Sole Remedy Ch 7

I.

Vic Durant walked into the security office. “Okay, tell me where they are.”

Jack the camera guy was switching between a bank of six cameras.

“No one came out of the front door. No one came out the back door. No one came out the windows. They’re still in the house.”

“Izzat so.” said Durant, heavily.

Jack nodded. “I’ve checked all cameras, all views for the last ten minutes, just in case I missed something. But, I didn’t.”

“Very good.”

Vic took out his walkie-talkie and switched to the interior channel. “Freddie. What’s the status in the ballroom?”

“Everything’s fine, Boss. Everybody’s dancing.”

“Our quarry did not leave the house. Has anyone come into the ballroom since our little contretemps?”

“No sir. I assigned a red jacket to each door to make sure that didn’t happen.”

“Very good, Freddie. You deserve a raise. Talk to ya later.”

He switched to the external channel. “Listen up, troops. Our targets are still in the house. So, stop the search of the grounds. Shell, assign two men to every door except the front door. Anyone comes out those doors, politely escort them to me. I’ll be on the front door.”

“Will do, Boss,” said Shell.

That was the thing about working a party with a guest list that featured the wealthy and/or the well-connected, Durant thought as he replaced his walkie talkie on his belt. You couldn’t just round everybody up and interrogate them. Not when there wasn’t a dead or badly injured body to provide an excuse for inconveniencing them.

The main problem was that he hadn’t gotten a good look at the would-be killer. He’d been too damn busy trying to chat up Marlene Dietrich. He’d recognize her again, alright…if she were still dressed in a tuxedo and had blonde hair. But if she had ditched her costume…hell…

What was up with her, anyway? She’d clearly been expecting something to happen. She’d called the guy…Colin… She’d stopped him from shooting Pretorius…then she’d helped him escape. And yet she hadn’t left the house.

“Sam, I’m going through the rooms on this floor. If someone comes and asks for their car, call me.”

“Right, Boss.”

Durant reached under his jacket and flicked the safety off his Mannlicher Schnauer. Then, taking a deep breath, he opened the first door on his right…the library, and walked in.

And saw the woman in the tuxedo, and the man in the black slacks and a black turtleneck sweater, sitting comfortably in the chairs…and drinking Pretorius’ booze too, by the look of it.

II.

“Ah, hello,” said the man in the aviator costume, calmly. “I was hoping I would find you here.” He came in and closed the door behind him.

“I was hoping you’d find us, too,” said Michele, in her Taran Tula Italian accent. Seaforth shot her a quick glance as he heard this accent for the first time, but knew better than to say anything.

“Only I was hoping it wouldn’t be for another hour or so,” she continued.

“Do you mind explainng to me what’s going on?”

“Not at all. It’s very simple. It’s all a misunderstanding.”

“I thought it would be. Please…continue.”

Michele told him the story she’d worked out for Seaforth. Then, she reached over and held up the starter's pistol. “You see?”

The man took the starter's pistol from her hand and examined it.

Michele watched him examine the pistol. He was a professional. He knew guns. She knew he knew that it wasn’t the same gun. He may have had only a split second to look at, but experts knew these things. And he knew.

He looked up, and looked into her eyes for long seconds.

Then he spoke. “Sure,” he said, “Well, this does change things. We’ll talk to Pretorius, and if he doesn’t want to press charges…”

“You are very kind,” said Michele. He knew it wasn't the same gun, she knew he knew, and he knew that she knew that he knew...

“That’s true. Okay, I’m going to put a guard on this door, just to keep everything copacetic, and I’ll go have a chat with him.”

Michele watched him walk out the door, and smiled faintly. She really liked this guy.

III.

“Let me explain something to you,” Alan Pretorius said with controlled fury. “Of course I didn’t leak the news of that meeting to the press. Do you have any idea what that cost me? I’ve got your VAT people on to me, demanding I pay them what I would have had to pay them if I’d paid full price for that painting. Plus, they want to penalize me for having not paid the full amount that the painting should have been worth, thus cheating them out of their damn VAT!

Then, I’ve got my own tax people after me, wanting to send someone not only to appraise that painting but all my paintings, just in case I purchased some other mislabeled masterpieces and aren’t paying my fair share of taxes on them.

Then, I’ve got the Japanese government after me. They tossed Tetsujin out of the country 600 years ago and wouldn’t let him back in. Now they say he’s a National Treasure and they want that damn painting back! And they expect me to just give it to them!”

“Well, after all that,” said Michele diffidently, “I just have to ask. How did the press find out?”

“My secretary. My ex-secretary. I was on my honeymoon, for God’s sake. I told him to take care of all the details of getting the painting home. Yeah,I made the mistake of telling him what that painting really was. I gloated about it, I admit it. But it never occurred to me that the idiot would actually tell the press. Could conceivably think that I’d want the press to know! I fired his ass. And I’ll tell you what, Seaforth. If you want to kill him, I’ll pay for your lawyer, and support your wife and sister for the rest of their lives!"

Durant put his hand on his boss’s shoulder. “He’s joking, Seaforth.”

Pretorius looked up at Durant sulkily, then shrugged. “Yes, of course, Seaforth, I was joking.”

iv.

Michele and Vic Durant drove Seaforth to the airport, and stayed with him until he walked into the international departure lounge.

“I’d prefer to watch him actually get on the plane,” Durant said. But of course the rules said that family and friends could no longer pass passport conrol - only passengers.

“I, too,” said Michele. “But I think we need not fear. All he wants to do is go home.”

“Yeah. Nevertheless, we stay right here until his plane takes off. That door is the only one he could come out of, if he decided to leave.”

“I admire your attention to detail,” said Michele. “By all means, let us remain.”

They took up a station in a row of chairs right by the doors that led to the gates to the international department lounge.

“Do you realize,” said Durant, “that I still don’t know your name.”

Michele smoothed back her hair and smiled. “Tula. Taran Tula.”