Free The Bonaparte Secret by Gregg Loomis Page A

Lang to give Gurt a hug. “In addition to being a heretic, your husband is a wiseass.”
    Gurt hugged him back. “Be grateful you do not have to live with him.”
    “I include thanks in my daily prayers.”
    They watched him pull the Toyota into the street. In following it with his eyes, Lang noticed a sedan parked at the curb to his left. The people who lived there had an ample yard in which to park cars, so the automobile was not a visitor’s nor was it one he recognized as his neighbor’s. For that matter, the humble Ford was not the type transportation preferred by the residents of affluent Ansley Park.
    Its sheer ordinariness stuck out like an automotive sore thumb.
    Lang took a little more time closing the door than was necessary. He thought he saw a flash of movement. Someone was in the car.
    Why?
    Lang thought he had a good idea.
    It was then he realized he had forgotten to ask Francis about his cryptic remark at lunch the other day concerning the true occupant of Saint Mark’s tomb under the altar in Venice. Oh well, he saw the priest on a regular if purely social basis. He’d get an answer the next time.
    Upstairs, Lang cut off the bathroom light and was approaching the bed where Gurt was an indistinct pile of covers.
    “Who was it on the phone?” she asked as he pulled back the covers to climb in.
    “Someone who wanted me to think they had a wrong number.”
    “Why would someone want to do that?”
    “There was a hum on the line.”
    The blankets fell away as Gurt sat up. “A parabolic listening device? That could make wireless electronics like a cordless telephone hum. Someone with the thing trained on the windows to pick up the vibrations of the glass caused by the human voice. It can also pick up both sides of a telephone conversation. They were testing it.”
    “That’s why I pulled down our custom-made privacy shields before I got in bed.”
    In remodeling the old Ansley Park home, Gurt and Lang had spared no expense to retain its early twentieth-century charm while modernizing a number of features. One of these additions had been a security system that would shock their more conventional neighbors, and one many military bases might envy.
    With the past they shared, neither wanted to risk a former enemy’s reappearance. The house contained a complete privacy system designed to thwart the most sophisticated listening devices, in addition to a number of other surprises, such as oak bolted to two-inch case-hardened steel for doors, a central control system that could remotely seal off any part of the house and real-time surveillance cameras.
    Gurt turned on the light by her side of the bed. “They called to make sure their device was operational.”
    “Not as good as tapping the phone but not as risky, either. And they can follow conversations anywhere within a hundred yards just by focusing the antenna.”
    “But why would someone want to . . . ?”
    “To enjoy my brilliant wit?”
    Gurt’s frown showed that at the moment, she wasn’t enjoying it at all. “What should we do?”
    “Not much. Far as I know, there’s no law against eavesdropping as long as no wiretap or trespass is involved. I’d say someone is more interested in learning about us than doing us harm.”
    Gurt nodded. “For now.”
    “For now.” Lang turned to open the top drawer of the bedside table and verify his Browning HP 9 mm was where he kept it. “At some point they—whoever ‘they’ might be—are going to either find out whatever they want to know or give up. Then they’ll either go away or move to the next step.”
    Gurt was crawling out from under the covers.
    “Where are you going?” Lang asked.
    “Downstairs to make sure all the locks are on and so are the motion and impact detectors.”
    “Don’t forget the motion-activated cameras.”
    Lang knew the house was as secure as modern technology could make it. He still had a hard time getting to sleep.
    From the diary of Louis Etienne Saint Denis,