the point that we have no cost overruns," said Tracy. "A healthy ELQ relies on big sales AND regular incremental profits. That steady reliable revenue is our cushion against hard times."
"In addition to plant operational costs, there labor to consider. Tracy has worked tirelessly with the local workers unions. ELQ is the only large employer in the dock area to have iron-clad contracts with the unions that run for many years. That assures us of cost control which contributes to the bottom line," said Edward. "And the unions are happy to have something truly long-term for their workers. Everyone wins."
"We also have contracts with other processing plants to handle their overflow when they go over their own capacity. That's another revenue stream," said Tracy. "Plus, we have contracts with several of the fishing cooperatives. So, we get first dibs on their catches before anyone else and assures the co-op captains of getting paid. They don't have to rush back to port to get a fair price."
"We pay the highest price?" asked Dillon.
"No, no. Never pay retail," scoffed Edward. "That's for fools and madmen. We pay an above average price per pound for unlimited tonnage. The captain can fill his ship with fish and sell in volume for our price. Both sides get what they want. No one gets rich but everyone gets paid and makes a tidy profit at the end of the day."
"If the consortium buys the canneries, then the contracts are ceded to them, with no change in terms?" asked Dillon.
"Absolutely. The time it would save the consortium in negotiating their own deals with customers and suppliers is incalculable," said Edward. "The business relationships are worth their weight in gold. Remember that."
"Suki will want to subtract from the total price the cost of upgrading the plant," said Tracy. "That's understandable. We should take that into consideration but discount only to eight percent or below of the total asking price. We're not having a fire sale."
"But we seem to be pushing the sale, Mom," said Dillon.
"We are but we don't want to look desperate," said Tracy.
"Why are we looking to sell in the first place?"
"Dillon, ELQ is at a turning point. We need to diversify. Monica has some plans for new areas that we can invest in. But we can't do that and still manage the canneries. Something has to give," said Edward. "The consortium is young and hungry. I'm confident that they will make a success of the business and grow it. More people employed is always a good thing. We're going to sell the canneries and move on. Personally, I want to put away any and all reminders of the Cartel."
"The sooner, the better," said Tracy.
Alice came in with a flower arrangement. She smiled. "Another one for Doctor Quartermaine."
"That's the second one this week isn't it?" asked Tracy.
"Yes, it is," said Monica accepting the flowers. "Thank you, Alice."
"That is one determined suitor there, " said Luke.
"Edgar is really sorry for canceling our date because of work. It's sweet of him." Monica smiled.
Edward glared at Luke. "At least this Edgar fellow knows how to treat a woman unlike some I know."
Tracy rolled her eyes at Edward's comment.
"If I could, I would give Tracy the sun, the moon and the stars. She knows it and that's all that matters," said Luke.
"Oh, Mr. Luke, Commissioner Scorpio called and wanted to speak with you," said Alice.
Luke paled. "He did?"
"What for?" asked Tracy.
"Um, ah, probably a ... a building code violation on the Star."
"We passed an inspection last month," said Tracy.
"I'll see to it, wife. D-d-don't you worry about it," said Luke. He pasted on a smile that he did not feel on the inside.
"Alice!" called out Tracy. "Can you check Brook Lyn's concert schedule and send her flowers from ... from the family. For good luck."
Edward shot Tracy a quizzical look.
"She IS my granddaughter," said Tracy.
"And she did a wonderful job at the fundraiser," Monica put in. "Edward, you said ELQ was in a transition period, right? It's time we looked to the younger generation for inspiration and continuity."
Coudray Research Institute, Paris, France
Nyssa parked her Peugeot sports coupe in front of the institute. Beside her, Robert put on dark sunglasses and a dark cap over his unshaven, drawn face. He looked a far cry from his usual self.
"I traced Robin's work history. She interned here as an assistant researcher. Unfortunately, they are reluctant to release her employment records," said Nyssa. "I had no luck finding anyone at Securite interested in questioning the employment manager Jean Jacques Rombeart about a case that I couldn't explain. I resigned too early. I'm sorry, Robert."
"That does tie your hands a bit. No worries," commented Robert. He put on a pair of thin black leather gloves. "Let's have a chat with him."
Nyssa bound her hair behind her head and put on a jaunty red beret. "What are you going to do?"
"Like I said on the team call earlier, I'm through playing nice." Robert took out his Glock 45 pistol and checked the clip. "Bring your kit inside."
Nyssa eyed the gun. "I thought intimidation was your preferred method of persuasion?"
"When time permits. When it doesn't, I have no problems with taking shortcuts." Robert opened his door and stepped out. "C'mon. Watch and learn."
Robert kept his cap, sunglasses and gloves on as they navigated the institute's long hallways to the office of Monsieur Rombeart. Nyssa put on her own oversized sunglasses and ultra-thin gloves. Robert knocked on the office door. They heard a male voice bid them enter. Middle-aged with a slight paunch and fashionably-shorn hair, Rombeart greeted them with a smile.
"How can I help you?" asked Rombeart. "Are you here for employment or sponsorship?"
"Actually, we can help you," said Robert. He nodded at Nyssa.
Nyssa closed and locked the door. Robert put his Glock on Rombeart's desk. While the Frenchman stared at the pistol, Robert went around the desk and stood behind Rombeart's chair.
"Wh-what is the meaning of this?" stammered Rombeart.
Robert placed a hand on each of the terrified man's shoulders. He exerted just enough pressure to pull Rombeart back against his chair. In a raspy voice, he said into Rombeart's ear. "That is a symbol of trust. I trust that you will give me only the truth. And you can trust that I will shoot you if you lie. Do you understand?"
"This is ... is outrageous," said Rombeart. "Get out!"
Robert shifted his left hand to where the captive's shoulder met the nape of the neck. He squeeze until Rombeart yelped in pain. Robert said, "There are thirteen bullets. That means thirteen ways for you to die. Be smart. Cooperate."
Rombeart made a move to get up. Robert pulled him back roughly. He pulled a Beretta pistol from inside his coat pocket and pressed the muzzle on the manager's temple. "Thirteen bullets or one bullet immediately. You decide."
"What do you want?" asked Rombeart.
"First of all, if you try anything, anything at all, we're skipping twelve bullets. Second, you will not speak unless asked a question," said Robert. He beckoned to Nyssa to sit in front of the computer. He pushed Rombeart a few meters away from his desk and turned Rombeart so he did not have a good view of Nyssa or the computer screen. He pocketed the Beretta. "Now, what's your access credentials to your computer system."
In a halting voice, Rombeart told them his username and password. Nyssa attached the phone modem to the computer, dialed her IPhone then logged into the terminal. Her phone emitted three short beeps which was echoed by the computer terminal. Genji's face loomed on the IPhone's screen. He nodded as the phone emitted three ascending tones. Transmission was confirmed. SIMON was in and processing data.
Robert had another request for Rombeart. "One bullet down. Thank you. I see you have some very nice file cabinets here. Tell us where your files are for personnel hires from 2000 to 2003. Point your hand."
Rombeart pointed to a tall file cabinet second from the first row. Nyssa began to rapidly search the file cabinet for Robin and Eve's files.
Robert fished out two photos from his inside pocket. He placed the first picture - Faison's picture - in front of Rombeart. "Do you recognize this man? Does he seem familiar to you?"
Rombeart shook his head vigorously. "No. I do not know this man."
Robert put a picture of Peter Krieg copied from an old newspaper clipping on the desk. "Do you know this man? Does he seem familiar to you?"
"Yes." Rombeart studied the picture. "He is younger but it looks like him."
"Like who?"
"Dr. Sinclair. Peter Sinclair."
By the file cabinet, Nyssa held up one finger. One file had been found.
Robert controlled his excitement at Nyssa's discovery and Rombeart's surprising admission. He asked, "Are you certain, Mr. Rombeart? No mistake?"
Rombeart pointed to a different set of cabinets. "I have a picture of him. In his file. I am telling the truth."
Robert pushed Rombeart, still in the chair, towards the indicated cabinet. "Stand up. Get the file and give it to me. Slowly now."
The manager rose to his feet. "I need my keys. In my jacket pocket."
Robert patted Rombeart's pockets and pulled out a jangling set of keys. "Lie down on your stomach on the floor. Hands behind your back. Do not move."
Rombeart did as he was told. Robert examined the cabinet for traps and security elements. There were none. He was not impressed by the security or lack thereof of one. He used the keys and opened the cabinet. He retrieved a file labeled "Sinclair, Peter." The slim folder was faded and ragged on the edges.
"Genji's voice came over the air, "Transfer completed. Security trail removed."
Nyssa held up two fingers and shook her head. She placed the first file in her briefcase. Robert handed her Sinclair's file which she promptly added to her collection.
Robert leaned down over the manager and said, "I would like to thank you for your cooperation. If you tell anyone about our visit, I will return. I don't want to come back. Do you want me to come back?"
The petrified man said, "N-n-no."
Robert ordered Rombeart to his feet. As the manager was rising to his feet, Robert clipped him on the back of the head with a well-placed karate chop. Robert caught him and deposited him back into the chair. Robert picked up his Glock and the two pictures from the table.
Nyssa disconnected the modem and turned off the terminal. She disconnected the phone for good measure. Robert maneuvered the unconscious Rombeart and his chair back to their original position.
They straightened their clothes and sunglasses before they left the office. Briskly, they made their way out of the institute and back to the Peugeot. As Nyssa drove a vague route, Robert kept an eye on pursuit. There was none. Either Rombeart had not woken up or had followed Robert's instructions and forgotten the whole matter.
Robert reclined his seat. "We're clear. Head over to headquarters."
Nyssa nodded. "That was ... instructive. Thank you for the lesson."
"You're welcome."
"Would you have done it? Shot him?"
"The safety was on the whole time," replied Robert.
"But were you going to do it or was it all a bluff?"
"Never draw a gun unless you mean to use it," said Robert. "If it was your daughter, what would you have done?"
Nyssa gunned the engine and the car leapt forward headed for their new Paris headquarters. Robert checked in with Andre. They would be meeting at HQ shortly.