Death at the Clos du Lac

CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

‘They’re coming.’ Delombre took out his gun and checked the magazine. He was standing in the kitchen with Inès Dion and the guard known as Jean-Pierre, and listening to the night sounds beyond the window. They had been ready to leave, to scatter, having made sure there was nothing incriminating left behind. Now every instinct told him that they’d left it too late.

‘They wouldn’t dare,’ murmured Jean-Pierre. ‘They can’t know for sure if she’s here or not. Anyway, we’re ready for them.’

Delombre looked at him with contempt. ‘If you really believe that, you’re an idiot. They’ll come because they know. It’s all they need. They’re not administrators, grey-suited fonctionnaires more accustomed to meetings and filling in forms; they’re no different to you or me. Especially Rocco. Christ, I should have dealt with him earlier, like I wanted to.’ He swore under his breath and stared out of the kitchen window into the darkness. It wasn’t the only thing he wished he’d done differently. But it was too late now, all in the past. Regrets were for old men.

He slipped the gun into its holster and said to Dion, ‘What was the plan to deal with the woman?’

‘There’s a flagstone in the pump room behind the pool.’ Her voice was ugly and matter-of-fact, almost disinterested, as if playing at being tough. It made him want to slap her. ‘It’s been hollowed out. She’ll go in there. Nobody will find her without demolishing the building.’

Delombre winced at her lack of emotion, and wondered where these people got their ideas. If the police thought Véronique Bessine was in here, they’d bulldoze the place in order to find her, dead or alive. And that bloody Rocco would probably be at the controls.

Ever since getting the woman ready to speak to her husband nearly an hour ago, things had been going from bad to worse. First it had taken a lot longer to bring her round, the combined results, Dion had insisted, of the sedatives she’d been given and her deteriorating mental and physical condition. Whatever fight she may have had in her to begin with had faded.

‘Can’t we give her a tablet or something?’ The agreed time for the phone call impressed on him by Levignier and Girovsky was coming up fast. He was aware of the extensive use of Benzedrine and other stimulants in military circles, to keep troops and pilots going for long stretches, and could see no reason why they didn’t use something similar to get Bessine awake and ready to talk.

‘It would probably kill her,’ Dion had said firmly. ‘Then where would you be?’

Eventually, by a series of cold compresses and bursts of oxygen, Bessine had begun to show signs of coming to, first by asking where she was, then by struggling with surprising strength when she saw their faces.

Delombre recognised the desperate realisation in the way she fought: she was no fool and knew that now she had seen them, she wouldn’t be allowed to go free.

‘Quiet!’ Delombre had hissed fiercely, his face so close to hers that he could smell the sourness on her breath. He shrugged off Dion’s warning hand. There really wasn’t time for niceties. ‘Be still! Can you understand me? If so, say yes.’

Bessine’s eyes flickered and grew wide as she struggled to think. Then she nodded weakly. ‘Y-yes. I hear you.’

‘Good.’ He almost purred. ‘Now, listen carefully. In a minute, you’re going to speak to your husband, Robert. Do you understand?’

‘What? He’s here …?’ She tried to sit up and Delombre held her arms in a vice-like grip until she subsided.

‘No, he’s not here. But you will talk to him on the telephone, understood? But only if you promise to behave.’

‘Yes … of course.’ She stared at Dion, standing nearby, then up at Delombre. ‘I’ll do it. Please let me speak to him.’

‘There. It’s very simple, isn’t it? You do as I tell you, and we’ll get on fine.’

‘What do you want me to say?’ Her voice was becoming firmer, more assured, Delombre thought, probably due to the promise of speaking to her husband, and an eventual happy outcome.

‘Say anything you like. Preferably that you’re well and looking forward to coming home.’

She looked as if she didn’t believe him. ‘Is that all?’

‘Well, there is a little more. Tell him … tell him that the people holding you are allied to an extremist Chinese group and that he must cut off discussions with Taiwan. Immediately.’

‘I don’t understand.’ She frowned and looked around. ‘What has this got to do with China?’

‘You don’t have to understand,’ he said coolly. ‘Just do it. Now repeat back to me what I just said.’

She hesitated and licked her lips, and Dion stepped forward to give her a sip of water. It took three goes before she was able to parrot with any degree of clarity what Delombre had said, but eventually he was satisfied.

‘By the way,’ he warned her, ‘if you deviate from this, if you try to describe our faces in any way, if you don’t do exactly as we’ve asked, I will make one phone call.’

She looked at him but said nothing, waiting.

‘That call will send a two-man team to your husband, and he will be dead before the hour is up. Are we understood?’

Véronique Bessine nodded. ‘I understand.’

But the phone call had never taken place.

First he’d called Levignier as arranged, using the extension in the kitchen, to signal that everything was ready and that the culmination of their plans was finally upon them.

There was no reply.

He rang Levignier’s private number. No answer.

He tried the duty officer at the ISD headquarters. The duty desk knew of everybody’s whereabouts — apart from his own, at least — and would surely be able to find Levignier.

‘I’m sorry, sir,’ said the man, ‘but the commander hasn’t been in this afternoon. Would you like me to take a message?’

‘Wha—? No.’ He slammed down the phone and stared at the floor, sensing a rising feeling of panic. This couldn’t be happening. Everything was in place — he was in place — so where the fuck was Levignier? He was supposed to be in his office, coordinating the supposed call from the kidnappers! He took out a slim notebook and checked through the pages. Found the number for Girovsky. It went against all his instincts to even consider talking to the obnoxious Pole, but this was an emergency.

He dialled the number, found he was holding his breath.

‘Hello?’ A woman’s voice. Elderly. Cultured.

‘Is Girovsky there?’

‘No, I’m afraid he isn’t. He’s gone to a meeting at the Foreign Ministry. Shall I take a message?’

‘No, thank you.’ He was about to put the phone down when a thought occurred. ‘Why is he at the Foreign Ministry? My apologies, but I’m a work colleague. We were supposed to meet somewhere else.’

‘Ah, I see. Well, it’s all the latest news, I suppose. It’s taken everyone by surprise, Josef says.’

‘News?’ He hadn’t listened to a news broadcast since this morning.

‘Yes. About the Chinese. They’ve changed their minds, apparently, about trade talks. The Foreign Minister’s apparently in a dreadful huff about it — he’s already flying home. I’m surprised you didn’t know, being a colleague of Josef.’

She continued rattling on but Delombre was no longer listening. He dropped the handset on its rest and reached out and switched on a radio on the side, waiting impatiently for a news broadcast. When it came on, he felt the floor open up beneath him.

‘Chinese officials at the Foreign Ministry in Peking have called off trade talks with the French Trade Delegation with immediate effect, amid rumours that they have signalled a preference to rethink their strategy on international relations. This follows unconfirmed rumours of a split in the Chinese government on who should become a preferred trading partner during the coming decade. Early reports from French industrial leaders and officials is that this puts any talks firmly back with Taiwan, China’s main competitor for foreign and export trade in the region, and returns to centre stage the aircraft manufacturer, Robert Bessine, whose group has already been in discussions with them for some weeks. There are doubts in some quarters, however, that Bessine, whose wife is at the centre of a kidnap rumour, will be able to deal with this development, which observers say will have a detrimental effect on French manufacturing if moves are not made immediately to—’

Delombre switched off the radio.

It was over. Done. Levignier was gone. Girovsky was doing what Girovsky did best: looking after his interests.

He took out his gun. He felt better holding it, now things were this close. He said to Dion and her friendly gorilla, ‘Bring the woman to the pool house — now!’