Today's Reading
Clicquot continued to sip her champagne, staring ahead blankly, looking pensive. Maybe it was the champagne, but tonight she seemed troubled by some unspoken angst—one moment, she was a lively flame; the next, a smoldering candle doused by some foreboding from within.
"Madame—"
"Madame?"
Oops. Not a flame—a flamethrower.
"I'm not your boss anymore, Alex. And outside of office hours, I cease being the secretary general of Interpol. Well, mostly. So tonight, here on this boat, I am simply Celeste."
Alex waited a beat before speaking. "Celeste, is everything okay?"
Clicquot leaned back in her chair and stared out to sea, taking another sip of champagne. Finally, the edges of her mouth curled up slightly.
"You are an impressive woman, Alex. Before Interpol snapped you up—borrowed you from the FBI—you had already established yourself as a formidable investigator. And, of course, your military accomplishments are legendary. But we still had no idea what we were getting into when you signed on to your secondment."
Alex leaned back against the pillowy seat cushion and kicked off her boat shoes.
"Despite your actions being what your former FBI handlers called insubordinate, what you did in Paris helped establish Interpol as a preeminent policing organization, not merely one that acts as an administrative liaison among its member agencies. You single-handedly advanced global policing by a decade. We're going to miss you, Alex. In fact, I already do."
For what the FBI had labeled insubordination, Alex's employment was terminated, and, with it, her secondment to Interpol had ended. The Department of Justice didn't subscribe to her exigent circumstances defense or appreciate the Machiavellian methods she had employed in Paris. For Alex, though, a morally imperative goal justified any means to achieve it. And a soon-to-explode nuclear warhead fit within that definition.
Alex wanted to ask her friend what was going on, but sensing the looming question, Clicquot silenced the thought with a gently waved hand.
"Chief Bressard lobbied hard to bring you into the organization," Clicquot continued. "I am indebted to him for his foresight. From the outset, I had reservations about your hard-charging methods. But despite my more conservative inclinations, Martin convinced me you would be a strong asset to Interpol. You have proved him most perceptive."
"Well, I'm glad. Chief Bressard became like a second father to me. I never wanted to leave Interpol, but my actions had consequences."
"Who knows? Maybe you'll be back one day."
Madame Clicquot's mood was lifting, so Alex quelled the urge to ask about it further. And though she was curious, now wasn't the time to ask about her downstairs secret rendezvous with the stranger.
All in good time.
The lights from shore off their port side shone in the distance. Higher above, the shape of a rocky peak capped in shimmering lights stood backlit against a star-filled sky.
Clicquot followed her gaze. "Everything is more beautiful when seen from the deck of this incredible yacht. My dear friend Valtteri, her owner, asked that I invite you and Caleb aboard for this little party following your investiture into France's Legion of Honor."
"I've yet to meet the elusive Valtteri."
"Tonight, you will. I promise." Her face lit up in a devious smile. "He's quite something. And as you can see, he is very successful."
Looking around them, that might have been the understatement of the evening.
As if on cue, a man's voice drifted in out of the darkness. "There you are. I thought I'd never find you again."
"Valtteri! Finally," Celeste replied. "I thought you might never break free."
"I'm sorry," he said, stepping from the shadows. "Investors."
"Ah, yes. The important people," she teased.
"None more so than you." Valtteri bent and kissed her on the cheek. He perched on the arm of Clicquot's chair and took her hand in his. This wasn't the same man Alex had seen her friend with moments ago.
So, if this is Valtteri, who was the other guy?
* * *
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