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Chapter 12 - "Dismissal"

Alex stood up and Bobby slid aside on the sofa so she could move next to Mignon. "This wouldn't happen all at once, sweetie. Adoptions take time. You'll probably be done with your school year, or even summer camp, or it will possibly take even longer, by the time we meet all the approvals, and all the legal papers are signed. You'll have to go back to school–"

"But if that's so, can't you stay a few days longer? So we can talk? I can make up the work at school even if I stay here a few more days! I promise! I can study on weekends to get the work made up," Mignon begged. "Please–"

Bobby answered, voice husky, "It would be good if we could get better acquainted...but it's not a matter of you falling behind in your schoolwork. We both know you'll be able to make up your classes. But the quicker we go home to get things in motion, get the proper paperwork begun–"

"Pardon me," Luisa said softly, hesitantly, "but...I do not think it will, as you say, 'take time.' Madame has already asked me to pack Miss Mignon's things, and she has requested the Creatwood School to forward Miss Mignon's schoolwork to her on the computer."

Bobby shook his head. "That's impossible, Luisa. I've had cause to research the French legal system before—it's extremely strict, then there will be the rules we'll need to comply with at home as well. Before any move can be done, our home must be inspected, to confirm we can provide a proper place for Mignon, we'll undergo a background check, interviews with the local department of children's services in Connecticut—at the very least. There's also the matter of passports and guardianship papers, we'll need veterinarian clearance for Tipsy–"

"Perhaps Madame has misunderstood, but I was ordered to pack Miss Mignon's clothing and other favorite items, with the rest to be shipped later. Her instructions to me were that Mignon will be going home with you, as will the dog."

Now he straightened up, regarding her warily, and when he finally spoke, his voice was low, a little ominous. "When did you get these 'instructions,' Luisa?"

"When I went downstairs for the cake and punch, monsieur. Cook buzzed Madame and she came to the kitchen and asked if you were talking with Mignon."

Bobby went quiet, his eyes dark under furrowed brows, while Alex sucked in her breath. "But we leave tomorrow–"

"So I must work quickly," Luisa said, brisk, averting her eyes while giving Mignon a hug. "since Madame has given the order. I am now in her employ, you see, which is why I did not say– But, never mind—come help me, child."

Mignon, accustomed to obeying her nanny, tossed them a mute look and shrugged, following Luisa into the closet.

"In the United States, I know," they heard Luisa say, "they are less formal, so we will pack your most practical things, but perhaps a few dresses as well–"

"I think," Bobby said, a flush of anger building in his face, "we need to talk to Madame." He strode next to the door, where the home still retained the old-fashioned bell-pulls from another era, and jerked repeatedly on the brocaded strip of rose-and-vine fabric ending in a black tassel. In a few minutes, Delphine, the engaging woman with the Creole accent, was at Mignon's door. She took one look at his face and stiffened.

"Yes, Monsieur Goren?"

"My wife and I," he requested courteously, knowing it was not Delphine's fault that her employer had stretched their patience to the breaking point, "need to speak to Madame as soon as possible. How would we go about doing that? Please tell her it is about Mignon's future."

Delphine nodded, evidently relieved that their obviously angered guest didn't feel the need to shout at her. "I will relay your message to Monsieur Laurent, and he will speak with his mother," and she flashed a nervous smile, curtsied, then hurried downstairs.

"I wonder how that will go over," Alex said cynically, staring after her. "Any bets how long it's going to take her to come back?"

"I wouldn't wager on it." He turned to look at the closet, where he could hear Luisa and Mignon now conversing in French. "Should we help them? Surely Madame cannot–"

"At this point, Bobby, I believe Madame can do anything she damn well pleases. She had the pull to get the State Department to drag us out of bed. One of them—and I'm wagering it was her—paid our round-trip fares, in business class, no less, and the return trip will be the same, with an additional seat for Mignon. Mignon's belongings and the items she inherited from Nicole will be shipped, no cost to us. All of that takes manipulation. She probably has obliging toadies on speed dial. So what hold does Pepin—or maybe the Duplantier name—have on our government?"

"Her claws do seem to be in everything," he continued, his face introspective. "Could the link be Duplantix? They're involved with coal and oil; it's just not fashionable to mention that these days. It's renewable energy sources that are the new buzzwords. Remember those 'trade secrets' I mentioned on the flight—could they be a bargaining chip? Could it be some kind of partnership with the Department of Energy?"

"Negotiated by the State Department? Damn, just when I think things are getting better in DC!" She lowered her voice. "Did you hear Luisa cut herself off?"

"She probably had orders not to mention Nicole's will, or she'd be fired," he answered stiffly.

Delphine's knock on the door startled them; she was out of breath and flushed from the speed at which she'd returned. "Madame will see you in the morning room immediately. Please come with me."

Exchanging wary glances and steeling themselves on the two flights down, they followed Delphine to the overwhelmingly pink-and-leaf green room, where she announced them, then swiftly withdrew.

"Come in, Monsieur et Madame Goren," Evangeline Pepin said from her desk, waving her hand to the two chairs already set in front of it. She was still in black, but her previous surly attitude toward them seemed to have evaporated, her gaze remarkably benevolent. Even the room itself looked more cheerful; the window shades were up and the curtains parted, leaving spring sunshine to flood the room. They sank down with suspicion she must have noticed, because she gave a covert smile.

"Delphine said you needed to speak with me? I believe that you're here to tell me you have decided to comply with Miss Wallace's final request?"

"Miss-?" Alex began, startled, and Madame interrupted. "Come now, Laurent had already told you we knew Miss Haynes' real name." She regarded them speculatively. "It has taken me ten years to get that malignant woman out of my life." She scowled. "Unfortunately, she took my husband with her. He would have never bought that ridiculous motorcar if it wasn't for her, her and her sweet talk and her big eyes."

"Nicole was a pro at what she did," Bobby said noncommittally, "but I hardly think Mignon deserves to be punished for it. She was, after all, your husband's child as well."

"A child that he spoilt far more than his own legitimate children."

"Still not Mignon's fault," Alex retorted fiercely. "And remember that we tried to keep Nicole in the U.S. last year. We had her confession. It was your government's negotiation with our State Department that brought her home."

Madame said coldly, "More like Marcel and his belief that she had changed."

Bobby returned in a brittle voice, "She had."

"Yet again," Madame responded sternly, "as Laurent says he asked you, that gives her 'a pass'?"

"No," he said. "If we were relieved she was gone, it was for Mignon's sake, not hers."

"Well," Madame declared loftily, "now that the mother is taken care of, the girl will be taken care of. I'm sure you will have no trouble with Mignon—she's a biddable child. I wish you good luck with her. Good day."

"Excuse me, Madame, but we aren't finished," Bobby objected, since she seemed to be returning to her paperwork. "You can't simply waive laws from two separate countries for your own convenience—and that's all it is right now, your convenience—and send her home with us. There are always preliminary investigations for adoptive parents. We ourselves have to make preparations—her room, her school, legal matters. Mignon is a French citizen, is she not? You can't just give her away like a stray kitten to two...strangers!"

"Monsieur Goren," Madame said with an impatient sigh, then corrected, "I mean, Agent Goren...do you think due diligence has not already been done? From the moment the news came of the deaths, Laurent and I asked for intelligence–"

"Because you knew the contents of Nicole's will beforehand!" Alex protested hotly.

"I plead guilty to that," she said unrepentantly, "but it's of little matter now. Did you expect me to find something scandalous in your backgrounds, aside from Agent Goren's previous emotional issues? I am assured by your FBI and by the treatment records that he is stable and in good psychological health." Here Bobby drew in his breath and Alex bridled angrily. "And you, Madame Goren...you are spotless. I also received a complete report about your interaction with Miss Wallace and with Mignon at your home last year. Miss Cornetto has an eidetic memory—when Marcel was searching for a 'watchdog' for 'his Madeleine,' I intercepted his communications and noted specifically that a recruit from Interpol should include that skill—and she relayed your interrogation, Madame Goren—an excellent one, incidentally—and your interactions with the girl. Mignon could not have two better guardians."

Alex no longer kept her opinion to herself. "You bitch."

Madame Pepin turned mild eyes upon her. "I'm surprised, Madame Goren. I was told you were the sensible one."

"This was a setup from day one," was Bobby's grim retort.

"You've pried into everything," Alex said, leaning over the desk. "You've probably violated HIPAA regulations—although I guess they don't apply to the great Madame, do they?" and the scorn in her voice was evident. "You've checked into Bobby's childhood, and his NYPD records, and his FBI files- I'll bet you know all about his child advocacy efforts, his work at Big Brothers–"

"Moi?" Madame asked in mocking tones.

"And about Alex's surrogate pregnancy, her close relationship with her nephew and nieces–" interjected Bobby, grasping the edge of the desk so tightly that the wood bit into his skin.

"I learned what was readily available," Madame commented quietly. "Your work—and Mr. Jenkins' work—was profiled on a Connecticut television station this winter, was it not? Your wife's surrogate pregnancy noted in an old NYPD newsletter? The fact that you both made a large donation to a children's organization was public knowledge. Your appeal for funds for trained therapy animals aired on national television. And I needed to make certain Marcel's daughter was safe, didn't I?"

"Safe or out of your hair?" Alex countered. "Because you didn't just recently get your hands on Nicole's will, did you? You got it out of Maître Achard some time ago. You've got something on him, don't you, and whatever it is, it has to be, as my dad used to say, 'a doozy.'"

"You know what happened in DC last year," continued Bobby, "and what happened at our house as well, because it appears Miss Cornetto is playing both sides of the street. You knew we liked Mignon, and you knew once we saw her, and knew what was in store for her, we couldn't leave this alone."

"That's a very interesting supposition, Agent Goren." Madame Pepin responded, steepling her fingers and resting her chin on them, her face impassive.

Bobby looked at her intently, then chuckled wryly. "No affect, Madame. You school yourself very well."

"But then you've had practice keeping your cool when Marcel trotted out with his long-term squeeze, not to mention his other little tootsies, haven't you? Like the woman who showed up at the funeral?" Alex added sharply, then smiled a cat smile when Madame's eyebrows gave the tiniest of twitches.

"Got her, Eames."

"As I said," Madame responded with a cool smile, "a supposition."

"So you get to play God with all of us?" Bobby asked bitterly, voice notching up in volume.

"I usually get what I want, Agent Goren," Madame retorted matter-of-factly. "You appeared to be interested in the child in the past, and you've certainly been very attentive to her during this stay. You even brought her to breakfast one morning. Perhaps you didn't know that has never been permitted in this household. Or perhaps I'm completely wrong and you're here to admit you were just playacting at being fond of her, simply to impress us, and have changed your mind? I wouldn't be surprised. Children are entertaining for one or two days, but full time they become...less charming. This is why nannies exist, after all. But she does have a place here, as Laurent has told you. Do you no longer want her?"

"We have not been playacting," said Alex through her teeth, and Bobby's grip on the desk tightened again. "And our feelings haven't changed."

"Then Mignon will leave with you tomorrow," Madame declared frostily, "or she will not leave here at all. My solicitors and my husband's friends will make it right with your State Department and with our government. Mignon, as you know, already has a passport. Your State Department will make all the proper legal decisions and provide the legal documentation. I foresee no problems." She regarded them with a dismissive look. "Enjoy the rest of your day." She opened a file folder on her desk, lifted her pen, then spared a final glance toward them. "Perhaps you can help Luisa with the packing."

She returned her attention to her work, leaving Bobby standing speechless, fists clenched at his side. Alex set a gentle hand on his arm, bringing him back to himself. Madame must have also pressed a hidden buzzer, for Delphine appeared at the door to escort them back upstairs. As they passed through the doorway, Alex wheeled. One look at her face and Bobby stepped back involuntarily, flashbacking with his insides turned to water, for she wore the same terrifying, ice-cold face she had donned on that disastrous day she discovered he'd gone undercover without telling her.

"'Biddable'—that's what you consider a positive quality in a child? 'Biddable'? There is no way I would leave Mignon here. In fact, I wouldn't trust you to change the paper at the bottom of my bird's cage."

Wide-eyed, Delphine cautiously asked them if they wished to return to their room, or to Mignon's suite. They chose the latter, and when Delphine was out of earshot, Alex paused as she was about to knock, commenting waspishly, imitating Madame's voice, "'Laurent had already told you...' she said. Do you suppose Laurent reports every single conversation he has to 'Maman'? Does she get an orgasm every time he returns from an assignation?"

Bobby relaxed finally, ducking his head, biting off a smile, and she put her arms around him. As he embraced her, he could feel the wild thumping of her heart as she vibrated with anger. "Bitch," she muttered, "monster...harridan...banshee..."

He laughed deep in his throat and held her tightly. "Damn, Eames, what did I do to deserve you?"

They were helping sort through clothing and footwear when Bobby's cell rang; the ringtone, the theme song from the 1960s FBI television series, alerted them that it was Penelope Saltonstall, Bobby's supervisor, and they retreated to the schoolroom so that he could use the speakerphone.

"Robert, I just received a call from a Helen Harcourt, an irritating individual with the State Department who states you and Alex are being uncooperative with Madame Pepin, which I frankly doubt. What's happening out there?" she asked crisply.

"We could have been damn well more uncooperative." Bobby had never raised his voice to Saltonstall in eleven years; they had been totally sympathetic to each other's eccentricities almost from the first time they met—now, with his patience at an end, he didn't precisely shout, but as he related the day's events, his tone of voice made his irritation known. He concluded grimly, "I don't appreciate either of us—and most of all Mignon—being manipulated like marionettes."

She sighed. "Robert, Alexandra, I apologize. But I also know we mere mortals cannot argue with the machinations of the State Department. To their credit, they have often kept us out of trouble, but this isn't their finest hour." She paused. "Will you still bring Mignon home?"

So the news was already out. Alex could see Bobby grind his teeth, so she answered firmly, for both of them, "There's no question about that."

"Then do so, and enjoy the experience. Everything will be taken care of at this end. I promise." She paused and her final words were ominous. "Oh, I promise."

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