Lucian's Children

CHAPTER 7

More than a week passed before I had the time to Google the Webber Institute in France. I considered sending them an e-mail, but quickly changed my mind.  I thought it may be stupid to forewarn them, or Dan Brown, about my intentions if they or he had anything to hide. Instead, I jotted down their phone number. There was an hour time difference between our countries and looking at my watch I knew I had one long hour to wait before I could call.

I dialed the number and was surprised when the call was answered almost immediately.  The woman spoke French and I prayed that she could speak English. My fears were unfounded when she switched to English immediately.

“I am calling for Dan Brown…”

“I am afraid Mr. Brown will not be in today.”

“Is there any way in which I could reach him, a personal number perhaps?”

“I am afraid not.  Mr. Brown will be unavailable all day today. He had taken a group of students on a field trip and will only be back tomorrow.”

“Oh no… I am afraid it is rather important that I speak to him as soon as possible.”

“I understand, but we are not allowed to pass out personal information about our teachers or children at the institute to strangers.”

“I am no stranger.  My children attend the Webber Institute in the United States.”

“I apologize Mam, but you will have to call back tomorrow. Classes start at eight, so it would be best to call just before.”

Premonition, imagination, call it what you want but I knew that I would be wasting a call the following day as well.

The premonition proved to be right when I called the next day and was told that Mr. Brown had called in sick.

Now my suspicions were proven correct, and I was more determined than ever to get to the bottom of the mystery.

I called my mother and asked whether she could come look after Marcus and Mary for a few days. I told her that it was very important to me. She sounded worried, but I assured her that she had nothing to worry about and that I would tell them everything when I returned.  She promised to ask my father and call me back straight away, which she did a few minutes later.

I booked a flight to Paris, went to see the head of our department, and asked for a few days’ leave.

My parents arrived two days later.  The children were excited to see them but not as happy to learn that I would be away from home for a few days.  I assured them that I would be back as soon as possible. They had many questions, and I did not want to lie to them or my parents. I told them that it had something to do with their father and that I may return with some good news.  This seemed to satisfy them and by the time I was dropped off at the airport, both children were as excited as I was.

My flight to Paris was a long one.  As I had very little time to book the first available flight had a stop-over of three hours in Dublin Ireland, but I was too impatient to want to wait and took it. I arrived in Paris at night and was slightly disappointed that I could not see much of the city, but that was not why I was there, was it? So, I took a taxi to my hotel and had a good night’s rest before setting out the next day. The Webber Institute was located about 40km outside of Paris. My driver was a reckless young man who had me clinging to my seat on a few occasions, but we made it there safely and in record time.

The Webber Institute in France was nothing like the one back home.  This one was housed in a modern building, inside of high fences and security second to none.  As it was nearly eight o‘clock I could see children of all ages mulling about on the lawn. I could also see guards everywhere.  Strange.

We drove up to the security booth and was greeted by a guard who was as broad as he was tall. If only it was because he was fat, but unfortunately this block of a man was made up out of pure muscle and armed to the teeth.

I explained to him that I came all the way to see their science teacher Mr. Brown. In a heavily accented voice, he asked whether I had made an appointment.  I knew that lying to him would get me nowhere as he could easily check with the office, thus I told him about my phone calls and with a sad face told him how desperately I needed to speak to Mr. Brown.  The guard was however immune to my feminine charms and told us to wait while he called the office. Within minutes he showed us through and directed us to the main building where we were met by another guard who escorted us to the office.

A tall thin woman was waiting for us. She gave me a nasty look and spoke to my driver in French. He translated, telling me that the madame was very sorry but that Mr. Brown had not returned to school after he had taken ill and that nobody knew where he was. Somebody from the institute had visited his apartment and found it empty with no trace whatsoever of the man himself.

I asked my driver to ask her whether they had contacted the police.

She told him that they did report it but that the police found no evidence of foul play and that it appeared as if the man had left on his own accord and there was nothing more they could do.

I could have cried; I was so disappointed. I thanked the woman and with my driver on my heels went back to the car.

On our way back to Paris I asked the driver whether he was prepared to stick around for another day or two.  I promised to pay him handsomely.

After lunch I asked the driver to take me to the police station. Getting someone knowledgeable and prepared to listen to my woes was more difficult, but after my driver yelled at the constable at the desk a few times we were shown to an officer’s office.

The officer was a slime ball if ever I saw one. Small and skinny with oily slicked back hair, he looked like something from a comic strip. His nicotine-stained teeth flashed at us in greeting.  His English was not too bad though and I quickly explained to him my reason for wanting to locate Mr. Brown. He picked up the phone on his desk and spoke in French to someone on the other side. Within minutes a young lady cop entered his office with a file. He took a quick peek inside.

“Ah yes…Mr. Brown…mmm…I am afraid we have nothing more for you Ms. Marks. As he is a foreigner in our country we checked the airports, train stations and car rentals. I am afraid, if your Mr. Brown had left the country he had to have done so under another name and before anyone had noticed his absence and reported him missing.”

I could pull my hair out in frustration, instead I thanked the officer and with my driver in tow left the station.  I had no idea what I could do next. Then I had an idea.  My main objective was to locate Lucian and not Mr. Brown.  I asked my driver to accompany me and together we walked back into the station. My driver asked whether we could see the officer again for just a few minutes. This time he came to the counter and did not invite us to his office.

“Like I told you sir, my main objective is to find my husband (okay, I lied again), Lucian Grey, perhaps you can have a look at his picture.  I know it is a long shot, but perhaps he will be familiar to you…”

The man started laughing. For the life of me I could not imagine what he found so amusing.

“First you are looking for Mr. Brown, now you are looking for Mr. Grey, you do not perhaps have a Mr. Black you are looking for as well? And I thought you said your name was Marks?” he wiped his face with the back of his hand.

“I am the wife of Lucian Grey, but as a professional woman I chose to keep my surname…” I explained feebly.

“You bloody Americans…” he laughed.

He took the photo I had of Lucian and took a long look at it.  I watched his face as he did so, there was nothing.

“I am afraid I know nothing of such a man, but we can run his picture through our facial recognition program if you wish.”

“I wish…” I replied.

He took the photograph and disappeared with it. He stayed away for a long time, but just as I was about to get up and enquire at the front desk he reappeared with another young woman in uniform.

“I am afraid Ms. Marks that we have nothing on this man on file.” His face showed no emotion, and I had no reason to believe that he could be lying to me.  The woman quickly explained that they had a very comprehensive data base and that Lucian’s face did not turn up anywhere.

I had come all that way and ended up with nothing.

That night I phoned my parents and told them I would be home soon.

 I was in bed already when something the police officer said came to mind… Lucian Grey, Dan Brown and the children’s tutor Ms. Black… could it be too much of a coincidence? If Dan Brown could get out of France under another name, who’s to say his real name was Dan Brown, he could as well be John Doe for all we know. What was I dealing with here, FBI, CIA? Was Lucian Grey really Lucian Grey?

I realized I knew almost nothing about Lucian, but I also knew that I could not and would not leave it alone, I had to find out what I could. I would not rest until I did.