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CHAPTER SIX
Cora had her laptop propped on her knees in front of her as Gabe sped out of Paris, the lights of the city now gleaming behind them. Driving through suburbia, they were heading out to the countryside.
The stop-start journey required her to keep a firm hold on her machine because Gabe wasn't wasting time. He was speeding along the dark roads, making up time wherever he could.
"So, this place has a pretty normal-looking website, and on it, I see they refer to themselves as a ‘foundation.' There’s lots of information on the good they do for the area, the help they provide to people in need. It doesn't go into much other detail about its structure and workings, but from a PR viewpoint, it's been designed to look the part," she said.
"So they whitewash their image for the public's benefit?" Gabe asked.
Cora nodded. "I guess whatever else goes on happens behind closed doors."
“What about the emails?” Gabe asked.
“Heidi’s emails seem relatively normal. I see here she was getting paid for her work there. Not a lot, but something. She seems to have been happy. She says in the last one that they are her new family and that her old family must please stop harassing her, and she will make her own life decisions." Cora felt deep mistrust in reading the words, though. "Apart from that weird decision, it doesn’t sound like anything was going wrong there. But something clearly is wrong if she’s fallen out of contact so abruptly.”
"Any information on the senior people or the founder? Isn't the head figure always the one that pulls things together in a setup like this?" Gabe asked.
Cora nodded, putting the folder aside. "Yes. I’m back on the website now and click on the People tab. Okay, here we are. 'Our leader today, Pierre Maison, is the founder of the Foundation, and we follow his all-encompassing vision.'"
“Sounds bland and like it could mean anything,” Gabe commented.
"At least we know who to look for. There's a photo of him here, and I think it checks the boxes. Dark-haired, charismatic, good-looking. Maybe in his thirties, but it's been so edited he looks like an avatar of himself," Cora said, inwardly rolling her eyes.
"Anyway, for us to get close?" Gabe asked.
“Yes. They seem to hold regular events. They’re fundraisers, but I guess they’re also a way for the foundation to screen for new members,” Cora said. “These events are interesting. Not just street collections. Not that level. They look glamorous and fun. Might even appeal to the tourist market.”
“I guess there are a few recruits to be found there,” Gabe agreed.
"They have masked balls twice a month; they have weekly classical music recitals; they have pop-up food markets and talent shows and fashion displays. Also, outings. Nature walks, hikes, gourmet picnics.”
“That sounds a cut above,” Gabe said, surprised.
“I guess it's something that someone with a sense of adventure might be attracted to."
"Anything on tonight?" Gabe asked.
"I'm looking." Scrolling through the list, Cora hoped she'd get lucky. "Yes. They seem to hold their events at a huge estate down the road from their headquarters. They've got a masquerade - a masked ball – on tonight. It says couples may attend, but singles are also welcome and will be specially catered for."
“By being recruited?” Gabe asked cynically.
It was dark already. Shops were still open, but they wouldn't be for long. Cora hated dressing up. She hated to cover up who she was. Her attitude had always been that the world must take her for the person she was. Brutally honest was her default setting. But when researching a suspected cult at a masquerade, you needed to play the game.
"I guess we stop along the way," she said. "I'm going to look for a costume hire shop nearby or someplace we can at least buy a couple of masks."
***
Half an hour later, they arrived at the masquerade. They hadn’t found a costume hire place along the way, but they’d found a small shop with a party and novelty section that had fit the bill and probably for half the price as well. Cora was wearing a red cloak, a long-sleeved blue tunic, and a peacock mask that covered her eyes. Deciding it was wisest to conceal her edgy haircut, she'd also gone for a peacock blue wig which sat on her head uncomfortably, nylon and scratchy. She raised her hand to dig her fingers into her scalp, already feeling a sense of grudge toward this cult and toward Stefan and his brother, who'd put them in this situation.
Gabe had gone for black and white. A checkered tunic, black gloves, and a black and white feathered mask. Cora glanced at him, not liking that she couldn't even see his eyes through the small holes in the mask. This was creating a level of anonymity that would make everything a hundred times harder. She was sure it was why the cult was fond of masks. It probably helped them achieve their recruiting objectives.
"Here's the estate. Up ahead. It seems like the event must be in that manor house," she said, checking the map as Gabe veered to the left and headed toward it.
Getting ready, Cora stashed her phone as well as her stolen gun in her waistband, tucked well back inside the folds of the cloak.
There were lights at the top of the manor house's driveway, and a black-uniformed guard was on duty, waving them through to a parking lot at the end of the long driveway. The manor house itself was huge and stately, built of stone, and three stories high. She wondered if it belonged to the cult, to a member, or whether they were simply allowed to use it.
They parked in the parking lot, which was almost full, and then walked along a tree-lined walkway to the manor house itself and up the eight stone stairs to the front door. Cora picked up the splashing of a fountain from somewhere nearby.
