Private Monaco

Chapter 47

Justine thought back to the hostile driving and evasion course she’d taken and recalled her instructor’s advice: “Stay calm, be aware of your surroundings and use them to your advantage.”

She glanced in the rear-view mirror to see the police car gaining on her. Ahead, the street was clear, the traffic pulled up haphazardly to either side in deference to the sirens and flashing lights.

Pedestrians clustered on the sidewalks, phones out, filming the chase. Justine hoped no one would capture more of her face than a blur as she sped by.

The BMW roared along the Route de Nice, west toward the edge of town where rustic buildings thinned out, giving way to the highway that connected La Turbie with the city of Nice.

Justine knew the open road wouldn’t be her friend and made a sharp left turn onto a narrow alleyway that cut through a quarter of old buildings.

She heard more sirens in the distance and felt the pressure. Without the suspicious presence of Michel in their car, the cops hot on her trail would appear to be in honest pursuit of a suspect, and she had no doubt they’d summoned backup.

As she raced south, Justine saw a break in the buildings ahead of her and in the distance, the shimmering blue of the sea. She followed the alleyway between low apartment buildings and villas with brightly painted wooden shutters until it joined a wider road where she raced east, tracking the sweep of a long bend so the sea was to her right.

Justine saw another police car further up the hill directly ahead of her, so she took the next right fork, down toward the seafront. She dodged around a blue-and-white bus that had pulled over in response to the sirens, and caught the expressions of amazement on the faces of the passengers, their noses pressed against the windows as she roared by.

Moments after passing the large vehicle, Justine saw a potential escape route. She floored the accelerator and the BMW growled as it found more torque, pushing her back in her seat. She glanced in the mirror as a parking lot flashed by on her right, and saw the crooked cops behind her swerve around the bus.

Justine swung a left into a tiny alleyway marked with a dead-end sign. The street was just wide enough for a car to drive down it. The sides of the BMW ground against the high drystone wall on her left and the yellow house on her right. She opened the sunroof, and when she drew near a bend in the alley, slammed on the brakes, unbuckled her seatbelt before the car had drawn to a complete halt, and pulled herself up through the sunroof.

The police car screeched to a halt behind her and the cops tried to jump out, but they couldn’t open their doors in the narrow alleyway and the vehicle had no sunroof.

Justine jumped onto the hood of the BMW then skipped down onto the road ahead and ran toward a flight of steep steps with white-painted iron handrails to help pedestrians climb them. There was the roar of an engine behind her, and she glanced over her shoulder to see the cop car reversing back along the alleyway at speed. The driver wasn’t calm or mindful enough of his surroundings and collided with a second police car that had just turned into the narrow route.

Justine left the corrupt cops to inspect the mangled wreckage and ran up the steps that took her to a courtyard behind a charming Mediterranean church. She slowed to a walk as she entered the quiet building. A sign told her it was the church of St Michel de La Turbie, which she thought was ironic given the name of the man they were hunting. She gave silent thanks to the saint and all the angels who’d watched over her as she made her way through a small crowd of tourists who were admiring the polychrome marble, devotional paintings, high organ and ornate Baroque ornamentation.

Justine walked through the building and emerged on Rue Capouane, a broad street lined with tall evergreens. A warren of alleyways ran off the square in front of the church. She picked one that would take her east to safety.