“Whatever you say, Obi-Wan. But you’d better recalibrateyour radar, because I’m pretty sure you’re missing the signals. Then again, this is you we’re talking about—you missallthe signals.”
I looked across the yard and watched the protective detail outside the senator’s house. The same three guys were still standing in front.
I finished my beer and got ready for the Wilsons’ party.
CHAPTER 31
Courville Estate
Cliff Road, Nantucket
Charles Courville, the Ambassador of France to the United States, was the lone passenger inside the unmarked Cessna Citation that had landed behind the Hawker jet on Runway 45 at Nantucket Memorial Airport.
After last night’s distressing phone call from his daughter, Elise, Ambassador Courville had canceled his appointments in Washington. For the past two months, she had rarely left the confines of her island estate.
Elise’s marriage was over long ago. If only she could see that instead of indulging herself by playing the recluse.
Not long after joining his daughter at her Nantucket home, the respected diplomat had felt his resolve turn to shock. He had sat in her living room for the better part of the afternoon, witnessing her sorrowful tears and listening as she shattered hispaternal dreams with stories of his son-in-law’s shamelessly adulterous lifestyle.
“Coleman Harrison is finished,” Courville shouted, his face flushed with anger. “How could he do this to you? On your mother’s grave, Elise, I will ruin him. He will pay! I promise you, he will pay.”
Elise Courville had more than enough money to last two lifetimes. Her father had seen to that. After her French mother died when Elise was a little girl, Charles had raised her as best he could, with the help of boarding schools and private tutors. He had also opened a trust in Switzerland for her.
The day after her thirtieth birthday, Elise had begun drawing her monthly dividend of almost $50,000. Given the structure of the investments and the financial acumen of her father’s trusted advisers, it would be nearly impossible for her to deplete the fund before her 127th birthday.
Despite her privilege, she had always dreamed of an uncomplicated life. She was accustomed to living by herself. But upon meeting then–Congressman Harrison at a London polo match sponsored by the Duke of Windsor, she had fallen in love with the politician immediately.
Coleman Harrison, a rising star in the party, was said to have a real shot at the White House someday—but was virtually unknown outside the United States until Elise Courville granted him connections around the globe, courtesy of her ambassador father. Between Coleman’s charisma and Elise’s natural beauty, political insiders christened them America’s answer to Charles and Diana.
Shortly after their marriage, Harrison ran for office and waseasily elected to the US Senate. In no time, he became not only more famous than any of his ninety-nine colleagues, but was being courted by heads of state on several continents. He had even remained faithful to his bride—for almost a full year.
“I just want it to be over, Papa. I just want to leave and go back to Paris.” She moved to her father and hugged him.
The ambassador shed tears as he held her, then cupped her face in his hands.
“When I finish serving the president, we will return to Paris for good. As I stand here today, I promise you that.”
“Oh, Papa, I love you. I knew you would take care of me.”
“I have many friends who will do whatever I ask. I swear to you that I will call in every favor to make sure he never hurts you again. Now I must ask you, Elise, how you found out about this latest affair.”
“One of his staffers told me in confidence.”
“Let me make a few calls. And then we can talk about Paris.”
His phone in one hand and his briefcase in the other, the ambassador bid his daughter a tender goodbye. As he turned away, his expression hardened. He knew what he must do to help her.
CHAPTER 32
As soon as her father left, Elise Courville’s expression hardened as well. She walked across the room and picked up a cell phone from the mantel.
She pushed the Disconnect button. For the last two hours, it had been transmitting their conversation to another phone halfway around the world.
It was through her father that Courville had first met the man in Paris. On an earlier trip to forget her problems, Charles Courville had hosted a dinner party for some up-and-coming Parisian elite.
Among the guests was a handsome and well-dressed man—an Algerian who’d found early success directing one of the city’s large financial firms. Haracat al Marrak was thirty to her thirty-five, and was polite, respectful, and confident in everything he said and did.
From that first meeting, Courville had felt like she had known him all her life. During their brief encounters, which almost never happened in public, he was such a good listener—so quick withreassuring words for her troubles—that she wondered why he had no other woman in his life. He kept a low profile and encouraged her to do the same.
