Echo of War

20

Lorient, France

With nightfall, rain clouds rolled off the Atlantic and settled over the Bay of Biscay, blotting out the stars and moon. A blanket of fog enveloped the city’s waterfront. As Tanner and Cahil stepped out of their hotel and hailed a cab, a drizzle began to fall.

Their meeting with Susanna wasn’t for another ninety minutes, but with no way of knowing who or what to expect, Tanner opted for overcautiousness. He and Bear would use the time to survey the site until certain Litzman and his men weren’t lying in wait. Briggs was determined to make the meeting. This was their best, and perhaps last, chance to reach Susanna.

They’d spent the majority of the day in their room — a trend as of late, it seemed — except for one trip out to buy new clothes, toiletries, and hair clippers, which Bear used to give himself a buzz cut and shave off his beard. Tanner used diluted peroxide to lighten his hair and a razor to shape his stubble into a goatee. There was nothing to be done about the cut on his cheekbone, however, and he prayed the other changes would be enough.

Twenty minutes after leaving the hotel, the taxi dropped them on Quai Bellevue in Larmor Plage, one of Lorient’s waterfront suburbs. The meeting site, a warehouse, was at the end of Bellevue, on the industrial docks.

It was nearly eleven and the street lay deserted. Fog swirled around the dim streetlights, creating misty halos. In the distance, Tanner could hear the clanging of bouys and the occasional moan of foghorns. On their right a long row of vertical pilings stretched down the quai; to their left was the maze of alleys and streets that made up the warehouse district.

“It’s number forty-two,” Tanner said, pulling up his collar; he could feel rain trickling down the back of his neck. He suppressed a shiver.

Cahil craned his neck, scanning the warehouse’s roof lines. “I’ll see if I can find a way up top and get a look around. Usual signals?”

Tanner nodded. “Let’s go find our girl.”

Tanner spent forty minutes walking the alleys and streets, familiarizing himself with their nooks and crannies and picking out escape routes. He saw only a handful of people, mostly dock workers and late night revelers using the wharves as a shortcut to the pubs on Avenue Jules Le Guen.

At 11:45 he made his way to Warehouse 42 and took a seat on one of the pilings. Rain glittered in the pools of light cast by the streetlamps. A gust of wind flapped his collar against his face. He heard a soft whistle and looked up. From the warehouse roof, Cahil gave a wave. Briggs felt the tension in his shoulders ease. Good ol’ Bear, he thought. Always there. It was good to have him.

Cahil patted his head three times: All clear.

Ten minutes passed. Then fifteen.

She’s late, Briggs thought. His imagination began working. He quashed it. Wait.

At twenty past midnight, Cahil signaled from the rooftop: Alley, one person.

As if on cue, down the alley, a garbage can rattled. Tanner heard the faint click of heels on concrete. A diminutive figure emerged from the shadows, paused at the mouth of the alley, then looked first left, then right, then toward Tanner. There was the brief flare of a match and the tip of a cigarette glowed to life. The figure started forward.

As the person passed under the streetlamp, Tanner felt his breath catch. It was a woman, but not Susanna. Eyes heavily blackened with mascara, she had ratty, bottle-blond hair and thick crimson rouge on her cheeks. She was dressed in an oversized black leather jacket and baggy cargo pants.

Looking for a trick, Tanner thought. He stood up to leave.

The woman reached up to wipe the rain from her face, then tucked her hair behind her ear.

Tanner froze. Oh, good god. He knew that gesture, had seen it a hundred times before. Susanna.

She glanced nervously down the quai, then strode up to him. She squinted at him for a moment, then turned away. “Pardon,” she said in perfect French. “I thought you were someone else.”

“Susanna.”

She stopped, but didn’t turn around. Briggs could see her legs trembling. She turned to face him. Her mascara had begun running down her cheeks. She took a puff on her cigarette, blew out a stream of smoke, then cocked her head, appraising him. Briggs saw no hint of recognition in her eyes.

What happened to you? Tanner thought. This was not the Susanna he knew, not by any stretch of his imagination. Gone was the bright and vibrant young woman he remembered; in her place was a grim-faced girl with the eyes of a caged animal. She looked indistinguishable from any one of the prostitutes he and Cahil had seen in Paris’s Pigalle.

“Do I know you?” she asked.

“Susanna, it’s Briggs.”

She blinked, took another greedy puff from her cigarette. “Briggs.”

“Briggs Tanner.”

She flicked her cigarette away and jammed her hands into her pockets. “What the hell are you doing here? You shouldn’t be here.”

Just like that. No surprise, no familiarity. “Your father sent me.”

“My father … I guess that figures. I gotta go — tell him I’m okay.” She turned to leave. Tanner stepped forward and grabbed her elbow. She jerked free and spun on him. “Don’t touch me! Understand? Don’t.!”

Tanner took a step back. “Okay, relax. Stay for a minute — talk to me.”

“I can’t. I was supposed to … supposed to meet …” Her words trailed off into a murmur.

“Gunston’s dead, Susanna.”

“No he’s not.”

“He was murdered in St. Malo two days ago.”

“You’re wrong.”

“I was with him.”

She chewed her lip for a moment then pulled out a cigarette and lit it. “Tell me.”

Not now, Briggs thought. She’s not ready. “We don’t know yet. They asked me to find you. A lot of people are worried about you.”

“They told you what I’m doing?”

“Yes. He’s dangerous, Susanna.”

She barked out a laugh; there was no humor in it. “Really? Gosh, that’s news.”

“What happened to you? Where have you been?”

“With him … doing my job.”

“You’ve done enough. Come back with me. I’ll take care of Litzman.”

“I’ll come back when I’m finished.”

“Susanna, you’re in trouble. I know you don’t think so, but you’ve got to trust me—”

“I said no. Stay out of my way. I’ve almost got him. I’m close.”

“To what? What’s he up to?”

Susanna glanced at him, her expression puzzled. “Up to?”

Tanner got the impression his question had never crossed her mind before that moment. “Who’s he working for? What’s he doing for them?”

“I don’t know … I’m working on it.”

What the hell is going on? “You’ve been under for nine months, Susanna. What have you been doing?”

“Getting close to him.”

“How?”

She glanced down at her body, gestured to her face. “How do you think?”

Tanner felt like he’d been punched in the stomach. He reached out a hand to her, but she backed up. “Don’t.”

“Susanna—”

“Just leave me alone. Go home, tell everyone I’m fine, and let me finish this.”

“What’s he done to you?”

“Nothing I didn’t let him do. What’s it matter? Once I get him, none of it will matter.”

“Yes, it will. I’ve been where you are. You’re in trouble. Let me help you.”

“Don’t need it. See you.” She turned and started walking away.

“Susanna.”

She turned. “What?”

“I’m not going to let you go.”

“Yeah? What’re you gonna do? Put me over your shoulder, take me home to Daddy?”

Tanner took a step forward, crowding her space. He put an edge to his voice. “If that’s what it takes. Either way, you’re done.”

She stared back at him for a few seconds. Her eyes began filling with tears. “Don’t, Briggs. Please. I can do this — I have to do it. Please … just a few more days.”

“Why, Susanna? What’s so important?”

She squeezed her eyes shut, raked her hands through her hair. “What’s so important?” she repeated. “You ever think about Bucharest? About my father?”

“Almost every day. What—”

“No, I mean do you ever wonder what really happened?”

“He was shot, you know that. No one ever found—”

“I did,” Susanna replied. “I found him. It was Litzman, Briggs. He’s the one.”

“What?”

“Litzman was the one who shot my father. And when this is all over, I’m going to kill the son of a bitch.”