Henri Fabrier poured himself another Armagnac then sat back on the leather chesterfield in his sumptuous office overlooking the Rue Foch. The boy from Perpignan was how he considered himself and he thought that he had done well when he looked around the room. The apartment was the first that he had broken into when he came to Paris from the south all those years ago. All he was then was just a backstreet boy with ambitions. He loved the height of the ceilings, the marble fireplaces and the mirrors on the doors which divided the drawing room from the salon. The velvet curtains and tapestries were finer than anything he had seen and the hand-woven carpets in the bedrooms were so soft that he could have slept on them rather than in the oak and leather beds. From that very first break-in, Henri Fabrier truly believed that one day he would live in an apartment like that, a stylish address like Rue Foch and even this very apartment. How ironic that would be if one day he were to be the legal owner.
Well, it became true and though the owner was reluctant to sell at the time, Fabrier used his “powers of persuasion” along with some rather ingenious and lucrative tax-evasion techniques to secure it. It wasn’t cheap but then style and French chic were never out of vogue and one had to pay for one’s indulgences.
Fabrier had done well over the years
But had he made a mistake in the past few weeks. A mistake which might have the most fatal consequences. He’d been so careful over the years – perhaps a little too careful and taken too many precautions. He knew that the authorities – those who were not on his payroll – where watching him all the time and one little slip-up could jeopardise his whole world. In retrospect it seemed like a bad idea to have personally met that amateur in London and then introduced himself to the mule carrying his future pension.
Were the authorities aware of the importance of this new drug and the possible far-reaching and global repercussions if it were to become the leader in its field?
Fabrier was uncertain of what was happening and it worried him. This was not the position he had been accustomed to. The courier being stopped by the authorities was not usually a problem. There were plenty of measures in place to deal with that but was it just by chance or had they been tipped off?
Uncertainty worried Fabrier and in his experience, which was vast, he always believed it better to take action rather than ignore niggling problems and hope they went away. The courier would need to be taken out and his “agency” was taking care of it right now. He needed to go because he could identify the boss and that could set a chain of events off which would be harder to clear up. Bulmer and his organisation would also need to disappear. Fabrier didn’t like him anyway – far too amateur and a potential risk. And the English guy with the kid. Yes, there was no question about it – it would all need to be taken care of.
As for that police officer, Inspector Sablon? Was he involved with this? The man needed watching all the time; the bureau had attempted to get rid of him through early retirement but he was like a bull in a china shop. About to cause chaos. Perhaps it was time to show Sablon that he couldn’t win.
“Abel!” he shouted to his assistant. “Get in here now. We have some work to do.”