Quick (7 page)

Claude edges closer as the guy approaches the reception desk and touches something at the small of his back, under the hoodie.

Does he have a weapon there?

Claude’s eyes flick to the man’s face. He recognises it, but from where? The Frenchman has seen so many wanted posters over the years they have all blended together and now look the same.

The guy’s hand stays at the small of his back. Is he trying to disengage the weapon’s safety? Claude glides closer, quick but silent, just like that big cat, not the overweight house cat but the one from the jungle. The guy is just three metres away now, his hand still at the small of his back.

It moves.

He’s drawing the weapon!

Claude springs forward, snatches at the guy’s right hand as it emerges from under the hoodie and twists the pistol from his grip —

It’s not a pistol.

It’s an iPhone.

He was scratching the small of his back with an iPhone, which is kind of gross but not yet a crime. Claude realises he’s made a terrible mistake. The answer to the question about whether his instincts are rusty is a resounding
yes.

The guy wearing the hoodie twists Claude’s right arm and wrenches it backwards, then drives his right leg out and strikes the Frenchman under his left knee. He is swept off his feet and hangs in the air for what seems like eons, then is yanked downward by the twisted arm —

Whack.
His back slaps the cool marble floor with a bone-jarring crack. A dull ache spreads across Claude’s shoulders as a X26c Taser is yanked from the shoulder holster under his jacket and the electroshock weapon’s twin probes jab into the skin under his chin. He looks up at the guy wearing the hoodie, whose surprised face seems even more familiar than before.

Beside it appears an incredulous Marcellus. ‘What the hell are you doing, Claude?’

‘I thought he was—I was just...’ There is no adequate explanation so he doesn’t finish the sentence.

‘I’d like you to meet Billy Hotchkiss. He’s here about the job ... as your partner.’

That’s
how Claude knows this guy’s face: he watched video of him chase that armoured car in Melbourne.

Billy Hotchkiss is clearly bewildered. ‘This clown’s going to be my
partner
? He just tried to steal my iPhone.’ He looks at Marcellus. ‘Is this part of the interview?’

‘No no, not at all.’ Marcellus glares at Claude then turns to the Australian. ‘Billy, this is Claude Michelle.’

~ * ~

‘Sorry everyone, just a misunderstanding. Please go about your business.’ Marcellus shoos away the gathered crowd as Billy helps Claude to his feet.

‘Two first names, huh? Well, that’s pretty cool. Sorry about calling you a clown.’ The Australian studies the pistol-shaped X26c Taser in his hand. ‘So you actually use this thing?’

‘Obviously.’

Billy extends it, handgrip first, towards Claude. ‘You don’t carry another weapon?’

‘I prefer a non-lethal response.’

‘You’re not worried about bringing an electric cow prod to a gunfight?’

‘Of course not.’ Claude takes the weapon, slides it back into his holster, doesn’t clip it shut.

‘You might want to clip that. So it’s not so easy for someone to grab.’

Claude nods but doesn’t do it.

Billy takes it in, then speaks slow and loud: ‘I know English is your second language but did you not understand what I just said about the holster?’

‘I understood perfectly. And English is my
fourth
language.’

‘Then why didn’t you do it?’

‘I don’t need your advice. I have
socks
with more experience than you.’

‘But what if the next person who steals your cow prod isn’t as nice as me?’

‘It’ll never happen again —’

Fast as light Billy plunges his right hand into Claude’s jacket, yanks the weapon from its unclipped holster and jabs the probes under the stunned Frenchman’s chin.

They stare at each other for a long moment.

‘Clip the bloody holster, mate.’ Billy re-holsters the weapon, clips it shut, then turns to Marcellus. ‘Can I speak to you for a moment?’

~ * ~

‘What the hell?’ Billy turns to Marcellus, his voice echoing in the large, empty bathroom. ‘What kind of dickheads do you have working here? It doesn’t exactly instil me with confidence in your organisation.’

‘He’s one of our best agents.’

‘He’s a tool who’s going to get us all killed.’

The old German nods. ‘Admittedly he can be a little ... brusque.’

‘Brusque? I’ve known the guy for three minutes and I already want to shoot him in the leg.’

‘He’s been doing this a long time. He knows what’s what.’

‘I took his taser away from him.
Twice.
Within the space of a minute. And I
warned
him before I did it the second time.
And
it’s a
taser.
Why isn’t he carrying a pistol?’

‘The taser is a perfectly adequate weapon and he was too proud to clip his holster in front of you. He’s French.’

‘That’s not an excuse.’

‘In some countries it is.’ Marcellus tries to lighten the tone with a grin but Billy’s not buying. The German takes a moment, then lowers his voice. ‘Look, I shouldn’t tell you this, and you can never repeat it, but have you ever been to the Tower of London?’

‘No.’

‘The Statue of Liberty?’

‘This is my first time outside Oz, mate. What’s your point?’

‘The Opera House?’

‘I live in Melbourne and it’s in Sydney, but yes, I have. Once.’

‘Well, none of those landmarks would still exist if weren’t for that man.’

Billy crinkles his face into an expression of disbelief. ‘And how’s that?’

‘Do you ever wonder why there hasn’t been another 9/11 since 9/11? Well, it’s because of him. He uncovered a plot that was one week away from destroying all three of those landmarks on the same day. Now it’s up to you, but you may want to cut him some slack. He just might have saved you from a bad night at the opera.’

Billy takes in a deep breath, then nods. ‘Okay.’

‘Now, can we start the interview please?’

‘Sure.’ A moment passes. Billy looks around. ‘You don’t want to do it in
here,
do you?’

Marcellus smiles. ‘No, I have an extremely nice office.’

~ * ~

Billy looks out the panoramic window and takes in the countryside. ‘It
is
nice.’

Marcellus nods. ‘Thank you.’ Beside the German sits Claude, who doesn’t seem to be embarrassed by recent events at all.

Billy turns to them. ‘So, why’d you bring me all the way over here?’

Marcellus answers. ‘Because you got closer to the crew who pulled the Collins Street heist than anyone else, and we’ve been tracking them, or trying to, for the better part of eight months.’

Billy’s clearly confused. ‘But I didn’t catch them. I ended up in a river with gravel rash and no job. I mean, I wouldn’t do it again.’

‘Really?’

The Australian thinks about it. ‘Well, actually yeah, I probably would, which is part of the reason I got fired.’

Marcellus nods. ‘And yet that’s the reason you’re here. We believe we know where the crew is operating from but we need someone on the inside. Someone who can identify them. Someone with a special kind of tenacity, who’d chase after them on a Vespa when they’re driving a truck.’

Billy takes this in. ‘You think the thieves are part of the Formula One World Championship, don’t you?

‘Why do you say that?’

‘The heist happened on the Saturday before the race. And you’re from Interpol so that must mean it’s happened at a number of other places around the world. And Formula One visits a lot of places.’

The German nods once more, impressed. ‘Yes, there have been five robberies, totalling just under nine million US dollars, all on race weekends during the F1 season, all stolen diamonds. What we do know is that every place that was hit was insured by the same company, Crown, based in Monaco.’

‘Is it an inside job?’

Claude answers that. ‘We looked into it but there’s nothing there. Crown has a huge, worldwide risk portfolio. It’s just a coincidence as far as we can tell.’

‘So, what, you need someone to go undercover as an F1 driver?’

‘Reserve
F1 driver, yes. For Iron Rhino. In a purely observational capacity. I know you raced V8 Supercars, and before your accident you were a prospect to drive in Europe, so you would, I believe, fit into that world without many questions being asked, certainly better than any agents we have.’

The Australian takes this in. ‘Righto.’

Marcellus studies him.

So, is he the right man for the job?

The German won’t rush the decision. Something will tip him off, one way or the other. He just needs to go with his gut. It’s always worked in the past.

Billy nods. ‘It does make sense.’

‘What does?’

‘That they’re involved in F1. I’m sure one of them was wearing a Michael Schumacher helmet, the red one, from the time he drove for Ferrari. And I’m
almost
certain one was wearing a yellow Ayrton Senna helmet, and I
think
the other was wearing a black helmet, like the one that British guy used to wear —’

‘James Hunt.’ Marcellus and Billy say it together.

The only reason Marcellus knows anything about James Hunt, the charismatic British driver, a tall blonde Adonis known as much for his hard partying as for being the 1976 world champion, is because he’d seen
Rush,
the movie about his battle for the championship with Niki Lauda, just last week. Interestingly Hunt was played by Chris Hemsworth, another Australian. ‘Are you sure about that?’

Billy nods. ‘Think so. Three helmets, three champions.’

Marcellus smiles. ‘The Three Champions.’ He glances at Claude. ‘I like it. That’s what we’ll call them from now on.’ The German regards Billy for a moment. Is this information the ‘something’ he was waiting for? Sure, the Australian wasn’t that experienced but his work record was excellent, if you didn’t count all the reprimands and being forced to resign, and he had once been a racing driver.

Go with your gut.

‘Do you speak French or German?’

Billy shakes his head. ‘Just English, mate.’

‘Okay.’ Marcellus turns to Claude and speaks French. ‘I like him.’

Claude speaks French too. ‘I do not.’

‘You’re only saying that because he made you look foolish.’

‘No. He’s a hothead.’

‘You attempted to tackle him in the middle of a packed lobby as he arrived for the biggest job interview of his life during his first visit to a foreign country. You’d have been a “hothead” too.’ The old German takes a moment. ‘And what was that about anyway?’

Claude studies the floor, sheepish. ‘I thought he was carrying a weapon. I’m rusty.’

‘Well I need you not to be, and fast.’

‘He has no experience.’

‘Neither did you when you started.’

Billy grins. ‘You guys are talking about me, aren’t you?’

Marcellus nods and speaks English: ‘Absolutely.’

Billy grins. ‘Cool beans.’

Marcellus looks back at Claude and continues in French: ‘I think he’s the right man.’

Claude does not. He can barley disguise his disdain for the Australian. “‘
Cool
beans, mate, righto
.” What kind of language is this?’

‘I want you to guide him, lend him your experience, help him where you can —’

‘I’m not a babysitter —’

‘— like I did when you were starting out.’

That shuts Claude up. The two men study each other for a long moment, then Marcellus breaks the silence. ‘So, are we agreed?’

‘Do I have a choice?’

‘Not at all.’ Marcellus turns to Billy and speaks in English. ‘So, if there was a job on offer, would you be interested? If it works out, it could mean an ongoing roll within the organisation.’

The Australian’s face lights up. ‘When do I start?’

Marcellus grins. ‘Ten seconds ago.’

~ * ~

5

Before Marcellus dispatched Billy and Claude to Sepang, Malaysia, site of the second Formula One race of the year, he furnished the Australian with a number of items. The first was a tracking app installed on his iPhone that would allow him to locate Claude, and vice versa. The second was a wallet that contained a load of cash, his ‘walking around money’, a credit card and his Interpol credentials, which looked a lot like his driver’s licence but was way cooler. The third was his weapon, a Glock 17 nine-millimetre handgun, similar to the pistol he used on the force back in Oz.

The drive from the airport to the Sepang International Circuit is, to say the least, awkward. He and the Frenchman have exchanged barely ten words since they left France. Strangely the guy has yet to apologise for his bumbling arrest attempt in the Interpol lobby.