The Emperor's Revenge (Oregon Files 11)

The man was the chief detective, judging from the badge sticking out of his pocket. Graying at the temples and sporting a slim mustache, he kept shaking his head like it was attached to a paint mixer. He was the shorter of the two and had to look up at the woman as he spoke.

The tall woman had a few more lines around her eyes than Juan remembered, but otherwise Gretchen Wagner looked exactly the same as she did when they had served in the CIA together. Wearing a tailored Armani suit, she still had a lithe, athletic figure sculpted by a daily routine of martial arts. Light makeup dusted her high cheekbones, and her sparkling green eyes had lost none of their fire. Even though she had a face that would stand out at a fashion show, Juan admired the fact that she wouldn’t think twice about cloaking it in the grubby likeness of a homeless person when the mission called for it. She was all about getting the job done, and the chief detective was, apparently, finding that out the hard way.

“Excuse me,” Juan said, interrupting their repartee. “I am looking for Gretchen Wagner.”

They stopped speaking, and Juan and Gretchen held each other’s eyes for a few moments. She kept her face expressionless, and he couldn’t tell if that was for his benefit or the detective’s.

The detective sneered at Juan as if he’d been handed a used handkerchief.

“This is he?” the detective asked Gretchen, jutting his index finger at Juan.

She nodded. “Blake Charles, from Columbia Mutual Insurance, this is Chief Inspector Rivard of Monaco’s Sûreté Publique. I was just explaining to the inspector that you are to be given full cooperation during this investigation at Interpol’s request.”

Rivard didn’t offer his hand but spent a good amount of time inspecting Juan’s identification. He sniffed disdainfully when he couldn’t find anything amiss. “My government may be able to order me to give you access, but I don’t have to like it.”

“As you are aware, Inspector, this security breach affects bank customers from dozens of countries,” Gretchen said with a steely cadence. “If you have a problem including them in the investigation, I can contact your commissioner for more guidance.”

Rivard’s nostrils flared in fury. This would probably be the biggest case he’d ever get in the sleepy principality and jeopardizing his position as the lead inspector by protesting a decision from his superiors wasn’t going to get him off to a good start.

“Fine,” he said finally. “But you brief them. And if I find that they are hindering or obstructing the investigation in any way, they will be gone.” He stormed off, shouting at some uniformed

officers for letting gawkers get too close.

“For some reason,” Juan said, “I get the feeling that he has some objection to us being here.”

Gretchen gave him a faint smile. “Yes, he shouldn’t keep his emotions bottled up like that.”

Juan could tell that she had the urge to give him a hug, but she merely shook his hand with a strong grip. The skin was smooth on the back of her hand but calloused on her palm. Two of her knuckles were bruised.

“Still throwing people around the karate mat?” he asked.

She rubbed her hand. “I’ve moved on to Krav Maga. I find it relaxes me.” Juan had never heard that benefit of the lethal Israeli self-defense system, a combination of street-fighting tactics and skills from boxing, wrestling, and numerous types of martial arts.

“White-collar crime does seem to be getting deadlier,” Juan said, looking pointedly at the bank.

“Seven dead, including the bank president. It’s the first time I’ve worked on something like this. Most of my job entails tracking fraudulent transactions from the comfort of my office in Paris.”

“Do you miss the field?” Juan asked.

“Sometimes.”

“Why’d you leave ops?”

Gretchen huffed a derisive breath. “My identity was outed by an idiot congressman, which is a redundant description of him, I know. Ironically, he was on the intelligence subcommittee and blabbed about my covert status to a mistress who happened to be a Russian agent. My career in fieldwork was over after that.”

“Sorry. I didn’t know.”

She shrugged. “It was after you left. If it had happened during our marriage, you probably would have been caught in the mess, too.”

Juan surreptitiously glanced at her left hand and didn’t see a ring, but that didn’t necessarily mean anything. He then said, “It’s good to see you again.”

She gave him a cockeyed smile. “Is it?”

He hesitated a bit too long. Before he could respond, she looked over his shoulder. “Is that your team?”

He followed her gaze and saw that Linda, Murph, and Eric were watching him intently. Linda must have filled the team in on the conversation with Overholt the previous night, but he didn’t know whether Max had told them anything further. He waved them over.

Juan introduced them using their fake names. Because Rivard was still watching, Gretchen made a show of checking their IDs.