“Miss Creed,” he said, by way of greeting.

I’m getting the official treatment, she thought. “Commissaire.”

The inspector turned to face Garin. “I am Commissaire Laroche. And you are…?”

“Neil Anderson,” Garin said.

Annja had to stifle a laugh.

“A pleasure. If you wouldn’t mind waiting out here, we’ll only be—”

“Sorry. I do mind,” Garin said.

The inspector frowned. “This is a police matter, Mr. Anderson.”

Garin smiled and Annja was instantly reminded of a wolf sizing up its prey. “Of course it is,” he told Laroche. “Which is precisely why I’m here, representing Miss Creed.”

“I see. Very well, then, if you would both follow me,” Laroche said, frowning.

The police officer turned to lead them to the interview room, and as Garin’s gaze caught Annja’s he winked.

She had to hand it to him. He’d given the impression that he was there as her legal representative, ready and able to protect her rights, without actually saying he was an attorney. He’d used familiar phraseology and let Laroche hear what it was he expected to hear. Very smooth and very dangerous, she reminded herself.

Inside the interview room was a table and two chairs. Laroche took one and motioned for Annja to take the other. Garin, apparently, was going to have to stand.

Bet that’s meant to annoy the solicitors, Annja thought. Bet it annoys Garin, too.

The inspector didn’t waste any time.

“Please tell me what you know about the events at the monastery known as the Cradle of Solitude yesterday afternoon.”

Annja had worked out what she wanted to say in advance, so she was prepared for the question. She told the inspector that she was at the monastery to try to find any records that might have been kept by Brother Markum, a former abbot who was also William Parker’s distant cousin. She’d been getting ready to leave when armed gunmen burst through the front door. She and the rest of the occupants had run for their lives when the intruders started shooting. She managed to find her way to the roof, only to be cornered at the edge overlooking the river. With no other option, she’d jumped.

After surviving the fall, she’d returned to the monastery, discovered the bodies of the fallen and had immediately called emergency services. While waiting for their arrival, she’d become concerned that the intruders might still be about the grounds and so she’d escaped while she could.

She had no idea what the intruders were looking for, no more than she’d had with regard to the museum break-in. Perhaps it was something Bernard was involved in?

It was very close to the truth, which reduced the chances that she’d inadvertently give something away. Revealing what the intruders were really after might put Bernard’s life at greater risk and that wasn’t something Annja was willing to do. Since taking up the sword she’d discovered just how evil men could be and she’d lost what little faith she had that the authorities could handle problems like this. She and Garin had agreed that the best way to bring Bernard home safely was to keep the authorities as far away from the situation as possible.

Laroche took notes throughout her statement and when she was finished he began to use them in an effort to pick her story apart.

“You arrived at the monastery about what time?”

“Two-thirty.”

“You went alone?”

“Yes?”

“Why?”

“Why did I go alone?”

“Yes.”

“Who else would I have gone with?”

“I don’t know. You tell me.”

It went on like that for the better part of two hours, with Laroche asking the same questions several times in different ways, continually circling back to the reasons why she had been at the monastery in the first place and what she thought it was the assailants were after, and what it was that was worth killing over.

Annja stuck to her story.

Finally, as Laroche prepared to start in with another round of questions, Garin spoke up for the first time since they’d entered the room.

“Is Miss Creed under arrest, Commissaire?”

“No.”

“Is she a suspect in the murder investigation?”

“No,” he said, grudgingly.

“Then I think we’re finished for today. You know where to reach her if necessary.”

With that, Garin rose and led her out of the interview room. Laroche chose not to follow, which Annja took as a good sign.

By the time they reached the sidewalk, Garin’s driver had the limousine waiting for them.

“Airport, James,” Garin said as they pulled smoothly away from the curb.

“We can’t go to the airport yet,” Annja protested. “All of my things are still at the hotel and I’d like to—”

Garin cut her off. “I’ll have someone collect your things or we’ll simply buy new ones. But I think it would be best if we get out of France now, while we still can. That police inspector doesn’t strike me as the stupid sort and he isn’t going to be content with that bullshit you’re feeding him for long. “We’re leaving,” Garin said, “while we still have the ability to do so.”

19

They arrived at the airport thirty minutes later. Griggs was waiting for them, with Annja’s backpack and luggage that he had collected from her hotel after Garin had a few words via telephone with the general manager. Her passport, which they needed to get out of the country, was in the backpack. Annja wasn’t surprised Griggs had been able to retrieve her things so easily; Garin had connections everywhere, it seemed.

Inside the airport, they discovered that there was a flight leaving for Atlanta in just forty-five minutes that would get them there before sundown that day. Thanks to Garin’s charm and money, they were able to secure two first-class seats and pass through security with a minimum of fuss. As evening approached, they were out over the Atlantic, winging their way toward the United States.

They were seated beside each other in the nearly empty first-class cabin, so Annja wasn’t worried about being overheard when she turned to Garin and said, “I think it’s time you told me about the Friends of the South.”

Garin was quiet for a moment, long enough in fact that Annja thought he was going to ignore the question, but then he began to speak.

“The Civil War was of great interest to many forces in Europe. Some for purely economic reasons. The trade with America had been booming before the war, and much of what was taken for granted among European society was considered the height of luxury in the States. The war had slowed profits considerably and many were looking for an end to the conflict and a return to the good old days.”

As always, Annja listened with apt attention. Not because what Garin was saying was in and of itself news to her, but because when he mentioned historical events, it was always from a personal perspective rather than an analytical one. He’d witnessed some of history’s most amazing moments and Annja envied that.

“A group of French businessmen with trade interests linked to the Confederate States, namely the importing of tobacco and cotton, banded together and formed a group known as the Friends of the South. They provided monetary and material support to President Davis’s government throughout the conflict.”

Annja was aware of some of the assistance that had filtered to the South from a few European nations, so Garin’s information wasn’t earth-shattering. But what he said next caught her attention.

“What most people don’t realize is that the Friends of the South was actually just a puppet arm of a much more secretive group known as the Order of the Golden Phoenix. Membership was restricted to the richest and most ruthless French businessmen at the time and their ultimate goal was nothing short of French dominance worldwide. From exploiting the West Indies to bank-rolling that megalomaniac Napoleon’s return to power in 1815, they had their hands in just about everything.”