Julie James - A Lot Like Love

“So what other evidence do we have?” he asked.

“I’ve been watching Eckhart for the last few weeks and observed him meeting with this man.” Huxley pulled up another image, a photograph of a man with jet black hair who appeared to be in his mid to late forties. He wore a dark overcoat with the collar turned up as he hurried into a building Nick didn’t recognize.

“That’s Carlo Trilani, being photographed outside Bordeaux,” Huxley said. “He’s been there on several occasions to meet with Eckhart, always when the restaurant is closed. We suspect that Trilani is one of Martino’s men, although we don’t have enough evidence yet to make an arrest. Hopefully, we’ll nail both him and Eckhart as part of this investigation.”

Nick was quickly catching on. “I’m guessing the tangible evidence we want lies in those meetings.”

Huxley nodded. “What we need is a way to listen in on Eckhart and Trilani’s conversations.”

Nick saw where Huxley was going with this: electronic surveillance. More commonly used by the FBI than he suspected the average person realized, it was an investigative technique that often provided them the hard evidence they needed. The trick, however, was setting up the recording devices without tipping off the suspects. But the FBI had its ways.

“You said they meet at Bordeaux?” Nick asked.

“I should have been more clear. They don’t actually meet in the restaurant. Eckhart, or more likely Trilani, is smarter than that.” Huxley pulled up computer-generated blueprints of a building with two levels. “This is the layout of the building where Bordeaux is located.” A progression of images flashed across the screen, with different areas on the blueprints highlighted in yellow as Huxley continued. “There’s a restaurant on the main level, with an outdoor terrace overlooking the river. The VIP wine bar is located next to that, in this space right here. Below the restaurant and the wine bar is this lower level, where Eckhart keeps a private office. That’s where he and Trilani meet.”

“Can you get into the lower level through the bar?” Nick asked.

“Yes and no.” Huxley zoomed in on the blueprints for the main level. “There’s an interior door in the wine bar that leads to a staircase to the lower level. There’s also this separate exterior entrance here, right next to the back door for the main bar. The problem is that both doors to the lower level – as well as all the windows – are protected by an alarm system.”

“Eckhart has a separate security system for his office?” Nick asked.

“I think he’s more concerned with this space here.” Huxley brought up the blueprints for the lower level and highlighted a large space located down the hall from Eckhart’s office. “This is the wine cellar for the VIP bar and the restaurant. That’s the reason for the security system – Eckhart’s got over six thousand bottles of wine down there. Really top stuff. I did some research; apparently Eckhart’s a huge collector. Last year, Wine Spectator did a whole cover story on him and the cellar at Bordeaux. And a few weeks ago, he made a big splash in the wine community by paying two hundred and fifty-eight thousand dollars for a case of rare wine.”

“A quarter of a million dollars for wine ?” Nick shook his head in disbelief. The things rich people did with their money.

“And that’s just one case out of six thousand bottles,” Huxley continued. “By all accounts, between wine and champagne, Eckhart’s got over three million dollars in drinkable, easily transportable goods sitting underneath his restaurant.”

Davis whistled. “Explains the security system.”

Nick scoffed at this, not so easily impressed. Sure, maybe Eckhart’s collection was worth a ton of money, but it was still just wine . Call him unrefined, but he wasn’t about to get all hot and bothered over a bunch of fermented grape juice. A man’s drink should be strong, and burn a little on the way down. Like bourbon. “Who has access to the password for the security system?”

“Only Eckhart and his two general managers, one of whom is required to be at Bordeaux whenever it’s open. And according to our reports, they change the password every week.”

“What reports?” Nick asked.

“We’ve got a female agent working undercover as a bartender – we set her up in the position a few weeks ago,” Huxley said. “We’d planned to use her to get into the lower level of the restaurant, but Eckhart’s security has proven to be more of a challenge than we’d expected.”

Nick shrugged. “I don’t see why we even need her – our next step seems simple enough. We get a court order forcing the alarm company to turn over the password to Eckhart’s security system, then go in and bug the place in the middle of the night.”

“Unfortunately, that’s not an option in this case,” Huxley said. “Eckhart uses a company called RLK Security. I checked them out – they do security for private homes and businesses. Including, notably, Roberto Martino’s home.”

Nick was impressed by Huxley’s thoroughness. “I doubt that’s a coincidence. I’m guessing Martino hooked Eckhart up with his security team once they went into business together.”

“Even with a gag order, it’s too risky to let RLK Security in on the plan. Anyone Martino trusts is not a friend of the FBI,” Huxley said.

No disagreement there. “So where does that leave us?” Nick asked.

Huxley looked over at Davis. Nick sensed that this next part was the reason he’d been brought in for consulting.

“It means we do this in plain sight,” Huxley said. “Every Valentine’s Day, Eckhart hosts an exclusive charity event at Bordeaux. One hundred people on the list, five thousand dollars per head. As part of the event, Eckhart offers tastings from some of the rare wines he owns. He keeps a security guard stationed in a private tasting room near the cellar as a precautionary measure, but guests have general access to the lower level. Which means that an agent posing as a guest could slip away from the others during the party, break into Eckhart’s office, and set the microphones in place.” He cleared his throat. “That will be me.”

Nick was missing something here. “Why not just have this agent we’ve already got on the inside plant the recording devices? Why else do we have her pretending to be a bartender?”

Huxley conceded this with a nod. “Originally, that was the plan. But Agent Simms has learned that employees don’t have access to the lower level during the party – Eckhart has hired a private sommelier to pour the most expensive wines from his cellar for the guests. That was an unexpected development, but not a total loss – Simms can serve as backup upstairs while I plant the bugs in Eckhart’s office.”

“And how, exactly, do you plan to get into the party?” Nick asked. “I’m guessing the FBI isn’t on Eckhart’s invite list.”

“True. So instead, I’m going to pose as the date of one of the guests.”

Nick paused and eased back in his chair, taking that in. “That means getting a civilian involved.” Generally, he didn’t like using civilians in undercover operations. They were unpredictable and, frankly, a liability. Sometimes, however, circumstances made it necessary.

Huxley was quick to continue. “It’s a one-shot deal, and the risk of harm to the civilian is minimal: she doesn’t have to do anything except get me into the party. Once inside, I can take it from there.”

Davis spoke for the first time since Huxley had begun outlining the parameters of the assignment. “What do you think, Nick?”

Nick studied the blueprints on the screen before him. Without the ability to bypass the alarm system, he didn’t see any other way. “I’m not saying it can’t work. But clearly this isn’t the most typical way to plant recording devices.”