C'est la Vie (Raja Williams Series) Page 13

  Chapter Twenty-four: Remy Plays Detective

  Lieutenant Montagne had watched helplessly as the gendarmes loaded Raja into their police van. One by one, the other police cars left the bridge and still Remy had not moved. Finally, after normal traffic was restored on the bridge as if nothing had ever happened, a loud car horn snapped Remy’s mind back into gear. There was little he could do about Raja’s predicament. Raja Williams was in the hands of the gendarmes now. Even if he wanted to, Remy was in no position to influence the outcome. He was lucky not to have gotten hauled in himself. The gendarmes were all business, especially when it came to terrorism. He probably should go back to the police station, file a report, in triplicate of course, and return to the pile of paperwork that perpetually filled the basket on his desk. That would be expected. That would be the safe thing for him to do.

  Remy jingled the keys in his hand. He looked at the sleek orange Porsche sitting on the side of the bridge. On the other hand, he and Raja had done a great job of uncovering a smuggling operation. The opportunity to find out what was in that fourth container and where it was going stood right in front of him. As a policeman, wasn’t it his duty to follow such a lead? Remy smiled. And, of course, it would give him the chance to drive that wonderful little car.

  Having settled the issue to his satisfaction, Remy positioned himself at a vantage point on the bridge where he could see all the activity on the dock below. He located the spot where they had found the four containers from the Alhambra. Remy was fairly certain he knew which ones they were. A large crane was methodically picking up containers and loading them onto railroad flat beds, at a rate of approximately four per hour. He had no way of knowing when the particular four he was interested in would be loaded. He also didn’t know which one was carrying contraband. He wished Raja were there.

  As the hours rolled by, he realized the planning necessary to do long term surveillance. He had no food, and was afraid to go for any lest he miss something. His stomach was growling loudly. Also, with four containers to follow and only one of him, he had to hope he would be tracking the right one. Again he thought of Raja, assuming that he would know what to do. Remy thought about calling the station for additional help, but decided against it. With everything that had happened, he might be recalled immediately.

  Despite having just met Raja, Remy felt a fierce loyalty to him for several reasons. First, he had learned so much about doing investigation from Raja in such a short time. It was more than he had learned in two months of police training or from his superiors in a year on the job. Second, Raja had given him the opportunity to get out into the field where he longed to be. When Remy joined the police force he never imagined he would be sitting behind a desk shuffling papers. The most important reason was the way Raja treated him as an equal and as a friend. Remy knew that whatever Raja had done, he could not be a terrorist. Maybe breaking this case would help the gendarmes to see that as well. Now it was up to him.

  The worst part of doing a lengthy surveillance was needing to go to the bathroom. Remy found nothing useful in the car, and searched unsuccessfully along the edge of the bridge for a suitable container. Not a day went by that Remy didn’t see and reluctantly ignore someone who was littering, as he had been instructed to do by his superior. Where were the litterers when you needed them? Finally the moment arrived when he was going to pee, one way or another. There was a small service platform attached just below the outer edge of the bridge. There he would at least be out of sight of the drivers on the bridge. Remy climbed down onto the platform and peed off the side. The wind dispersed the liquid into the air below, and he held to the idea that it was all vaporized long before reaching the ground where some unlucky pedestrian might be walking.

  Having relieved himself, Remy settled in for a long night of watching. Just after midnight the crane plucked the first of the Alhambra boxes from the dock. As the crane slowly swung the box over the flatbed railroad car, Remy could see the logo on the side. This was it. He had plenty of time to make a plan. From the bridge he could see the train tracks heading off to the south toward the railroad station stockyard where cars and containers were transferred to other trains heading to other cities, or the contents were unloaded onto trucks for local deliveries. He would wait until the train was moving and in route to the stockyard. He had mapped out a direct route that would get him to the train yard in time to determine what happened to his containers.

  Remy waited until all four target containers were loaded before he hopped into the Porsche. When the train finished loading and had begun to move, he drove off the bridge and swung onto the road that ran south near the tracks. The growl of the car’s exhaust put a smile on Remy’s face. He raced along the dark road to make sure he reached the stockyard first, nearly hitting a delivery truck while peering over toward the rolling train.

  The stockyard was a huge expanse with several cranes like the ones on the docks. There was a mishmash of tracks and roads, allowing for railroad cars to be uncoupled and rerouted to other tracks, and for trucks to reach the containers for loading. There was no sign of security. Remy slowed the Porsche to a crawl and rolled silently into the stockyard. He had noted the engine number stenciled on the train coming from the docks—number 564. Most of the stockyard area was dark, with spotlights only lighting up places where men were unloading container contents into trucks. Remy pulled into a shadow and parked to wait. Within minutes he heard the approach of a train. As it passed through a lit area he saw the number 564 on the engine. The train stopped. A half dozen cars were uncoupled from the middle section and routed onto a side spur. The rest of the cars were reconnected, and the train resumed moving. Remy ran across the stockyard to check the containers that remained. They included the four from the Alhambra. All but one of the containers were taken off their railroad cars by crane and placed onto a loading dock. The last one remained untouched. Thinking that must be the one with the contraband, Remy made his way closer, staying in the shadows. The car and container sat in the dark. Remy pulled out a small pen light and walked around the car. This was one of the Alhambra containers. It had to be the one he was looking for.

  Remy made his way back to the Porsche and pulled closer where he had a clear line of sight to the single container. Workmen unloaded the other containers under the bright floodlights of the loading dock, making four piles of what looked like rolled up Oriental carpets. Four delivery trucks pulled up one after the other and the same men loaded each one until the dock was empty. After the trucks departed, the crew turned off the lights and left the stockyard. Remy watched as two other containers were unloaded at a site several hundred feet away. When the crates had been loaded onto trucks, the workers turned out the lights and left. The stockyard was now quiet and dark.

  Remy waited another half hour but nothing happened. Puzzled, Remy got out of the car and made his way to the remaining container car just to double check. The Alhambra logo, a pair of camels on either side of a stylized minaret, was clear in the beam of his penlight. The fourth container was still there untouched.

  Remy heard the crunch of boots on the train yard gravel from behind him. The sound was not far away. He switched off his pen light and pressed up against the side of the railroad car, just as three men walked by.

  “I don’t see why you need to unload this now,” asked one of the men. “And why the heavy weapons?”

  “You are being paid to work the crane, not ask a lot of questions,” said another man. Remy could see moonlight reflect off what looked like an automatic weapon. “As I said, my employer wishes to keep a low profile. He has competitors who would like to get their hands on his merchandise. These are rare antiques. Can you work the crane or do I have to find someone else?”

  The voices faded as the men moved past the car. Remy heard the sound of the crane motor start up and was about to make a run for better cover when bright light exploded all around the car. He dropped down and rolled underneath.

  “Turn that off,” said the
man with the gun. The light went out. Remy crawled behind one of the large train car wheels and waited while the crane lifted the container and deposited it onto the dark loading dock. A truck pulled up with its headlights off.

  Remy sneaked closer and saw the gunman hand the crane operator a thick envelope, presumably a large amount of cash for fifteen minutes work. Three other men efficiently loaded crates from the container into the back of the truck. When they finished, one of them slammed the rear of the truck shut and they climbed into the truck’s cab. The man with the weapon walked up to the driver. “I’ll follow you to the warehouse,” he said, and the truck pulled out.

  Remy scrambled back to the Porsche. By the time he got out of the stockyard, the gunman was already ahead of him in a small black Peugeot. Remy followed the cat’s eye taillights of the little car at a safe distance. Soon the car was cruising across Paris on the Champs-Elysées. Remy saw the truck just ahead of the Peugeot. Two right turns off the main road put them into a warehouse district outside the city. The plain brick buildings stood in stark contrast to the beautiful monuments seen along the main road that highlighted Paris.

  The French had a right to be proud. Paris was a modern European city with more than its share of history and culture. Writers like Descartes, Voltaire and Montesquieu inspired many across the planet, and fueled a push for freedom unparalleled before their time.

  What’s more, the Louvre controlled more original art than any other public museum in the world. Old King Louis the Fourteenth might have been a pompous ass, but his appreciation for culture knew no bounds. From his reign forward, France had been at the forefront of art and culture through the centuries.

  However, the underside of France included a steady underground drug trade that at times fed a large portion of the Western world’s illicit market. Made famous as the French Connection in the 1970’s, the drug trade waxed and waned in size and visibility, but never disappeared completely. The more recent government push to completely criminalize prostitution had also bred a growing underground for those illicit services that were provided primarily through clubs.

  However, the club scene was a glossy layer of thin ice that covered a much deeper and more terrible river of human degradation and waste made up of the heroin and drug trade along with human trafficking and slavery. Most people who think of slavery as something from the distant past are shocked to find out that there are more slaves in the world today than there were at any prior point in history. And since the Taliban were knocked out of power in Afghanistan, the heroin trade has roared back with a vengeance.

  Remy hung back until both the truck and the Peugeot had driven into the warehouse through a garage entrance and the door came down quietly behind them. From the outside, the place looked dark and unoccupied. Remy noticed the windows had all been blacked out.

  Now what should he do. He had nothing he could report to the station that would get so much as a search warrant. Nothing but the conclusions of an American detective who was now being held under suspicion of terrorist activity. Remy had to get a look inside. He parked and looked for a way in. A survey of the exterior found one tilt window open. Remy found a small crate in the trash and set it down under the window. Pulling himself up he shined his penlight in. It was a bathroom. With his light in his teeth he managed to wriggle himself through the small window and onto the floor inside without making too much noise.

  He listened at the door but heard nothing. Opening the door a crack, he could see he was on the far side of the warehouse away from most of the action. Despite the dark appearance from outside, the interior was well lit and buzzing with activity. The truck was sitting next to a conveyer track of rollers. Several crates were being rolled into a second small room. Remy could not yet see what was in the crates. He worked his way behind a row of stacked boxes and followed along until he was around the back side of the room. He leaned on the outer wall and felt heat coming from inside. Peeking through a rear window he saw that the source of the heat was a high-temperature tunnel oven that was baking ceramic Liberty statues as they moved through on a metal conveyer. At the entrance, a man was taking small packages from one of the crates and stuffing one into the open bottom of each statue. A second man was attaching a ceramic piece to the bottoms and placing the statues on the conveyer. Once baked in the oven the contents would be sealed inside and undetectable. The rolling tunnel oven allowed for precise temperature control so that whatever was inside would not be damaged. Remy had a good idea what that was, but he needed proof. Sneaking around the other side got him behind the truck. He waited until the men walked a crate along the conveyer toward the oven room and swung himself up and into the rear of the truck.

  Most of the crates held green ceramic statues. He searched until he found a smaller crate toward the front of the truck. Prying up the lid revealed it was filled with brick shaped packages. There had to be fifty in the crate. He grabbed one and put it into his jacket pocket. As he worked his way toward the rear he felt the back of the truck flex downward. Someone was climbing up. Remy ducked behind the closest crate, pulling his legs in just as one of the men climbed aboard. Remy held his breath. If he was discovered, he was dead. He felt his heart pounding in his ears and hoped it wasn’t as loud as it seemed to him. The man in the truck slid one of the ceramic crates toward the rear edge of the truck.

  “Do we need more dope?” the man asked his partner on the ground.

  Remy prayed for the only answer that would guarantee he was not found.

  “Not yet. We’re good. Let me give you a hand.” The man jumped down from the truck. The two moved the box onto the rollers.

  Remy finally breathed. He stuck his head out and saw the two men walking back toward the oven room, pushing the box between them. He slid out of the truck and worked his way back to the far end of the warehouse, staying low behind a row of stacked boxes. Finding a door that worked, he was back outside with the evidence he needed.

  Remy called the station. “This is Officer Remy Montagne. I need to speak to Inspector Gilliard urgently.”

  The inspector is not here at this time of night. “This is Sergeant Garret. Where the hell have you been, Remy? I have a duty roster that says you have been missing since midday.”

  “I can explain later. Right now I have an urgent matter. I found a warehouse full of heroin. We need to raid the place now.”

  “Whoa, there. You’re going to have to talk to narcotics. Do they know about this?”

  “Thanks, I’ll call them.” Remy was so excited he forgot that his division didn’t even handle drug trafficking cases. He dialed the narcotics division.

  “This is Officer Remy Montagne from major crimes. I need to talk to whoever is in charge.”

  After a long wait, a voice said, “This is Lieutenant Brevard. What’s this about?”

  “I was on a stakeout with Raja Williams today. We were looking into a smuggling operation at the docks.”

  “Wait a minute. Raja Williams? The American?”

  “Yes.”

  “This is his idea?”

  “Yes. He’s the one who figured it out, but then when he got arrested by the gendarmes—”

  “Hold on, Officer. You say he got arrested?”

  “Yes, but that is not the point. I followed the lead we uncovered and it took me to a warehouse in Courbevoie. This is a major drug smuggling operation and I need backup.”

  “Okay, slow down. This sounds all too familiar. We tried this once before based on the American detective’s information. That turned out to be a colossal waste of time.”

  Remy had learned one thing from Raja. What’s true for you is what you see. “I am standing on the corner of Rue de Minimes and Avenue de l’Europe holding a kilo of heroin from inside the warehouse. Inside the building I saw a crate full of heroin. A lot. We have maybe a couple of hours before the smugglers finish packing up their shipment and are gone. Are you in or not?”

  There was a long silence. “Give me the address again. I’ll need
one hour. Do you know how many men are inside?”

  “I counted six. But they are well armed.”

  “Okay. Stay out of sight until we get there. Don’t do anything heroic.”

  “Hurry.”

  True to his word, Lieutenant Brevard showed up just under an hour later with two fully-armed assault teams. Remy met them around the corner.

  “You stay outside,” said the assault team commander. “Let us handle it.” The teams made a coordinated and timed entry into the warehouse from three sides. Remy heard three bursts of shots fired, but that was over quickly. The assault team had more men and better weapons. After the first two smugglers went down, the rest dropped their guns and surrendered. The raid was a smashing success with no policemen injured. By the time they finished, the police had found over two hundred kilos of heroin with a probable street value between twenty and thirty million dollars. The statues being used to hide the drugs were destined for New York City and places beyond. From the records that were eventually found, it looked like the smuggling operation had been in business in Paris for over three years, having made nearly a dozen previous shipments. It was the biggest drug bust in France in ten years and Officer Remy Montagne was to be given special credit and commendation for its success.

  Chapter Twenty-five: Free at Last

  After his release from the Gendarmerie, Raja called Vinny to arrange a ride. He didn’t have a number for Remy Montagne, and knew nothing of what had taken place at the warehouse.

  “Vinny.”

  “Raja.” Despite the early hour, Vinny was already up.

  “Guess what.”

  “You are at Corinne’s.” Vinny was in no mood to hear about Raja and his new love.

  “No.”

  “You have a new girl friend.”

  “Vinny.”

  “Maybe you should just tell me.”

  “I was arrested.”

  “Are you kidding me right now?”