Poseidon's Ransom

Chapter Forty Seven

The journey from Lyon to Paris took a never ending, 6 hours. The gay driver, talked incessantly, in fractured Franglais, about absolutely nothing. Washington had thought the man may have tried to hit on him but it was clear, the only reason he wanted anyone along, was to listen to his continuous and vacuous chat. It was after midday when the still-chattering driver, dropped Washington near to one of Paris’s outer Metro stations.

Rick Washington knew Paris well. He’d been stationed here for two years in the early part of his CIA career. Many of the shadow-world contacts he’d recruited recently, were once adversaries. Now they were assets, to be used as-and-when he needed them.

His plan was to enter the UK covertly, by one of two ways. Use the ‘illegals route’ and join the hundreds of people waiting at Calais to jump a truck to Dover or, solicit the assistance of a less scrupulous boat owner and sail across the Channel.

Getting on a truck undetected was easy at the Port of Calais, but there was the chance he could be discovered on the UK side. A good option if there was no other. But, as he was carrying weapons, not to mention a shit-load of cash, a boat was the smart way to go.

He had no contacts on the coast and wandering around Calais asking to be taken to England on the Q/T was far too risky. He would stay in Paris tonight and find the support he needed to get across the water and do the job in Berkshire.

He took the Metro, from Melun station in the suburbs, north to Place Pigale in Montmartre. He hadn’t showered or changed his clothes for almost 48 hours, so he checked in to a small hotel in the Rue Pomery, on the edge of Pigale’s red light district. He paid in cash which, in any other respectable establishment, would have seemed a little suspicious, but here in Pigale cash was always king.

The room was small, but surprisingly clean, with fresh bedding and towels. There was a small safe, which he was sure was anything but, so he eased the big heavy wardrobe from the wall and hid almost all his money, and the Glock, in the back carcass. He put a couple of hundred euros in the safe, to satisfy any would-be thief.

After showering, he placed a chair against the door and balanced the small table light on the seat, a crude, but effective warning should anyone try to sneak in. With the Smith & Wesson in one hand and the switch-blade in the other, he lay down and quickly fell asleep.