ã€ŠThe Royan&#x27;s challengeã€‹


 chapter 1: Samy

    Chapter 1

    It¡¯s 4 in the morning and I¡¯m still in front of my screen working as usual in my office which often serves as my bedroom.

    My name is Samy. I¡¯m a hacker. My passion: find solutions and share them with everyone. I rarely speak of what I¡¯m doing because people, poorly informed by the media, confuse "hackers" and "crackers¡±. I think to call the crackers ¡®computers pirates¡¯ would be more suitable because that¡¯s actually what they do.

    The fundamental difference is easy to understand if you take the goal as a starting point: ¡®hackers¡¯ are looking to build things, to exchange knowledge, while ¡®crackers¡¯, are just trying to break into systems to destroy them with viruses, for the sake of creating chaos for one reason or the other. Ransoning sometimes the large companies. No ideal is driving them, no desire to share and their sense of community is very limited indeed.

    I¡¯m one of those computer enthusiasts who invent and innovate for fun! I¡¯ve been hooked since my first very own computer. I was passionate, curious, seeking to understand, seeking to know more and more.

    I spent many nights of insomnia unable to go to bed without finding the solution to whatever problem I was trying to solve. I¡¯ve read somewhere that this night energy could be explained by the fact that screens produce a stimulating light that actually keeps you awake. Possible after all.

    I¡¯m myself a big fan of these old timers--computer-savvy pioneers who helped create the Internet in the eighties at the age of the first minicomputers. I¡¯d have loved to be part of this community, this shared culture of experienced programmers and network specialists. They are the ones who created the very word ¡®hacker¡¯ to express this slow and tedious job of ''digging'' until the system creaks.

    Some old backpackers have helped create the Unix operating system, or Usenets, and others were running the World Wide Web, the famous www. The very functioning of the Web is still done with open code software set up by this community of hackers. But who cares today? Only a few mortals know that two- thirds of the servers in the world use the Apache system, developed and maintained by a network of computer scientists.

    And I had the privilege of knowing or, rather, being in touch with some of them. That made a huge difference. Thanks to them I can come around most systems used today.

    Anyway, I¡¯ve been working for months in contact with many other hackers all over the world and I¡¯m about to crack a very important system today thanks to my family.

    My family is the whole world, intelligent and generous beings for the most part, a little out of the usual circuits, hidden behind code names. Mine is Pandax, simply because my mother gave me once a stuffed panda and he remained my favorite toy, my confidant through time.

    Even today, at 25, my panda is still sitting on one of the shelves of my library.

    I sometimes hide him when I have visitors, but usually my friends don¡¯t care about him. It¡¯s impossible to explain to others that my panda is my true confidant. I¡¯m still able to take him in my arms when I feel too lonely and tell him everything that comes to my mind. By just talking to him, sometimes that is how I solve a problem. Funny ritual hmm? But I promise it works for me.

    I¡¯m a tender heart, but didn¡¯t have an easy life so far.

    I grew up pretty much alone. Because my mother and father always considered me like a little adult from the very beginning, while behaving themselves like irresponsible teenagers. They let me take care of myself.

    When I was five, my parents would go out to the movie theater just a stone''s throw away from our flat and leave me with a walkie-talkie at that time - no cell-phone then remember?--just in case I needed something urgently.

    Fortunately, nothing came up when they were at the movies. But all the same, I remembered the feeling of abandonment when, alone in my room, I could perceive despite my young age that I was all alone in a large empty flat.

    So my Panda replaced the family¡¯s warmth and served me as a confidant, a comforter, an imaginary brother since my parents had decided a single child was enough trouble. When I was older, I was one of those children who came home alone after school, with television as a babysitter and the freezer as the stove.

    As for my parents, between a mother obsessed with the need to keep a body in full youth and who was only concerned by going to the gym as much as possible, and a father for whom the footballs buddies came first, my childhood was rather lonely until I met Mark at the elementary school.

    Mark changed my life forever. I loved to spend time Saturdays or Sundays at his place! I felt home there. I experienced what a real family was like making pancakes in the big kitchen, or playing board games or charades, children and parents all together.

    Mark''s sisters fascinated me too. This universe of girls, surrounded by pink and blue colors, being cartoons addict, gossiping about the intimate stories of their girlfriends, breathtaking when they were doing their makeup or surprising in their various hairstyles. All this fascinated me as a silent observer.

    In this friendly world, I felt privileged to be included in this warm happy life, even if I felt a little voyeur actually, feeling somehow always on the fringes of the family circle.

    Enough about the past, I¡¯m exhausted, my eyes are shutting down. I¡¯m dreaming of my cozy bed, but somewhere in the back of my head, I feel I¡¯m on the verge of finally finding the solution to penetrate this bloody system I¡¯ve been working on for months.If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

    Let¡¯s go and get some more coffee.

    I have to keep up a little longer. I know I¡¯m going to crack it. I really need to have access to this account.

    Leaning back in my bloody armchair that makes me sweat in the back, I continue strumming on my keyboard.

    I keep getting the same message: "access denied". I¡¯m sweating, and wipe my hands on my pants. I¡¯m mad. So close to victory but too tired to think clearly enough to defeat the system.

    Suddenly I notice a bit package coming back somehow. I usually got a good instinct on that kind of thing. I only need to put myself in the shoes of the creator of the system, to think like him, to immerse myself in his own personal logic and the solution finally comes up.

    Maybe my long years as a silent observer, always a bit outside groups, has helped me develop a specific quality: to think like the other one.Very useful.

    Suddenly in front of me runs a page of access to all the accounts of this banking company. I quickly take coded notes in a small notebook, which never leaves me since I¡¯ve been working on this mission. I would be able to reiterate my intrusion.

    I carefully erase all traces of access as I learned to do.

    I turn off my computer and feel to go out celebrating it by going for a walk in the early morning in the deserted streets of Paris. I have a sudden craving for croissants, chocolate breads, raisin breads, a whole feast of pastries, but it¡¯s still too early. It¡¯s the time when the bakers are just arriving to their shops around 6 o¡¯clock.

    I feel a bit frustrated not being able to communicate my victory to anyone. I¡¯m eager to tell Mark the good news and my hands are itching to call him on his cell phone, but we have long ago decided never to mention my work over the phone.

    Nothing, never, no trace that could be recorded whatsoever.Too dangerous for the future. That way no one can ever trace it back to us. All our communications have to be face-to-face. Without being paranoid, it¡¯s better to be really cautious from the very beginning. Never underestimate the opponent, so keep a cool head and don¡¯t give in to the urge of a moment.

    I want to celebrate those two years of patience finally rewarded.

    Two years of slow, organized and systematic work to crack this well-kept Swiss system.      Let¡¯s got out for some fresh air.

    I arrive at Place Vend?me, one of my favorite places in Paris because I like the calm, symmetrical and regular order of that almost round square, so logical, so simple and so majestic. At this early hour, the rising sun reflecting on the facades makes it look like a jewel in its case.

    I continue to the Place de la Concorde and go down along the banks of the Seine, meeting some homeless people wrapped in backpacks under the bridges, surrounded by their empty bottles that are lying and rolling in the sandstone.

    One is rolling to the rythm of the guy snoring beside. So funny.

    I rediscover Paris at its best and understand its attraction for every one in the world. There¡¯s something magical about these beige gray-clad stones, this architecture that reflect a certain idea of greatness from another century.

    ''Are you coming honey?¡¯ a young woman asks, on rue des Victoires, as I¡¯m going back home up towards Pigalle.

    The girl in black leather shorts, perched on thighboots, is smiling at me and I wonder what I¡¯m risking after all. But something in the forced smile stops me. Yes I¡¯m looking for some comfort, to share something strong with someone but no, I¡¯m not going to sink to such a low level.

    I just can¡¯t pay another human being to give me sexual pleasure.

    I refuse to be part of this human slavery, even if the temptation is really strong at the moment. My whole body is tensed at the sight of these long legs that let¡¯s me guess a thin and nervous body.

    Her eyes have too much makeup on. Why do girls have to spoil their face that way?

    I imagine for a second the possible scene to come; her soft arms around me, her caresses and experienced hands that would easily give me some pleasure.

    I make up my mind and ask her gently, ¡®Take me in your arms for a moment, give me a real big hug and tell me nice things. That''s all I want from you. How much do you want for that?¡¯

    The surprised girl whispers "fifty" and come closer, her head slightly back, her eyes on her guard. She must be wondering if I¡¯m not one of those crazy people.

    I see her relax slowly.

    She¡¯s gently putting her right arm under mine and pulls me a little further under the more discreet porch of the mansion on the left.

    Gently she stands in front of me, takes my chin in her hand, lifts my head, and stares at me with mixed emotions, some pity and admiration at the same time.

    After a while she says: ¡®You''re great, you''re probably important to a lot of people. Many people are counting on you and they¡¯re right because you¡¯re wonderful, generous. I¡¯ve no doubt that you¡¯ll succeed in your life and find the woman you need. I don¡¯t know what makes you so sad inside, but forget those memories that only slow you down. You¡¯ll succeed I¡¯m sure. And if I helped a little tonight, that would make me happy too. .¡¯

    She gently wraps her arms around me and we stay there for a while.

    Tears are flowing down my cheeks first silently then heavy sobs are shaking my chest but the girl continues to rock me, just tightening her grip.

    I wonder how often she has had this sort of moment in her career. My head is drowned in her hair and I love the smell of it. We stay that way for a while.

    I gradually calm down and this short moment when I let go strong emotions gives me my strength back, my faith in the future, my desire to fight to be happy.

    Raising my head, I realized at the sight of her dried tears how intense the moment has been for both of us.

    ¡®Thank you... really¡¯, is all I can say.

    ¡®You''re very welcome¡¯ she replies with a tender smile.¡¯

    ¡®Thanks too.¡¯ she adds a bit more seriously, and realy means what she says.

    ¡®What''s your name?¡¯

    ¡®Laura and you?¡¯

    ¡®Laurent¡¯.

    I don¡¯t know why I said so. We burst out laughing, a little more complicit by this double lie.

    But names for me don¡¯t mean anything. One identity or another, what¡¯s the point after all? Just some letters together, a sound, a label?

    But this hug and those eyes tell more about her than any name or nickname in the world.

    I shyly push two bills of fifty euros into her hand, give her a kiss on the cheek, and walk away.

    Somehow I know I would see her again.

 Chapter 2 Mark and Emma

    Chapter 2

    I¡¯m sitting at my desk as usual with three computer screens to check that my latest system works perfectly. I¡¯m lying back and stretch my shoulders in my armchair. I¡¯m still alone in my office. It¡¯s a bit too early for the rest of us.

    I like my office. Large, lots of space and surrounded by windows so my team and myself can see each other. That¡¯s great.

    I¡¯ve bought this former carpentry workshop lying in a backyard and converted it into offices for my video game software company. Everything works fine so far. Our products are already selling well on steam and we¡¯ve been able to hire a young assistant--Marjorie, a warm young lady full of life, always in a good mood--who takes care of the reception, the accounting and personnel management. A pearl.

    My office has the advantage of being clear thanks to its large windows and Marjorie, finding the space too bare, immediately brought in huge green plants going up to the high ceiling like in a greenhouse. Then, realizing that she had complete freedom for the decoration, shes¡¯s created semi-circles in this large landscaped space with soundproof separations around tables and armchairs, all lit by a huge lampshade swaying at the end of a high curved rod, very fashionable that year.

    These kind of spaces allow for more intimate meetings. We¡¯re mostly dealing with freelance graphic designers. They like, when they come over, to use them to exchange their ideas away from other¡¯s eyes and ears. Many appreciate these havens of tranquility, like big cocoons in which they can withdraw to dream up new ideas, the silence being often more conducive to let one¡¯s imagination run away.

    Others can let off steam around a table football that¡¯s standing next to the kitchen beside its refrigerator, coffee machine and tea kettles.

    In this very young atmosphere, my room is just separated from the others by a window that can be completely dark by a simple system of metal shutters. I¡¯ve also called on sound specialists so that once the door is closed, no sound can break through. In the same way, no projectile can cross it.

    Without being paranoid, I prefer to be cautious and don¡¯t underestimate the opponents Samy and I are about to tackle. Better safe than sorry.

    Still working, I¡¯ve hardly seen the time flying by and didn¡¯t see Marjorie arrive, until the internal phone rings and when I answer, Marjorie briefly tells me:

    ¡®A visitor for you.¡¯

    ¡®Bring him in,¡¯ I replied just as briefly.

    This is probably the job interview. I¡¯m surprised. I thought my appointment was later on.

    I need to delegate more and more in order to boost our sales. A sales manager is not a luxury, especially when it comes to getting into Asian markets. A knowledge of the language seems vital over there. I look forward to meeting this French-Japanese visitor. Behind my computer I¡¯m sitting at a long table to the right of the office door, on its side so I don¡¯t see my visitor enter.

    ¡®I hope I¡¯m not disturbing you? Otherwise I can come back later.¡¯

    My heart suddenly accelerates. This voice¡­ I would recognize it among all.

    Slightly stunned, I close my eyes for a second but then pull myself together. I manage to turn around and put a broad, forced smile on my face.

    Emma is standing there in front of me, in a simple pair of jeans, still fragile and pale with her long curly hair that frame her thin Italian Madonna face and emphasize her azure blue eyes.

    I stand up to kiss her and use this moment to gently breathe her delicate perfume that is so much connected to her. Her hair has a special smell, recognizable among all. This scent certainly exerts a magical attraction on me and has in any case the power to make me lose my focus at every meeting

    ¡®Do you want some coffee?¡¯ I offer to hide my sudden embarrassment.

    ¡®If you have time but I don¡¯t want to disturb you. If you have¡­¡¯

    This is the moment Marjorie, curious of course, chooses to enter with two coffees on a tray. Marjorie is like that; friendly, curious and considerate. Her instinct probably whispered in a corner of her head that this girl is someone special.

    And this is bloody true.

    She also recognizes, under Emma¡¯s relaxed and discreet pace and the simple but classy clothes, a well educated person in the way of presenting herself I¡¯m sure.

    For an observant eye Emma has the kind of style that evolving in an easy environment undoubtedly provides; indifferent to the effect produced on others.

    And Emma''s gentle-dreamy yet fragile side goes straight to Marjorie¡¯s heart. I can see that in the way she comes in and looks at Emma.

    ¡®I thought you may want some...¡¯ she begins.

    ¡®So kind of you Marjorie,¡¯ I exclaim relieved. ¡® You¡¯re always thinking of everything. But we¡¯ll go out to take it easy. Bring one to Samy instead. He must need it with his current project, and have the other one yourself¡¯, I add with a charming little smile.

    ¡®Samy is not here yet . But, ahem... what about your appointment? He''ll be here in ten minutes...¡¯, Marjorie replies embarrassed.

    ¡®I count on you to make him wait. Play a game at the football table with him, it will relax him... ¡® I say, having regained my usual sense of ready reply.

    ¡®And let him win, OK? ¡®, I add with a wink

    ¡®Come on, let¡¯s go out quickly to avoid meeting him. We''re going by the rear door¡¯

    I say, grabbing Emma by the arm and putting on some sunglasses.

    At the back of the room there¡¯s a heavy curtain hanging over a security door that leads to rue Clauzel, perpendicular to Rue des Martyrs. I lift it and we go out.

    This exit is also one of the reasons that made me buy these premises. I have carefully prepared another exit because of the dangers I¡¯m about to face.

    Once outside, Emma and I walk to the end of the street and arrive in a small square, where the surrounding cafes have put tables, wicker seats that are just waiting for us to sit down, in a soft and natural shade under the long, reassuring and peaceful branches of a big plane tree . A small paradise in the 9th arrondissement. I love this place.

    ¡®What a surprise, gee. How did you find me?¡¯ I begin.

    ¡®Guess,¡¯ she says, laughing a little embarrassed.

    ¡®My mother, of course. But it doesn¡¯t matter, I''m glad to see you again.¡¯

    I feel I¡¯m blushing because of my clumsy beginnings, so I go on: ¡®Tell me all about you.¡¯ I say clearing my throat.

    ¡®What have you been doing, where do you live? How long are you going to stay in Paris?¡¯

    The questions are rushing as much on my lips as in my head.

    I¡¯m feeling stupid to overwhelm her so much but I want to make up for lost time before she disappears again.

    ¡®Where to start? It¡¯s been a while... I passed an English degree in San Francisco and I just returned to Paris for a while, for a few months or maybe more. Family stuff to settle. After that I don¡¯t know much more.¡¯

    ¡®What do you mean? No ties to the US? Nothing that calls you back there?¡¯ I ask full of a sudden hope.

    ¡®No nothing, really,¡¯ she answers quietly and in a tone of boredom.

    Hearing this, I feel relieved and I¡¯m sure she can see it in my eyes.

    Emma is observing me now, and I can see she¡®s relaxing a bit. I know I always had this effect on her since childhood. She¡¯s watching my sober but well-cut black jeans, my light blue polo, neither classical nor modern, neither in nor out fashion.

    ¡®You haven¡¯t changed much. Still the same. I see no sign of brands on your clothes. You don¡¯t follow the fashion do you?,¡¯she asks with a glimpse in her eyes.

    ¡®Nope? What for?¡¯ I reply bored

    ¡®I know how much you always hated these signs of belonging imposed by the brands. Remember ? You used to say this funny French expression; "mouton de Panurge". I like this French reference and I¡¯ve learned at university what story it comes from. It was written to express that one stupidly follows the others and then dies, like the sheep in Pantagruel¡¯s story¡­¡¯ she explains suddenly very talkative.

    ¡®All these brands, supposedly synonymous of class originally, don¡¯t really mean anything anymore.¡¯ she sighs. ¡®They¡¯ve lost their ¡®raison d''¨ºtre¡¯, their mainspring to be unique, exclusive and stylish. They¡¯re part of the world of quantity at the expense of quality, of novelty, of the unexpected. I guess you want to be different, and likes it that way.¡¯ she concludes with a charming smile..The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

    ¡®You¡¯re so right about me.¡¯ I shrugs. ¡®Remember at high school when we saw the performance of Robin Williams in the Dead Poets Society movie? I then claimed I also will be ¡®¡¯The Captain of my destiny¡¯,¡¯ so I¡¯m still trying I suppose,¡¯ I add humbly.

    ¡®That¡¯s exactly what I like with you. You¡¯re so right up in your boots, calm and cool. Everything seems so simple, so clean, so easy¡± she sighs again as if she¡¯s regretting something.

    ¡®In high school, whenever I was anxious before an exam, you knew how to help me cool down and relax. You used a simple trick. You made me imagine bigger problems until the current ones lost their intensity. Everything usually ended with a big laugh. I missed that a lot you know.¡¯ she adds in a lower voice.

    Sitting in the sun, I¡¯m smiling at her and when I put down my eyes and see her arms, I want to run away and wish she hadn¡¯t come to see me.

    I notice her scars in the hollow of her arms that are the proof that her addiction has worsened. But I pretend not to pay attention to it and go on with our conversation.

    ¡®Tell me a little about your life over there.¡¯ I manage to get out.

    ¡®What do you want me to say? That San Francisco is a city true to its reputation. People are special there. Many ecologists, vegetarians, foreigners, artists, junkies, students, intellectuals, late sixties, communities of all kinds and so on.¡¯

    That makes me smile: I recognize the way she always had to tell a story. She just throws everything out, in a jumble, mixing everything and let the other one sort it out himself or herself.

    ¡®I see.¡¯ I nod.¡¯ Ok. And what made you go there?¡¯ I ask and immediately regret the question.

    I can suspect the answer and prefer not to know if she has met someone important there. At the same time, I think that if this was the case, she wouldn¡¯t be sitting with me at this moment enjoying a green tea in an Indian caf¨¦ under a Parisian sun in the shade of a plane tree.

    ¡®I just wanted to go abroad after high school. Life with my parents was no longer possible. You know what I mean: when they lived together, evenings and weekends were difficult: hearing them arguing about everything and nothing. So you imagine life at home during the divorce! Quite unbearable with their coldness and resentment. Then I was accepted by the University of San Francisco and a year followed another year. It was also easier to stay in the same place for a while, to land somewhere finally¡¯.

    I personally believe that her choice was motivated by her drug addiction and that she chose a place where the joint is something banal and common, even legal, a place where it will be easier to meet other junkies like her.

    There is a slight tension suddenly between us.

    This is so often the case when things are left unsaid. You restrain yourself from speaking the truth. And you go on instinctively on much safer ground with daily matters.

    That¡¯s exactly what I do now, asking her: ¡®And what brings you to Paris then? Do you want to resettle here?¡¯

    My heart is suddenly beating faster at the idea of her possible return to the capital,

    the idea of being able to see her more often, to suffer more also.

    ¡®Yes maybe. I wanted to go home, I never really adapted over there you know...

    Never felt like I really belonged there. Here I feel more comfortable, I understand the codes better and I may have the opportunity to work for a translation company here, so why not. You know with a Master in English I don¡¯t have much choice, except being a teacher and that''s out of the question.¡¯

    This last remark makes me smile. I can¡¯t actually imagine the sweet and frail Emma facing a class of thirty excited and often unmotivated teens.

    ¡®And what about you?¡¯ Emma goes on.   ¡®¡®What are you doing? Things seem to work well for you,¡¯ she nods smiling. ¡®You have set up your own company. What are you selling?¡¯

    ¡®Video games and other similar software. We¡¯re happy.¡¯ I say leaning back in my seat. It¡¯s going well, lots of expansion¡¯.

    ¡®Yes, I saw that.¡¯ she nods impressed. ¡®I really like the place you chose, the atmosphere is very cool, and you can feel it right away. And "we" I guess means Samy and you?¡¯

    I know she always considered Samy as her rival, the one who helps me whatever happens, a little doggy-like for many friends who haven¡¯t seen Samy¡¯s real abilities and capacities. The guy is so brilliant! His shyness, like those old grandmother''s quilts, cozy but heavy and voluminous cocoons, is just a way to protect himself.

    ¡®Yes, we¡¯re working well together. Both of us are persistent, we are really on the same page. It''s great to have one hundred percent trust in your staff. I realize that it''s the hardest in a company. Knowing who you can count on or not. As we¡¯re still at the beginning of our adventure, we really have to believe in it and not look for the immediate profits. We¡¯re trying to build on the long term.¡¯

    ¡®Yeah that''s great. And I don¡¯t want to make you miss your next appointment...¡¯

    ¡®Don¡¯t worry, he can wait. It''s still one of the privileges of being your own boss. You manage your own time and others think that if you''re late it''s because you¡¯ve got a good reason.¡¯ I explain with a smile.

    We¡¯re laughing together at this last remark and find for a brief moment that old time complicity we used to have.

    ''Well, if someone in the team asked me for a free afternoon to meet a childhood friend he hasn¡¯t seen for ages, I would give it to him or her of course. But this time I¡¯m the one who can¡¯t. I can only give you an hour. But I was thinking... you could maybe do some translations for us?¡¯

    Barely said, I immediately regret my proposal. Too risky for both of us to display link or connections.

    Fortunately, she declines the offer, pulling a face while answering.

    ¡®No, I know nothing about video games or so. It¡¯s better to be an expert in the field you translate, that''s how it works. Literature is my speciality and I¡¯ll see an editor soon that my father has contact with.¡¯

    ¡®Oh ! I see ! By the way, is he still sitting at the City Council?¡¯ I ask interested.

    ¡®No.¡¯ she exclaims with a sudden anger in her voice. ¡®He¡¯s been sitting up in the Regional Council for several years and that''s also why he had no time left with his current job. So my mother had enough. They broke up by consent. She left for the French Riviera, nothing very original. But she never knew how to be original, right ? She only follows the fashion, the opinions of others... well, enough about them ! They aren¡¯t very interesting in the end.¡¯ she summarizes.

    I feel some pity for a short while. I know how much Emma felt lonely and abandoned throughout her childhood and adolescence.

    Nobody ever to follow her to school or pick her up at the end of the day, no one to take her to the parties or pick her up at the end of a show or a movie. Never a movie together as a family. Nobody ever to help her with her homework or ask her questions about what she¡¯d be learning that day. Nobody ever to share the recent news or the novel being read.

    Some banknotes in a large Chinese vase had replaced her parents, who believed that their only daughter would manage her life and they just had to ensure her material welfare. They used to boast about the fact they were raising their daughter by respecting her and treating her as a responsible and autonomous adult.

    Therefore she didn¡¯t have the right to a nanny or an au-pair who can sometimes wonderfully replace a missing mom. No. They had opted for what suited them.

    They entrusted a company of babysitters whenever they had social gatherings outside. It was so convenient for them: a phone call, no follow-up, no commitment on both sides so no possible attachment.

    The story about nanny or super au-pair girl taking care of you in affluent bourgeois families, that is just an illusion, good for novels or TV series that sell you a dream...

    Moreover Emma had been fed on cult TV series like "The nanny named Fran". She loved the hearty Jewish New Yorker who ends up marrying her boss.

    She also loved "Friends" and their world full of Joe with his "How''re doing?¡± and with people around who are like brothers and sisters, like the two fingers of the hand, friends for ever, to life and death.

    Even the housekeepers didn¡¯t stay long in the house, quickly tired of the unremitting criticism of her extremely obsessive mother, eternally dissatisfied.

    And yet she was unable herself to hold the house properly or to offer a meal worth eating without the help of a cook or a caterer.

    Emma had no brother or sister with whom to share a piece of happiness or , laughter or a pack of candies. Not any pet to share her misfortunes with, to fall asleep or play doll with. For her fussy mother a pet was out of question. Hair would be all over the house, on sofas and carpets. And even her father, who was otherwise an internationally confirmed negotiator, hadn¡¯t managed to make her change her mind on buying a four-legged companion. He had tried on several times when Christmas was approaching but her phobia of cat¡¯s or dog¡¯s hair was a final and decisive argument.

    My childhood was the opposite. Always supported by a very present, very close family, between two loving sisters, a mother present but not invading, a calm and serene father. I therefore choose to change the subject.

    ¡®Anyway, I''m happy I dared to start my own company. It''s a lot of work: you¡¯re thinking of it morning, noon and night, weekend included, but I love this life style.

    TV and a cushy life, it''s not my thing you know. The only problem is that I spend a lot of time locked up.¡¯

    She¡¯s encouraging me by a nod and her complicit smile, so I continue:

    ¡®I¡¯m aware I¡¯m living in one of the most beautiful cities in the world, but I often only enjoy it in the early morning. I love to change my mind by walking around Paris at night. Its magic always works for me. I refill my batteries. I love the Tuileries garden and the Eiffel Tower, I don¡¯t get tired of seeing them¡­ Didn¡¯t you ever miss it? It must seem a little old and conventional to you?¡¯

    I stop short, suddenly realizing that I haven¡¯t spoken that way to anyone since she left.

    I¡¯m thinking: ¡®My god, what a strange hold she still has on me¡¯. I missed her more than I thought, more than I would care to admit.

    Answering my last question she utters quietly: ¡®No, I¡¯m not surprised. I always knew that you would do something with your life, that you wouldn¡¯t accept a humdrum life like I do.¡¯

    She¡¯s bowing her head, looking down. I guess she¡¯s now feeling guilty for never confessing her addiction to drugs, the only thing she¡¯d never shared with any of us.

    ¡®Don¡¯t talk nonsense.¡¯ I say with a deep voice. You don¡¯t have a humdrum life either. You¡¯ve had the courage to go abroad, it''s not always easy I guess and it''s not given to everyone.¡¯

    ¡®Yeah, but I don¡¯t feel very useful, you know. Who is interested in literature nowadays? It''s pretty narcissistic in the end. You¡¯re in a fantasy world and you¡¯re creating another one over the readings without ever facing real life. It¡¯s kind of an escape from life, letting time go by. And time, I¡¯ve plenty of it.¡¯

    ¡®No, it takes everything to make a world. And why don¡¯t you go to the humanitarian? It would suit you. Go to Africa or India. You could be happy there I think¡­¡¯

    ¡®No, I''m not worthy of these movements. You need to be selfless and I¡¯m not, I¡¯m afraid. Only you believe in me, and see what¡¯s good in me... I don¡¯t feel I deserve that trust¡­¡¯ she sighs.

    I¡¯m staring at her intently, wishing with all my soul the confession that isn¡¯t coming, which is digging this gap between us, that bloody secret that is spoiling our relationship.

    I would like to calm her down by admitting that I knew her secret, but by fear to put my current business and plans in danger I don''t dare talking.

    ¡®Well, but I''m sure you''ll find what you like in Paris. Anyway it''s already great that you''re here, we can see each other more often. Even if just like today, between two appointments. But why not... make a movie, let¡¯s be crazy? It¡¯s been ages for me.¡¯ I add laughing.

    ¡® Well, yes with pleasure.¡¯ she nods with a large smile. I''ll let you know when. I should probably let you go now,¡¯ she replies, obviously relieved to see the conversation continue on a more impersonal course.

    Time to go back for me.

    I glance quickly at the bill, take a note out of my pocket and pay. I help her get up. We walk back to my office where my potential sales manager is waiting for me.

    Such a pity that the special opportunity to be 100% honest with each other has passed and we missed this reunion somehow.

    Too much absorbed in their emotions, they also didn¡¯t pay attention to the guy who just left the opposite terrace. He had been there all the time, watching them enjoy unsuspectingly their tea in the sunlight.

 Chapter 3 Samy and Mark

    CHAPTER 3

    I¡¯m back in the office ready for the job interview.

    But Samy isn¡¯t here yet. What¡¯s the hell is he doing? I¡¯m a bit worried.

    I call him on his cells and it takes 10 signals before he answers:

    ¡®Did I wake you up?¡¯ I ask immediately relieved. ¡¯What are you doing? What happens?¡¯

    ¡®Nothing Mark.¡¯ he says in a voice that sounds like he just woke up.

    ¡®I¡¯m coming. I¡¯ll explain.¡¯

    He adds clearing his throat: ¡¯Order a large coffee and some warm croissants. Let¡¯s meet at the coffee shop nearby¡¯.

    ¡®No I¡¯ve got an appointment first. Sleep a bit more. I¡¯ll see you at lunch time around 1 o¡¯clock then at the Thai restaurant.¡¯ And I hang up.

    His voice sounds like someone who spet all night up. First time he didn¡¯t show up at work. I feel something is going on. I¡¯m all excited.

    I¡¯ve got a hard time staying concentrated during the interview.

    Sitting behind my desk, I¡¯m listening with half an ear to Benjiro Marakami who is talking about his professional experience. His Curriculum was already impressive so I force myself to listen to him carefully, but a fine observer would notice that my mind is wandering elsewhere in the way I¡¯m playing with my pen between my fingers.

    My thoughts are bringing me back to Emma, of course. The buried images of our common childhood are drawing me back into the past, preventing me from concentrating on Benjiro¡¯s speech.

    I¡¯m feeling locked up in a certain nostalgic sweetness, dreaming of our teenage years. It was a happy and frustrating time when everything was possible, when the future looked sweet, promising and hopeful.

    At the same time school was locking you between four walls and asking you to wait for some time before taking off.

    A sentence from Benjiro brings me back to reality.

    ¡®I especially have a lot of experience in the field of software and video games because I must admit: I¡¯ve been a little hooked myself to those games since childhood, since my first NES*in fact.¡¯

    I appreciate him being honest. Finally someone who doesn¡¯t try to sell the image of the perfect dynamic young executive.

    We continue the conversation for another hour. We discuss salary and incentive bonuses.

    ¡®I''ll call you back soon. Last thing though. You don¡¯t intend to go on vacation before a while I hope. Because we want to get on the Asian market fast I need you to start as soon as possible.¡¯

    ¡®No worry with that. I can¡¯t wait to get started and I¡¯m totally available.¡¯

    When the conversation is over, we share a warm handshake. Yes, we¡¯re getting on very well and I usually rely on my first instinct. I liked this little guy straight away.

    Young, energetic, enthusiastic, speaking Japanese and Chinese, in addition to French and English, it would be perfect to take on the Japanese and Chinese market. It could be a real problem to make business in a new country without knowing its customs or habits nor its language. I don¡¯t want to be totally dependant on a translator. If he is a bad one, then inevitably it will lead to false or even shabby deals.

    I¡¯ll call him back tomorrow. I''d rather sleep on it and I don¡¯t want to seem to be desperate.

    I go and get Marjorie¡¯s opinion of Benjiro.

    ¡®Yeh. He arrived on time, punctual and very kind. He waited without showing any sign of impatience. You do what you want of course, but if I were you I¡¯d hire him, no doubt about it.¡¯ She sounds very positive.

    ''Besides, it''s quite amazing that he knows both Japanese and Chinese. It will be a great asset to enter this Asian market.¡¯ she adds enthusiastic.

    ''By the way, I¡¯ve tested him a little about video games: he¡¯s not an updated geek: he¡¯s remained with basic old timers. He¡¯ll need to be educated on the latest ones. He¡¯ll be the oldest guy in the group you know.¡¯ she frowns ans continues: ''He said his favorite pastime recently was going to the independent movie theatres, a bit underground style. Well, he could educate us on the subject.¡¯

    ¡®Thanks. Your opinion is precious for me, you know. Yes. I liked him too.¡¯ I reply with a large smile.

    ¡® I¡¯ll call him tomorrow morning to come and sign his contract. Please prepare it for today so I¡¯ll have time to look at it tonight. And leave the starting date blank. If he''s ready to start tomorrow, why not? Here is everything you need.''

    I hand her a sheet of paper on which I had written some figures.

    ¡®What about the other candidates?¡¯ she asks. ¡¯What shall I do with them?¡¯

    ¡®Let¡¯s cancel everyone for the moment. I think we have the good one. It¡¯s useless to continue. It gets complicated when you have too many choices...on the other hand...create a file with all the information on the others you liked. You never know... in case we were wrong about Benjiro. Then we¡¯ll contact them again.¡¯

    1 o¡¯clock. Time to meet Samy and have some lunch.

    One of the reasons I¡¯ve chosen to set up my business in this popular neighborhood in Paris is for the food.

    For the morning breakfast and afternoon break there are traditional bakeries that offer original and wonderful breads and the pastry chefs who turn their shop windows into real works of art.

    At lunchtime there¡¯s a large selection of cuisine from all countries. Thai, Chinese, Japanese, Italian, Greek, Lebanese and Indian. And recently vegetarians, juice bars and organic restaurants.

    The second reason is because my best friend Samy and I live close to Abbesses at the bottom of Montmartre so it takes 5 minutes to get to our office. But don¡¯t get me wrong. We¡¯re not living together. We¡¯re best friends but not that way. We¡¯ve know each other since school and just live in the same area that¡¯s all. 2 minutes from each other.Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.

    I go and sit down at the terrace of the restaurant to be sure Samy will see me when he goes by.

    Here he comes on his rollerblades in a yellow T-shirt and his usual black jeans,

    with his training shoes around his neck. His hair is still wet so I guess he just came out of the shower.

    ¡®Wow. You were fast! I wasn¡¯t expecting you before 10 more minutes at least.¡¯

    Samy looks very excited.

    ¡®Damned. I could have slept until the evening today. I was up all night. And guess what!¡¯

    He¡¯s leaning forwards and whispers to me: ¡®I finally managed to crack the Swiss code.¡¯ With a big smile he adds: ¡®Celebrations buddy!¡¯

    And Samy makes his favorite sign when he¡¯s winning. I don¡¯t know how he manages this. Somehow he¡¯s making a funny sound with a small snap with the corner of his mouth and winks at the same time. It never fails to make me laugh. Samy, aware of it, knows very well the power of his wink on people and knows how to use it wisely. So we laugh together.

    ¡®So. Sorry for being late boss but I hope I¡¯m all excused. I was done by 4 or so in the morning but even if I was exhausted I was too excited to sleep. So I took a walk along the Seine, you know me.Then¡­¡¯.

    ¡®Stop. Remember our rule,¡¯ I interrupt him.

    Samy and I have chosen a simple rule when it comes to our secret work. Never discuss our "underground"project between four walls. Even if we¡¯re outside somehow, the others customers are too close to us.

    ¡®You¡¯re right. Sorry. So let¡¯s eat first. ¡¯

    When we¡¯re done, Samy takes the time to change his rollers in order to put his sneakers on. Finally we come out. I¡¯m dying of curiosity.

    We first go and sit in a small square nearby where some blond and chubby toddlers are watched by moms or nannies worried for every move. The noise of their laughter and shouting in the background is perfect to discuss our concern.

    ''Well! So. What¡¯s up?¡¯ I begin devoured with curiosity.

    Crossing his finger over his lips, Samy takes out the precious notebook he¡¯s keeping with him in the back pocket of his worn-out jeans.

    ¡®Last night I finally cracked the fucking access code. You see all the names. Interesting isn¡¯t it?''. Samy goes on explaining what he found out and who seems to be behind each account. Together we put up a plan for our future actions.

    Samy continues talking about last night.

    ¡®Guess what happened to me. I was too excited to sleep so I went for a walk in Paris. Man.¡¯ he starts laughing, looking suddenly like a teenage boy.

    ¡®You know this city is really magical at night. And you meet real strange people.¡¯ he adds wiht a large smile.

    ¡®You could have come to wake me up,¡¯ I interrupt him.

    ¡®Let me remind you we¡¯ve always said to do nothing to attract attention.

    It could have seemed weird that I turn up at four o''clock in the morning, right?.¡¯

    ¡®Yeah, you''re probably right,¡¯ I admit. ¡®You haven¡¯t been drinking at least? This is not the moment to pour out your heart to strangers. You seem a bit strange I must say, this morning.¡¯

    ¡®No, I just held a whore in my arms for a big hug. But in her arms I cried like a baby. Don¡¯t make fun of me¡¯, he asks, a little embarrassed in front of my bewildered look.

    ¡®She was so cute¡¯, he continues.

    ¡®But I wasn¡¯t going to demean myself by paying her for sex. Human trafficking is against my principles, you know that. I just wanted to share my victory with someone else. And I gave her a 100 bucks for that.¡¯ he laughs.

    ''Her name is Laura and mine Laurent, just in case we¡¯ll meet another time. Who knows? But yesterday was so special. I was so thrilled. You have no idea how hard I¡¯ve been working on this bloody case.¡¯ he yawns, leaning back in his seat, strechting his arms with a large smile.

    ''Then Paris in the early morning is so amazing, it''s huge, impressive but I felt more lonely than usual. I could feel that everyone was asleep and all these empty buildings, these wide and deserted streets, all this grandeur for nothing and no one, as abandoned, it¡¯s quite surrealistic you know. Like after a human catastrophe, when everybody¡¯s dead and you¡¯re the only survivor.¡¯

    ¡®Yeah, I see what you mean,¡¯ I nod, still surprised to hear my friend usually using words sparingly, suddenly raving about a subject like Paris and the atmosphere in its streets.

    But I understand perfectly how he was feeling. I myself often roam the streets of Paris in the middle of the night when insomnia pushes me outside, in search of the physical tiredness that will ward off my torments.

    ¡®Not a bad idea this cuddling ,¡¯ I say to avoid talking about loneliness. ¡®It''s not degrading and a little tenderness can¡¯t hurt in this rotten society¡¯, I add and sigh at the same time.

    ''Oh, wait a minute! It¡¯s not like you to "pessimize" like that. Something¡¯s wrong?¡¯ Samy asks.

    ¡®No. I¡¯m super happy. You¡¯ve been working on this for such a long time. You deserve your victory.¡¯

    But my friend knows me too well.

    ¡®And what¡¯s bothering you?¡¯ he asks with half closed eyes, a bit suspicious.

    ¡®Nothing, why are you asking ?¡¯ I try to look calm.

    He keeps staring at me, waiting for another answer.

    ¡®Alright in fact yes. Emma is in Paris, she met my mother and wanted to see me.¡¯

    Samy remains silent. The only thing he doesn¡¯t dare to discuss with me is Emma. I guess he feels powerless to help me on this particular matter in my life.Plus he¡¯s not successful with girls either.

    When it comes to sentimental life he probably thinks the best is not to suggest anything. Which in a way is correct.

    But this time Samy can¡¯t help but talk.

    ¡®You know, even if Emma was or is a nice girl, she¡¯s pathetic. I really don¡¯t get what is so exceptional with her to make you crazy about her. You¡¯re so mature and thoughtful. Is it the opposites attracting each other? Or repelling one another rather, since she never showed the slightest interest in return, right?¡¯

    Wow. That hurt.

    Still I know he¡¯s right. But I never told him the whole story. I need to change the subject.

    ¡®By the way, did you hear the news? Of course not, you were sleeping, but there was a huge seizure on the Spanish border, the timing is perfect.¡¯ My wide smile contagious.

    ¡®Wow, tell me. I''m all ears!''

    ''Thanks to a dog and a customs officer more awake or lucky than the others, they seized more than seventeen million euros worth of cannabis in a refrigerated truck. Can you imagine the quantity? At least two tons at current market price. That has to be some daring plan that didn¡¯t work. Or a bribery that didn¡¯t protect them anymore for some reason. Who knows. In any case, we could use this to start with. Don¡¯t you think? It would be perfect timing...but you have to get the name of the dealer and his bank account,¡¯ I say.

    Samy answers: ¡®Shouldn¡¯t be too hard to find. I''ll take care of that. Give me five¡¯, he says.

    And we agree with a high five.

    The two years of hard work would finally bear fruit. Thinking of what we¡¯re about to do put a smile on our faces. We¡¯ve been working so hard, night after night to break the codes of the largest Swiss bank that housed the big bank accounts of European mafiosos. Careful and systematic investigation, intelligent cross-checks, all with a minimum of written notes to avoid any risk of leakage has led us to have a detailed map of the biggest European traffickers. Suddenly the tiredness is gone.

    We have the names of the producers, the middlemen and the resellers in the consuming countries.

    We have identified the most important ones and, thanks to the decryption of the banking codes, we can put our great plan into execution without leaving any trace. We¡¯ve been running a parallel program for a year now, and tried to penetrate our system. We hacked it looking for flaws, which allowed us to find some and fix them before we can use it for real.

    We¡¯re fully ready now. We just need to get the name of the owner of the truck and to find out who is hiding behind.

    At this level we know as much if not more than the police forces stuck in their deontology and their bureaucracy that prevent them from penetrating files protected and locked. When a five-page report is needed to justify a future action, frankly, I can understand that the police gives up. Especially when a simple and unfortunate legal irregularity can be enough to cancel the charges against the criminals. And their lawyers are very good at this game. Understandable, considering how much they get paid for it.

    In the end ¡®justice¡¯, in my eyes, is just an empty word today. Everyone is ready to sell his soul to the devil for money. On the other hand it¡¯s rather reassuring to know that we can still have a secret garden for a state.

    I still have in mind the futuristic projections of Orson Wells in 1984: an all-powerful state, with citizens constantly watched without their knowledge. Nothing really exciting. Rather frightening for our freedom. And our all-connected society can at any time become this totalitarian state by pretending to preserve our security.

    But for now, the all-connected is interesting indeed. It allows my ingenious friend Samy to discover the source of the illegal goods, and to go back to the name of the fooled guy probably damn angry at the time.

    All our efforts are finally rewarded and make us right to have persisted in our mission. Traffickers should be aware. New righters of wrongs are coming and their empire is soon to collapse.

    Well, that''s what we have in mind at least. But things got more complicated than expected.

 Chapter 4 Guillermo

    CHAPTER 4

    I hear the sound of my cell phone in the distance. I was having a pleasant dream. Who dares wake me up so early? I answer coldly with a rusty voice.

    ¡®Guillermo¡¯.

    ¡®Dad, it¡¯s me.¡¯

    Damn! I almost drop my phone on the carpet.

    ¡®Everything went wrong today Dad...¡¯

    I¡¯m fully awake now but I can¡¯t hear the rest of the explanation.

    I can only hear some strange sound as if Rafael, my dear son, dropped his phone or so. I keep talking anyway.

    ¡®For gods'' sake pick up the phone and tell me exactly what happened. Where are you?¡¯

    Rafael sounds like he¡¯s crying now. I can¡¯t believe it! A twenty-three year old man. What the hell is going on?

    He¡¯s back on the phone.

    ¡®I can¡¯t speak Dad. I¡¯m driving back home. A bloody dog got mad at...¡¯

    Again his voice disappears. What the hell is he doing? My son is El Cretino¡­ Somewhere I always knew it. I should never have trusted him on this transportation.

    Too big for him. It¡¯s a major blunder.

    ¡®What did you, did you do bloody idiot?¡¯

    ¡®I told you! The customs guy suspected something because of his bloody dog.¡¯

    ¡® Yes but you! What did you do so the dog could sniff it¡¯

    ¡®Hm, well, We didn¡¯t put the products at the front of the truck bed. Had no time for that.¡¯

    ¡®But what about the other truck then?

    ¡®Hm. That¡¯s the point¡¯ he says in a lower voice. I fixed only one big truck this time.¡¯

    I feel my jaw dropping. I can¡¯t believe he did it. Breaking against such a basic rule in our business.

    ¡®Are you retarded? How could you be so stupid! ¡® I explode. ¡®How could you think for a second that it was going to work? Come back here immediately!¡¯

    I hang up. I can''t take it anymore.

    I jump into the shower to cool down, I don¡¯t even bother to shave afterwards.

    I put some training clothes on and walk to my sports room at the other side of the hacienda.

    Once arrived, I take a deep breath. Here is my very private and favorite room. A real man thing. Full of training devices and many punching bags. I go straight to my boxing gloves and put them on.

    I spend 30 intensive minutes hitting the bag imaging I¡¯m boxing my own son till it hurts my fists. I¡¯m soaked in sweat but feel more relaxed.

    I won¡¯t kill him. He¡¯s already dead as my heir. I have to realize he¡¯s never going to make it in this business.

    My stupid son has ruined everything, and this time... the reality is beyond fiction. I often wonder what I did wrong. I¡¯ve the feeling, however, that I did everything to turn my only son Rafael into a real businessman.

    From the day he was born I chose his first name carefully. A modern, international name, well before the famous tennis player¡¯s name got so popular.

    I wanted for him a name that will open the doors of the wealthy world not a shabby name like my own from the Spanish working class. My name tells everyone my family has been sweating their entire life, working like hell.

    For my only heir, I made incredible efforts: I sent him to the best Swiss schools. That way he could come in contact with the best of the best.

    He could hopefully make connections in the international financial world, which would help to expand our empire.

    Rafael speaks English and French fluently. On the other hand he gave up German very quickly. He didn¡¯t like the accent, he said. What a pathetic excuse. I rather guess he didn¡¯t have any romance to motivate him, no attraction to the German rock bands which sound a little too barbaric for us Latin people. That I can admit. And finally the grammar was just giving him headaches he said. I¡¯m sure of that one.

    And all that for what result? A catastrophe!

    I can¡¯t accept that the best and most expensive schools in the world didn¡¯t manage to make my son smart. Maybe I have to face it, it was asking them to accomplish the impossible. And El Cretino, as I like to call him, did it again. Willing to save time and money he lost everything. A whole cargo full of cannabis, worth millions!

    I can easily imagine the party organized at the customs center right now. Rafael is going to pay for that. Rage is coming back on me .

    I need another shower now.

    I get up the stairs and the spacy and luxurious bathroom calms me down a bit already. I drop my training suit and step under the shower. The warm water is running all over my body. But I can¡¯t help thinking of the loss so I step out and quickly get dressed.

    Think! I¡¯ve lost in a few minutes the equivalent of seventeen million euros or more. This is at least what would be written in the newspapers tomorrow, since for the press the catch counts at its resale price. To do so flatters the pride of the national police and makes people dream with huge sums. In fact I actually lost only half of it, even less, breaking everything down to about seven million. Still a lot.

    But as I became friends with one of the first Moroccan producers, I got advantageous prices thanks to the quantities I¡¯m regularly buying. This time it was about two thousand three hundred kilos of cannabis resin.

    Since I¡¯ve managed to really secure both transport and distribution in recent years, thanks to a large network of trustworthy and competent drivers and dealers, I¡¯ve also lowered my final sales price. Of course my competitors are mad at me.

    Anyway my margin has increased considerably.

    No boasting, I get around sixty percent in profit. Many people envy me for that, but I took enormous risks and I made big investments too.

    I even built a whole facade of import-export products that costs me much more money and makes me lose money. Unfortunately Spain''s bad reputation for agricultural policies that don¡¯t comply with European regulations have caused a dramatic drop in exports since last year. But I had to give that up so that my trafficking would be safer.

    But today! Damn! I will have to pay seven <u>million</u> plus the other expenses around and get nothing for it<u>. </u>

    Most of all, no one can ever find out I¡¯m the one who got caught today.

    My reputation is at stake. I¡¯ll have to wait for a while before buying a new load.

    I try to calm my nerves by walking in the patio of my luxurious villa, back and forth, back and forth. But the calm brought by the sun shining on this warm morning, the subtle scents emanating from my garden and the music made by the fountain only increased my nervousness.

    This kind of decoration purring like a cat in the sun, that¡¯s indeed a woman''s idea. Too cool for me. For the time being, I just want to go to my club and shoot to take my nerves out.

    But first I need to hear the details from El Cretino''s mouth.

    Ah. I can hear a car stopping by the door --but, no-- it¡¯s only my wife.

    ¡®Where were you?¡¯ I burst out when I see her getting out of her convertible car. She looks surprised.This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author''s work.

    ¡®At my hairdresser''s, like every Friday.¡¯ she answers calmly, but I can see she¡¯s a bit worried.

    ¡®So you fucking have nothing else to do? Did you see what this damn house looks like? It''s your job bloody hell!¡¯ I need to yell at someone, even if it¡¯s not fair.

    Isabella is smart. She seems to understand that¡¯s something serious has happened. I¡¯m never rude with her, except in extreme cases like this one.

    She¡¯s approaching slowly and asks:

    ¡®Tell me what¡¯s wrong darling.¡¯

    ¡®Your stupid son just messed up a delivery of seventeen million euros. That¡¯s what¡¯s wrong! He wanted to be clever and save time and money the idiot. What an excuse! I should never have let him do it! There¡¯s always trouble with him, nothing is simple. He''s really too stupid. I should never have listened to you. You protect him too much. You praise him too often. He thinks he is invulnerable. He thinks he¡¯s God. It''s all your fault!¡¯ I can¡¯t help but raise my voice and my arm at the same time.

    Isabella firmly stops the arm that I¡¯m raising on her. I know I don¡¯t frighten her, she always knows how to cool me down when I¡¯ m in rage.

    ¡®What exactly did he do?¡¯ Isabella asks.

    ¡®I''m waiting for him to come back to find out. As far as I understood, they were caught at the French border by a customs officer and his dog. I didn¡¯t get everything on the phone because this stupid guy, instead of parking, he was still driving away. He was afraid to be stopped and wasn¡¯t holding his mobile close to his ear obviously. I heard only every second word, I mainly guessed the rest. We¡¯ll see what he¡¯ll tell us when he comes back.

    ''He, luckily, was behind the truck and he said nobody noticed him. Let''s hope he¡¯s right for once. Fortunately I convinced him to take his simple little Korean car instead of his fancy convertible Audi.¡¯ I shrug.

    Isabella knows how make me shut my mouth on that matter.

    <u>¡®</u>But it¡¯s your fault bloody hell! You didn¡¯t have to send him to Switzerland to a boarding school. It turned him crazy, going out with upper class, snobbish people-- he lost his common sense of reality for sure.¡¯ Isabella replies angry.

    And there she is, always defending her dear angel.

    I know my wife will never forgive me for having taken away from her only son at the age of twelve.

    ¡®A twenty-three-year old kid, let me laugh.¡¯ I exclaim.

    There¡¯s no point in discussing that matter now. I see Isabella¡¯s trying another tactic.

    ¡®Come in, let¡¯s have a glass of porto. It will calm your nerves¡¯. She says gently.

    She catches my arm and curls up against me, she guides me gently but firmly to the living room.

    The room is all white; the walls, the three leather sofas in the center, the carpets and the coffee tables. She slides behind the ultra modern designed bar and magically two glasses of porto come out with some olives in a crystal cup with sticks to pick them up.

    The gentle warmth of the liquid cools down my anger a little, as well as the soothing caresses of my wife on my neck and in my hair. Not bad.

    Isabella disappears for two minutes to give orders in the kitchen to be quickly served in the adjacent dining room. As a good wife she also knows the virtues of good food on me. My belly is a the proof of that. Good food is one of my sins.

    My legendary anger makes everyone shake except her. We¡¯ve known each other since childhood. We were born in the same village perched in the Pyrenees, grew up together as neighbors. At the age of 16, we both swore to escape from the rudimentary, rustic and poor peasant-life. We seized the opportunity to come to Barcelona, working at first in bars and clubs.

    Through contacts, I became a specialist in quickly providing the impossible: drugs, and even girls and children, any traffic was good for me.

    Then I specialized in drugs. It was easier. Less risky in many ways.

    No doubt my solid sense of peasant realities have helped me never to fall into dependency myself. I never touched that shit.

    On the contrary, I despise those men and women who depend on my dope or my services. I don¡¯t even feel sorry for them. I¡¯ve never managed to understand how people who have everything to be happy, according to my own materialistic criteria, need self-destruction in this way.

    I¡¯ve seen how they become worse over the years, their eyes becoming more and more empty as if the dope has taken life away from them, their eyelids more and more wrinkled by sleepless nights: I found them rather pathetic and useless.

    I love how rich people fall for that shit over and over again and help me be richer and richer.

    My success brings me a lot of pleasure, makes me feel like the king of the world, taking revenge over the rest of the world.

    My wife is my link to my peasant world and its old solid values.

    But sometimes I feel like I¡¯m trapped somehow, stuck in a pact made with the devil. Of course I¡¯ll never say so to anyone, even to Isabella.

    For now, we¡¯re both seated in our luxurious but cold and empty dining room, with made-to-order table and chairs, drinking a 2004 Pauillac wine, a Chateau Mouton Rothschild to be precise, that Isabella had the good idea to bring up from our cellar to go with a rib of beef. This nectar cost a small fortune, but it would help to calm me down.

    And my lifestyle largely allowed me this little pleasure, as expensive as it is.

    I¡¯m firmly waiting for my son, planning my revenge.

    After the nice piece of meat, served with a wok of green vegetables and some potatoes, Isabella tried to lessen my anger with a delicious warm mellow chocolate cake served with a homemade vanilla ice cream - one of my favorite desserts. She¡¯s really trying hard.

    The wine also does its work and I¡¯m more or less sleepy on the couch when, like a wolf on a wait, I suddenly jump to my feet at the sound of a car engine.

    That¡¯s him now for sure.

    ¡®Please¡¯, interferes Isabella, placing herself before the French window.

    ¡®Don¡¯t hurt him¡¯, she begs holding me by the arm.

    ¡®You get out now and leave us¡¯, I say and push her a little too violently.

    The surprising blow sends her away onto the nearest couch.

    ¡®You¡¯d better not interfere. This is my business, not yours.¡¯ I say very determined.

    Isabella must feel it¡¯s better to slip away, and realize the limit of her influence on me. I¡¯m no longer the teenager she spent such a good time with. My business made me harder, being in contact with men and mafiosos of all kinds. Violence has infiltrated our lives surreptitiously.

    The violence of rude words sometimes, then the violence of blows and of weapons. And even if I¡¯m still very fond of her and caught up in a seduction game with her, I¡¯m not a fool. I know when to stop the game to my advantage. I¡¯m the master of this house.

    Rafael, unaware of the danger, enters the living room through the wide open French window.

    He comes closer to kiss me but I grip his right arm and twist it up behind his back. The sudden pain makes him scream but I stifle him with my hand against his mouth and push him to the floor. His left cheek is stuck on the cold marble. He can¡¯t move.

    ¡®First I want to know who came up with this idea to carry all containers in one truck instead of using the regular drivers¡¯ I whisper angry in his ear.

    Suffering Rafael manages to explain.

    ¡®We packaged the cannabis resin in plastics into regular boxes, to load them all in one large truck full of fruits instead of using different trucks. I had a good deal with the driver with a huge truck, double sized. The guy was desperately in need of money right now so I thought it was a good idea to win save on transportation.¡¯

    ¡®First mistake.¡¯ I say and give him a blow on his ear.

    ¡®Dad! No please!¡¯ he begs.

    ¡®Why?¡¯ I ask coldly.

    ¡®Because we were in a hurry¡¯ he says, his eyes wide open with fear.

    ¡®Why so?¡¯ I urge angrily.

    Silence, meaning he¡¯s the one responsible

    ¡®Don''t¡¯ dare lie to me.¡¯

    ¡®Cause I was late to our appointment. So we just laid the boxes at the bottom of the refrigerated, not behind the fruits. Unfortunately the customs officer had a dog who couldn¡¯t stop sniffing around the back of the truck.¡¯ he says shaking his head.

    ¡®Second mistake. It''s not bad luck. You¡¯re the idiot. Of course their dogs are trained to smell drugs. Therefore you should only have a little in each truck and well hidden by the smell of the food around.¡¯

    I give him a second blow with pleasure.

    I can easily imagine the scene. Pretty containers wisely placed in the translucent smoke of the air of a cold room. You open the box and there you go. Full of cannabis resin.Too nice to be true for the police!

    Oh, they must be still be laughing at them at the police station right now. A nice catch for them. Surely one of the most important ones lately.

    That¡¯s our monthly delivery for the Netherlands now stopped at the French-Spanish border because of a bloody well trained dog and a customs guy a little smarter than the French national average. But how stupid to have underestimated the customs at this point!

    So typical of El Cretino. He¡¯s always so self confident. He underestimates others instead. I teach him lesson one: ¡®You think of yourself as a brilliant guy. This is a fatal mistake. The kind of mistake that led many to jail. Therefore I myself have a golden rule that helped me to be still free and alive today: never underestimate the opponent! Got it?¡¯

    Rafael softly whispers: ¡®Yes Dad.¡¯ But I no longer have any illusions about the IQ of my offspring.

    I have to admit to my great dismay, that the best education system in the world will never make him more intelligent than he is. He¡¯s lacking that kind of peasant ruse that made me successful.

    Thanks to that, I know intuitively how to weave in and out, when to keep one¡¯s head down, who to flatter, who to watch out and be cautious with.

    That¡¯s the way I¡¯ve built my empire and my fortune. Thanks to that attitude I can now live in luxury. In twenty years, my bank account has gone from a few hundred euros, or the equivalent in pesetas of the time, to several billion.

    Over the last ten years, I got around 30 million euros net per month in various forms of trafficking, mostly Moroccan cannabis, which I sell mainly in the Netherlands. But I also have other niche markets. I¡¯ve built a plant over there for ecstasy and other chemical derivatives that increase my income drastically.

    But this morning, part of my dream has just gone up in smoke.

    I realize that I never wanted to face reality; my son is and will remain stupid, a Cretino, no doubt about it.

    Many signs should have warned me but I of course refused to see them.

    Maybe Isabella is right after all. I should never have sent him to a Swiss boarding school. He¡¯s been living with the upper crust, believed he was one of them.

    He eventually grew up in an environment totally disconnected from the real life. Therefore this vanity of his, an exaggerated self-confidence, instead of practical intelligence became his downfall. It¡¯s up to me, Guillermo Sanchez, to fix all that mess.

    It¡¯s a heavy loss, I¡¯ll take responsibility for it in my own way.

    And my son is going to learn his lesson the hard way, to get tough, because there¡¯s a war going on out there and he needs to realize he¡¯s in the middle of it. To life and death ...

    It¡¯s out of question to physically harm him, even if my whole body is itching for that. Again, one of my strengths has always been not to let myself be dominated, ever, by the spirit of revenge, no matter how overwhelming. Over time I¡¯ve learned to recognize it and tame my emotions. Demolishing my own son won¡¯t help and will be a way of announcing to the world that he is the author of the fiasco at the custom border today.

    Indirectly that will direct the police towards me and my trafficking.

    No! My revenge will come later and be more subtle and penetrating...

 Chapter 5 Matthew , Dominique and macaroons

    CHAPTER 5

    I have to go back to my narcotics squad office to report.

    I¡¯ve been following Emma since her return to Paris. Nothing really exciting.

    She¡¯s paid a courtesy visit to her parents in Maisons Laffitte, but she didn¡¯t sleep there.

    She chose a shabby hotel in Montmartre. Of course, the drug is less noticed over there.

    Then she showed up in the office of a company in the 18th, came out with a guy of her age who looked clean though.

    Now she¡¯s back to her hotel.

    I return to my office to do a little investigation in the police registers.

    I want to learn more about this new guy. Being a cop I know very well that appearances are deceptive so even if the guy gave me a good impression, it¡¯s better to find out if I¡¯m right.

    Lets¡¯ first have a coffee at the coffee machine.

    ¡®Matthew! Where have you been? I need to talk to you¡¯, my colleague Helen welcomes me.

    ¡®Later. I need to write my report and investigate further on one guy,¡¯ I answer quickly and go to my desk.

    I spend more than an hour looking for information. I got the name of the owner of the company she visited today , the young man she came out with. His name is Mark Royan. I spent the hour cross-checking each item, but I find nothing disturbing or suspicious.

    The guy has been in the same schools as Emma until the end of high school. After that he studied economics and got a bachelor''s degree with flying colors. He followed with some computing and coding classes online.

    So basically a regular hard working guy, apparently.

    Then he started a video game company--with a friend at first--and has a few employees now. The income seems to be gently coming up, the accounting is clear and neat with taxes, licenses and all the reporting our government requires is in order.

    They recently got a big contract with a distributor in the US which ensures them a comfortable and regular income. He is renting a flat in the 18th. In short, nothing extravagant to report.

    He¡¯s coming from Maisons-Laffitte -- a nice green suburb west of Paris by the way--, I guess he¡¯s one of Emmas¡¯s childhood friends, and given his look and his gentlemanly attitude towards Emma, I bet that there must have been some romance going on between them. I drop the search.

    Let¡¯s go back to her.

    Later that day¡­

    ¡®Nice to meet you! You must be Mark Royan. Would you please wait a few moments here.¡¯ I introduce a young handsome man into a waiting room with green walls, decorated with original paintings.

    When I come back for him, I ask him to follow me. We enter my office where I surprise him by taking my seat behind my desk. As usual, I¡¯m sure he was expecting a man and thought I was the secretary when I escorted him in.

    Another macho reflex to believe that women are only secretaries and not well-known lawyers. In fact, he probably chose the law firm a little at random, supposing that, in this part of Paris they are all equal. Or maybe he chose us because we¡¯ve existed for several generations.

    However the young man has simply forgotten to check that Dominique (my first name ) can also be the name of a woman. He¡¯s trying to hide his surprise, not wishing to be ridiculed because of this slight mistake I suppose. I¡¯m far from stupid. And this moment of surprise to which I¡¯m accustomed still amuses me and is one of those little pleasures in life.

    ¡®Sorry I forgot to present myself : Dominique Thomas¡¯.

    We both stand up and shake hands.

    ¡®For what purpose do you want to build a real estate company ?¡¯, I ask the young man

    I look at his blue eyes behind his dark framed glasses, which help to give his square but slightly long face an air that inspires trust. His blond haircut, neither too short nor too long, confirmed his look as a teenager. His regular jogger body, which makes him look both muscular and slender, brings a touch of maturity to the whole though. His suit and tie are elegant but still discret, very business like.

    ¡®I¡¯ll need an anonymous company that allows me to purchase and rent buildings in every country in the world, whether civilized or not.¡¯

    ¡®I beg your pardon? What kind of housing do you intend to invest in, in what you call ¡®¡¯uncivilized¡¯¡¯ countries?¡¯ Dominique laughs.

    ¡®You can always build hotels or chains of vacation homes for people who wish to escape our society,¡¯ Mark explains. ¡®My intention is to make a lot of money. I need several companies in fact, which make it impossible to go back to me, nor my name nor my family. Do you think you can help me or should I come back? ... I would perfectly understand that a lack of experience on your part...¡¯.

    He doesn¡¯t finish his sentence.The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

    But I¡¯m used to this kind of thinking and don¡¯t feel offended any more as in my early days, having now realized that customers need to be reassured and that the number of years seem to be their criterion on this subject. I¡¯ve accepted the fact that my small figure, my thin face give me a girlish look that I try to compensate for by ultra-classic clothes and an irreproachable haircut... but nothing helps. People always think I¡¯m much younger than I am.

    The fact that I¡¯ve continued my education well ahead of my age and that I¡¯ve also gained experience at home in contact with my father during our family evenings, isn¡¯t so obvious.

    Yet something in this enigmatic client irritates me more than usual and makes me reply a little sharply:

    ¡®My lack of experience, as you say, has already created and managed a hundred companies at least. And my father wouldn¡¯t let me receive you if he didn¡¯t think that...¡¯

    What am I actually apologizing for? And this guy is probably younger than I am !

    I¡¯m waiting for a reaction that doesn¡¯t come. Instead he tells me a confidence that melts my anger.

    ¡®Forgive my rudeness... I didn¡¯t mean to question your abilities. You''re right, age doesn¡¯t matter at all...I''m trying to put you through what I sometimes experience in the business world.

    Youth doesn¡¯t give any rights, on the contrary it rather penalizes one. You have twice as much effort to provide...¡¯

    The tension disappears between us as if by magic; we just found a common ground and finally smile at each other.

    I begin a thorough questioning on his criteria as a client to understand the legal structure that I¡¯m going to put up for him. I take carefully many notes, asking relevant questions, showing a great quality of listening.

    ¡® I knew I was right by coming through your door. I have to admit that it¡¯s a real pleasure to meet someone of my generation, obviously as passionate as I am. I like your concern for the smallest d¨¦tails,¡¯ he says openly and honestly.

    Wow. I¡¯m not used to this kind of straightforwardness from a client. It¡¯s rather refreshing.

    We talk for two hours, during which I offer him a break around a cup of tea and delicious little macaroons, very fashionable in Paris at the moment.

    I finally get up and take him back to the front door.

    ¡®I''ll call you next week for the first company. You should then be able to sign in a few weeks, once the first recordings are done.¡¯

    ¡®Oh, I thought I could sign by the end of this week. I wanted to put an option on a building that I¡¯m interested in.¡¯

    ¡®Unfortunately things are not going so fast at the administrative level, especially in France. You¡¯ll have to make the agency wait but they should help you without problem. It''s up to you to make them understand that you are a serious and future potential customer.¡¯

    He thanks me kindly and I¡¯m surprised by the energetic firm and yet so gentle handshake.

    ... Dominique would have been very surprised indeed to see Mark¡¯s behaviour once outside.

    Once on the pavement, back in the open air, he straightens up and lets the sun''s rays warm his face.

    A feeling of freedom and power invades him. He¡¯s just laid the first stone of the building he¡¯s planning to extend on all continents.

    He¡¯s more than ever determined to wage a battle with the whole world - a pitiless battle without mercy, delivered against a vicious, hidden, crawling, enemy not ignored by all but neglected by all, hiding and rotting what was most beautiful in our society: children, young people, artists, the future.

    He walks away under the trees of the long avenue Victor Hugo and takes an adjacent street. As soon as he can, he enters a door behind an elderly lady. He follows her and steps behind her into the elevator.

    ¡®Which floor are you going to Madam?¡¯ he asks politely.

    ¡®The third floor, thank you¡¯.

    He presses on number three and helps her out when they arrive.

    Then he contines until the sixth. He¡¯s hoped to find a corridor there with maid¡¯s rooms and is not mistaken.

    Nobody around!

    He takes off his glasses, his blue lenses, his blond wig. He turns his suit jacket inside out which looks like a very casual jacket now. Then he takes from his briefcase a simple navy blue T-shirt. He takes off his shirt which he folds carefully and puts it in his briefcase.

    He goes down in the elevator and casually walks through the lobby to the street. He¡¯s breathing better, being himself again, the real Mark, relaxed and not pretending to be a young, ambitious, careerist man.

    Mark thinks that he¡¯s very lucky to be able to work at what he wants and to be able to rely as he does on his old best friend Samy.

    He feels also pleased to have found a nice, smart and fine financial and legal advisor, which will be an essential tool for the future. But he chose to keep a certain distance and therefore the disguise. This is also a way to protect those around him in case things go wrong. Not really knowing him, not being able to give an exact description seems perhaps exaggerated, but in the end it¡¯s a security for those he involuntarily is involving in his adventure.

    The plans are jostling in his head. So many steps to take before revenge. To congratulate himself on what he¡¯s already accomplished and to give himself courage for the future, he decides to walk down the avenue Victor Hugo and calls his friend Samy.

    ¡®Join me at Carette¡¯s, Place du Trocadero. We''re going to have an orgy of macaroons and hot chocolate ... Come over. Be my guest...¡¯

    ¡®Don¡¯t you think I''m fat enough already? But, if it''s free I''ll come... You know me. You know how to talk to my feelings at least.¡¯

    Mark is very fond of this tea room, which was founded in 1927 by a couple of pastry chefs, who had created a temple of savory sweets, famous for their macaroons. And for Mark this place is full of good memories and synonymous with luck.

    His family always came here before exams or other events to encourage the one concerned, or to celebrate successes and anniversaries. The old-fashioned decoration contributes to Mark''s magical place, making it timeless in a way.

    ¡®Always faithful to this place huh?¡¯ Samy asks when he arrives, letting his imposing figure fall into a velvet pillow chair. His slightly unkempt outfit is clashing with the place but Samy doesn¡¯t care.

    ¡®So tell me... What are we celebrating again?¡¯

    ¡®I saw a lawyer to lay the groundwork for the future. But the less you know the better for you... I swear... In fact it was a female lawyer, by the way.¡¯

    ¡®Cute at least or daffy?¡¯

    ¡®Cute that''s for sure, and especially surprisingly young. She looks like twenty-five years old, like us, but given her experience and the years of schooling she had to do...Hm, she must be at least thirty.¡¯

    ¡®I can see a gleam in your eyes... a little crush?¡¯

    ¡®No! I will never mix business and sex. Out of the question !¡¯

    ¡®Ok don¡¯t be angry... I just tried. But you tell me nothing and I''m fed up sometimes... Why does it sound like you don¡¯t trust me... It''s like that hate and thirst for revenge in you! What triggered it?¡¯

    Mark leaned over and lowered his voice to answer him.

    ¡®We''re just going to clean up rotten areas that everyone knows about, but no one cares--or at least, no one does anything effective about.

    ''I decided that enough is enough¡­ The less you know the better and we¡¯re not here for that matter...we have something more pressing to discuss:

    ''So what flavour for your macaroons?¡¯

 Chapter 6 Mark+ Samy on Emma ,

    CHAPTER 6

    I¡¯m reading through Benjiro''s contract so that everything is ready for tomorrow.

    I stay up late and spend part of the night looking for information and reading the news about this cannabis seizure on the Spanish border that everyone is talking about. Then I carefully erase all my searches of the computer history.

    Computers are today real gold mines to learn about someone¡¯s habits and activities. I¡¯m well aware of it. Samy has briefed me on that thoroughly. Common people aren¡¯t aware how a good hacker can easily work out and dig up every single secret.

    I suddenly feel exhausted and realize that I haven¡¯t eaten dinner, so busy with all my preparations...

    I turn off my computers and all the lights and go out. On my way home, I stop at a Japanese restaurant where I take up some sushi to eat on my sofa in complete tranquility.

    Sushi always reminds me of my student years driving back and forth through the city as a delivery man. A very fashionable dish indeed in Paris. I really know the city by now thanks to that time.

    Once my meal is finished, I to to bed. But pictures are going round and round in my head. As I can¡¯t control them or fall asleep, I prefer to get up, put on a pair of pants, a T-shirt, a sweater. and go out. Let¡¯s see if Samy is sleeping--probably not.

    I walk up the rue des Martyrs, pass near the club La Cigale, and quickly arrive at the place Abbesses at the bottom of Montmartre.

    I slip into the lane in which Samy lives, type the door code, and climb the narrow staircase that reminds me how Montmartre used to be a poor working-class district at the beginning of the century.

    Samy carefully opens the door and looks surprised that is was me scratching at it. Then he gives a sigh of relief followed by annoyance.

    ¡®You scared me like hell!¡¯ he exclaims. ¡®Never again! Call before next time.¡¯

    ¡®You don¡¯t get it! I smile. ¡®I hadn¡¯t planned to come over! I just couldn¡¯t sleep. You can imagine! We¡¯re so close to the goal with all the risks we take...I can¡¯t help but review all in details and ask myself if we¡¯ve thought of everything. Otherwise we¡¯re dead! And I couldn¡¯t forgive myself  to have enrolled you in this adventure with me.¡¯

    ¡®Oh come on! I¡¯m a big guy too! I can decide for myself. And by the way, if you¡¯re dead you won¡¯t worry any more,¡¯ he laughs. So true!

    He adds: ¡®I¡¯m fully aware of the risks, believe me. I¡¯ve no illusions whatsoever about the people we¡¯re going to tackle! At least I¡¯m feeling useful.

    ''Yes, I also was reviewing everything again and again. I think it¡¯s going to work just fine. And if we¡¯re dead, at least we tried to change things for the better¡­¡¯

    He obviously is a bit nervous since he carries on.

    ¡®And anyway we¡¯re all going to die one day, it¡¯s just a matter of how fast. I don¡¯t mind dying for my ideas. "Ok but by slow death," as Brassens used to sing...my parents made me listen to him on holiday. They wrote real good lyrics at that time. I was born at the wrong time in fact. Too soon or too late.

    ''Our current materialistic world isn¡¯t for me. When everything is about yourself, your clothes, your selfies, your house, your car, no, this lifestyle isn¡¯t for me.

    ''I just feel sad.That''s why I followed you. You¡¯re less radical than me, but at least you¡¯re acting instead of waiting. Play the righters of wrongs, like Robin Hood, that suits me!¡¯ he finishes trying to provoke me.

    ¡®Stop your bullshit,¡¯ I say. ¡®Okay so the first plan is Japan against Spain?¡¯

    ¡®No, I¡¯ve a better idea. First I must tell you that you were followed after Emma''s visit.''

    That¡¯s bad news. I¡¯m shocked.

    ¡®How do you know ? I didn¡¯t notice anything!¡¯

    ¡®Of course you haven¡¯t! He¡¯s a cop and a good one obviously! From the Narcotics¡¯. What a coincidence! Don¡¯t tell me you¡¯re surprised!¡¯

    ¡®What surprises me is that you discovered it when you weren¡¯t even there. How come?¡¯

    ¡®In order to protect you I¡¯ve put up an alert as soon as someone is searching for your name in any system.¡¯

    ¡®And how do you manage to get data on cops?¡¯

    ¡®You probably know they don¡¯t have the latest protections. I don¡¯t know who programs their systems but the guys are far behind the latest technology that¡¯s for sure.¡¯

    ¡®Wait a minute ! How do you know it has to do with Emma?¡¯

    ¡®Because first I saw the connection with her visit today. It was confirmed when I discovered the guy was looking for information on Emma¡¯s background and school. And then I learned new things about her! You won¡¯t be happy to hear, I warn you!¡¯

    ¡®If it''s to tell me she''s a drug addict, that''s not new. Now if the cops are on her back it''s more serious. Is she a dealer too?¡¯

    ¡®Worse than that old man! She¡¯s trafficking between Colombia and California! Why do you think she left France to study there? The law is much cooler over there.¡¯

    ¡®Damn! It''s worse than I thought then!¡¯

    My shoulders feel suddenly bloody heavy. I¡¯m staring down at my sneakers to hide my emotions.

    ¡®And it''s not a simple cannabis traffic. It''s apparently coke... and not in small amounts! She¡¯s in real trouble. She¡¯s really in danger!¡¯.

    ¡®Explain a bit more¡¯, I ask briefly, trying to hide my feelings behind a neutral tone that isn¡¯t natural. My pain is visible now I¡¯m worried for her.This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

    ¡®Well... she¡¯s been trafficking cocaine regularly by plane. She took a job as an English teacher in Cartagena de Indias, in Colombia. That way she could justify traveling professionally. The drug was probably delivered to her over there, and as she was returning to San Francisco twice a month she looked familiar. Then it was easy to get through customs every time, be friends with them.  Customs officers aren¡¯t so suspicious of a young American graduate coming back and forth, a teacher on top of it... you can imagine. The title still has some prestige I believe¡¯.

    ¡®But I don¡¯t get it. Colombia isn¡¯t a large cannabis producer, that I know...

    The biggest producer is Morocco. They¡¯ve got the world record in cannabis resin in any case.¡¯

    ¡®I see you''re well informed¡¯ Samy confirms. ¡®It¡¯s indeed Africa and more exactly Morocco that is king on that matter. They¡¯re flooding Europe via Spain. If you want my opinion, it¡¯s surely why the consumption has become legal in this country.Now Emma, if she went to Colombia, it''s because she''s addicted to cocaine, old man, not cannabis or maybe both. In any case, the three major producers of coke are Colombia, Bolivia and Peru.

    ''You heard about Manuel Noriega and the FARC cartel. In fact, cocaine is produced in Colombia then transferred to other South American countries and finally transiting through the Caribbean for the US.

    ''As for amphetamines, people often don¡¯t know that its biggest producer is Europe: it is mainly made in the Netherlands, Poland and Belgium. And yes, still these countries have a good and clean reputation right? Yet there are plenty of scoundrels there too.

    ''Afghanistan is the largest poppy producer for opium. It alone provides 87% of the world market, all transiting mainly through Asia. For the United States, however, 60% of the heroin consumed comes from Colombia and passes through Mexico.

    ''It''s even a serious ecological problem, because in fact they''re exhausting the land, they burn forests to plant what will produce this shit. But that, the greens never talk about it! Or anyone else!  And for a good reason! Drug trafficking is the third largest source of income in the world after oil and the food industry according to the World Health Organization. It''s crazy, isn¡¯t it?''

    ¡®Wow¡¯ is the only word coming out of my mouth.

    ¡®It¡¯s worse than I thought¡± I finally manage to utter.

    ''According to other sources,'' Samy went on, ''weapons come first, followed by drug trafficking and oil coming third. It¡¯s closer to the truth in my opinion, since these guys don¡¯t declare their income and don¡¯t pay taxes. And nobody does anything! The poor Narcotics agents in our countries! They must feel helpless running after shadows that they never manage to catch and break down their traffic definitively.

    ''We could end it though. Huh? We only have to tackle the source of the problems: money.

    ''Well I¡¯m talking too much now.You¡¯re bored with me¡¯.

    I just got up to take a drink in the fridge. Yes he knows all that. I¡¯ve also searched the subject. But I understand that Samy, alone behind his screen most of the time, needs to talk to someone from time to time.

    ¡®No, you don¡¯t bother me at all. I''m just shocked to learn about cocaine and Emma. So I''ll have to change our plans¡¯.

    ¡®Not at all!¡¯

    ¡®Ok. Tell me, what else do you know about Emma or what else do the Narcos know about her?

    ¡®Are you really sure you can take anything?¡¯

    ¡®Yes don¡¯t worry. I expect the worst since that famous night when I saw her¡­¡¯.

    I¡¯ve said too much already.

    ¡®What did you see ? Come on man! Spit it out for god¡¯s sake! You¡¯ve been keeping something on your heart for too long. I can see that something is wearing you down. You¡¯ve been in love with her since high school and you know it will never be possible between you? Is that it?¡¯

    ¡®That and something worse¡­¡¯ Again words get stuck in my mouth.

    ¡®Yes I know¡¯ Samy drops.

    ¡®What do you think you know?¡¯I say expecting the worst now.

    ¡®She prostitutes herself to pay for drugs,¡¯ my friend finally reveals and his attitude shows he¡¯s afraid of my reaction.

    ¡®Yes.I already know that. You''re not telling me anything new."I utter..

    ¡®What? How did you find out? Samy asks astonished.

    ¡®That''s what I actually discovered one night in December by spying on her. I suspected she was a already a drug addict and wanted to find out who she met and where she got it from.

    ''That night I was on the roof of the building next door and watched her through a window.

    She was being fucked by two guys at the same time and when I saw how old they were, I understood it was not for pleasure but for her habit she did it of course!

    ''I could see she was high, indifferent to everything.It was horrible.That¡¯s how I realized that she was selling her body for her fucking dope. Then I wanted to top myself for a second. Just walk off the roof into oblivion. Seeing with my eyes this decay, this degradation, these pigs who took advantage of her, that was too much to bear. I felt life was not worth living anymore. How could she behave that way?

    ''And then I thought no! I was not going to let them win. Okay, I never got her to stop, she always avoided the subject. But that night, the last year at high school, I decided to stop my bullshit irresponsible teenager kind of life. To stop being like everyone else.

    We all know about a problem, we talk about it, we¡¯re furious about it and that¡¯s it! No action after that . Just talking and talking.

    ''So I made a decision: I¡¯ll to do something about it. If I can save other people I¡¯ll die happy.

    ''That¡¯s when I started to work hard, in class, to get god marks, to get an education, to take classes on line.¡¯.

    A heavy silence follows that confession which has pulled us back in years.

    ¡®Wow! I see¡­¡¯ Samy whispers, a little dizzy by these revelations. I thought her habit and selling herself was new. How old was she then? Sixteen? A bit more?

    ''I remember now. That¡¯s the day you came back to school and decided to sit in the front row, and be a perfect student suddenly. Right? I always wondered why you changed so fast. We were about to have an argument that day. Remember? I almost hated you that day¡¯.

    ¡®Yes that was the day after. That¡¯s when I decided to get my own business. I had set up a plan and that¡¯s why I took my studies seriously. To tackle that world you need to be competent. That¡¯s why I took a degree in economics and so on.To fight something you¡¯ve got to understand it and be the best at what you do. And this world is about money, all over the place.¡¯

    Samy comes up with something else.

    ¡®In her file there¡¯s a name coming up often. A certain Serge Fabre.¡¯

    ¡®Oh no! I can¡¯t believe it! Fuck! He''s a close friend of her father working in the regional council,¡¯ I exclaim.

    ¡®Oh shit! Well, at the same time does it surprise you? It¡¯s obvious that many politicians have big ambitions and are ready to get their hands dirty to reach their goal. He seems to have a connection in the Colombian traffic anyway. I guess he¡¯s the one who connected her to this traffic but i might be wrong.¡¯

    ¡®Oh I feel like throwing up! But damn! ¡®I suddenly realize.

    ¡®He was one of the guys who was fucking her that night with another man! I was standing too far away, of course, to see his face but I kept thinking he reminded me of someone! You know: her family trusts this bastard completely!¡¯ I say completely disgusted.

    ¡®I don¡¯t know how but we¡¯ll break him down.We¡¯ll destroy him. Add him to our list¡¯ I add, suddenly eager to act.

    I jump to my feet and go out without even saying goodbye to my friend.

    I need some fresh air. I¡¯m full of rage. I¡¯ve a lump in my throat and tears of helplessness are darkening my sight. I let them run, hoping to get free of my old demons.

    It was some relief to spit it out to my best friend, feeling a bit less lonely that way.

    But I¡¯m worried for Emma, more than I said. She¡¯s trafficking so she can be destroyed anytime if she fails-- these drugdealers have not mercy.

    The Narcotics agents are watching her. On top of al. And I can¡¯t help her or be involved either without putting my family and everything I¡¯ve built so far in danger. I won¡¯t change my plan for her event if I it hurts in my chest thinking f her. Tears are silently running down my cheeks.

    How to keep anyone I cared about out of the muck¡­ Would it even be possible?

 Chapter 7 Emma, Fabrice and Matthew

    Chapter 7

    God. My meeting with Mark really upsets me after all. I like this guy but I''m not worth his friendship any more. If he knew what I¡¯m capable of he¡¯ll despise me and will never see me again I guess.

    I¡¯m very impressed by what he has achieved so far. I remember the sudden change that happened to him our last year of high school. Nobody got it. Not even his parents.

    He started to arrive on time, sitting always in the front rows in class. He who used to be rather dissipated and a bit provocative with the teachers, turned into an attentive student, taking notes, thinking during class and even after.

    There was a firmness unknown until then and at home, his mother herself didn¡¯t know what to think. Should she be worried or rejoice at this turnaround?

    I remember how his marks skyrocketed, how the teachers were surprised and some on the defensive or suspicious waited for any sign of cheating or failure. But Mark, against all odds, was unshakable and remained incredibly focus, spending all his time studying on line or in his books.

    He also managed to enroll his pal Samy in this new adventure. Mark has this kind of charisma.

    He trained him to understand and learn his lessons, and fill in his gaps. They stood together, checked and worked together as soon as possible at Mark''s home or in cafes near the school. That¡¯s when Samy the geek adopted new glasses. His round mounts, added to his blond curls and his big blue eyes emphasize his big-child side. The contrast with Mark''s thick-haired brown head, which emphasize his square face with his determined chin and dark, penetrating gaze, was striking.

    Mark maintained his course, being motivated and a hardworking student, while I was getting more and more into drugs and sex to pay for my dope.

    Finally when June arrived Mark passed his final test with great marks while I hardly managed to pass the exam myself.

    The following summer, he spent it working for a Japanese restaurant delivering sushi throughout the capital. He seemed to enjoy discovering Paris and its unknown neighborhoods.

    He used to talk like a big kid about the sumptuous apartments near the Trocadero and around the Eiffel Tower.

    Above all, he took great pleasure in riding around Paris at night on a scooter. The aesthetics of the city moved him every time. He said then that to work as a deliveryman under these conditions was not really working.

    I admired him for that and felt even worse, doing nothing to earn my living or becoming an adult. I continued my way downwards instead.

    Like today. To avoid suffering ¡­ let¡¯s go out.

    Let¡¯s forget my life as usual by going out to a party, just to escape reality. I¡¯m well aware of what I¡¯m doing. Destroying myself. But who cares really except Mark maybe?

    My whole life is an escape, a runaway from everything.

    Thanks to my family, I¡¯ve kept many contacts in some upper class circles of Paris and after a few phone calls I¡¯m invited to a party in a mansion near the Champs-Elysees.

    Well, this handsome middle-aged man is attracted by me, as usual - I don¡¯t know why I attract this kind of men, slightly gray hair, close to their forties.

    He¡¯s pretty much outright.

    ¡®Are you looking for work by chance, young lady?¡¯

    At first surprised, I think it could be a good sign. So I reply laughing.

    ¡®You¡¯re incredible. How did you guess? Or is it so obvious?¡¯

    ¡®Not at all. I assure you. In fact I¡¯m the one looking for people like you. Slim, with class, simple but stylish. Let me introduce myself. Fabrice Descamps. I run a modeling agency and you know we are always looking for new faces or new lines and you would be perfect for this job. Have you never thought of it?¡¯

    ¡®Me? A model? You''re kidding.¡¯

    ¡®Not at all! On the contrary! You¡¯re perfectly in tune with the times.¡¯

    ¡®And for what kind of brands?¡¯ I ask.

    ''Top secret. If you feel like it, you must first have a shoot with my favorite photographer. Tomorrow morning is it possible?¡¯

    ¡®Oh well ! You at least, you¡¯re direct. Yes, give me a number and I''ll call you tomorrow.¡¯

    ¡®You don¡¯t know your schedule? Or you have to move something else maybe? he asksThis tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

    ¡®Exactly¡¯ I answer laconically, not wishing to expand on my schedule with a stranger.

    ¡®Okay, I don¡¯t insist. Here''s my card. I''m waiting for your call tomorrow. And your name is?¡¯

    ¡®Emma¡¯ I say taking the card from his hands and putting it into my bag.

    Then I turn on my heels and walk away to show him we¡¯re done for now.

    I need to think about his unexpected request.

    I¡¯m mingling for while, catch a few delicious small sandwiches. I refuse the glass of champagne that was offered to me and opt for a simple fruit juice.

    Then I¡¯m looking around the room, looking for the trays on which run free coke lines.

    Discreetly I sneak into the back of the room, near the DJ who is struggling to liven up the evening. Once I¡¯ve snorted some lines, the euphoric side made its effect very quickly.

    I got in the center of the dance floor and let myself go to the rhythm of the music, just to forget everything. Let¡¯s go and get another line.

    I¡¯m dancing I don¡¯t know with whom. I hate his palms on my bottom but I don¡¯t care to argue.

    Let¡¯s take a last line and go home before the nice effects disappear.

    A joint would relax me on my way home, facing my loneliness.

    During this time inside¡­

    Fabrice followed Emma with his eyes and understood her little game.

    He was glad to see her approach the lines of coke. Obviously, it explained her diaphanous air, her fragile look and the slight trembling of her hands she had taken care to hide in the pockets of her pants.

    Good to know for the future he thought.

    He spent the rest of the evening observing her dancing, being flirted, looking elsewhere, indifferent to both men and women. Then she went back to find another line of powder. Her little game lasted until midnight.

    During this time outside¡­

    Matthew was here in the evening when she came in this mansion.

    He took the opportunity to note the comings and goings of some celebrities. There were some great names in the world of finance, politics, fashion, modeling and showbiz. He took some pictures with his cell phone and notes on his notebook. Many faces were familiar to him but he couldn¡¯t put a name on them. He usually had other fish to fry than reading about the so called ¡¯People¡¯. But with photos and recognition programs in the office, he would find out that the next day. He patiently hid in his car, until Emma¡¯s departure.

    With her smile and her pace, he guessed that she was high on something and thought he had been well inspired to note all these comings and goings of famous people: he¡¯d been right in suspecting her to have come here to get some dope. Coke usually in this kind of parties.

    Recently arrived, she must already be suffering from withdrawal symptoms. Or she was seeking contacts.

    The evidence accumulated tonight could still be used someday. The case was growing even though, in fact, drug consumers didn¡¯t interest him really.

    But his job had taught him for a long time that chance was often a good thing and some details, insignificant at first, could be crucial to trace back to some important people.

    Fortunately, criminals always ended up making mistakes. Matthew was growing fond of Emma, and when he saw her get into a Mercedes that had stopped by her side, he had some chills for her. He was hoping that it is not one of these bastards, taking advantage of the situation.

    He followed them.

    The car just stopped at the her front door. Matthew, curious, continued to follow him.

    The driver stopped at what appeared to be his home. Matthew took photographs of him and noted his license plate.

    Too tired for a second night of hideout in front of Emma¡¯s home, he called his colleague Ezio to replace him.

    Ezio slept in his car. Starving at seven o''clock in the morning, he went out to stretch his legs and have a coffee-croissant at the bar counter at the corner. Then he waited again until Emma came out about ten o''clock.

    Well dressed and made up, she headed for the subway. Ezio nearly lost her several times. She went out to the George V subway and walked down the avenue of the same name. There, she rushed into a beautiful building. Ezio approached and noted "Model Descamps Agency".

    This matched up with the name of the owner of the car that had taken her home the night before. Things started to fall into place.

    What''s the point of continuing his spying? He called Matthew who actually told him to go back to the headquarters. He had interesting news.

    Back to Emma¡­

    I get up this morning feeling both exhausted and excited. I pick up the card from my bag and give a phone call to the manager of the modeling agency. ¡® Come as soon as you can. We''re waiting for you¡¯, he says and hangs up.

    I take the tube and walk down to a large, luxurious building.

    I go inside in a large, spacious hall decorated with some piece of art.

    I give my name to the receptionist.

    ¡®Emma Larson for Fabrice Descamps please¡¯.

    She shows me into a shooting studio.

    Fabrice comes to meet me and introduces me to the photographer.

    ¡®Thank you for coming so fast. Jean-Louis will do you a little shooting session.

    First of all, Sophie will give you some clothes to put on and she will make you up.

    You''re just as pretty as you are, but it''s just for the lights.¡¯

    ¡®Fine with me¡¯ , I say and enter her make up studio.

    I don¡¯t like the style she chose: the clothes are too baggylike, the make-up makes me look sad. But I know, that¡¯s the last fashion in modelling.

    I guess Fabrice liked me because I¡¯m long, slim--almost too skinny. With my way of living, I¡¯m seldom hungry for some reason.

    Then Sophie brings me back to the shooting studio.

    ¡®Come in, feel comfortable¡¯ Fabrice says and shows me to the spot in the room with lamps on and a green screen behind.

    ¡®Why is it green¡¯ I wonder.

    ¡®That way we can add whatever we like behind¡¯ Jean-Louis replies.

    Then he turns on some strong fans so my hair is flying away¡­

    ''Don¡¯t look at me, move, feel free, imagine you¡¯re in the mountains somewhere or one of your favorite places, as long as it¡¯s not a caf¨¦ or a pub, haha¡¯, he adds laughing at his own joke.

    Maybe he¡¯s trying to make me feel relaxed, but I definitely don¡¯t think he¡¯s funny.

    ''You know you look great, very photogenic indeed.¡¯ Fabrice nods while looking at the results.

    ''Thanks. So what¡¯s next?¡¯

    ¡®I¡¯ll meet the manager tomorrow so I¡¯ll let you know as soon as I know. But he should be pleased with your profile.¡¯

    I go and change clothes before leaving. I¡¯m not sure I like doing this. I felt so much like an empty doll. A rather strange feeling.

    But my whole life is quite empty anyway so what am I complaining about?

    If it¡¯s good money. We¡¯ll see if they liked me.

    Outside

    Outside Matthew is observing and taking notes and pictures of who comes in and out, and recognize some familiar faces. No wonder¡­ When it comes to drug dealers it¡¯s a little world indeed.

    Still, he¡¯s suddenly astonished to see an unexpected person coming in the studios¡­

 chapter 8 Mark and Samy

    NEW CHAPTER 8

    I¡¯m sitting in my office when Samy arrives all excited.

    ¡®Can we take a walk?¡¯ he says with a wink and disappears.

    Once outside, we walk silently to the Tuileries Garden, our favorite park for our underground meetings.

    There, in the shade of trees we can safely exchange ideas and information.

    ¡®I spent all night continuing searching on the Cops exchanges concerning the last seizure on the Spanish border.

    One man behind that is called Raphael Sanchez. In fact the stopped truck belongs to a food transport company perfectly normal. But the driver, Rogero, admitted to being paid black to carry a fraudulent transport. A normal and honest guy usually but his daughter is sick and needs a costly operation so he gave in when he saw he could afford it in one day.

    ¡®Except that now he¡¯s in bigger trouble¡¯ I say.

    ¡®Yes and no. To get out he decided to help the police, which he did by giving the name of his sponsor, Raphael Sanchez¡¯

    ¡®Yeah, it''s always the same story ... money leads this world and rots it at all ends. Even honest people can change if you pay them enough. Except that the honest ones get quickly arrested, for some reason. Too naive I suppose.¡¯

    ¡®Yes , anyway I continued to search on Sanchez. You¡¯re going to like it.

    He¡¯ not very clever, if you see what I mean. He is the only son of Guillermo Sanchez, he studied in Switzerland in private and expensive boarding school. He returned to Spain a short time ago. His father is more than shady. In fact he¡¯s suspected for heavy drug and other traffic like women and even children for a while but they could never charge him. No proof, nothing. He is clever this one. He¡¯s got a import-export business that makes everything look legal. He¡¯s even losing money there but I guess that¡¯s a good way to clean the other money too. He pays his tax in Spain, his wife is a regular employee there as well.¡¯

    ¡®What more did you find on him?¡¯ I interrupt him, suddenly very curious.

    ¡®He started as a bricklayer at 18 and has become richer and richer over the years. He renovated many Moroccan villas, approached international celebrities.

    Soon after he bought a villa, with a swimming pool and all the usual trimmings. No need to be an expert to see the connection! We also wonder how the cops and the tax officers don¡¯t react on such things. As soon as bastards get rich, oddly enough, they all do more or less the same thing; buy luxury cars, their credit cards explode for luxury clothes, jewely and other unnecessary items. Women are suddenly invited to fashion shows, they spend a fortune in cosmetics, cosmetic surgery etc.

    Anyway. I managed to go back to a Swiss account that allowed Sanchez to pay the studies of his dear son. He also has one account in Morocco, one in Marshall Islands, one in Guatemala. As usual, he diversifies all over the place and plays on all the boards. In my opinion, this is the ideal plan for the future ... I just need to crack his codes¡¯

    ¡®Yes. That sounds perfect¡¯ I reply.

    I may need an expert. He¡¯s in Sweden, hiding in the woods but I have direct contact because I really helped him out once. Otherwise he would be sleeping behind bars today.

    ¡®You never told me about it! You also have some secrets, right?¡¯ I laugh.

    ¡®Watch out anyway. If he¡¯s already been suspected I prefer to skip him.¡¯

    ¡®No. Don¡¯t worry dude. It has nothing to do with his hacker activity.

    But I promised never to talk to a living soul about it.

    And he¡¯s the right guy we need in the future, trust me a little. I know what I¡¯m talking about.

    I take care of the computing issues...you take care of the business¡¯ Samy sounds a bit angry.

    ¡®Ok. Calmos man, sorry! So continue your research and tell me as soon as you¡¯re ready.

    I¡¯ll launch Asia on my side as soon as possible... We¡¯ll finally be able to have some fun soon¡¯.

    ¡®Sounds good to me man.¡¯ Samy adds smiling again.

    ¡®By the way, we¡¯ve got to get out the next game pretty quickly.

    I happened to see the pre-test for a game that is frankly inspired by ours. Wonder if nothing has leaked outside. But let¡¯s not get paranoid.¡¯ I sigh.

    ¡®What about your interview yesterday?¡¯

    ¡®Oh. Benjiro. A great guy who speaks both Japanese and Chinese. A real asset. And his financial ambitions are quite reasonable. I was afraid he¡¯d take advantage of the situation. But no. He¡¯s cool. He understood that we¡¯re still starting and that he¡¯s got a bright future with us.

    So he isn¡¯t too greedy.¡¯

    I¡¯m going to see him in an hour to sign his contract and if he agrees he¡¯ll start right away.

    In which case we¡¯ll go to Japan in two or three weeks.¡¯

    ¡®Sounds great. By the way,¡¯ began Samy, embarrassed by clearing his throat.Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

    ¡®Go ahead. What else?¡¯

    ¡®Well, listen. It¡¯s about Emma. Don¡¯t get angry but I couldn¡¯t help but look at her bank account and there are weird things on it.¡¯

    ¡®So you can¡¯t help but get into others¡¯ business¡¯, I reply a bit annoyed.

    ¡®It''s for your safety. And mine at the same time. I remind you that we¡¯re in the same boat! If you fall, I fall. And Emma is far from clean.¡¯

    He¡¯s going on anyway.

    ¡®Of course as a teacher she can¡¯t get so much. It doesn¡¯t make sense. And the money doesn¡¯t come from her parents either. I checked. She cashes a lot. But it disappears. It looks pretty much like she¡¯s cleaning somebody else¡¯s money.

    I know you like her, but she¡¯s really mad and with odd people.¡¯

    I¡¯m getting both curious and worried of course so I frown at him.

    ¡®What else now?¡¯ Samy seems to be expecting my reaction because he picks up his tablet and shows me photos he collected on the net.

    Emma is clearly in a stripped position, in the midst of depraved rich men drowned in drugs and debauchery in a place that looks like the west coast of the US or South America, somewhere with palm trees and a rather dry area.

    I can¡¯t help but gasp.

    I certainly suspected that her addiction led her too far but then to be fucked by old debris again. So she never changed that attitude. Even now she¡¯s older and more mature.

    I can¡¯t recognize my dear childhood friend. It¡¯s not like the one I know or want to remember.

    ¡®That''s one thing.¡¯ Samy continues.

    ¡®But look what really worries me.¡¯

    I see now pictures of Emma stamped "internal police". One shows her on January last year at the Colombian customs, holding a large coat firmly under her arm.

    The other represents her again in February checking-in a large suitcase at the airport.

    Another one month later and so on: a trip to Colombia every month.

    ''Where do you get these from?¡¯ I ask in a muffled voice.

    Samy ignores my question and simply replies:

    ¡®Well, tell me what you think¡¯.

    ¡®I don¡¯t have a lot of illusions about her anymore. Now what you see is just the proof that things are much worse than we thought and that we¡¯ll actually have to pay attention to that. To be connected with her can get us into serious trouble, man. Shit.

    Obviously she¡¯s really in trouble. The cops know about her but for some reason are just watching her. I don¡¯t get why. Do you?¡¯

    I¡¯m still so pissed off by what I saw I can¡¯t think clearly right now I¡¯m afraid.

    I manage to continue.

    ¡®Ok. What we know is she prostitutes herself for her dope! I wish I could help her but frankly I... I feel both angry and helpless. She was so nice when she was young... What a mess! How to help her out of this crap? I guess it¡¯s too late now. I suspected all these years she was involved in something sordid. But somewhere, I didn¡¯t want to know it! I thank you for showing me the truth, which is much worse than I thought. When I think she told me that she was studying, etc. and that I believed it! All this is just bullshit! I think that''s what hurts the most: it''s to see that even with me, she isn¡¯t able to be honest, tell her problems or at least not to lie¡¯.

    We both continue our walk in the park in silence.

    Samy tries to comfort me:

    ¡®Of course she might be trying to protect you by lying to you. In a way, the less you know about her criminal activities, the safer you are.¡¯

    ¡®Still how can she look at me, smile at me, laugh with me about casual life? How can she look at herself in the mirror every morning? Doesn¡¯t she realize that by doing her shitty traffic, she''s dragging other people into the same crappy life style? She¡¯s destroying others too? And she¡¯s helping others bastards to get richer and richer every day on people¡¯s misery.

    What do you want me to say to you? I feel disgusted by all this trafficking!

    But I really didn¡¯t need that right now. I must keep a cool head and not let my emotions muddle my mind. It won¡¯t be easy.¡¯

    Samy keeps silent for a while, then adds:

    ¡®Just tell me something and we won¡¯t talk about it any more. You¡¯re really in love with her despite every thing right?¡¯

    I put a poor smile on my face and raise my eyes towards him, without being able to utter a single word¡­ My throat is hurting, tears are not far away¡­

    I guess it¡¯s a confession in itself.

    Samy looks at me with a hint of pity in his eyes. I hate that. Without saying anything either, he just pats me embarrassed on the shoulder as to comfort me. ¡®Let¡¯s sit down and have a cup of coffee in this coffee shop. It¡¯s on me Man.¡¯

    I follow him, still wondering what to do with Emma.

    I don¡¯t know why I¡¯m still in love with this girl. After all I know about her know, all I just saw, I should logically drop everything. But love has unfortunately nothing to do with logic;

    I can¡¯t help but see the real Emma behind all that, the wonderful little girl who used to be so openhearted, so humble, so funny. I wish I could just take her in my arms and tell her I forgive her for everything, that I can help her. I feel so badly for meeting her while she¡¯s in Paris. When I saw her last I realized how I¡¯ve missed her, her eyes, her smile, her laugh, our conversations, our games, our jokes.

    Still I don¡¯t want to jeopardize our plans, our challenge. If the cops are on her, I shouldn¡¯t get in touch with her - too risky.

    ¡®Now let¡¯s talk about Spain a bit more. You know this Rafael seems to be a big jerk. All his records from school show or say the same thing: he¡¯ll never set the world on fire. He¡¯s been struggling to pass all his exams. He obviously loves girls, clubbing, driving cars, drinking too much and smoking pot. His parents probably hoped to take revenge over the society by sending him to an expensive Swiss boarding school but it didn¡¯t work that well for him¡¯.

    ¡®Ok but what¡¯s the plan with this story? How can we use it?¡¯ I wonder.

    ¡®We have the choice. Shall we mess with the Netherlands, where he was supposed to deliver the dope? Or shall we mess with Morocco, where I think the cannabis came from? I need to get new access to those guys--I need a few more days.¡¯

    ¡®Don¡¯t forget the other son of a bitch, Serge Fabre. I want to see him down.¡¯

    ¡®I¡¯ve already started my search on him. His life is not so funny any more. His wife left him a few years ago now, fed up with his parties and low sense of morals. His political career seems on hold, even going down hill.¡¯

    ¡®When it comes to our first attack I¡¯m wondering. Do you have already access to Sanchez account and emails?¡¯

    ¡®Yes. He¡¯s totally under control thanks to the Narcotics squad¡¯s files. Very well informed indeed. So maybe our job will help them indirectly to catch him.¡¯

    ¡®No. I don¡¯t¡¯ trust the justice any longer. The bastards always manage to escape one way or the other. No man, I want him dead or at least so destroyed, so powerless, that he won¡¯t be able to harm anyone anymore.¡¯

    ¡®Wow¡¯ is all Samy can figure out to reply.

    ¡®I know, I sound cruel maybe but look at them. Do they really care? An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth is the only answer. Get rid of those bastards. I mean it.¡¯

    ¡®Ok. So the war is declared the.¡¯ Samy summarizes in a sigh.

    I look at him and smile broadly.

    ¡®Yep. In our way, with our tools. After all these years of preparation, all this hard work with the studies, the company, we¡¯re finally there. I¡¯ve been waiting for this moment to come for 5 years. Now I can¡¯t wait any longer. Still I know patience is a virtue in this kind of battle. You need to know when the time has come or not.

    So when do you think you¡¯ll manage to get access to the Dutch accounts and emails then?¡¯

    ¡®My friend is working on it. Don¡¯t worry. It could be today or tomorrow. This week for sure. I¡¯ll let you know.¡¯

    ¡®Perfect. Let¡¯s celebrate!¡¯

    I raise my hand and call for the waiter.

    Still I feel a bit of pain in my stomach. I have a strange bad feeling slowly creeping in.

    Isn¡¯t it too early to call it a victory? Never under-estimate my opponent, I know for sure they won¡¯t be that easy to crash down and exterminate.

    But most of all, with Emma around I feel more vulnerable somehow. I wish I won¡¯t have to sacrifice her in the process.

 chapter 9 Benjiro and Guillermo

    Chapitre 9

    I wake up with a bitter taste in my mouth, typical of nights too short like the last one.

    Feeling heavy in the head, I get up and fill my traditional Italian coffee maker with a double dose. The day will be long. I¡¯m waiting for the sweet sound of the water boiling, and gurgling to tell me the coffee is ready. I especially love the smell at that moment, which fills the kitchen.

    I also throw several tablets of effervescent C vitamin in a glass of water to boost my energy.

    Once the caffeine is swallowed, I put on a training suit and my sneakers to go out for a jog.

    I don¡¯t feel for it, unlike some mornings, but force myself to go beyond my physical limits. I avoid listening to the laziness of my body that¡¯s rather demanding to return to a cozy bed.

    I go running along the boulevard de Rochechouart to the square of Antwerp and back home.

    A quick shower gives me my energy back. A well-groomed shaving makes me look like a good-looking young man again. I smile at myself in the mirror and decide that this day would be a great day --If I didn¡¯t wish it so myself, who else would do it for me?

    Yesterday I called Benjiro Marakami to meet him in the morning, at nine o''clock.

    So I don¡¯t linger more than necessary at home and set out for the office, enjoying the peaceful atmosphere of the cool morning, the sight of shopkeepers who are opening one by one their shops in peace, greeting me, some with a happy ¡®hello¡¯, others just with a brief nod.

    Marjorie is already there too.

    ¡®I arrived earlier than usual to be sure that you had printed the corrected contracts and to answer your possible administrative questions.¡¯ she says with a large smile when I come in. She¡¯s really amazing this girl.

    Benjiro arrives on time. Marjorie introduces him into my office very officially, as if I was the head of a multinational business. That makes me smile inside. I try to keep a more neutral face, more businesslike.

    I get up and greet him with a handshake. His is firm, frank, energetic. I like it. He¡¯s looking straight into my eyes with a large open smile.

    Marjorie has already prepared a coffee for each of us. Once she¡¯s served us, she delicately closes the door behind her. Discretion is also one of her qualities that make Samy and I appreciate her.

    ¡®So these are the terms of your contract, as we went through together yesterday,¡¯

    I announce to my new team worker. As soon as the sales increase, your premiums will do it too. Take the time to read everything and if it''s good, you sign it here¡¯, I add handing him a pen.

    I continue :¡®By the way we need to fill in the starting day. If you agree, it could be today. So we train you on our flagship product, which we believe in very much to attack the Asian market, Japan first and China then. Can I make appointments over there for next week? No problem on your side? Do you have a valid passport?¡¯

    ¡®No problem and yes I have a passport. I am perfectly ready," Benjiro replies. ¡®It will be my pleasure to finally have the opportunity to see the country of my ancestors. Last time I was too young to remember¡¯, he says with a broad smile up to his ears.

    Benjiro quickly goes through his contract, grabs the pen handed to him and signs at the bottom of the page.

    We both stand up and shake hands again to conclude the deal, smiling at each other.

    ¡®Welcome to BYGS¡¯ I conclude.

    ¡®So I''ll take you to our leader of the games. The first thing to do is play with it until you¡¯re really familiar with it and enjoy it personally. That¡¯s important.¡¯

    Benjiro is laughing: ¡® So cool to be paid for playing.¡¯

    I really like his openness and frankness. A good team player. I¡¯m already fond of him.

    I took the right decision to hire him.

    I go on : ¡®Then put yourself in the shoes of the potential buyer. Prepare a plan to open the markets there for us according to your experience and knowledge of the culture and habits over there.¡¯ He nods reflectively.

    ¡®For my part I¡¯ve already contacted some distributors but I was waiting for a trustworthy translator like you, especially able to help us with the customs of the country not to make missteps.¡¯ I conclude.

    ¡®You know I already started playing with it yesterday. I bought it when I knew I was going to see you for the job. I like to know what I''m going for. I really like the game. You get quickly addicted--it¡¯s fun, really¡¯

    ¡®I¡¯m glad to hear. What do you like in it?

    ¡®It¡¯s constructive and not destructive as many others. Without being too stupid so to speak. Games are either too complicated or too simple. Here, the missions we accept make us real heroes so we are super motivated. Therefore you want to continue, succeed and free others. No, it''s great really. I mean it. It should work in Japan, it smacks in their values: honor, word given etc.¡¯

    ¡®Thank you. That''s how it was designed. So follow me and take the opportunity to ask questions of our experts. They created tips and shortcuts. That will save you time.¡¯

    I take him to his new office, introduce him to his colleagues, and leave him to their care. I¡¯m delighted with my new recruit, to see him so pro and so committed already. Yes, the future looks good for his project.

    Next day in Spain.

    I made many phone calls and fortunately I manage to find 2300 kg cannabis again so I¡¯ll be able to ship it tomorrow. That way the Dutch will never find out I was the one who messed up at the border. Ok, this production is of a lower quality but nobody will know. All these junkies are easy to deal with eventually, and the Dutch are really high themselves most of the time, taking their own shit so I¡¯m quite sure they won¡¯t notice.

    I just need to pay for those products. That¡¯s really painful-- to pay twice for the same thing.

    Thinking of all I lost yesterday, I feel again to calm my nerves and anger on my stupid son till I see him cry and crawl and ask for mercy. But no. I control myself.

    This time I¡¯m the one taking care of the transportation.

    I use my regular channels. I pay them well, but that way I never have any trouble.

    They know what road to use, which guys to bribe and they are well organized, not like that silly truck driver. By the way I have to send someone after him so he won¡¯t talk any more. Damn it! Hope it¡¯s not too late. He¡¯s the kind of guy who can easily talk under pressure. And I don¡¯t feel for being locked up in jail. I¡¯ve managed to avoid it so far and intend to keep it that way.

    Damn it! What¡¯s wrong with my account now? I can¡¯t get through to pay for my products. This bloody system keeps telling me that I don¡¯t exist. What¡¯s the F¡­! Bloody technology! Ok. Let¡¯s restart my computer and relax. It doesn¡¯t help to loose my temper.This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

    Damn it! No change! They¡¯re refusing my password-- they don¡¯t recognize me. Weird really. I got a bad feeling .

    I can¡¯t go to Switzerland to sort it out, too risky now and I need a solution.

    I can¡¯t use my regular business account either. The phone is ringing but I don¡¯t care. This is far more important.

    Oh no. The Dutch keeps phoning.

    ¡®Guillermo yes.¡¯ I answer shortly as usual. I hate to loose my time in unnecessary bullshit talk.

    I know very well why they¡¯re calling.

    ¡®What¡¯s up? Where is the shipment? You¡¯re late. It was supposed to arrive yesterday. No news. Are you the one who got problem recently, you know what I mean? ¡® Freddie asks straight away.

    I reply coldly: ¡® Of course not. Who do you think I am? Do you know who you¡¯re talking to? You¡¯re insulting me!¡¯

    I¡¯ve learned the attack is always the best answer otherwise they have no respect and you¡¯re dead.

    ¡®No offence. But you could call.¡¯ is his only answer.

    ¡®Yes¡­ just a little set-back.¡¯ I try to sound bored. ¡®Just wanted to make sure you¡¯ll have the best quality that¡¯s all¡¯, I dare lying bluntly. Again the only way to be respected and survive in this world is to lie.

    ¡®Ok. We¡¯ve already paid you, so make sure we get our products¡¯, he adds a bit threatening and hangs up.

    Wow. I got a strange feeling growing slowly but surely in my stomach. I don¡¯t like the turn things are taking. I¡¯m the boss here. I don¡¯t accept being threatened. Who do they think they are?

    I call after Isabella. She¡¯s the one filing my papers. I need to double check my codes in case I have a memory issue here now.

    ¡®Isabella,¡¯ I scream so she can hear me on the other side of the house.

    She must have heard in my voice that I¡¯m upset because she arrives straight away.

    ¡®Can you give me the papers for my account in Switzerland. I need to check something¡¯.

    Without a word, she goes directly to the safe cupboard, pick up a binder in it and open it to the right page. She is a woman of order after all.

    I check the username, it¡¯s correct. What shall I do?

    I¡¯ll call them and explain the situation. The guy is incompetent of course and put me through another person. I¡¯m loosing my time and my temper.

    ¡®My account can¡¯t just have disappeared. You¡¯re kidding me¡¯.

    Finally I got someone who seems to understand what I¡¯m talking about. He asks me to wait a bit more. Do I really have an option?

    ¡®Sorry sir, for keeping you waiting. What I could find is you transferred everything you had, a few days ago and closed your account.¡¯

    ¡®I beg your pardon? Who asked for a transfer?¡¯

    ¡®You did obviously Sir¡¯. His calmness and politeness start to get on my nerves.

    ¡®I was not in Switzerland lately how could I close an account?¡¯

    ¡®It¡¯s very easy to close when there is no money left, sir. You did it on the internet as far as I can see in the historical part.¡¯

    ¡®What about the transfer then? Where did the money go?¡¯

    ¡®I¡¯m afraid I can¡¯t answer that question, sir, on the phone. We have the secrecy policy. But you¡¯re welcome here any time that suits you to meet your counselor.¡¯

    ¡®Wait a minute. You mean you don¡¯t need to come personally to close an account?¡¯

    ¡®No sir, only to open one.¡¯

    ¡®And the last transfer? There was a lot of money I suppose someone had to come personally to do such an important one.¡¯

    ¡®I told you sir, I can¡¯t answer you I¡¯m afraid.¡¯

    ¡®Ok. Can I have an appointment for next week?¡¯

    ¡®You¡¯ll have to call your counselor sir. It¡¯s too late for today. The agency is already closed¡¯, he replies calmly but I can feel he¡¯s slightly afraid of my coming reaction.

    ¡®Thanks¡¯, is the only thing I utter before I hang on.

    I feel to scream in the phone to tell to this idiot it¡¯s a matter of life or death but I know it¡¯s useless. We¡¯re living in two different worlds.

    I¡¯m trying to think clearly but my ideas seem to go round and round and get nowhere. Who¡¯s playing me a trick?

    Ok I¡¯ll take from my other account the one in Guatemala. But it¡¯s more complicated there.

    Now let¡¯s finish and pay the producers.

    Hell! There again I¡¯m not recognized.

    ¡®What the hell is going on?¡¯ I explode, ready to throw away the bloody computer.

    Again my username and my password don¡¯t match. Is it a coincidence? Somehow I don¡¯t¡¯ think so. Something weird is going on, I can feel in all my body, from stomach to head through my lungs.

    I feel like life is not real anymore, I¡¯m in the middle of a nightmare and will soon wake up. Something is totally out of my control. Or someone somewhere is pretending to be me.

    How can I pay for the cannabis? Maybe I can ask to pay them back afterwards. But it doesn¡¯t work either since I¡¯ve already been paid for it.

    My head starts aching, I feel almost dizzy and sick.

    Isabella is standing by the window. She looks stiff, pale and worried.

    ¡®Someone is having fun with my accounts.¡¯ I say bluntly.

    ¡®How much is it about?¡¯ she simply asks.

    ¡®You don¡¯t even want to know.¡¯ I reply and leave the room.

    I need to think but I can¡¯t. I see red at the moment, which I know is the worse thing to do, because it doesn¡¯t help at all. I feel to kill everyone around.

    Ok. I might use the money from my import-export business but it¡¯s never going to be enough and I don¡¯t want any connection with my traffic. That¡¯s the sure way to finish in jail one day.

    I take my mobile and phone a friend.

    ¡® Hello Alberto. It¡¯s Guillermo. I never ask you any favor. But this time I need you Man. Could you lend me 6 million euros for a month?¡®

    He starts laughing.

    ¡®You¡¯re the one everybody is talking about?¡¯ he wonders.

    ¡®What do you mean?¡¯ I say, pretending not to know the answer in order to win a bit of time to think of my answer.

    ¡®The big catch at the border. Don¡¯t tell me you haven¡¯t read the news. I see it¡¯s you then¡¯ he adds after a second.

    I realized that was stupid not to tell him the truth.

    ¡®Man, I can¡¯t right now even if I could. I¡¯m marrying off my daughter, big expenses. Sorry.¡¯ Is his answer.

    ¡®Ok. Thanks. Please don¡¯t tell anyone else or I¡¯m dead.¡¯

    ¡®Ok. But you¡¯re in trouble man. They¡¯ll find out one way or the other.¡¯ he replies without emotion.

    Wow. Friends don¡¯t exist in this world. I¡¯m all alone. If I could just understand what the hell is going on, who is after me. Not knowing turns me crazy¡­

    The phone again.

    This time my Moroccon supplier Ahmed.

    ¡®Guillermo, I¡¯m sorry but I just had a better offer and couldn¡¯t wait for your payment.

    So find another supplier¡¯.

    I¡¯m stunned and almost fall while sitting down.

    ¡®You can¡¯t do it! You know me Man. I¡¯ll kill you¡¯

    ¡®Just try!¡¯ are his last words.

    What the hell is going on? My life is kind of taking a new weird path. Everything I¡¯ve been building up with patience is kind of falling apart. I¡¯m loosing control somehow. I see my contacts are not afraid of me anymore. This is not good at all for my future. Let¡¯s surprise them all.

    I go down in the cellar and pick up the guns and plastique I¡¯ve got.

    I catch Raphael and my guards. Every one seems to wake up to the call for blood. They know me and see there¡¯s no need to ask questions. They just follow the boss and feel something vital is going on.

    `Let¡¯s go for a ride. Take all the ammunition you have guys¡¯.

    We get on two cars and drive away. Fortunately Ahmed doesn¡¯t live too far away.

    I Explain my plan in the car. Raphael will just be the driver. He¡¯s too na?ve to be trusted on this one but I still want him to see what is expected to be done in our mafia circle. Pride and honor are no empty words.

    Arriving close to Ahmed¡¯s home, we park a bit away.

    We silently split ourselves in two groups. Some of his guards are watching his house.

    We can hear a gathering of people inside his villa.

    But before anything I need to find out where the drug is stored.

    I go and attack one of the guard from behind, cutting his throat with a knife. He silently falls on his knees dead. The other one is attacked by one of my guards.

    I discover three sports cars are parked in the yard.

    I got it!

    They¡¯ve planned a Go Fast action to drive the dope and escape the police. Good idea! We¡¯re going to do it instead and drive the load to the Netherlands.

    I laugh inside. Excellent revenge.

    We need to check the drugs is already in the cars.

    We go around. Good.

    Now the keys.. That¡¯s another story. I planned to bomb his house first.

    Now I need to get the keys ¡­

    I gather my men and explain our plan.

    Luck is with us again. Ahmed¡¯s daughter is coming out.

    I grab her and force her to follow me inside again. Ahmed is pale and understands the situation right away. No need to speak.

    His three companions are about to fire at us when we enter the room but Ahmed stops them.

    ¡®Obey him¡¯ he says. ¡®I don¡¯t want her to be harmed.

    ¡®Drop your guns all of you¡­ ¡® They all do nicely.

    They are no threat really. Just drivers.

    ¡®Give me the keys of the Ferraris.¡¯ I order.

    My men take them from the floor.

    ¡®Ok. Now turn around all of you, hands on your head.¡¯

    They all do it gently. Unbelievable.

    ¡®Stupid guys¡¯ I think while I give the sign to fire at them.

    They all fall down as empty puppets. The girl screams at the slaughter. So I have to shoot her too.

    Anyway we had no other option.

    Time to run to the three cars.

    ¡®Speed and surprise is the key in this kind situation. Ahmed never believed I could react so fast, see son?¡¯ I explain to Raphael.

    He¡¯s all white, goes out of the car to throw up.

    I pat him on his cheeck, and order him to drive home. I think he¡¯s had enough for today.

    I stay to give orders to my three guards for the delivery. They need to stop in a shop and buy burner phones not to be traceable by the police. They have to throw them away at the end of the mission before coming back by train. They know all about it. It¡¯s not their first Go Fast.

    I see them drive away, feeling much better. The future looks brighter again. They know their business.

    ¡®Let¡¯s finish¡¯ I say to my remaining guard, a former soldier with the right expertise.

    While he lays the explosives and rigs them to blow I check Ahmeds'' office. He must have just finished handing out cash for the Go Fast because he left his safe open. I grab a pillow off a day bed, pull off its'' cover, and stuff it with the contents of the safe. My guard sticks his head in the office and says, "Timer is set. Two minutes." I say, ''Good. We go.''

    Two minutes to get far enough away so we are not connected to the murders, theft, and bombing. That way no trace of anything. It will look like a terrible revenge between dealers and producers; no one really cares.

    They didn¡¯t notice the two figures hiding behind the gate as they disappear.

 chapter 10 Matthew and Emma

    Chapter 10

    I¡¯m back at the Narcotics office.

    This Spanish story is so exciting. Everyone is on it. Think, if finally, we could catch one of these bastards!

    Unfortunately, the truck driver seems really honest and it really looks like it was the first and only time he was involved in this kind of traffic. And of course, he messed up. The guy had no routine. I¡¯m still astonished how this could happen: to pay a guy who did such a stupid mistake and for such a large shipment.

    Let¡¯s continue the search. Looking for the little detail that doesn¡¯t make sense¡­

    One more coffee first. Ezio is there too, looking exhausted.

    ¡®Ah. I start to get an idea about what happened¡­ The regular customs guy, Andr¨¦, didn¡¯t show up that day.¡¯ I explain. This comment seems to wake Ezio up a bit.

    I carry on:

    ¡®Hmm¡­ So it was another colleague of him who took his turn with his dog. The dog really deserves a medal anyway. With this seizure I¡¯m sure we can lock up a few bastards. We should use dogs more often or develop our own sense of smell better. Maybe, with some training. Aha.¡¯ I add laughing.

    I really feel inspired by what¡¯s going on. Things are going in the right direction for once.

    ''Well, does that mean this Andr¨¦ guy is a rotten one? Looks so to me then.¡¯ Ezio replies frowning.

    ¡®I totally agree. He hasn¡¯t shown up since¡­¡¯ I nod and continue.

    ¡®Could you investigate on him? His account and all the rest? I¡¯m going to gather more information about this young guy who paid the driver. He looks green to me in this business and I don¡¯t get how he could be entrusted such a big shipment¡­ even with a corrupted customs officer. Something doesn¡¯t make sense¡¯.

    ¡®What about the girl Emma?¡¯ Ezio wonders.

    ¡®Drop it for now. I found some new stuff on her. Somebody else is taking care of her. I¡¯ll explain later.¡¯ I answer in a mysterious tone. ¡®Let¡¯s meet again in an hour¡¯.

    Time goes by and I finally get a whole picture of this story and call Ezio to brief him too.

    ¡®It really looks too good to be true.¡¯ I start all thrilled and have a hard time containing myself.

    ¡®The guy who paid the driver is the son of a Spanish drug dealer we¡¯ve never managed to catch. He¡¯s bloody clever, the father I mean. Has done lots of trafficking obviously but his cover is just perfectly legal. We watched his accounts, nothing weird. He runs a regular business, so he can afford his villa, his luxurious cars etc. We¡¯ve never managed so far to prove anything against him even if we now through our informers that he¡®s the number one when it comes to cannabis trafficking with Morocco. He¡¯s probably used a false identity to open an account in Switzerland and other countries in other tax havens.¡¯

    I shrug and sigh heavily, feeling hopeless when it comes to that kind of matters.

    ¡®What about his son then?¡¯ Ezio asks interested.

    ¡®His name is Rafael Sanchez. Young, twenty something, well educated in Switzerland but obviously lacking common sense or very na?ve or very witless. I¡¯m more inclined for the last one. You know.¡¯ I add with a large smile.

    I feel so inspired. Somewhere this seizure is going to make a difference. I sense it.

    ¡®By the way, where is the driver right now? Still in police custody I hope? Because as soon as he comes out, he¡¯s dead. In this mafia world he is despised, burned, dead. And we might need him to testify.

    ¡®Mathieu. I got a call from the Spanish boarder. One Go Fast delivery is on his way through France. They saw One dark blue Ferrari crossing last night. They lost him of course but gave the alarm.¡¯

    ¡®Yes but they always manage through. It could be linked to the last seizure. The question is where are they going to unload? Paris area? But if it¡¯s linked to this Sanchez it¡¯s definitively going to the Netherlands; so call all the units on the way to get ready.¡¯

    One hour later we finally got a call from a squad at the Belgium border.

    ¡®The Ferrari was caught while filling up. So unlucky for them.

    Normally they have enough onboard, so they don¡¯t stop in a service station. Things seem to be a bit unprepared, done in a hurry. Could be explained by our last seizure that created emergency.

    They ran out of their shit in Netherlands.¡¯ Ezio reports.

    ¡®What about the driver?¡¯ I ask.

    ¡®The guy ran away but we got the load. Six hundred kilos. Not bad.¡¯ Ezio answers with a large smile.

    ¡®I wish I was there to see the face of this Sanchez when he hears the news. Because I¡¯m pretty sure this has to do with the other story. He must be furious.¡¯

    The phone rings again. This time it¡¯s a phone call from Spain.

    ¡®A villa exploded last night in the South of Spain.¡¯ The officer explains.

    ¡®The guy was a Moroccan trafficking between Morocco and Northern Spain. There¡¯s nothing left of his house. Luckily, he was living out in the countryside, no neighbors around. But the fire was hard to extinguish in this area. Everybody is shocked. We haven¡¯t identified the bodies, except one young one, probably his daughter, 16 years old. What a pity! And so far, four more skeletons. We don¡¯t know if the guy is on the run or what.¡¯

    ¡®Thanks. Keep us informed as soon as you know their identities.¡¯ I answer and hang up.

    I then turn to Ezio who can¡¯t believe it either. I feel both thrilled and somehow sense something is going out of control.You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

    ¡®Let¡¯s take a break outside for a change¡¯ I said to Ezio. ¡®And the coffee is on me.¡¯ I smile.

    Ezio is also smiling broadly.

    ¡®They seem to go crazy over there. That¡¯s really good for us. They¡¯re doing the job themselves. Killing each other. Shame for the girl though¡¯. He sighs a bit sad.

    Being himself a father, he feels some empathy for those family members who just happen to be at the wrong place from the very beginning.

    ¡®I know how you feel. Still we might have a chance to do something to this trafficking and some have to be sacrificed obviously.¡¯ I add, because I really mean it.

    In this job you have to think that way, think of how many are going to be saved, not how many have to die.

    ¡®I know, still¡¯ Ezio sighs heavily and I change subject before we both feel so sad we won¡¯t be able to continue our duty.

    ¡®Let¡¯s go back and find a plan for these bastards. I¡¯m sure there is a connection between the Sanchez¡¯s story and the villa. Let¡¯s dig into it and find out, ¡¯ I encourage Ezio while going back to our office.

    During this time Emma in Paris.

    I wake up tired as usual. What shall I do today? No real plan. I dreamt of Mark, that we were younger and full of hope and laughing together by a swing, him pushing me higher and higher happily.

    Then suddenly I got afraid of falling and asked him to stop pushing but he turned away and I didn¡¯t recognize his face. I woke up scared, uncomfortable not knowing what to think.

    I make a strong cup of coffee, feeling a slight headache is coming up.

    I have to go out and get some dope. My all body is aching, I have difficulties breathing, thinking. All the pictures from last night are going round and round in my head.

    A wave of sadness is crawling over me. What am I doing with my life? I¡¯m so lonely, unable to be close to anyone. Where are my friends, my family? I have none in the end when I look at it.

    I try to eat a piece of bread but even eating gives me nausea. Same with my whole life. I¡¯m sick of myself, my loneliness.

    Seeing Mark was not a good idea. He¡¯s so far from my life style and we¡¯ve gone so different ways. I can feel he probably had a crush on me when we were younger but how to tell him I¡¯m not worth it? He definitely deserves a better girlfriend.

    And how to explain to him I¡¯m unable to fall in love? I have a distance from people and everything around. Nothing really matters. I like him a lot but I don¡¯t know what love means really. Isn¡¯t it weird? I eventually hate all the touching between man and woman. So degrading for me. All these attitudes, this sex everyone is obsessed with. How can people accept to pay for it, I don¡¯t get it.

    I need to go out and get some dope to calm down my body which is having a hard time right now. My hands start shaking. I¡¯m looking at them: strange! They feel like another part of myself but not belonging to me really and I can¡¯t control them. I hate that feeling.

    I¡¯m near the door when my mobile rings so I pick it up.

    ¡®Hello Emma, hope I¡¯m not waking you up, it¡¯s Fabrice here¡¯.

    I recognize his gentle, mature voice.

    ¡®No. I was on my way actually¡¯, I answer calmly.

    ¡®I have some good news for you so can we meet today? Now maybe? Or in an hour?¡¯ he continues cheerful.

    ¡®Let me guess. I¡¯m in. You want to make some more photos is that it?¡¯ I ask and regret already my wording. I should probably use another expression than ¡®I¡¯m in¡®. A bit too childish maybe.

    He laughs instead, repeating: ¡¯Yes you¡¯re in! So, let¡¯s meet in an hour? Is that Ok with you?¡¯

    ¡®Sure. Same place?¡¯ I reply shortly. I want to stop the conversation. I really feel I need some coke especially if I want to survive another day of photo shooting.

    So I add rapidly.

    ¡®In 2 hours if it¡¯s fine with you? I was actually going out now and realize it will be a bit short otherwise.¡¯

    ¡®No problem. I understand. No need to hurry. We have plenty of time in fact since we¡¯ll be working together now. I¡¯ll explain when we meet.¡¯ He said very diplomatically and hung up.

    I stay there, staring at my mobile like it was a snake. Cold, wild and dangerous somehow. I don¡¯t know why this device suddenly seems threatening. My imagination I suppose.

    I start imagining what it felt like at the beginning of the last century when a person could, for the first time, speak to someone living far away and still getting the feeling the other person is close to you, able to see you.

    And I¡¯m just feeling ugly and tired and I don¡¯t understand how on earth they can choose me to be in photographs. It¡¯s a total mystery to me.

    Actually, not. If I think of the pictures of models in magazines, they very often look tired and bored or both. I probably look the same nowadays.

    Why did I accept to come back to France? It was a mistake somehow. I feel trapped by those Columbian guys. I¡¯m tired of trafficking for them. It¡¯s never going to end. This time in Paris it¡¯s a bit more complicated. I can see the market here is more European.

    It¡¯s not the right time to reflect so much. My head is exploding. I need my dose and to get ready quickly now for the meeting with Fabrice.

    But all this stress makes me feel even worse. I wish everything could stop. Or even better, I wish to start my life all over again, far away, with no ties anywhere.

    I¡¯m outside looking for some coke when my phone rings again.

    ¡®So what are you doing? I haven¡¯t heard from you since you¡¯re in France. We were supposed to keep in touch¡¯, an angry man says on the other side of the line with a strong accent.

    My heart goes up to my throat, banging like hell. Despite the distance, even if I know very well he is on the other side of the globe, fear is crippling me. I start sweating.

    Ronaldo always has this effect on me. I feel horrible, trapped, no possible escape. He¡¯s never going to let me go. I still have to deal for him.

    ¡®You don¡¯t answer? Do you hear me? We had an agreement. Have you make some contacts?¡¯

    ¡®Not yet, not so easy here as I thought it would be.¡¯

    ¡®You have another week. That¡¯s it.¡¯ And he hangs up.

    Gosh. I feel even sicker now. My body is badly in need, sweating, aching and shaking.

    I run to the corner where I noticed some dealers yesterday.

    I get some coke, then return home and snort some lines.

    I finally get the relaxing effect and the kick I need to start my day.

    I rapidly take another shower, put some make-up to hide the rings under my eyes.

    I choose a simple pair of jeans, a white sweater and some sneakers. I don¡¯t need anything else. They will surely provide all the clothes in case they want to shoot already today.

    I rush into the nearest tube station. Well, I¡¯ve managed to make it on time for my first day at work.

    When I arrive Fabrice is welcoming me in the hall with a large smile. Nice guy though. A bit too old for me, but I can sense some kindness underneath his business manners.

    ¡®Welcome to our team. Let¡¯s take a coffee or a tea if you prefer, before you read your contract and sign it. So tea or coffee? he asks while he gently shows me to his office where a range of beverages are waiting to be taken.

    ¡®A green jasmin tea please,¡¯ I answer while I¡¯m going to sit on a red velvet sofa standing in the corner by a large window overlooking a little garden.

    ¡®What a surprising lovely garden¡¯ I exclaim.

    He laughs in return : ¡® I know so unusual in this area of Paris. Well hidden. I know I¡¯m lucky. Let¡¯s go and sit in the garden instead.¡¯

    So we take our cups and go outside where a little fountain is singing a nice relaxing melody. I like the place. Somehow I feel at home with Fabrice.

    He¡¯s watching me, waiting for me to say something but nothing comes to my mind. I smile stupidly.

    ¡®So here is your contract. Could we start today if you¡¯re available? Our final customer really liked you so he wants you for his next catalogue. So you¡¯ll be a rich young lady,¡¯ he says with a large charming smile and hands me a pen.

    I¡¯m reading rapidly through all the pages. Basically that¡¯s right, I¡¯m going to earn a lot in a short while if we start shooting already today.

    I sign and give him back his pen.

    I see my hands are beginning to shake again. He seems to notice it as well and gently asks, ¡®Are you alright? If you need anything please tell me, even if it¡¯s...hm¡­ not usual if you see what I mean.¡¯

    I¡¯m astonished. Does he mean what I¡¯m thinking of? Really ? Can I trust him on that?

    ¡®No, I don¡¯t see what you mean¡¯ I answer a bit harsh.

    ¡®Come on, I saw you at the party. It¡¯s fine here you know. Everybody uses it to be in a good mood¡¯.

    ¡®Well, I¡¯ll let you know then¡¯ I utter shyly.

    Damned. My heart starts accelerating again and I¡¯m sweating. I feel ashamed of myself and I hate that. My body is totally out of control and I hope I¡¯m going to hold up standing and posing all afternoon in front of a camera.

    ¡®Let¡¯s go and meet the photographer then.¡¯ He says while rising from his armchair.

    She follows him, not aware that this will be a turning point in her life.