The Lost Testament

100

The posted speed limit at the entrance to the Somport Tunnel was 80 kilometres per hour. As Bronson turned on the headlamps and swung the Renault around the gentle left-hand curve that led into the tunnel entrance, the car was travelling at almost double that, well over 140 kilometres an hour. He applied the brakes and the Renault immediately began to slow.

‘Are we safe now?’ Angela asked.

‘I hope so,’ Bronson replied. ‘This tunnel crosses the mountains and comes out north of the Pyrenees. We should be out before they can get people there. Unless there’s someone posted there already …’

A little under six minutes after Bronson had driven the Renault into the southern end of the tunnel, they drove out into bright late-afternoon sunshine in France with a total lack of drama or excitement. Nobody shot at them, and no cars followed them, a situation which continued all the way down the valley until they reached Oloron-Sainte-Marie, where Bronson finally began to feel safe.

‘They won’t find us now,’ he said, ‘unless we’re really unlucky. There are just too many roads that we could take — there’s no possible way they can cover every one.’

‘So what now?’ Angela asked. ‘Do you want to stop somewhere here?’

Bronson shook his head.

‘Not yet,’ he replied. ‘We’ll drive on for a while and get to the north of Pau and Tarbes, deep into the countryside. Then we’ll find a small hotel and stop for the night. These days, you don’t have to show a passport or any form of identification at French hotels, and we’ll pay cash, so as long as the car isn’t visible from the road we should be safe enough.’

About two hours later, Bronson drove into a layby just outside Cadours and did what he could to conceal the damage the sniper’s bullet had done to the car, knocking the twisted metal more or less back into shape and smearing mud over it.

Then they drove on, continuing north-east into the countryside, finally finding a room in a quiet chambre d’hôte not far from Carmaux. It was approached by a long drive, and not even the house was visible from the road.

The room was a large double with a tiny balcony facing west, and they enjoyed the luxury of sitting on it to watch the last rays of the sun sink below the horizon while they ate the baguette and blue cheese Bronson had bought in a garage en route. It wasn’t a gourmet dinner by any standard, but it tasted as good as anything either of them had ever eaten before.

Then they fell into bed together and made love with the kind of desperation that only comes when both parties realize that it might be for the very last time.