The Export J.K. Kelly (best way to read e books .TXT) 📖

“This was done by an environmental extremist group,” Matt assured them. He doubted any feminist or feminist group would go to all this trouble to first, kill the guy, and second, embarrass him in his death. They’d want him alive, paraded before the cameras, prosecuted, and ruined.

“You would be surprised to hear what some people kill for, Agent Christopher,” the detective said with a somber tone.

“Nothing surprises me anymore,” Matt responded. “I’ve seen it all. But now, I’ve got a train to catch, gentlemen. If I can be of further service, please give me a call. Or, Mister Leclerc, you can reach out via Ms. Dale in Washington, if you prefer.”

As Leclerc and the detective walked Matt to the front entrance, there was a scuffle of some sort behind them in the center of the lobby. Matt had already started to spin toward the noise when someone yelled, “Stop!” The next word sent everything into chaos.

“Gun!” a Quebec City policeman yelled.

In an instant, he and three other officers, as well as five members of Canada’s provincial and federal protection services, drew their handguns. Recognizing the threat, Matt grabbed Leclerc by the arm and pulled him through the doorway exit. Shots rang out behind them as they pushed through others trying to escape.

Inside, as people continued to scream and run in every direction, the lawmen surrounded the fallen gunman. One kicked the shooter’s Sig Sauer 45 away from the body. It had happened so fast. As the first patrolman had reacted to the threat by attempting to neutralize it immediately, the others had opened fire as most often happens under these circumstances. In all, the dead man was hit at least 20 times. The homicide detective knelt down, checked the man’s neck for a pulse, and then examined the credentials attached to a lanyard he had been wearing.

“State Department Protective Services,” the detective read out loud and then turned to look for Leclerc and the American he had been with just moments before. He found them outside, caring for a woman who had fallen down the marble steps outside the lobby entrance.

As additional police and an EMT crew ran into the lobby to lend assistance, Matt looked to Leclerc. People had recorded the incident with their phones, but he felt sure they had focused on the gunman and not the man who had been his target. The last thing Matt needed or wanted was to have his image broadcast on CNN’s Breaking News.

“You know who that was, don’t you?” Matt asked Leclerc.

“You pulled me through the doorway before I even had the chance to look at what was happening,” he replied. “You are everything Ms. Capri said you were, and then some.”

Matt waved to another emergency medical services person passing by them to attend to the woman who had fallen.

“She hit her head on the step pretty hard,” Matt told the responder and then stepped away so she could be attended to properly. Matt nodded for Leclerc to follow him away from the doorway and to the pedestrian tunnel that ran from the Chateau’s main entrance to the Grand Alle.

“I can’t get caught up in this,” Matt stated emphatically. “I need to get my face the hell away from all of this now!”

“I understand,” Leclerc replied. “But who had the gun?”

“Tilton’s main security guy,” Matt responded. “He was the one who confronted me in the bar asking who I really was, remember?”

“Tabarnac!” Leclerc replied, using a French word that, loosely translated, meant ‘holy shit.’

Matt looked back toward the main entry doors and saw the homicide detective standing at the top of the three steps. The detective moved his head back and forth to indicate the shooter was terminated.

“Who knows, maybe they were lovers,” Matt suggested in a joking tone. “It might be best if you go attend to the detective and your conference and I’ll just go back inside, grab my bags, and get out of here, if that’s okay with you.”

Leclerc looked at the American, as if still somewhat in awe of the behavior he had just witnessed.

“You are one cool operator, Matt Christopher,” he stated. “You haven’t even broken a sweat.”

Matt smiled and reached out to grasp Leclerc’s hand. Matt’s was dry and firm, while the Canadian’s was shaking and clammy.

“It’s just the adrenaline,” Matt assured him as he pulled his hand back. “Take a few deep, slow breaths, and you’ll calm down pretty quickly.”

Leclerc gave Matt a smile as he pulled his hand away.

“Get your bags and get out of my city,” Leclerc said. Matt nodded as he read the expression of sincere thanks that replaced the smile. “I’ll go see what sort of a mess is waiting for me up there.”

Minutes later, bags in hand, Matt hailed a cab near the horse carriage stand across from the Chateau and directed the driver to take him to the train station. “Now, let’s see how long before my phone rings and the ass-chewing begins,” he whispered. “Montreal, here we come!”

CHAPTER NINETEEN

F1 was in town, and the street had been closed to automobile traffic. Free Red Bull samples, interactive displays, and tents selling race event t-shirts and hats lined both sides of the road. A collection of Alpha Romeos and exotic Ferraris were parked intermittently along the way, their engines revving from time to time to add to the excitement of an international racing spectacle. Typically, finding a seat at this bar, or any bar for that matter, would be almost impossible. But Matt lucked out and had staked a claim that he would be very reluctant to give up – until his guests arrived. He checked his phone and read the exchange with his new friend.

I’M IN TOWN. MEET ON CRESENT AT 5? I’LL BE AT W&G

She’d responded simply. OUI 

Dressed in a tight-fitting black swoop neck t-shirt, tights, and stiletto high heels, Eve wrapped her arms around Matt and kissed both cheeks as if they were in Europe. He was genuinely