Death on the Pont Noir

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Up close, Rocco thought Colonel Jean-Philippe Saint-Cloud, formerly Lt Colonel of the 1er Regiment Etranger de Parachutistes — 1st Foreign Parachute Regiment — looked older than his walk or demeanour showed. He had sallow skin, but still possessed the build and apparent vitality of a younger man. His neat moustache and haircut en brosse were clear visual clues to his military background, as were the neat double-breasted suit and highly polished shoes, and the tie knot as tight and hard as a nut.

He was waiting for Rocco at the front desk, staring into the middle distance and ignoring the gaggle of overnight miscreants gathered for logging or release, depending on their offences. He turned and led Rocco without greeting through the office, where the daily briefing was being conducted by Commissaire Perronnet and Captain Canet. Numerous pairs of eyes swivelled to follow as Rocco and the security chief passed down the corridor, which made Rocco question how discreet his involvement with Saint-Cloud was going to be.

‘Sit down, Inspector.’ Saint-Cloud led the way into an empty office and closed the door. ‘Thank you for being so prompt.’ His voice was calm, with the quiet confidence of a man accustomed to his authority. He sat and crossed his legs, his movements economic and controlled. He put Rocco in mind of an attack dog he’d once seen in a scrapyard: not the slavering, snarling beast most commonly imagined, but a quiet, almost serene animal with quite possibly the most evil eyes he’d ever seen.

Rocco sat and waited. This was probably one of the most powerful men in the land. But it wasn’t through any position in the chain of command, rather his close association with the president. In fact, there was rumoured to be only one man closer, and that was the main physical bodyguard himself, Paul Comiti, a man sworn to protect de Gaulle to the death.

Saint-Cloud, however, was the organiser, the bureaucrat with quiet muscle, always behind the scenes, pulling strings, making arrangements. To him fell the task of keeping the president’s visits and sorties as minutely planned and as secure as possible. At the point of contact with the public, however, it was down to Comiti’s small team of men to catch the bullet.

So far, they had succeeded in their job against many expectations and attempts.

‘You have an impressive record, Rocco,’ Saint-Cloud continued. ‘Both in the army and the police. You were in Indochina, I believe.’

Rocco nodded. As were the 1st REP, he recalled. A tough bunch of men, they had been disbanded in 1961 following service in Algeria. It seemed Lt Colonel Saint-Cloud had moved on to better, if not bigger, things.

‘What can I do for you, Colonel?’ he asked. He wanted to find out what this man wanted of him, not to relive old war stories.

‘I want you to do your duty as a sworn police officer and help protect the president, of course.’ Saint-Cloud’s eyebrows lifted slightly, as if surprised by Rocco’s blunt approach. ‘I appreciate this is not your normal work, and I’m sure you have many pressing matters to investigate. But as the man on the ground here, I would like to seek your cooperation in ensuring that those… forces keen to confront the president with violence are not successful. You’ve heard about the latest attempt?’

‘I have.’

‘Badly planned, poorly executed, but a clear warning that we cannot relax our guard while the dangers still exist.’ He studied his fingernails. ‘I need you to act as our eyes and ears on the matter of security in this area. Other of your colleagues spread around the country are doing the same. It is vital that you unearth anything — any group or individual — threatening the safety of the president, and by inference, France.’

‘Don’t you have files on these people already?’ Rocco was puzzled. As far as he was aware, the names of the main conspirators were well documented and their movements monitored and recorded. Unless Saint-Cloud was holding something back, he wasn’t sure what new groups or individuals were out there or where they had emerged from. Many of the existing ones had originated years before, some no doubt now advancing in age and lacking in strength, numbers or organisation. It took energy and commitment to keep anti-government groups active, especially when no certain progress in their aims was being made. Other groups, younger ones, such as students, were more difficult to pin down because they were harder to infiltrate due to their age, or lacked the cohesiveness required to mount an effective attack. But even they eventually became careless, and were generally known to the authorities.

‘We have extensive files, of course.’ Saint-Cloud tilted his head to one side, reminding Rocco of a teacher many years ago who used a similar tactic to make his students uneasy. ‘But these organisations are not static; they gain new members all the time, often bringing with them new grievances and new agendas. Others leave, tempted by new arguments or impatient to pursue a new line of aggression. As such, their public faces change. Our job is to find the more focused activists before they can achieve their objectives.’

‘So when is he coming here?’

For a moment the colonel looked as though he were about to respond. Then he shook his head. ‘That is not clear. You will, of course, be advised should a date and itinerary be decided.’ He brushed an imaginary speck of lint from his knee. ‘Be aware that, for now, we believe the main threat to his person comes from disaffected elements of the military who have joined with the OAS and… others.’

‘Others?’

‘Mercenaries. Assassins. Men who will do anything for money. This latest attempt seems to be a mix of both. The dead attacker was a former army officer who supported the OAS, and we think at least one of his colleagues may have been Corsican or Sicilian.’

Rocco didn’t waste time thinking about it. There were always members of groups who were on the periphery, not quite as involved as the hard core, but headstrong and useful as soldiers. Expendable. To concentrate on them was to miss the main members, the heart of any organisation and usually consisting of no more than a fanatical handful. And that handful rarely, if ever, allowed their soldiers to lead back to them.

‘There’s one thing that puzzles me about that,’ said Rocco, echoing his comment to Massin. ‘Why were official documents being transferred in a car?’

Saint-Cloud scowled before replying. ‘A grave mistake, in my opinion. I have already raised it with my superiors. It was felt the car would go untouched because the president was known to be at his country retreat and not on the move. Clearly, however, the people mounting the attack didn’t share that knowledge. There is, on the other hand,’ he continued, seemingly choosing his words with care, ‘an element, shall we say, who believe that drawing out attackers might show the direction any future effort will be coming from; that such an assault would reveal their hand.’

‘An element?’

‘Internal Security.’

Jesus. Rocco was amazed. ‘An ordinary government car? No armour-proofing and just two outriders?’

‘Correct.’ The colonel had his eyes half shut, effectively screening his thoughts.

‘But that was putting the driver and passenger in harm’s way.’

‘We have no basis for assuming that.’ Saint-Cloud’s answer was non-committal, but as good as a yes in Rocco’s mind. He wondered at the kind of people employed in the upper echelons of authority, the kind of men who decided these things.

‘Who the hell thought of that bright idea?’ The words were out before he could stop them. A planned ruse to draw out an attacker was one thing, usually involving backup forces and a calculated degree of safety for those being used as bait — in this case the car and occupants. But an ad hoc affair like this one, if true, was madness.

Saint-Cloud shrugged, the universal sloughing of responsibility for actions sane men did not wish to contemplate. ‘Undoubtedly it was a committee decision,’ he suggested dryly. ‘It usually is.’

‘So what do you want me to do?’ Rocco sought to bring the discussion back on track. ‘I have no information on these groups. I hope you do?’

‘Of course. I will make available to you any names we have in this area. It will be a start point. At this stage we merely need to check their movements without alerting them to that fact.’

A lot of footwork, in other words, Rocco thought. He’d need some help if there were many names, preferably someone unknown who could go unnoticed in the area. ‘Can I use any resources?’

‘You have someone in mind — someone outside this force?’ Saint-Cloud was ahead of him.

‘I do. But he might not agree.’ Caspar, he thought… if he wasn’t too far gone. A former undercover cop who had operated too close to the shadows for too long, Marc Casparon had been placed on permanent sick leave, deemed no longer effective. Rocco had used him since, but it had been a close-run thing and he’d nearly come to grief. He’d check with Michel Santer first. If anyone knew Caspar’s present state, his former boss in Clichy would.

‘If you can trust this person without revealing too much, go ahead.’ Saint-Cloud paused, eyes on Rocco’s face. ‘There is one other thing.’

‘Yes?’

‘You have been assigned to work with me, which has been cleared by the Interior Ministry. As such, bearing in mind the, ah… delicacy of the situation, you are not to discuss these matters with anyone else in this station.’

‘You mean apart from Commissaire Massin?’

A slow shake of the head. ‘I mean anyone.’