The Martyr's Curse (22 page)

Thorough, Ben thought. But he was less interested in the contents of the bags than in other kinds of contents. ‘And you’re certain there was no mention of what was in the containers? Not even a hint?’

‘None. Obviously, I never got the chance to talk to Dexter. Breslin might have known something, but it’s too late for that now, isn’t it? He was much closer to Streicher. Deeply loyal to him. They all are. He seems to have an effect on them. Like he’s a god or something. Like they have an oath of fealty to him, as if he were their liege and they his vassals. It’s weird.’

‘What happened next?’

‘The convoy split up. Nine of us got into two of the Range Rovers and headed back to Lausanne. I was still on driving duty. When I realised Dexter wasn’t with us any longer, I started to get very worried, but I couldn’t say anything. Torben Roth was right next to me, so I had to look cool. Cazzitti and Chavanne took the third Range Rover and went off in tandem with Streicher and Hannah Gissel in the BearCat. I assume they returned to the rendezvous point where the lorry and trailer were still waiting, then Cazzitti and Chavanne put the rotors back on the chopper, then the BearCat took its place inside the trailer, then the artic went one way and the Range Rover set off for Lausanne, while Streicher and Hannah flew back to wherever they came from.’

‘Carrying the white containers.’

‘That’s my best guess,’ she said.

‘Cazzitti and Chavanne. Ex-air force?’

‘Cazzitti did a four-year stint in the Italian Parachute Infantry Brigade. Might have picked up a few aero-mechanic skills there. Nothing on record about Chavanne.’

‘Tell me about this Torben Roth.’

‘Plenty on him. He was a PMC before he hooked up with Streicher.’

Ben nodded. Private military contractor. A mercenary. Torben Roth was suddenly his number one choice to be the explosives expert on the team. ‘Is he good?’

‘He’s got the look of a killer, that’s all I can tell you. Doesn’t say much. Face was messed up by a bullet.’

Ben asked, ‘Does he smoke?’

‘Not that I’ve ever seen. Why are you asking?’

‘What about Streicher?’

‘He won’t even let people do it in the safe house.’

‘Then you never saw him light up a Russian cigarette. A black Sobranie.’

She shook her head emphatically. ‘Never.’

‘Okay. Just wondered.’

Ben drove on a while in silence, frowning as he pieced everything together in his mind. The pieces seemed to fit, but the picture they formed didn’t make sense to him.

‘I still don’t get it,’ he said. ‘Why are DGSI so worked up about this Streicher? A joint operation like this is the kind of stuff they keep in reserve for the big fish. Major terror suspects. International crime rings. They wouldn’t even bother with the drug syndicates in Marseille. They leave that to the regular police to deal with. So who is he?’

‘He
is
a big fish,’ Silvie said.

‘Then fill me in.’

‘You’ll be disappointed with how much I actually know.’

‘Let me be the judge of that.’

She hesitated. ‘Before I say anything else, I should know a little more about who I’m talking to.’

‘I told you who I am,’ Ben said. ‘A concerned individual, nothing more. I was just a guest at the monastery.’

‘No ordinary guest, that’s for sure. Since when did monks let someone like you come and live with them?’

‘Someone like me?’ he echoed, bristling a little.

‘I mean, you’re not exactly gentle Jesus meek and mild, are you?’

‘I have a past,’ he said. ‘I was hoping to put it behind me. The monks showed me hospitality. They were good people.’

‘How did you know about Jean-Loup l’Hermite?’

Ben didn’t like being pressured for answers. Silvie Valois might have been the one tethered and captive, but it didn’t seem to make her any less assertive. ‘I met him once,’ he said.

‘Can’t have been just a casual acquaintance. You know too much about him.’

‘We did some training together,’ Ben admitted after a restless silence. ‘A few years back.’

‘What kind of training?’

‘The kind you might have benefited from tonight,’ he said.

She gave a dark kind of laugh. ‘Thanks for that. So this past of yours – would it be in law enforcement?’ She thought about it for a moment, then shook her head. ‘No, you were never a cop. I get the impression you don’t like them much.’

‘Most cops I know feel that way too.’

‘You’re not the type. You were a soldier.’

‘Don’t let the car fool you. It’s borrowed from a friend.’

‘I’m not talking about the car. Talking about you. You have the look.’

He didn’t reply.

‘Sure, you do,’ she said. ‘That look that never goes away. The way you handle yourself. The way you move, even the way you talk. It’s indelible. Like a stain. And you’re English, so it’s a no-brainer. British Army, correct?’

Ben said nothing, just kept driving into the night.

‘I knew it. And you were an officer, I’ll bet.’

He looked at her. ‘Really. You can tell that, can you?’

‘Take it as a compliment.’

‘Or an insult,’ he said.

‘A captain, at the very least. What unit?’

‘Drop it,’ Ben said.

‘So I’m getting close. Let’s aim for the top and work our way down from there. Special Forces?’

‘How would you figure that one out?’

‘Oh, from the way you jumped us tonight. You’re right about the training. I thought I was good, and I am. But you made me feel like a total amateur. So, UKSF it is. Not too many divisions to choose from. SF Support Group? Special Boat Service? You don’t strike me as the navy type. Special Reconnaissance Regiment? That’s a possible. But I’m going to plump for Special Air Service. How am I doing?’

Ben shook his head. ‘You know something, Silvie Valois, or whoever you are? You’re a little too smart for your own good.’

She smiled in the darkness. ‘I’m right, though.’

‘Right about to get thrown out of a speeding car if you don’t start whistling a different tune.’

‘Then you’d have to cut my tapes first,’ she said.

‘Or else slap another piece over your mouth.’

At that moment, the phone on the centre console between them began to vibrate and buzz in its plastic hollow. They both looked down at it.

‘Aren’t you going to get that?’ she asked.

The phone gave two more pulses before Ben reached down and picked it up. He thumbed the reply button and pressed it to his ear, saying nothing, waiting for the caller to speak first. He eased off the throttle to quieten the resonance of the Hummer’s engine note inside the cab.

‘From one lone wolf to another, hello back,’ said a familiar voice that Ben hadn’t heard in a long time.

Chapter Thirty-Two

‘It’s been a while, my old friend,’ said the smooth, warm, Gallic voice of Commissioner Luc Simon. ‘Thought you’d dropped off the face of the planet.’

‘Still keeping those healthy work hours, I see,’ Ben said.

‘Glutton for punishment,’ Luc said. Ben could picture him sitting at his desk in a darkened office on the top floor of the Interpol HQ in Lyon. The expensive suit jacket hung crisply over the back of his chair. Tie loosened, but not too much. The ubiquitous cup of coffee steaming at his elbow, black as pitch and strong enough to stand a spoon up in. Luc Simon’s hard-driving work schedule depended on a diet of heavy fuel.

‘I thought about replying in some cryptic form to the rather unconventional communiqué that appeared on my fax machine,’ he said, ‘but I lack your imagination in these kinds of things. And besides, I didn’t know where you were.’

‘I’m in between places,’ Ben said.

‘Heading away from trouble rather than towards it, I hope.’

‘A little of both.’

‘That’s what I was afraid you were going to say. In fact, I knew it. You worry me, Ben.’

‘That’s sweet of you to say,’ Ben said, but he detected an emerging seriousness in the Frenchman’s tone.

‘Seriously. I have to ask myself what kind of mayhem your unexpected reappearance on my radar is going to spark off this time.’

‘If you’re referring to the thing in Paris,’ Ben said, ‘it really wasn’t such a big deal.’

‘A memorable high point in my police career. Wrecked cars and dead bodies all across the city, carnage and devastation, a one-man army on the rampage.’

‘Don’t exaggerate,’ Ben said.

‘And now, just when I was enjoying the peace, here you are again.’

‘I only need a quick run on those prints,’ Ben said.

‘So I gathered. And I wish it were that simple. But I need to know where you got these from, my friend.’

Here comes the serious bit, Ben thought. The prelude was over. Now it was time to talk business, and it was clear that something was troubling Luc Simon. ‘Off the guy’s fingers,’ Ben said. ‘The rest is classified, as you might say. But from the question, I’m sensing you already know who they belonged to.’

‘
Belonged
. Past tense. What am I to infer from that?’

‘The obvious,’ Ben said.

‘See, now, that’s a real problem,’ Simon said.

‘He was already dead when I found him,’ Ben explained for the second time that night. ‘If it’s any consolation.’

‘That makes a refreshing change, coming from you. And may I ask where he is now?’

‘Don’t worry, he’s nowhere that’s going to traumatise some unsuspecting member of the French public. Don’t play games, Luc. If you know who he was, give me a name. You owe me that.’

‘I do know who he was. Though it took a little finding. First place I looked was the Interpol criminal data management system covering France. The computer drew a blank. No trace of him there, no criminal history anywhere in this country. So then I ran a wider search. As an authorised user I can cross-check all European law-enforcement databases on suspected criminals or wanted persons. No sign of him there either. I had to dig deeper. And this does go deep. Which is why I said we have a problem if you’re telling me this person is dead. It’s going to cause more than a few ripples. If you want me to be forthcoming with you, you’re going to have to reciprocate. Quid pro quo.’

Ben was a very close and secretive person, partly by nature, partly by training, mostly from long experience that had taught him a cardinal rule:
never tell anyone anything that you don’t absolutely have to
. In this case, he knew he would soon have a decision to make. Opening up to Luc Simon represented a big tactical gamble. It would help establish the veracity of what Silvie was saying, one way or another. Which was important information to Ben. On the other hand, he hated exposing himself. Luc Simon was an old friend, but he was also a cop: the shrewdest and canniest Ben had ever met. Yet, if Ben didn’t take the risk, he stood to find out nothing of any value. Choices.

He eased off the throttle and braked the Hummer into the side of the road. He leaned back in the driver’s seat and twisted round a few degrees to face Silvie Valois. She was looking at him keenly, watching his face, studying his expression and straining to hear what was being said on the other end of the line.

‘Come on, Luc. It’s only a name. For old times’ sake.’

‘It’s a little more than that. The subject whose prints you sent me was one Dexter Nicholls. He was an intelligence operative. Not one of ours. He was working with French agents on a joint operation that I definitely, categorically
can’t
talk about. Not even for old times’ sake.’

Decision time. Ben thought,
Fuck it,
and jumped in with both feet. Cards on the table. All the way in.

‘A joint operation involving MI6 and DGSI,’ he said, ‘investigating the activities of a Swiss called Udo Streicher.’

Luc Simon’s composure slipped for a moment and he let out a sound that was halfway between a choking cough and a horrified gasp. ‘Jesus Christ. You’re not supposed to know anything about that.’

‘I don’t want to,’ Ben said. ‘I didn’t choose to get involved. They crossed the line, not me. I was in peace.’

‘Then stay that way. Keep out of this. For your own sake. You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into.’

‘Too late for that, Luc.’

A long, pondering silence, then Luc Simon laid another of his hidden cards on the table. ‘You know, I lied to you. Before, when I asked you where you were. I pretended I didn’t know. The fact is, I know exactly where you are, Ben. I put the track on your phone before this conversation even began.’

‘It’s the least I’d expect of you, Luc.’

‘Right at this moment, I’m looking at a wall-sized digital map of France with a flashing red dot on it. That’s you. Which puts you uncomfortably close to the scene of a serious recent multiple homicide in the Hautes-Alpes region that the police are dealing with as we speak. I would be very, very concerned to think you had any kind of involvement in that situation.’

‘I was the one who called the police,’ Ben said. ‘Just so you know.’

‘You need to come in. We have to talk.’

‘Sorry, Luc, that’s not really on my agenda,’ Ben said. ‘I still have plenty of talking to do with Agent Valois here.’

Silvie’s eyes opened wide, flashing in the darkness of the Hummer’s cab.

There was a stunned silence on the phone. ‘What did you say?’

‘You heard me, Luc. For the record, she’s not here of her own volition.’

All the way in
. Ben was fully committed now. Nowhere to go but straight ahead, come what may.

‘Where is she?’ Luc Simon demanded.

‘Right here sitting beside me,’ Ben said. ‘Safe and sound. I’m afraid I can’t let you talk to her.’

‘I’m warning you not to interfere with justice, Ben. You have no idea how deep a mess you’ve got yourself into already.’

‘I’m not interested in your kind of justice, Luc. Or in any of your intelligence bullshit. I’m interested in one thing only, and that’s finding the people who murdered my friends. There’s nothing more you can do to help me, and nothing you can do to stop me.’

‘I know you well enough,’ Simon said. ‘That’s for damn sure.’

‘Then you know to stay out of my way.’

‘You realise that’s something I can’t do,’ Simon said. ‘Not even if I wanted to.’