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the glass at last and moved into the Executive’soffice. As she entered, she was struck by how it smelled.

Normally, Foucault’s office would exude the aroma of anashtray inside a dumpster full of cigarettes. He often opened the window whenhe smoked, but it didn’t help things much.

Now, though, she could barely detect the scent of ash.Perhaps a faint bit had leached into the carpet and walls from years of abuse.But mostly, the odor she detected now was a surprisingly pleasant one,seemingly emanating from flickering red candles in rose cup glass containersplaced around the desk.

Rather than smoking, as often was the case, ExecutiveFoucault instead seemed to be chewing on something. Adele glanced at the deskand noted a pile of nicotine gum packs, with a thick, balled up circlet ofwrappers forming somewhere near his open computer.

Agent Renee was in the room as well, sitting across fromthe Executive’s desk, shaking his head and muttering. As Adele entered, Johnfell quiet, as if sensing her, and turned, glancing in her direction. The tall, handsome agent had dark, slicked back hair anda strong nose. A twisting set of burn marks moved up like creeping ivy from hischest to the underside of his neck, then to his chin.

She felt a flutter of happiness at the sight of her oldpartner. She cleared her throat and dipped her head in a quick greeting. “Hello,”she said. She’d intended for the word to come out more warmly than it had. John’sexpression didn’t change, but he seemed to note the accidental coolness of hertone. “Good morning, Agent Sharp,” he said, brusquely.

“Take a seat, Sharp,” Foucault called from behind his desk.He popped another stick of nicotine gum in his mouth and gestured impatientlytoward one of the chairs near where John sat.

“I’ll make this quick,” Foucault continued. The Executiveof the DGSI had a hawklike nose and a dark brow. He was shorter than John andhis voice came stained with the cigarette smoke normally found hovering throughoutthe poorly ventilated room.

Now, though, while the smoke was gone, replaced byflickering cherry candles, the strain in Foucault’s voice only seemed to haveincreased. He also seemed to be perpetually glowering and reached up, rubbingat his temples.

“Is… is everything all right, sir?” Adele said.

“Fine,” he snapped back. He followed her gaze, glancing tothe stacks of gum packs and the candles. He sighed and waved airily. “Sorry.Just trying to kick a habit. New leaf and all. But we’re not here to talk aboutme.”

Adele settled in the seat next to John, all too aware hewasn’t paying much attention to her. Was he intentionally neglecting her? Hadthey left things that rough after all?

She shot a look toward where the long frame of the tallagent reclined in his seat. He looked as bored as ever to have been draggedinto a meeting. Normally, though, the boredom was a bit of a joke between them.She would often tease him about being unprofessional, and he’d respond bycalling her American Princess or something equally condescending.

It was a playful banter that had seen Adele through some ofthe tougher days on the job. Now, though, he’d referred to her as Agent Sharpon entry, and his boredom seemed self-contained, shared only with himself.

Foucault’s irritation did little to stem the tide offrustration rising in Adele’s own chest, so she bit her tongue and waited.

“Two bodies, two countries,” Foucault said, curtly,speaking around a wad of gum the size of a walnut. “Both of them having died ofwhat appears to be a heart attack on two different trains.”

“Trains?” said John.

“Trains.”

“What type of trains?” Adele asked.

“The ones that go choo-choo and sit on rails,” Foucaultsaid, a bit testily. Then, realizing he was being unfair, he said, “Cross-countrypassenger trains. The most recent death was on the Normandie Express. It goesthrough France, Germany, and a couple other countries, I’m told.”

Adele nodded. “And these deaths, the MO was similar?”

Foucault paused for a second, brows knitted. “We’re notcertain the deaths are murders, actually.”

This time, Adele and John did share a look, despitethemselves. But just as quickly, their inquisitive glances rebounded back inFoucault’s direction.

Adele said, “How did they die then?”

“Heart attacks,” Foucault repeated. “Or so it seems.Granted, neither of the victims had a history of heart problems, and one of thevictims was quite young. As I’ve said, two days, two deaths, two trains, twocountries…” He made a rolling motion with a finger as if to say you fill inthe blanks.

“So we’re called in just to check it out?”

“First death was in Italy, the second in Northern France,”Foucault said. “Check it out is right. We’re not sure it’s cause for muchalarm, and local authorities think it could be a coincidence… But,” he pausedsignificantly, his dark eyebrows stretching their confines, “the transportationcompanies have powerful friends and they want us to hurry this along. Wewant this case investigated and sealed as quickly as possible… It’s most likelynothing.”

“But,” said John and Adele at the same time. This time theydidn’t share a look.

“But.” Foucault nodded. “Just in case, we’re sending youtwo down to where the second train is being held at the station. Make sure.Make it quick. Report back—hear me?”

Adele nodded hesitantly. It sounded routine—throwaway even.And yet, there was something, despite his new twitchy disposition, in the wayFoucault was talking that made Adele nervous. He was using the right words,downplaying the murder angle, and yet something about the way he glanced atthem, the way he emphasized the two deaths in two countries… Something toldAdele there was more to this one than met the eye. She felt a shiver offoreboding stretch down her spine.

“Is that all, sir?” she prompted.

Foucault’s eyes flashed for a moment, and he studied her.He opened his mouth, but then closed it again just as quickly and shrugged. “AllI know for certain. Rest is up to you.” He popped another stick of gum into hismouth, pulling at his collar and muttering, “It’s damn hot in here. Out, out!Hurry along.” He made twin shooing motions toward John and Adele, bringing themeeting to a close.

CHAPTER FOUR

The painter winced as he dragged the razor across his face,rocking slightly back and forth and swaying in time with

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