Page 57 of Wired Ghost

“And everyone knows about everyone else? And is—okay with it?”

“After Momi and Sophie were reunited and Jake was freed from captivity in Thailand two years ago—that was all in the file—he broke up with Sophie. He started his own business with another woman, Felicia, for two years.” The ambassador pushed his plate aside. “I suspect there was some crossover with the vigilante Connor that caused the breakup, because that man stayed in Thailand with the Yam Khûmk?n, an organization that’s closely monitored by the CIA.” Smithson gestured for their plates to be cleared. “It’s a regular soap opera. Sophie was finally getting over Jake when they reunited, right after your case in San Francisco.”

“I understand now,” Raveaux murmured. That’s why Sophie’d been open to a relationship with him during that case—there’d been a brief time, before Jake came back into her life, when Raveaux could swear she’d been attracted to him, too. “But I still don’t get why you wanted me to know all of this.”

The ambassador’s mouth tightened and his brows drew down. “Because, Pierre, I want you to take down the Ghost. I want that man who calls himself Connor out of my daughter’s life. Him, and those criminals in Thailand that he works with.”

Raveaux reeled, pushing back from the table at this bombshell. “I am a private citizen, sir, from another country. A retired investigator, no longer associated with any agency.” A timely interruption gave a measure of relief as the waitress brought Raveaux his fresh espresso. He accepted the small thick cup, and she cleared the rest of their breakfast clutter. When she’d gone, Raveaux continued. “How do you have all of this information?”

“The file you received was collected by the Secret Service. They, along with the FBI, Interpol, NSA, and CIA, have decided that the Ghost, the man who calls himself Connor, is a threat to our national security. They’ve formed a multi-agency task force to bring him in. We’d like you to be a part of it, and we’re not taking ‘no’ for an answer.”

Raveaux raised his brows. “I do not respond well to bullying, sir.” He slid to the side of the booth and stood up. “This matter is none of my business.”

“We’ll make it your business.”

Raveaux took out his wallet. He peeled off a fifty-dollar bill, tucking it under the salt shaker. “Au revoir, sir. Breakfast is on me.”

He could feel Ambassador Smithson’s gaze burning a hole in his back as he walked away.

Chapter Forty

Raveaux

One day later, evening

Raveaux finishedhis solitary and excellent meal, a top-quality pork chop with sautéed scallions, half a baguette slathered with butter from a nearby bakery, and a generous portion of baked summer squash drizzled with honey. He was proud of the progress he’d made in allowing himself little indulgences, and he’d been reflecting on that when the doorbell sounded an unfamiliar chime.

Raveaux had no visitors and expected none. He grabbed his loaded gun from the slot in the side table where he kept it handy, and peered over to check the spyhole.

Two men in leisurewear with concealed sidearms darkened his doorstep. One of them looked familiar.

Not good.

There was nothing to be done but brazen it out. Raveaux put his weapon away and opened the door.

He immediately recognized Stefan Voise of Interpol, even before Voise held up his identification. “Stefan! What brings you to this corner of the world?”

Voise stepped forward. They slapped each other’s backs amiably, though this could not possibly be a social visit. The man had a five o’clock shadow no matter the time of day, and he rubbed his chin with a scraping sound that sawed at Raveaux’s nerves as he indicated his partner. “Meet my colleague. Karl Beckett of the CIA.”

“Ah. A gathering of cops and spies.” Raveaux tried for good humor. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

His comment fell flat in the face of Beckett’s chilly stare. “May we come in?”

“Of course.” Raveaux swept the door wide. “Welcome to my humble abode.”

The men entered, refused beverages, sat on the couch, and proceeded to grill Raveaux, questioning him about his work with Security Solutions, his relationship with Sophie, and finally, every detail he remembered about the blond man who called himself Connor and “his Thai sidekick” during the recent rescue on the lava plain.

Raveaux eventually sat back in his Danish slingback chair and raised his hands in surrender. “Gentlemen. Really. I need to know what this is about.”

“You were briefed by Ambassador Smithson,” Beckett said. “As he must have told you, this is a multi-agency investigation, including the FBI, into the man who calls himself Connor, an international criminal who poses a danger to our national security.”

“Isn’t the FBI supposed to conduct investigations on US soil?” Raveaux cocked his head. He was pretty sure these men were legitimate, not least because he knew one of them, but how the roles were being applied was interesting.

“The FBI is a part of our task force, but the two of us came to talk with you, Pierre, to emphasize the international nature of this case,” Voise said. “As Ambassador Smithson must have told you, our task force includes the Secret Service, CIA, NSA, FBI, and Interpol.”

“So many agencies for one little fugitive,” Raveaux said.

Beckett leaned forward from Raveaux’s low, modern leather sofa. “Let’s cut to the chase. We have the full cooperation of the Immigration and Naturalization Service, too. You will be deported back to France with a stop at Guantánamo for interrogation, to face obstruction of justice charges—if you don’t cooperate fully in helping us capture this man and his associates.”

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