“She’s on her way to the airport,” Randall replied.
“The airport? Why?”
“She’s heading back to France. The funeral is over and she said she had to get back.”
“What time is her flight?”
“I think they board around five-thirty. She’s on Air France.”
Decker looked at his watch. “Thanks.”
He clicked off and looked at Jamison. “I think she’s making a run for it.”
CHAPTER
51
NATALIE BONFILS HANDED over her passport and ticket as she prepared to board the Air France flight to Charles de Gaulle Airport. It was an A380, a full-length double-decker airliner that would ferry over five hundred passengers across the Atlantic to the French capital, arriving about seven and a half hours after takeoff given the prevailing tailwinds.
She did not make it onto the jetway to the plane.
Two men in suits held up their Bureau shields and barred her way.
“What is going on?” she demanded.
“This way, please, Ms. Bonfils.”
“I’m flying to Paris tonight. My luggage is already on the plane.”
“We had it taken off.”
“How dare you,” she snapped. “Why?”
“This way, please, we don’t want to make a scene.”
Natalie looked around at other passengers gaping at her. She spun around and walked away from the jetway entrance.
Then she saw Decker and Jamison standing next to Bogart and her face turned ugly.
“What the hell are you doing to me!” she exclaimed.
Bogart came forward. “We need to talk to you. Now.”
“I’ve told you everything I know.”
“And I also told you not to leave the area,” retorted Bogart.
“I didn’t know that still applied, since we buried my father.”
“One has nothing to do with the other. It applies until I tell you explicitly that it does not apply.”
She turned to Decker. “This is your doing, isn’t it?”
“We’ve got a space here where we can talk privately,” said Decker.
They led her down an escalator and to a room located across from one of the baggage claims. Milligan and Brown were already there.
“Thanks for the heads-up, Decker,” said Brown as they escorted Natalie in.
“Please take a seat, Ms. Bonfils,” said Bogart.
Natalie sat, folded her arms over her chest, and stared angrily at each of them. “Should I have a lawyer?” she snapped.
“I don’t know,” said Bogart. “Do you think you need one?”
“When the FBI pulls you off a plane it makes you think you do, even if you’ve done nothing wrong.”
“We’re not arresting you, so we haven’t Mirandized you yet. Therefore you’re not entitled to a lawyer being present while we question you. But you can call an attorney and you can also refuse to answer our questions.”
“Just ask your damn questions. Maybe I can still make my flight.”
“That won’t be happening,” replied Bogart firmly. “But we will start asking our questions.”
She scowled at him.
Bogart glanced at Decker, who said, “Why the rush to get back to France? I thought you said you were divorcing your husband.”
“I am. But my kid happens to be there with him. I’m going to get her.”
“And bring her back here?” asked Decker.
Natalie stared at him wildly for a few seconds and then broke down in tears.
Decker stared at her without a shred of sympathy. “You’ve done the tear duct dance already,” he pointed out. “So don’t waste our time. We want answers, and maybe, just maybe, you can cut a deal.”
Natalie immediately stopped crying and looked up at him. “What do you want to know?”
“How did you run up ten million in gambling debts so fast?”
“Bad luck.”