The Geneva Trap

Chapter 38

Marcel was in the garden planting beans, taking advantage of the late-evening light. When he completed the last row he stood up, brushed the soil from his hands and inspected his handiwork. Ever since Cathy, the English woman, had left, Pascale and he had been in charge of the kitchen garden; Marcel reckoned he had planted enough to keep the whole household in fresh vegetables right through to the early autumn. There were bushes of soft fruits as well – raspberries, currants and gooseberries – and cherries, apricots and plums in the old orchard.

He was about to pick a few lettuces for supper when a shadow crossed the ground in front of him. He turned and jumped at the sight of René, just two feet behind him. ‘Christ, you startled me.’

‘Did I?’ René seemed amused.

‘I didn’t realise you were back.’

René’s mouth set in a hard line. ‘Well, I am, and I need you to come with me.’

‘Where are we going?’

‘You’ll see.’

He did, but not for three hours, the time it took them to drive south to Toulouse, then east past Carcassonne and along the Mediterranean coast to Marseilles. René drove the VW camper with Marcel sitting in the passenger seat beside him. To Marcel’s alarm Antoine accompanied them, lounging on the cushioned platform seat they’d installed at the back of the van to use as a bed. On the floor beside him was a two-foot length of steel pipe, wrapped at one end with thick black tape, presumably to serve as a grip. The sight of it made Marcel nervous, and added to his feeling that there was something very dodgy about this trip.

‘Is there a spare coat back there?’ he asked Antoine. René had been so insistent on leaving straight away that he hadn’t even had time to grab a jacket.

‘Nope,’ came the curt reply.

When Marcel tried to break the tension by asking René how his trip to England had gone, he only received a grunt in reply. So he gave up, and sat in silence, wondering why they wanted him along on this expedition and what on earth it was about.

When the lights of night-time Marseilles could be seen in the distance, René seemed to grow more alert and Antoine sat up on his bench in the back. Several miles short of the city boundary they turned off the main road and drove through a suburb of modern apartment blocks and shopping malls. A few miles further on René turned the van sharply down a narrow road with no streetlights or traffic and suddenly they were out in the countryside, with dark fields on either side and no sign of houses.

René drove slowly, peering through the windscreen, looking for something. After a few miles a small building, no bigger than a caravan, showed up in the lights and they swung off the road into a large empty gravel yard with an aluminium barn at the back. It could have been the premises of an agricultural merchant, but in the dark Marcel could not be sure. Whatever it was, he knew he’d never be able to find the place again.

René drove the van to a far corner of the yard, reversed it so that it faced the barn, and parked under the branches of the tall trees that lined the border of the property. He turned off the engine and extinguished the lights.

‘Now,’ he said to Marcel, ‘I’ll tell you what’s going to happen. In a few minutes two men will arrive. We’ll get out and talk to them, then they’re going to give us some goods. If these goods are okay I’ll pay them some money, and then we’ll all go home. Got it?’

‘What do you want me to do?’

‘Not a lot. When I get out, you get out too and come with me. You don’t need to say a word – in fact, make sure you don’t open your mouth.’

‘What about…?’ he began, wondering what Antoine was going to do.

‘I said, don’t open your mouth. Starting now.’

They sat in silence after that. A few minutes passed, and then Marcel heard the low rumble of an approaching vehicle. Lights flickered from the road, then suddenly swept across the gravel yard. The vehicle pulled in and stopped by the barn. After a moment they heard two doors open then slam shut.

René suddenly turned on the camper’s lights full beam, and Marcel saw two men standing in front of a Range Rover, shielding their eyes from the lights until René turned them off again.

‘Come on,’ he said, and they both got out.

René had a torch in his hand and he turned it on as they walked towards the Range Rover. One of the two waiting figures did the same, and as they approached each other all four were bathed in a honey glow of light. The two visitors wore military-style gilets and combat trousers with heavy boots. They looked to be North African, probably Algerian, Marcel thought. The taller of the two had a ragged beard, and smiled now, revealing prominent teeth. ‘Bonsoir,’ he said cheerfully. He pointed at Marcel. ‘This is not the same colleague you had last time.’

‘No. The other man is unwell. Anyway, let’s get down to business,’ said René. ‘Have you brought the goods?’

‘Of course.’

‘We need to see them.’

‘Ah, and we need to see the money.’

‘Goods first,’ said René.

The Algerian hesitated, looking at René and Marcel. Then he shrugged. ‘As you wish.’

He led them to the back of the Range Rover, opened the rear door and shone his torch on to a long flat cardboard carton that lay wedged carefully between two bricks. The Algerian turned to René. ‘Before I open this, I need to see the money.’

René reached into his jacket and brought out an envelope. ‘Four thousand Euros. It’s all there.’

‘Of course.’ The North African pointed to the back of the Range Rover and, when René had put the envelope down next to the cardboard box, reached into one of the pockets of his gilet and produced a Stanley knife. He grabbed the end of the box and slit it down the side in one quick movement. Using his other hand to hold the box in place, he ripped it open and flipped the lid back.

All four of them stood there, looking at the contents – two Uzi machine-guns, parts highly oiled, their charcoal metal buffed to a sheen. They were clearly brand new.

René broke the spell. ‘Beautiful, but there’s something missing.’

‘Missing?’ asked the North African, the smile gone from his face.

‘We are paying for four. I don’t see four guns there.’

‘Perhaps you have misunderstood, Monsieur.’

‘I don’t think so,’ said René, and when he took a step backwards, Marcel did likewise.

But it was too late. With one quick lunge the North African had pressed the Stanley knife against René’s chest. Before Marcel could move, the other African had pulled his own knife – a bigger weapon, the size and shape of a Bowie knife – and pointed it menacingly at Marcel.

‘What do you want?’ asked René.

The North African laughed. ‘Nothing. You’ve paid your money, and you can take the merchandise. We’re all done here.’

‘I don’t think so,’ said René. Marcel wondered what he meant; there didn’t seem to be much chance of a refund.

The North African was starting to smile again when something moved through the air and struck him hard in the face. A bunch of splintered teeth flew out of the man’s mouth, followed by a spray of blood. The North African fell back, hitting his head against the Range Rover’s boot, and shrieking in pain.

Suddenly Antoine was standing beside Marcel, holding the metal pipe. The other North African waved his knife, and Antoine gave a harsh laugh. ‘Try me,’ he said tauntingly, and stepped forward. The North African’s courage suddenly failed, and he ran for the safety of the trees.

The man with the beard was half-lying, half-leaning against the Range Rover, holding his mouth with both hands. Ignoring him, René reached in and retrieved the envelope full of cash, tucking it into his jacket pocket. He nodded at Antoine, who pushed the wounded man brusquely aside, lifted the cardboard box on to his shoulder and walked with it towards the camper van.

Marcel and René followed him, leaving the Algerian still moaning in pain. There was no sign of his colleague. They got into the camper van and drove off quickly, retracing their route. René drove carefully now; Marcel knew that, with Uzi machine-guns in the back of the van, the last thing they wanted was to be stopped by the police.

As they joined the motorway again, heading west, René said, ‘You were right, Antoine. They weren’t straight, those guys.’

‘I didn’t like the look of them when we first met. But you know, two guns are not enough.’

‘Don’t worry, we’ll get more.’ René laughed. ‘And at least these two were free.’