The Lost Labyrinth

TWELVE
I

'So do they bring their girlfriends home, then, your daughters?' asked Zaal.

'Would you mind not smoking in the car,' said Edouard.

'Yes, I would mind,' said Zaal. He buzzed his window down as a compromise. 'So?' he asked. 'Your daughters? Do they bring their friends home? After school, and that?'

'Of course they do.'

'Any hotties?'

'For Christ's sake!'

'I always figured that would be one of the advantages of having daughters,' mused Zaal. He slid a look out of the corner of his eye, as if to assess how successfully he was getting under Edouard's skin. 'Once you get on a bit, it becomes bloody hard to meet nice young girls. I mean, everyone thinks you're a pervert if you hang around outside schools, right? But when you've got daughters of your own, no problem, right? All the nice young girls come to you.'

'I don't want to have this conversation.'

'And holidays, Jesus!' He tapped ash out the window. 'Aren't you a clever bastard. All those hot young bodies oiling themselves up on the beach for you, taking showers together back at the hotel. Enough to drive a man crazy, right?'

'Fatherhood's not like that.'

'Maybe not for you. But what about when your girls go to stay with their friends. I'll bet their fathers will be checking them out. How does that make you feel? Doesn't it worry you, trusting your daughters to those filthy old men?'

'Will you shut up?'

'I'm just saying. You want to be careful.'

Edouard scowled and clenched a fist. Zaal had to know that his daughters were being held hostage, that anxiety for them was driving him crazy. Of course he did. That was why he was enjoying himself so much. He turned on the radio, looking for a station that might keep Zaal quiet, or at least drown him out. A car pulled up on the other side of the road. He couldn't see much through the light drizzle, but then the passenger door opened and Gaille Bonnard got out.

'Is that the girl?' asked Zaal.

Edouard hesitated, loath to bring bad things down upon this young woman, but then he imagined what Mikhail might do to him if he learned he'd shielded her. 'Yes. It's her.'

Zaal flicked away his cigarette, flapped open his mobile and called in. 'They're here,' he said. 'The girl's taking in a bag. The guy's waiting outside.' He paused to listen. 'A Citroen. Blue. Looks like a rental.' He sat forward and squinted. 'Can't read it, not from here.' The hospital doors opened again and Gaille hurried out. 'She's coming back out. She must have just dropped the bag inside.' Zaal turned to Edouard. 'Follow them,' he said.

He waited until the Citroen had passed, then pulled out. It turned onto Vasilissis Sofias, headed towards Syndagma. Zaal couldn't read the signs, so Edouard gave him directions that he relayed on so that the others could pick up the chase. Right onto Stadhiou, north towards Omonia. The square was congested; even the lightest drizzle could bring Athens to a standstill. They turned onto 3rdSeptemvriou, where lines of sequined whores glittered beneath the awnings, trying to make eye-contact. The Citroen turned left down a one-way street, then into a hotel parking lot. Edouard drove on by, bumped up onto the kerb. Car doors slammed; Knox and Gaille hurried out of the car park and across the road to the hotel.

'Go stall them,' said Zaal.

'What? How?'

'I don't know. Just do it. Until the others get here.'

'Why don't you do it?'

'Because Mikhail wants you to.' He offered him the mobile. 'Unless you'd rather discuss it with him yourself.'

Edouard bit back a retort. He got out, his arm above his head to ward off the light rain, standing back to allow a blue van past, then hurrying across the road. The hotel had a glass front, but inside it was one of those places that tried to make a virtue of their heritage, its lobby rich with lush red carpeting, polished brass fittings everywhere, chandeliers hanging from ostentatiously high ceilings, its staff dressed in scarlet-and-gold livery. The bar to the right of the main door was full of prosperous-looking foreigners in comfortable chairs sipping whiskies and wines. One or two of them looked up as Knox and Gaille walked over to reception, then they drew the attention of their companions, and suddenly everyone was looking. Their appearance on the news had evidently made them minor celebrities.

There was a loud tooting on the main road; an engine roared and headlights swept down the one-way street before stopping in a slither outside the hotel. The back door opened and Mikhail stepped out, turning up the collar of his trench-coat against the rain. 'Well?' he asked.

'They're just getting their keys,' said Edouard. Mikhail nodded and reached back inside the car for his shotgun. He broke it, stuffed in two cartridges, then snapped it closed again. 'What the hell's that for?' protested Edouard.

'Your friend Knox murdered a man earlier today for my fleece,' said Mikhail. 'You think he's just going to give it back?'

'But all those people…'

'So?' He hid the shotgun inside his trench-coat, then led the way through the automatic glass doors into the hotel lobby just as Knox and Gaille collected their keys and headed for the lifts.