The Shadowmen (11 page)

Pete and Martine stood together on the opposite side of the piste just off the centerline with Kurshin. Martine smiled and nodded as she spotted McGarvey.

“Who do you have me paired with?” McGarvey asked the girl at the registration table.

“With M. Kallinger, at his request, if you agree,” she said.

“We're old friends. But first, would it be possible for me to fence one of those gentlemen?”

The girl was surprised, but she motioned to the maestro, who came over.

“Yes?” said the maestro.

“M. Arouet asks if he could fence first with either Pierre or Tomas.”

“I'm sure Tomas wouldn't mind the demonstration,” the maestro said with a slight smirk. Tomas was the fencer who had won the bout, three-two. “Now, monsieur?”

“
Oui,
unless the lad is tired.”

The maestro had a word with one of the fencers still on the piste. The boy glanced at Mac and nodded, a thin smile on his lips.

Mac walked over and shook hands with the boy as the maestro and other fencer moved off.

Kurshin, Martine, and Pete were watching.

“This will be a brief demonstration of the difference between modern technique and an older style of combat,” the maestro announced. “M. Bienot from here in Monaco on my left, and M. Arouet from the United States on my right.”

McGarvey stepped onto the piste and saluted his opponent, the maestro, and the audience and then donned his mask.

“En garde,”
the maestro said.

McGarvey and Bienot came to the en garde position, their épées forty-five degrees above level, but only Mac held his left hand curved over the side of his head.

“Prêt,”
the maestro announced.
“Allez.”

The boy immediately lunged forward with fantastic speed. Mac stood his ground, flat footed, and at the last instant slapped the boy's blade aside and touched his glove. The light came on.

A low murmur passed through the audience.

“Touché,”
the maestro announced as if it hurt.

Bienot pulled off his helmet and glared at the maestro, but Mac just smiled and took his position.

“Prêt,”
the maestro said.
“En garde. Allez.”

Again the boy came in with amazing speed.

This time, Mac moved his head slightly forward, presenting his mask as the target. The boy took the bait, but at the last possible instant, Mac ducked almost on his haunches and touched the toe of his opponent's right shoe.

“Touché,”
the maestro announced.

Bienot tore off his mask. “His knee touched the mat!” he shouted in French. If true, it was an infraction that would have voided the touch.

“Non,”
the maestro said.
“Deux, zero.”

McGarvey took off his mask as the boy came close. “You might win on the piste, son, eventually, if you learn to control your attacks. But you won't win the fight you want to pick.”

Bienot was on the verge of exploding.

“I'm going to score on your left knee as you score on my mask. There is no other choice.”

“
En garde
,” the maestro said. He had to repeat it before the boy put on his mask and took his position.

“Prêt. Allez.”

The boy lunged forward again, but this time, Mac backed up, and near the end of the piste, he suddenly hunched down again and thrust against the kid's toe, the same as the last time. The boy leaped into the air, his blade arched over the top of McGarvey's head, coming down and smacking into the top of Mac's mask at the same time McGarvey caught the kid in the leg just below the knee. Both lights came on. It was a tie; both touches counted.

“Coup double,”
the maestro announced.

McGarvey had won, three to one. The audience applauded as he took off his mask and saluted, but the boy turned and stalked off the piste.

Pete and Martine were applauding and grinning, but Kurshin did not look happy.

18

McGarvey walked around to the other side of the piste where Martine and Kurshin were waiting with Pete, who handed him a towel and a bottle of Evian. He was breathing heavily out of his mouth but making a show of trying to hide it.

“Are you okay?” Pete asked.

“The kid was pretty fast,” Mac said.

“He had good technique and plenty of wind, but he was dismissing you out of hand,” Kurshin said. He glanced across as the maestro was finishing his short explanation of why McGarvey and not the younger fencer had won.

“Sounds like he's making excuses,” Martine said.

“The kid's probably one of his star pupils, and he's embarrassed. Losing the bout was a testimony to how good or bad an instructor he is,” Pete said.

Mac wiped his face and took a drink of water. “What do you think?” he asked Kurshin.

“He's probably a B-rated fencer. In another year of seasoning, he might be ready for a crack at the world finals for a spot on the French Olympic team, but he underestimated you, and it was only a three-touch match.” A rated was the top designation for elite fencers.

“You're right, of course. I wouldn't have made it through a fifteen-touch championship bout.”

Kurshin said nothing.

Two fencers came onto the piste. The maestro introduced them, one from a club in Paris and the other from Monaco. They were both young, still in their late teens, and arrogant, especially the Parisian, who strutted like a peacock. He towered a good six inches over the local kid.

This match was at foil, a much lighter blade with more stringent rules of engagement. In épée, a touch anywhere on the body, even the mask or the bare hand, counted as a score. Simultaneous touches counted. At foil, only the part of the fencer's torso covered by a wire mesh vest that was hooked into the electronic scoring system counted. And only touches from the fencer who had established right of way—essentially, the first one to attack—scored.

This match lasted a little longer than the first. The fencers were fairly evenly experienced, and they attacked, parried, and gave and took ground at tremendous speed.

At one point, the Parisian flicked his sword hand with a very strong, very quick action that caused the tip of the blade to arch in midair, almost like a bullwhip, the point cracking decisively on the right shoulder, the scoring light coming on.

“Touché,”
the maestro said.

“It's not fair; he has the height advantage,” Martine said.

“No handicaps in this sport,” McGarvey said.

“Except for age,” Kurshin countered.

“Didn't seem to matter in M. Arouet's bout,” Martine said.

The round lasted only a couple of minutes longer, the Parisian making the same flicking attack twice more for which the local fencer seemed to have no effective defense.

“That has to hurt,” Martine said.

“It does,” Kurshin agreed.

The maestro came over. “Are you gentlemen ready?”

“Sure.” McGarvey nodded. He wiped his face again, took a drink of water, and handed the towel and bottle back to Pete.

“Knock him dead,” she said.

“Only three touches,” Mac mumbled, and he turned his head so that Kurshin couldn't see his face, and he winked.

*   *   *

On the piste, the maestro introduced McGarvey again, to a light applause, and Kurshin as the gentleman from London.

They saluted each other, the maestro, and the audience, donned their masks, and at the command,
“Allez,”
began.

Kurshin was cautious at first, presenting his blade against Mac's, stepping forward in a false attack and then retreating a few steps as Mac pressed the counterattack.

They were testing each other, probing defenses, testing blade control and speed. In épée, landing the point on a precise spot at the precise moment was everything. Épée fencers spent countless hours training touch accuracy against an AAA battery hanging from a string at what would be the opponent's midtorso height. The battery was swung so that it moved back and forth fairly quickly in an erratic orbit. The object was for the fencer to move forward and then retreat as the battery swung farther or nearer. At the right moment, the fencer would attempt to touch the battery with the point of his épée. It wasn't easy, but it taught precision point control.

Forty seconds into the bout, Kurshin made a mistake, intentional or not, by moving a little too close.

McGarvey suddenly leaned forward to a position where he was completely off balance and just about to fall on his face when he brought his rear leg forward, and as it was just about to touch the ground, he pushed off with a powerful thrust from his front leg, the point of his épée extended to Kurshin's sword hand.

It was called a flying flèche, or arrow. The move was meant to be such a surprise that the opponent wouldn't have time to react.

Mac stumbled at the last possible instant, and Kurshin easily sidestepped the attack, planting his épée on McGarvey's shoulder.

Spinning away as if he were totally out of control, Mac was forced to skip off the piste before he could catch his balance.

“Touché a gauche,”
touch left for Kurshin.

The audience did not applaud.

McGarvey took off his mask, apologized to the maestro, and took his place on the piste.

He took a deep breath, saluted, and then put on his mask and assumed the en garde position.

This time, Kurshin attacked immediately, forcing Mac to retreat almost out of bounds at the end of the strip.

Mac did a simple French coupé, taking his blade over the top of Kurshin's and at the same time turning his hand to the right toward the sixth position, which should have moved Kurshin's blade far enough off target that an attack to the sword hand was possible.

But Kurshin easily disengaged, slapped Mac's blade away, and landed a touch on the wrist.

“Touché,”
the maestro said.
“Deux, zero.”

Pete came over with the towel and water bottle as McGarvey took off his mask. He was breathing hard now.

Neither the maestro nor Kurshin objected as he wiped his face and took a drink before he put on his mask and saluted.

“En garde,”
the maestro said.
“Prêt. Allez.”

This time, Mac moved forward first with an immediate
froissemen
t
,
or sharp slap to Kurshin's blade, which would normally be followed by an instant attack.

But Kurshin made a double
derobement
, a counterattack against the opponent's blade. In effect, Kurshin went with the slap against his blade and slapped back twice, opening a line on McGarvey's upper arm, where he scored the final touch.

“Touché,”
the maestro announced, obviously satisfied with the result.

Again there was a light smattering of applause, after which the maestro explained what had happened, not quite blaming the win on the differences in age. Experience counted for nearly everything, but youth was sometimes even more important.

McGarvey took the towel and water from Pete and went back to the changing room, where he got out of his fencing garb and back into his street clothes.

Kurshin came in. “You had some good moves, Arouet.”

“I don't have the edge anymore,” Mac said, buttoning his shirt. “But you did well.”

Kurshin nodded. “Would you care to have a drink at the hotel?”

“Thanks, no,” McGarvey said, still breathing hard. “I'm going to save my energy for the tables tonight. Maybe a nap this afternoon and a light supper.”

“For the best, I suppose,” Kurshin said with a barely concealed smirk.

19

McGarvey and Pete headed back to the hotel on foot, and halfway there, Pete dropped a slip of paper, and she ducked down and picked it up.

“Are they behind us?” Mac asked.

“No. You put on a pretty good show back there.”

“I wanted to make a believer out of Kallinger.”

Pete grinned. “I think he took the bait. But you also made a believer out of the poor kid you beat. The maestro will give him hell for making the club look bad.”

“Humility is sometimes a good thing, even in fencing.”

“How much of it was an act?”

“Most of it, but I didn't want to take the matter too far. As it was, I think he was starting to get suspicious by the third touch. Even an amateur should have expected the counterattack and stepped back.”

“Was he any good?” Pete asked as they reached the hotel.

“Not as good as he thought he was. And now he's cocky, maybe overconfident. If he can beat me on the piste, why not at the table?”

“And you mean to teach him a lesson. Piss him off enough so that he'll be more likely to make a mistake.”

*   *   *

Back in their suite, McGarvey phoned Otto to tell him what had gone down at the fencing demonstration.

“Do you think he bought it?”

“Probably. He and the Barineau woman are staying here at the hotel. But you said she has a villa above Villefranche. Find out if there's a staff in residence. Pete and I are going to make a visit.”

“Give me a minute.”

“You have five. I'm going to take a quick shower.”

“What do you have in mind?” Pete asked.

“I want to let him know that someone has taken an interest in him.”

“Someone?”

“Me,” Mac said on the way into the shower.

“I'll get us a car,” Pete said to his back.

*   *   *

She got them a BMW 3 Series convertible. Flashy but nothing over the top. It would be waiting out front as soon as they were ready.

Otto answered Mac's call on the first ring. “One housekeeper/cook by the name of Marie Levy, but I didn't find any connection between her and the DGSE, and her local footprint seems legitimate.”