The Martyr’s Curse

Chapter Thirty-One

The Hummer barrelled on into the night, its low rumble and the thrum of its heavy-duty tyres filling the cab. Now it was Ben’s turn to take his eyes off the road and glance sideways in puzzlement. ‘What are you saying?’

‘That this mention of gold bullion is absolutely the first I’ve heard of it,’ Silvie replied.

‘Then why else did you think they hit the place, if not to steal something of value?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘How can you not know? You were part of the gang.’

‘A peripheral part.’

‘Whose job it was to infiltrate them, apparently. And gain information.’

‘Which I tried very hard to do. So you believe me now?’

He shook his head impatiently. ‘You must have heard something. Or seen something.’

‘All I saw were those white containers,’ she said.

‘Containers?’

‘When they returned from the raid, the BearCat’s doors didn’t open for maybe twenty minutes. Finally, Streicher came out. He looked jumpy. Buzzed. More excited than I’ve ever seen him. He’d changed out of his tactical clothing, but he smelled of cordite, like someone who’d just come off a shooting range. I saw inside the BearCat’s open doors for a moment. That’s where I saw them. Oblong, with rounded-off sides and corners, and locks and handles on. Like a cross between a briefcase and a military ammo can, except a little larger, made out of some kind of shiny white plastic or fibreglass. Plain, unmarked. Maybe six or eight of them, all lined up and securely fastened in an interior load bay. I have no idea what was in them. Maybe it was gold. Nobody said anything about it. All I could gather was that Dexter had been left behind for some reason. I was too afraid to ask questions.’

Ben listened and drove.

‘My role post-operation was to dispose of the kit,’ she went on. ‘All their clothing was sealed up inside these big plastic bags. Or I assume it was their clothing. It felt bulky and soft, like bedding. Sort of crinkly when you jiggled it around. Also boots, judging by the weight. I was told on no account to open the bags, just to burn them. So that’s what I did. There was a hollow in the rocks a little way off. I and a couple of others carried the bags over to it, piled them up, doused them with petrol and torched them.’

Thorough, Ben thought. But he was less interested in the contents of the bags than in other kinds of contents. ‘And you’re certain there was no mention of what was in the containers? Not even a hint?’

‘None. Obviously, I never got the chance to talk to Dexter. Breslin might have known something, but it’s too late for that now, isn’t it? He was much closer to Streicher. Deeply loyal to him. They all are. He seems to have an effect on them. Like he’s a god or something. Like they have an oath of fealty to him, as if he were their liege and they his vassals. It’s weird.’

‘What happened next?’

‘The convoy split up. Nine of us got into two of the Range Rovers and headed back to Lausanne. I was still on driving duty. When I realised Dexter wasn’t with us any longer, I started to get very worried, but I couldn’t say anything. Torben Roth was right next to me, so I had to look cool. Cazzitti and Chavanne took the third Range Rover and went off in tandem with Streicher and Hannah Gissel in the BearCat. I assume they returned to the rendezvous point where the lorry and trailer were still waiting, then Cazzitti and Chavanne put the rotors back on the chopper, then the BearCat took its place inside the trailer, then the artic went one way and the Range Rover set off for Lausanne, while Streicher and Hannah flew back to wherever they came from.’

‘Carrying the white containers.’

‘That’s my best guess,’ she said.

‘Cazzitti and Chavanne. Ex-air force?’

‘Cazzitti did a four-year stint in the Italian Parachute Infantry Brigade. Might have picked up a few aero-mechanic skills there. Nothing on record about Chavanne.’

‘Tell me about this Torben Roth.’

‘Plenty on him. He was a PMC before he hooked up with Streicher.’

Ben nodded. Private military contractor. A mercenary. Torben Roth was suddenly his number one choice to be the explosives expert on the team. ‘Is he good?’

‘He’s got the look of a killer, that’s all I can tell you. Doesn’t say much. Face was messed up by a bullet.’

Ben asked, ‘Does he smoke?’

‘Not that I’ve ever seen. Why are you asking?’

‘What about Streicher?’

‘He won’t even let people do it in the safe house.’

‘Then you never saw him light up a Russian cigarette. A black Sobranie.’

She shook her head emphatically. ‘Never.’

‘Okay. Just wondered.’

Ben drove on a while in silence, frowning as he pieced everything together in his mind. The pieces seemed to fit, but the picture they formed didn’t make sense to him.

‘I still don’t get it,’ he said. ‘Why are DGSI so worked up about this Streicher? A joint operation like this is the kind of stuff they keep in reserve for the big fish. Major terror suspects. International crime rings. They wouldn’t even bother with the drug syndicates in Marseille. They leave that to the regular police to deal with. So who is he?’

‘He is a big fish,’ Silvie said.

‘Then fill me in.’

‘You’ll be disappointed with how much I actually know.’

‘Let me be the judge of that.’

She hesitated. ‘Before I say anything else, I should know a little more about who I’m talking to.’

‘I told you who I am,’ Ben said. ‘A concerned individual, nothing more. I was just a guest at the monastery.’

‘No ordinary guest, that’s for sure. Since when did monks let someone like you come and live with them?’

‘Someone like me?’ he echoed, bristling a little.

‘I mean, you’re not exactly gentle Jesus meek and mild, are you?’

‘I have a past,’ he said. ‘I was hoping to put it behind me. The monks showed me hospitality. They were good people.’

‘How did you know about Jean-Loup l’Hermite?’

Ben didn’t like being pressured for answers. Silvie Valois might have been the one tethered and captive, but it didn’t seem to make her any less assertive. ‘I met him once,’ he said.

‘Can’t have been just a casual acquaintance. You know too much about him.’

‘We did some training together,’ Ben admitted after a restless silence. ‘A few years back.’

‘What kind of training?’

‘The kind you might have benefited from tonight,’ he said.

She gave a dark kind of laugh. ‘Thanks for that. So this past of yours — would it be in law enforcement?’ She thought about it for a moment, then shook her head. ‘No, you were never a cop. I get the impression you don’t like them much.’

‘Most cops I know feel that way too.’

‘You’re not the type. You were a soldier.’

‘Don’t let the car fool you. It’s borrowed from a friend.’

‘I’m not talking about the car. Talking about you. You have the look.’

He didn’t reply.

‘Sure, you do,’ she said. ‘That look that never goes away. The way you handle yourself. The way you move, even the way you talk. It’s indelible. Like a stain. And you’re English, so it’s a no-brainer. British Army, correct?’

Ben said nothing, just kept driving into the night.

‘I knew it. And you were an officer, I’ll bet.’

He looked at her. ‘Really. You can tell that, can you?’

‘Take it as a compliment.’

‘Or an insult,’ he said.

‘A captain, at the very least. What unit?’

‘Drop it,’ Ben said.

‘So I’m getting close. Let’s aim for the top and work our way down from there. Special Forces?’

‘How would you figure that one out?’

‘Oh, from the way you jumped us tonight. You’re right about the training. I thought I was good, and I am. But you made me feel like a total amateur. So, UKSF it is. Not too many divisions to choose from. SF Support Group? Special Boat Service? You don’t strike me as the navy type. Special Reconnaissance Regiment? That’s a possible. But I’m going to plump for Special Air Service. How am I doing?’

Ben shook his head. ‘You know something, Silvie Valois, or whoever you are? You’re a little too smart for your own good.’

She smiled in the darkness. ‘I’m right, though.’

‘Right about to get thrown out of a speeding car if you don’t start whistling a different tune.’

‘Then you’d have to cut my tapes first,’ she said.

‘Or else slap another piece over your mouth.’

At that moment, the phone on the centre console between them began to vibrate and buzz in its plastic hollow. They both looked down at it.

‘Aren’t you going to get that?’ she asked.

The phone gave two more pulses before Ben reached down and picked it up. He thumbed the reply button and pressed it to his ear, saying nothing, waiting for the caller to speak first. He eased off the throttle to quieten the resonance of the Hummer’s engine note inside the cab.

‘From one lone wolf to another, hello back,’ said a familiar voice that Ben hadn’t heard in a long time.