Obsession (Year of Fire) by Florencia Bonelli Page B

partner in Mercure Inc. by giving him a small percentage of the company’s stock. The status of being a stockholder in Al-Saud’s business made him part of a select group in which “the boss” placed his trust.
    “Don’t touch anything,” Vladimir warned, and handed him a cup of coffee.
    “I have to call the boss. I need to use your phone.”
    “Where are you calling him? At the George V?” Medes nodded. “Don’t. It’s a holiday today,” he remarked, “so Peter won’t have come to clean the rooms.”
    Peter Ramsay, an ex-member of the intelligence branch of SIS, known as The Firm, was also part of the boss’s diverse select group. His job was to keep Mercure Inc.’s offices, as well as Al-Saud’s properties, planes and cars and those of all his associates and freelance employees free of microphones and other surveillance equipment. His cunning nature helped him to find planted microphones that others might miss, to take photos from great distances, and to follow people for days without raising suspicion. He had built a close friendship with Alamán Al-Saud, Eliah’s brother, who was an electronics engineer and could provide them the latest technology.
    “The boss told me to call him at the George V. He’ll clean the place himself,” Medes supposed. “What’s the name of your friend, the inspectorfrom thirty-six Quai des Orfèvres?” Medes was alluding to the Direction Régionale de la Police Judiciaire, generally referred to by its address.
    “Inspector Olivier Dussollier, from the Criminal Brigade. What do you want with him?”
    “I need him to run a search on a car. We’ll get the license-plate number once you’ve developed the photos.”
    Al-Saud walked through the main entrance of the George V Hotel and into the lobby. Perhaps if he hadn’t grown up in a sumptuous environment and didn’t see this place almost every day, the grand magnificence of the room would have left him speechless. He strode right through, not paying any attention to the Sèvres vases recently shipped in from China, the marble statues, the sheen of the floor, the moldings on the ceilings, the immense crystal chandeliers, the frescoes on the walls, or the impressive Gobelin tapestry hanging behind the check-in desk. Nor did he notice the attentions of the female concierge, who stared as he passed by determinedly. He was looking at the ground, a hand in his pocket and another pulling his wheeled suitcase, carrying his coat on his arm in spite of the icy morning. She hadn’t seen him for a few days and raised her voice in excitement, an unforgivable act in a hotel of this category.
    “ Bonjour , Monsieur Al-Saud!” She accompanied the greeting with a wave.
    Eliah smiled and approached the desk.
    “ Bonjour , Évanie. Ça va? ”
    “ Ça va bien , monsieur.” Évanie always said monsieur in the hopes that Al-Saud would suggest she speak to him informally, but this never happened. Polite and courteous, he nonetheless kept his distance. His reserved temperament contrasted with his brother Alamán, who was much more outgoing. Similarly, Eliah was much nicer than the elder Al-Saud, Shariar, who managed the George V and was feared by everyone. Of course, Shariar was more than just a manager. He was also the head of the Kingdom Holding Company, which had bought the venerable but run-down Parisian hotel three years before, restoring it to its former glory with a three-hundred-million-dollar investment.
    Monsieur Eliah Al-Saud rented two suites on the eighth and top floor of the hotel, which functioned as the offices for his business, although the company’s base was in the basement of his house on the Avenue Elisée Reclus. The George V did not see to the cleaning or upkeep of said rooms, and employees were instructed to stay far away from them. One night, a hotel plumber who ventured into one of the bathrooms in Monsieur Eliah’s suite to fix a leak that was flooding the seventh floor ended up with the barrel of a