The Family Hitchcock by Mark Levin

Author:Mark Levin
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins

Chapter Twelve

As the limo carrying the family Hitchcock sped into the dark night, their one true friend walked into Interpol Headquarters in Lyon, France. Instead of wearing the ragged clothes of the Elevator Man, Jules Camus—for that was his real name—was dressed in a well-pressed shirt and slacks. Around his waist was a holster that held a standard-issue revolver, the type of gun preferred by French Interpol agents.

Slowly, he made his way up the stairs to the second floor. Down a long corridor, he stopped at an office with a glass window that read commissioner bernard fromique.

With a sigh, the Elevator Man paused for a moment. It didn’t matter that he was one of the best agents in the service or that he had finally captured the irritating Algerian. He had let the Hitchcocks get away. Worse, he still hadn’t tracked down the exact location of the MGF. Commissioner Fromique was known to remove agents from cases for less.

“This could get ugly,” Jules warned himself.

Still, there was nothing to be gained from more delay. With a deep breath, he rapped twice on the door. A voice from inside answered immediately.

“Yes, come!”

Jules pushed open the door. The commissioner was looking out the window, back turned. Jules could only imagine the unsatisfied scowl on his face. The famous jowls would be drooping even more than usual.

“You wanted to see me, sir?”

The commissioner turned around. Indeed, he was frowning heavily. Of course, Commissioner Fromique rarely looked happy. But today he looked downright miserable.

“It was such a simple task, Jules.”

The Elevator Man knew what was required of him: Make no effort to defend himself. Simply nod and take the blame.

“I understand, sir.”

“Watch the Hitchcocks. That’s all I wanted.” Fromique rubbed a hand through his thick, graying hair. “I hate failure, Jules.”

The Elevator Man nodded gravely. He knew he deserved it, but that didn’t make it any more pleasant. And the commissioner had a way of drawing things out, almost taking twisted enjoyment in reprimanding an agent.

“Not more than me, I promise you,” Jules said.

With that, Fromique took another long look out the window, as if contemplating whether to throw Jules out of it. Finally, the commissioner turned back around.

“All right, sit,” he said.

Jules did as he was told. The commissioner took his own seat and leaned back in the chair.

“In any case,” he went on, “the Hitchcocks aren’t our first concern, are they? Our first concern is . . . ”

The commissioner’s voice rose at the end of the thought, telling Jules that he was expected to fill in the blank.

“To find the MGF, sir.”

The commissioner’s eyes narrowed. From up close, his jowls seemed to droop almost all the way down to his shoulders. For a moment, Jules imagined that he was chatting with a giant St. Bernard.

“Don’t finish my sentences, Jules.”

“Of course not, sir.”

“Just show me what you have.”

Jules was ready. He pulled a folder out of his briefcase and revealed a collection of photos. The first was of the Hitchcocks at the Eiffel Tower.

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