Death on the Pont Noir

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

He left Bellin to his self-imposed misery and drove back to the station. He would come back once the man had taken a while to think over his options. He was almost there, living the threat that was hanging over him, real or imagined; all it would need was a nudge and he’d crumble.

It was nearly lunchtime and quiet. He found Colonel Saint-Cloud in his temporary office studying a sheaf of papers.

‘I think I’ve found a possible attack site,’ Rocco told him.

Saint-Cloud gave a slight lift of an eyebrow. He was clearly sceptical but the statement seemed to take him by surprise. ‘How could you do that? You don’t even know the proposed route or timing.’

‘I know the president has expressed a desire to visit a local monument. I also know it will be a private visit, so no entourage, no press and minimum security presence other than his normal bodyguards. And I know how the attack will be carried out. What I don’t know for sure is when, or by whom.’

The wall clock ticked loudly several times before the colonel said, ‘How could you even know about such a place or the president’s interest in it?’ His face looked tight, and his voice carried a hint of disbelief. ‘Who told you?’

‘I learnt about it earlier this morning. It doesn’t matter who told me.’ Rocco didn’t want Blake to get into trouble, although he couldn’t think why Blake would have told him about it unless it was already known in certain quarters.

‘I think it matters very much. I would like the name, please, Rocco.’

Rocco shook his head. ‘If the information is out there already, Colonel, and I heard about it, then it’s too late to matter. The person who told me is not a threat, I promise you. But ignoring it is.’

More ticks of the clock, then, ‘Very well. You had better show me.’

Rocco led him downstairs to the wall map, and asked Berthier to clear the office and make sure nobody entered. When the door was closed, he explained in brief what he believed would happen, based on having seen the location and the entrance and exit roads, and its uncanny similarity to the site of the ramming. He used his rough-drawn sketch to back this up, then stood back and let Saint-Cloud think it over. What he didn’t mention was Calloway and his colleagues; while all the clues pointed towards their involvement somehow, he still wasn’t sure how a group of Englishmen could be tied in with an assassination attempt on the French head of state. That part still made no sense. Besides, there were other reasons why he didn’t want to set that particular hare running just yet.

The colonel seemed unimpressed. ‘I can see why you would consider this, Inspector. But the president has given no indications to me that he intends going to this Pont Noir, wherever it is. It may well have some historic and social importance to France and other countries, but he has far more important places to visit. In fact, I can show you one where my own experience tells me he is far more vulnerable… and where I have good reason to believe he will go very soon.’ He gave a thin smile. ‘I do have experience of these matters. Ensuring the safety of the President of the Republic is not as straightforward as catching criminals, I assure you.’

Rocco couldn’t understand why Saint-Cloud was being so dismissive. But he was remembering Santer’s warning about watching his back, and his vulnerability should anything go wrong. He’d been assigned to Saint-Cloud to help with the security review, and that was what he was doing. But he was determined not to be fobbed off because of the security chief’s superiority over a police detective. ‘I think you need to see this place for yourself.’

Saint-Cloud looked almost affronted at having his decision questioned. He took a deep breath and said coldly, ‘Are you absolutely certain, Inspector Rocco, that you have not allowed yourself to be influenced by some… disconnected but inexplicable events involving a car and a truck, driven by people you have not yet found? I can see why you would draw the conclusions you have, but this all seems… circumstantial, and frankly, nothing more than cinematic in scope.’

‘Maybe. But it won’t harm to look, will it? And,’ he added dryly, ‘your expertise will soon prove it one way or another.’

It was a challenge Saint-Cloud couldn’t ignore, nor could he dismiss the suggestion of an eyeball inspection. ‘Very well,’ he said stiffly. ‘How long will it take? Only I have a meeting in one hour. I’ll take my own car.’

‘Depends how fast you drive,’ said Rocco. He headed for the door and the rear car park. ‘Follow me and I’ll show you.’ A strong grain of rebellion resisted the courtesy of offering the colonel a lift. Besides, he had a feeling the man would only sneer at Rocco’s Traction and deem it unworthy of a proper policeman.

As he turned along the corridor leading to the back door, leaving Saint-Cloud to get his car keys, he saw Caspar walking towards him, a relaxed grin on his face. They shook hands and Rocco led the former undercover cop outside.

‘Good to see you again,’ he said quickly, unlocking his car. ‘Thanks for coming.’

Caspar looked in good trim, although still gaunt, but less strained than he had previously, less haunted. ‘My pleasure. I needed a change of scenery, anyway. And it gave me an excuse to sit on a train and do nothing for a while.’

‘Good idea. Santer says you’re working.’

‘Yes. Some regular jobs doing security and a bit of low-level surveillance. Nothing too big yet. But getting there.’ He smiled almost shyly, his demeanour a complete transformation from when Rocco had last seen him. But then, he had been beaten and shot, which tends to make even the strong wilt a little. ‘But this is good.’

‘You still want to get back in?’ Caspar had been suspended on health grounds after the strain of working undercover had become too great. But he’d been desperate to regain his badge ever since, convinced he could still make a contribution.

‘Actually, I’m no longer so sure about that.’

‘Really? What’s changed?’

‘The work. The stuff I do now, it’s got its moments, but there’s no longer the same pressure. There’s some risk, but I can handle it.’ He shrugged. ‘And I’m not kidding myself anymore, you know? I was too near the edge for too long. Problem was, I couldn’t see it.’ He grinned suddenly. ‘Anyway, I’ve got a girlfriend now. Christ, I’m almost respectable!’

Moments later, Saint-Cloud came out and climbed in his car. If he noticed Caspar, he gave no indication. Rocco led the way out to the Pont Noir, filling in Caspar on the way, including Bellin’s part in the car’s planned disappearance.

‘I’ll put the word out,’ Caspar said. ‘See what the gossips are saying.’

‘It was just a car — a tool for a job. But I think Bellin was being paid by someone big to get rid of it; someone he’s terrified of.’

‘Someone around here?’

Rocco shook his head. ‘Someone in Paris.’ The capital was full of scary people; people who’d only have to glance at a man like Bellin to throw him into a funk.

Caspar puffed his cheeks. ‘Christ, that narrows it down a bit. But not much.’ He nodded through the windscreen. ‘He looks familiar. Not your boss, is he?’

‘Have you heard of Colonel Saint-Cloud?’

‘What, Big Charles’s bodyguard?’ Caspar looked impressed. ‘That’s him? What’s he doing here — and why you?’

‘I was about to explain that. You’ll be working on his payroll, although I don’t expect you to like him for it.’

‘Great. And as long as I don’t have to throw myself in front of a bullet for him.’

‘I had the same thought.’ He explained where they were going, and Saint-Cloud’s resistance to the idea of an attack site or the method involved.

Caspar caught on fast. He’d been around senior officers and officials enough to know that one always had to be on one’s guard. ‘Right. So it’s eyes and ears to the ground, keep my head down and my mouth shut.’

‘Exactly. Find out anything you can about the attack at Guignes… and whether it’s possible they or another group could be planning a follow-up here. They might be crazy enough to try again just because nobody expects it.’

‘Or someone will try to top it.’ Caspar stared out of the window. ‘Wouldn’t take much, topping failure with a successful hit.’

‘Or that.’

‘So he’s definitely coming?’ Caspar meant de Gaulle.

‘Saint-Cloud seems to think so, but he’s not giving anything away.’ He told him what Blake had said about the private visit.

‘I’ll see what I can find out. I know a few OAS guys with long memories, but they’ve gone quiet since independence. I doubt they’re still active, although they might know people who are. What exactly do you want me to do?’

‘Dig around, see if you can get a line on any groups with contacts out this way. So far I’ve got nothing because Saint-Cloud’s given me nothing. But I don’t want to be handed my head on a plate for not trying, and missing something obvious… something you might be able to dig out instead. Santer will fill you in on the N19 attack, but that ended so badly, I wouldn’t rate them as being ready for another go.’

‘Sounds like it was costly, losing two men for a carload of paperwork.’

Rocco agreed. It still puzzled him that the attackers, which had included a former soldier, had stumbled so badly. Getting imprecise information on a target’s timing or route was always a risk plotters had to juggle with. But getting it so badly wrong had been disastrous on an epic scale. It prompted a thought.

‘You might get Santer to find out the name of the motorcycle escort who fought back. See if you can speak to him.’

‘Why — you think there’s something there?’

‘Well, he’s wasted riding a bike, for a start. If that’s his real job.’

Caspar’s eyes went wide as he considered the implications. ‘Damn, you’ve got a devious mind, Rocco.’ He nodded. ‘I’ll see what I can find.’

Rocco pulled in to the side of the road opposite the track, just short of the bridge. He and Caspar climbed out as Saint-Cloud parked in front and walked back to join them.

‘Who is this?’ he queried, as if noticing Caspar for the first time. He shrugged on a warm coat, the skin on his face pinched and white, and Rocco wondered how often he ever got out of the office on field trips.

He made introductions, but Saint-Cloud seemed barely interested. ‘Fine,’ he said, when Rocco told him Caspar was on the strength and would be looking into the Paris end of things. ‘Whatever you think is necessary. Clear payment with my office.’ He glanced at Caspar. ‘Just make sure you find me some names, you understand? We’ll drop the hammer on them. We need to stop this thing before it goes too far.’ He glanced around at the bridge and fields. ‘Is this it? This is your suggested attack zone?’ He shook his head. ‘Rocco, you disappoint me.’

Rocco bit his tongue. Losing his temper with Saint-Cloud would serve no purpose. He indicated the point where the road passed the mouth of the track. ‘I believe they’ll leave some kind of obstruction here to slow down the president’s car… work signs, something like that. But instead of using guns, they’ll come down the track past that shed, using a truck to drive the official car off the road here and over the edge.’ The shed’s pigeons, he noted, were looking at the three men with wary interest. No doubt they had learnt at an early stage that anything that flew was fair game for the end of a long gun.

Rocco led the other two to the brink of the gully and pointed down. The drop drew a faint oath from Saint-Cloud. ‘Once down there, there’s no coming back. They could do whatever they choose to finish the job. There’ll be nobody to stop them.’

Saint-Cloud looked sceptical. ‘Oh, you mean wine bottles filled with petrol? Like you said that farmer saw the film crew using? The idiot was deluded. Who throws petrol bombs anymore?’

Caspar frowned, unfazed by Saint-Cloud’s rank or position. ‘I saw Molotovs being used during a protest in Saint Denis a couple of months back. Pretty effective they were. Set a couple of cop cars on fire, broke up the CRS ranks, too, for a while.’ He looked down the slope and murmured, ‘If I was going to make sure nobody got out of a car alive, down there is where I’d do it.’ He shivered. ‘Nasty way to go.’

‘Well, thank you for that expert analysis,’ Saint-Cloud muttered. ‘Believe me, these disaffected groups prefer streets for their cowardly attacks, not open fields. Busy roads, traffic, people — and escape routes for when they run out of courage or ammunition. Out here, they’d be exposed… vulnerable and frightened.’ He turned and walked away across the bridge, stiff-legged and impatient.

‘What an arse,’ Caspar murmured. ‘On past experience, he’s right… but that’s just being blinkered. Makes you wonder how de Gaulle survived this long with him in charge.’

‘Because when it came down to it, others were providing the real protection,’ said Rocco. He felt surprisingly calm in the face of Saint-Cloud’s scepticism. He had a feeling he wasn’t going to win this one, not here and now. But that meant he’d simply have to prove he was right.

Saint-Cloud came back across the bridge, shaking his head. ‘No — I don’t buy it. The president is unlikely to come this way, and even if he wanted to, there’s no way we could let him come to such an isolated spot without full protection. Once any attackers saw that we were prepared, with no way out, they’d call it off.’

‘And go underground,’ Rocco pointed out.

‘Maybe. Maybe not. But I have a better idea of where they might plan an attack. And it fits with what we know of their methods. Come on.’ He walked back to his car, leaving the other two to follow.

Saint-Cloud drove fast and efficiently, showing that he was not entirely without skills outside the office. They soon arrived on the outskirts of Arras, on a wide crossroads dotted with a handful of houses, a cafe and a depot supplying Camping Gaz. Saint-Cloud had parked on a piece of waste ground next to the cafe, and walked over to join them as Rocco pulled up.

‘See this?’ He gestured at the four roads in turn. ‘This crossroads is my concern. There is a possibility that the president will come here, to open a new library dedicated to the fallen of the two world wars.’ He pointed east, along a straight stretch of road. ‘He will have to come along this route, which is the quickest approach from the capital. Any other route takes him through too much traffic and narrow streets. But it makes this spot an ideal choke point for an attack.’

Rocco couldn’t disagree. It was ideal. Multiple routes in, escape routes out and enough nearby streets and dwellings to cause confusion and for attackers to get lost in. Anyone wishing to fire on the presidential car would be able to cause an obstruction anywhere here and simply hose down the vehicle as it went by. The technique had almost worked in Le Petit-Clamart last August, avoided only by the chauffeur’s driving skill.

But this wasn’t Le Petit-Clamart.

He wasn’t convinced. ‘So is he coming here, then?’

‘That is not for public consumption.’ Saint-Cloud seemed pleased, as if Rocco’s lack of dissent signalled a victory. ‘But we must be prepared. Should he decide to do so, I will arrange blanket coverage of the area.’ He gave a humourless smile, looking beyond them. ‘Anyone trying anything will suffer the same fate as the previous ones.’

By the time Rocco dropped Caspar off at the railway station, the light was fading. He went to his office to check for messages and found Berthier waiting for him with a note in his hand. He was scratching his head.

‘A man named Bellin rang for you. Sounded drunk or mad. Said something about his dog, and how he’s been marked.’ He shrugged. ‘I don’t know what that means, but he wasn’t making much sense. Is that Bellin at the scrapyard?’

Rocco dialled the number on the piece of paper. ‘Yes. You know him?’

‘Unfortunately. He’s one of the lower orders around here.’

The phone rang ten times before Bellin picked up. He sounded stressed, his words pouring out in a mad jumble once he recognised Rocco’s voice. ‘You’ve got to help me — they’ve killed Oscar!’ His breathing was hoarse, as if he’d run a marathon and was at the end of his reserves.

‘Who the hell is Oscar? And who killed him?’

‘I don’t know… some men — a man… They don’t have the guts to come out into the open. You’ve got to come — please!’

Then the phone went dead.