Mrs. John Doe

Chapter 22

“Hang on,” Craig said, and he swung the wheel. The car pitched sideways, sliding over into the right lane between a big white truck and a low-slung red Mercedes sports car, with mere inches to spare. The Mercedes’s horn blared in protest.

On the side of the truck was a picture of a loaf of bread sporting wings and topped by a halo. Nora dug her fingers into the dashboard, staring at the back of the truck, which was now directly in front of her. The whimsical painting of the bread loaf was repeated there, and beneath it the brand name, Celeste, and the legend, Le Pain des Anges! She focused on this, concentrating on it with all her might as the car edged ever closer to the guardrail, wondering what sort of bread the angels would eat, assuming they ate bread at all, which she doubted. At the rate the car was going, she could ask them herself, any minute now…

Another sickening lurch, and Craig hit the horn for three short blasts. The bread truck grudgingly sped up a little, but not much. Nora looked into the rearview mirror again, noting that the Citroën was changing lanes as well. As she watched, the car moved over into their lane several cars behind the red Mercedes. Craig looked over toward the right, nodded to himself, and gripped the steering wheel tightly with both hands.

Nora looked ahead, past the truck, and saw where he was aiming: a big full-service rest stop, replete with five or six gas islands, a chain restaurant, and France’s equivalent of a 7-Eleven. Craig abruptly swung the car into the exit lane and sped up. He swerved around the arced road to the station and sped straight past it and the restaurant to the far end of the lot. He turned on a dime, a full 180 degrees, the tires screeching on the asphalt, until they were facing the ramp with a fence behind them and a clear view of the buildings and all the exits. The car came to a stop with a jarring, teeth-rattling shudder.

Craig reached into his jacket and pulled out a small black revolver, holding it against his leg under the steering wheel. Nora stared and began to say something, but the look on his face changed her mind. He was very still in his seat, watching the ramp. They sat in silence, the engine idling, waiting.

The gray Citroën came down the ramp and into the station, and Nora watched as it pulled up to a vacant pump. A young man ran over to attend it, and the driver got out of the car to speak to him: a plump blond woman, perhaps forty years old. Nora squinted at the passenger window and saw a little girl with braids holding up what looked like a Barbie doll. Nora thought briefly of her own daughter and then turned to her companion.

“Where’s the Pakistani guy?” she said. “That woman is no spy. Even if she is, I doubt she’d bring along a child as deep cover, or whatever you call it. They’re not following us; they’re simply stopping for gas.”

Craig had been studying the ramp and the autoroute, but now he looked over at Nora, confused. “What are you talking about? What woman?”

“Over there, by the gray Citroën.”

He followed her gaze. “Oh. I hadn’t even noticed them. I was watching the gray SUV farther back, but it kept on going. If it is tailing us, it’ll have to stop and wait for us somewhere up ahead.”

Nora shook her head, clearing it. “I was watching the Citroën. Jacques saw one following us yesterday in Paris, and I assumed…Oh, skip it. I guess I’m never going to be cast as Mata Hari; I don’t have the right skills!”

Now Craig relaxed, and he smiled at her. “I think you’re doing marvelously. If I didn’t have my training, I don’t know if I’d be as cool as you about all this.”

“Thank you,” she said, and she managed to smile as well. “But speaking of ‘all this,’ what on earth would you have been able to do if the people in the gray SUV confronted us?”

His smile became a sly grin. He held up the revolver.

Now Nora actually laughed. “You’re going up against arms dealers with that-that peashooter?”

“It gets the job done,” he said.

She laughed again and turned in her seat, reaching back into her shoulder bag. “So does this,” she said, pulling out the SIG Sauer and handing it to him. “Compliments of your French colleague.”

Craig stared at the weapon in his hand. “Now we’re talking!”

“You keep it,” Nora said. “I wouldn’t know what to do with it anyway. In case the SUV shows up again. Are they all gray?”

He blinked. “Are what all gray?”

“Spy cars. This Volvo, the Citroën in Paris, the SUV. Let me guess; it’s the least obtrusive shade in the spectrum, right? Nobody notices gray cars. Something like that?”

Now he too was laughing. He put the SIG Sauer in the holster under his jacket and placed the revolver in the glove compartment. “Something like that. I don’t know about you, but I could use a cuppa. And I must make those calls.”

“Okay.” She laughed again, an inane sound, and she knew it was yet another symptom of shock. Bullets flying in a cemetery. That young woman dead on the floor of an apartment in Paris. The near collision just now, getting off the autoroute. Her cavalier attitude as she pulled a deadly weapon from her Coach bag and blithely handed it to a trained killer, knowing full well what he could do with it.

Focus, she told herself. Keep it together.

“I’d like some coffee,” she said. “It’s crowded in there, and somebody could recognize me from TV this morning. I’ll meet you back here.”

He nodded, and they got out of the car. Craig entered the restaurant, and Nora went in search of the gas station’s restrooms. The ladies’ room was busy, so she kept her face averted from the women there. Washing at the sink reminded her of the previous afternoon, the girl with the hot-pink Superbouche lip gloss. She’d recalled her daughter’s brief tenure as the Long Island North Shore’s very own Girl with the Dragon Tattoo, unrecognizable even to her parents.

Unrecognizable…

By the time she rejoined Craig at the gray Volvo, Nora was already making a mental list of items to be bought at the nearest mall. But that would have to wait, at least for a while. Craig was leaning against the hood of the car, speaking quietly into his cellphone, and the expression on his face told her that the conversation wasn’t an easy one.

“No, we didn’t touch anything except the note in her hand; we took that. Then we left the area. You should send someone in, tell them to wipe everything-she had a laptop and at least two phones that I know of. We’re heading north; I’ll let you know where as soon as I contact Reynard. I’m sorry, Mr. Howard, I really am. It’s a terrible thing, and I can’t imagine how you must be…um, yes, she’s here.” He extended the phone to Nora. “He wants to talk to you.”

Nora sighed and raised the phone to her ear. She’d been dreading this inevitable conversation.

“I’m so sorry about Solange, Bill,” she heard herself say. And she was, even if she also sympathized with Vivian. But at least his estranged wife was alive, and Solange was not. Nora settled for the conventional formalities.

“Thank you, Nora,” he said. “I don’t know what I’m going to do without her.” He didn’t sound well, and Nora was aware of the odd reversal in their roles: Three days ago, he had been the one consoling her on the telephone. But now he rallied. “Craig tells me he’s explained our situation to you, the illegal arms deal our countries are trying to stop, so you know how important this is. Jeff was obviously closing in on these people when they took him. We must get you back here, to England. I promise you, we’re doing everything in our power to find Jeff, but I’ll feel better if you’re here instead of-”

“I understand,” Nora said. Instead of flapping in the wind, he wanted her to come in from the cold, or whatever the phrase was, so she’d be one less nuisance in this difficult operation.

“You stay close to Craig Elder, Nora. He’s a good man, and he has a plan that should work. You do as he tells you, all right?”

“Of course, Bill. We didn’t call anyone-I mean, the police-about…about-”

“I’ll take care of the apartment in Paris,” he said, and she heard the strain in his voice again. “And we’ll find Jeff, don’t you worry. Just get back here to us as soon as you can. I’ll be waiting.”

Nora handed the phone back to Craig, and he quickly signed off with his employer. Then he punched in another number. Nora reached for the coffee and sweet rolls in the cardboard tray on the hood, listening as he spoke in French to someone named Louis, who must’ve been the Reynard he’d mentioned to Bill. She couldn’t follow it all, but she caught the words Boulogne and Calais, and something about a bateau and avoiding les flics, and night. Ce soir…

She didn’t ask any questions when he finished the call and got into the car. She strapped herself into the passenger seat and smiled over at him as he started the engine and drove back onto the autoroute. For the next few miles, she found herself studying the road ahead of them, looking for a gray SUV. She didn’t see one, but she wondered where it was now.