From Paris With Love Read Online Free PDF Page A

was decidedly creepy. He had greased-back hair like some Fifties barber, and a smarmy smile.
    ‘That’s John. John Smith,’ said Joe Bloggs (I must be in some parallel universe where everyone’s name sounded stupid).
    I palm-slapped my forehead. ‘Of course he’d be called that. Silly me.’
    ‘No need for sarcasm,’ said John,giving a smarmy grin as he joined us on the lower step.
    ‘Assuming I believe you are both spies – which I don’t – why do you need my help, exactly?’ I asked.
    ‘One of our agents is mad on reality shows and…’
    I raised an eyebrow.
    John was the sarcastic one, now. ‘Yes, Gemma, agent or no agent, we are still normal people with common interests, like everyone else.’
    ‘My colleague told me about you on
Million Dollar Mansion
,and mentioned she’d read you were coming to Paris for a month,’ continued Joe.
    It still surprised me when newspapers reported stuff about me and Edward, months on from the end of the show.
    ‘I watched the series online.’ Joe sat more upright. ‘I was impressed, and hoped you’d be my eyes and ears at Chez Dubois.’
    ‘
Your
eyes and ears? So – pretending for one second that I believe this spy crap – is this official MI6 business, or not?’
    His cheeks reddened. ‘No.’
    ‘And what exactly would this mission be, at some restaurant?’ But it was no good – uttering those words produced another bubble of laughter and I giggled, expecting to suddenly be accosted by Tom Cruise or Daniel Craig.
    Joe Bloggs waited for me to control myself before leaning closer. ‘Something’s going down on the internet, about a “MiddleWin Mort” at the charity football game. “MiddleWin” could be a combination of the names Middleton and Windsor– and “Mort”, in French, means death.
    I gasped. ‘You think someone is going to assassinate the royal couple?’
    Joe shrugged. ‘There is no evidence whatsoever to support that… It was just a few comments, spotted in a couple of French forums in recent weeks, discussing the upcoming match. People got chatting about emails they’d received… Chez Dubois was mentioned as well as some cryptic dance terms.’ Joe shrugged. ‘I investigated but before I could take a screenshot, the comments were deleted along with the profiles of the people who’d made them. I’m wondering if the mastermind works at Chez Dubois.’
    Blimey. Potentially, this was serious stuff. ‘It’s all a bit vague.’
    Joe nodded. ‘Discreetly, MI6 agreed to check out Pierre Dubois who owns the restaurant. His records are clean. In fact, he does a lot of charity work locally. Seems like a decent bloke. Then there’s Cindy Cooper, she has joint French/American nationality and started working there as the sous chef almost one year ago. The head chef is called Jean-Claude Brun and was cautioned for shoplifting as a teenager, but that’s all. Then there’s Hugo Petit, the headwaiter, who’s been there years and has never received so much as a caution. The agency did basic background checks on the rest of the staff who’ve been there longer than six months. They were all clean too. Plus we’ve hacked the restaurant’s laptop and checked all the staff’s email accounts we could find. Nothing to report – just messages to suppliers and customers. Nothing about a MiddleWin Mort… So MI6 closed the file and won’t deploy any agent – not even a junior one – into Chez Dubois.’
    ‘You must be dedicated to pursue this investigation on your own,’ I said.
    ‘Or mad,’ muttered John and rolled his eyes. ‘If it were up to me, this thing would be dead and buried.’
    Joe pursed his lips. ‘Protecting our country… It’s a commitment every day of the year; a vocation for some of us, I guess.’
    ‘But if you’re doing your official work and then this on the side… Don’t you get any free time?’
    ‘I bloody make sure I do,’ said John.
    Joe shrugged. ‘It’s not like I’m married, with someone else to think