“I know you’re not. Because you’ve been in all the same places I’ve been. On the outside.”
“True. So you’re story involves Loup, but it’s not about him.”
“Now you’re guessing.”
“Yes, I am.”
“Look, if we’re going to offer any value to each other, we need to know where we are all coming from, would you agree?”
“Oui,” said Flynn.
“So yes, I am a journalist.”
“I know.”
“I’m working on an investigative piece. It’s not about Jean Loup.”
“But he is key to it.”
She frowned. “Why do you say that?”
“Because you were at all the same places we were. So Loup is important because you are trying to learn his routine.”
“I know his routine.”
“You want to share it?”
“You want to tell me your interest in Monsieur Loup?”
Flynn sipped his espresso. “It’s a personal matter.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means that someone we believe to be connected to Monsieur Loup has caused harm to people we care about.”
“Both of you?”
“Both of us. So we are trying to confirm what we suspect, so something can be done about it.”
“He’s above the law, you get that, right?”
“Which law?”
The woman sat back in the bench seat and looked at Flynn.
“You guys are military.”
“You think?”
“I do. You are, or you were.”
“What difference does that make?”
“I don’t know. So why were you at Le Bourget?” she asked.
Flynn glanced at Gorski.
“Same reason as you,” said Gorski. “To learn his routine.”
“To what end?”
“Mademoiselle, we have had occasion to meet many bad people. And they have all had one thing in common. They did bad things.”
“I don’t get it.”
“People who do bad things on a small scale don’t stop when the scale becomes large. Some people steal because they cannot afford to eat. They are not necessarily intrinsically bad. But for bad people, it is a decision they make. An easier road, or their right. A man who steals ten euros from the cash register he operates in a supermarket will embezzle millions if he is an investment banker. He won’t suddenly say, this is enough. Why?”
“Because he thinks he’s above the law.”
“Oui, he thinks this, but that is not why he does it. He does it because he thinks he is right and everyone else is wrong. That a different set of rules apply to him.”
“So what is you’re point?”
“My point is that when a different set of rules apply, a different set of rules must be applied,” said Gorski. “If he is above the law, he must be subject to a different kind of law.”
“What are going to do? Kill him?”
“That’s very primitive, mademoiselle. And too easy. There are better ways to hurt such a man.”
“But first,” interjected Flynn, “We need to know if our suspicions are correct.”
The woman, Elyse, watched them. She was considering her options. Assessing if these men could be of use to her.
“Maybe we could help you,” said Flynn. “We have skills that the average journalist does not.”
“And I have skills you don’t have,” she said, defensively.
“Of course. So we help each other.”
“What do you want to know? And don’t ask me about my story.”
“We want to know about Loup. We understand he takes the jet from Le Bourget to an estate in, was it Lyon?”
Gorski nodded.
“It’s outside Lyon. His family has had the estate for centuries.”
So he flies into Lyon every Friday . . .”
“Most Fridays,” said Elyse. “But not into Lyon.”
“Where does he land?”
“At an airfield closer to the estate, in the Ain region.”
“A private airfield.”
“Actually, it’s military.”
“He lands a private jet at a military air base?”
“Oui.”
“Is that legal?”
“Why not?” She leaned forward. “Look, one of his companies is a defense contractor. Loup Defense. He builds a lot of stuff for the military.”
“Even so.”
“And he pays for the landing rights. It’s in the public record, for a reason, I’m sure. But he pays to land and pays to house his jet, and he pays for the aviation gasoline. All market value rates, apparently.”
“Which base is this?” asked Flynn.
“It is a very small base, mainly used for maintenance and supply. It is called Base Aérienne 278.”
“Near Lyon?”
“Just out of Ambérieu-en-Bugey.”
Flynn sat back. He knew that name. He had never been there, but he knew it well.
“What does he do out there, on this estate?”
“He is an equestrian.”
“What, like showjumping?”
“Exactement. But his speciality was the three day event. He represented France at the Olympics.”
“He did?” asked Gorski.
“Oui. And his daughter, too. She’s into dressage. But the equestrian, it is his love, so they say. I have heard that he treats his horses better than his staff.”
“So he goes out there to ride.”
“Oui.”
“Anything else?”
One or two things,” Elyse said.
“What things?”
Elyse shrugged.
“Things you’re investigating.”
She shrugged again.
“Whatever you’re writing about, it’s in Ambérieu-en-Bugey.”
“Not necessarily.”
“Look, Elyse, we don’t want your story, and we don’t want to stop it. But we do want to know what Loup is up to, so if it’s in Ambérieu-en-Bugey, then that’s where we’re going.”
“I don’t think you’ll find anything.”
“Then we’ll spend a weekend in the country and come back on Monday at square one.”
“That’s up to you.” She looked away as if she wasn’t interested in talking about it anymore.
“You should come,” said Flynn. He felt Gorski staring as him. “We’ll take you.”
“On you scooter?”
“In our car.”
“You think I’m getting into a car with two strange men who claim to operate outside the law. I don’t think so.”
“Okay. Let’s go however you want.”
“Why do you even need me?”
“You’ve clearly been there. You know what to expect on the ground. You’ll save us time. Time we don’t have. Time that might save people’s lives.”
The last part was a stretch and Flynn knew it.
“I don’t care whose car it is. Yours, mine. I’m not getting in any car with you.”
“Good. That’s smart. So we’ll do it another way. We’ll take the train.”
“The train?”
“Sure. It’s public. You’re safety is guaranteed. People will be all around, all the time.”
“I don’t even know how to get there by train.”
“Lyon, first,” said Flynn. “That’s easy. Trains to Lyon leave from Paris Gare de Lyon. Let’s go.”
“No,” she said. “Tomorrow we go. If I don’t change my mind.”
“D’accord,” said Flynn. “So, 6 a.m.?”
“Let’s do eight,” said Elyse. “At the ticket window.”
“Done. We’ll see you there.”
Elyse looked at them both. Then she slipped out of the bench and stood.
“Don’t follow me,” she said.
They didn’t. She walked out and they stayed seated.
“You think she’ll show?” asked Gorski.
“It doesn’t matter. We have a
lead now.” Flynn looked out onto the dark street. “But I think she’ll show.”
Chapter Thirteen
The TGV to Lyon was quicker than flying. For most people anyway. City center to near city center in under two hours. Hauling themselves out to Orly airport would have seen them still sitting in a gate lounge in Paris. But the scenery flew by like a video of fast forward. The train was modern and clean and although the ride lacked the charm of the click-clack of older, slower trains, Flynn liked it immensely.
Elyse didn’t seem to have an opinion either way. They sat at a four seat table, Flynn and Gorski on one side, Elyse on the other, facing Flynn by the window. Her messenger satchel was in the seat next to her, her hand rested on top of it. Flynn and Gorski had stowed their packs in the overhead racks.
“You wonder why people bother to fly,” said Gorski.
“It’s crazy,” said Flynn, looking out at the countryside zoom by. The taxi ride from their hotel to the station had taken over an hour. It made the TGV seem even better.
“Privacy,” said Elyse. “When you have everything in the world, the thing you value most is privacy.”
“Like Loup?” asked Gorski.
“Sure. A private plane is the way to go.”
“Here’s the thing, though,” said Flynn. “Why take a jet? He’s got a helicopter. He could leave from his rooftop and land on his lawn in Lyon. Instead he spends half an hour driving out to Le Bourget, and however long getting from Ambérieu-en-Bugey to his estate.”
“Maybe the helicopter is slower,” said Gorski.
“You know as well as I do, some of those choppers really move. I’m sure it would be quicker. Because I don’t agree with Elyse.”
“About what?” she asked.
“Rich people valuing privacy. I grant you, it’s important to them. But you can buy privacy, hence the jet. The thing they value most is the only thing they cannot buy. Time.”
Elyse nodded. “Well, he doesn’t fly in the helicopter, anyway,” said Elyse.
“How do you know?” asked Gorski.
“You don’t know?”
“No.”
“Because of his father.”
“What about his father?”
Elyse frowned at Gorski. “You really aren’t journalists, are you?”
“That’s what we keep telling you. What about his father?”
“He died in a helicopter accident.”
Flynn and Gorski sat back and took that in. Then Gorski leaned forward again.
“Then what’s the helicopter landing on the roof of his tower about?”
“Sometimes it’s people coming in for meetings. Heads of state, that kind of thing. They fly in directly from Charles de Gaulle. But on Fridays, it’s his advance team.”
“Advance team?” asked Flynn. “Like security?”
“Oui. He has a team go down to the estate to prepare for his arrival later that evening.”
“There’s no security there otherwise?”
“Oh, I’m sure there is. But perhaps it’s smaller. The advance team would be additional. And then there are the men who travel with him.”
“Close protection,” said Gorski.
“Yes,” said Elyse. “Like the president.”
“That’s plenty of guys,” said Flynn. “So have you seen this estate?”
“Not up close. I’ve driven by, but you can’t see the house from the road, and you don’t get in if you are not invited.”
“I’m sure.”
“And you don’t get invited if you are a journalist.”
Flynn nodded and looked out the window.
“So how do you get to Ambérieu-en-Bugey from Lyon?”
“I don’t.”
“Right,” said Gorski. “You usually drive. But not with strange men.”
“No, not with strange men. But I get off the autoroute before Lyon.” Now Elyse looked out the window. “And I don’t usually go to Ambérieu-en-Bugey.”
Flynn glanced at her.
“Where do you go.”
“Another village, not far away.”
“What village?”
“Saint-Suliac-de-Bugey.”
“And what is in Saint-Suliac-de-Bugey?”
“Not a lot. A few businesses here and there.”
“What kinds of businesses?”
“What are you asking me, John?”
“I’m asking you if Jean Loup has a business in Saint-Suliac-de-Bugey that you are investigating.”
“In a manner of speaking.”
“Why so cryptic, Elyse?”
“I think you need to see for yourself.”
They got off at Gare de la Part-Dieu in Lyon. The station was bustling and the bodies from the TGV hurriedly added to the throng. Flynn and Gorski stayed in their seats. There was no prize to be won for being the first off the platform. Elyse moved with the masses off the train until she realized that the two men had not gotten up. They smiled at her through the window, and then took the packs down and slipped them onto their backs, and then they disembarked.
“Do you take so long to do everything?” she asked.
“Oui,” said Gorski. “Unless it needs to be done quicker.”
As they walked down the platform toward the concourse, Flynn asked how far the village was.
“About forty kilometers, I think,” said Elyse.
“Train?”
“In Ambérieu-en-Bugey, yes. In Saint-Suliac, no.”
“We can walk the difference,” said Gorski.
Elyse stopped in her tracks. “Are you serious?”
“Sure, why not?”
“It’s like four or five kilometers.”
“So?”
“So, I don’t know what special forces ra-ra you two are into, but I don’t walk four or five kilometers when I can rent a car.”
“But you don’t want to get into a car with two strange men,” said Gorski.
“Don’t remind me. And you’re paying.”
“I don’t have a credit card,” said Gorski, which wasn’t strictly speaking true. He just didn’t care to use it and leave a trail when he could avoid it.
“If you book it, we’ll give you the cash,” said Flynn.
“Who are you guys?” she said, walking away to find a rental office.
The car was tiny. Most European cars were. They did rock, paper, scissors and Gorski got the backseat. Flynn rode shotgun. Elyse used her smartphone to navigate out of the city, and then northeast into the countryside.
“Ambérieu-en-Bugey is in the Ain region, bordered by the Rhone River to the south and east and the Ain River to the west.”
“Looks nice,” said Flynn.
“It is very beautiful.”
They drove through flat open farmland, low and dormant for the winter. Elyse was a cautious driver so the trip took fifty minutes. Then they arrived in a small village. It looked like a typically French hamlet, except better. Most of the buildings were stone with terra-cotta roofs, and flowers in the window boxes despite the season. Some of the homes were rendered blues and yellows, not muted by the decades but fresh and vibrant. The streets were spotless. There was a church with a lush lawn and a heavy wooden door that appeared to have just been installed. Windows gleamed and hedges were trimmed like pool tables.
“It’s like Disneyland,” said Flynn.
Elyse just nodded.
“Where are the people?” asked Gorski.
Elyse pulled the car onto the side of a street that had the smoothest blacktop Flynn had ever seen. Cake decorators must have followed behind the asphalt truck as it lay the stuff. The parking slots by the sidewalk were paved in bricks the color of match heads, and the sidewalks were concrete the color of snow.
They got out and stretched a little.
“Bienvenue à Saint-Suliac-de-Bugey,” she said.
“Welcome, indeed,” said Flynn.
“Where are the people?” Gorski postured again.
Flynn looked around. He could hear the breeze blowing
through the trees that lined the street. No car noise, not an air-conditioning unit or the sound of talking. Not even a dog bark. He looked at Elyse.
“Everyone’s at work,” she said.
“What about the stores? What about schools?”
“There is a public school on the other side of the village, recently renovated.”
“Like the town,” said Gorski.
“And restaurants?”
“One, closed, I expect. For lunch.”
“What kind of a restaurant closes for lunch?”
“The kind that needs no customers.”
“What does that mean?”
“Come, let me show you.”
They got back in the car but they went less than two kilometers. Most of the village was behind them, and the main road that bypassed the village was roaring in the distance.
“To the east, Ambérieu-en-Bugey is the main town in the area. Maybe five kilometers. To the north, the air base, maybe two or three kilometers. To the west of the village is a small river that is a tributary to the Ain River, which is another couple of kilometers west. And on the other side of the Ain, about five kilometers to the north is Monsieur Loup’s estate.”
Elyse again pulled the car to the side of the road, but left the engine running. She could have just stopped in the middle of the street. There was no traffic at all.
“That helps, thanks,” said Flynn. “But what is that?”
He gestured toward the building a few hundred meters across from them. It was a facility of some kind the size of a city block. There was a four meter high wall topped with razor wire running around the perimeter, and beyond they could see the rooftops of a series of buildings. The entire thing had been painted or rendered a bright white, except the rooftop glimpses which were the same terra-cotta as the rest of the town.
“That is the reason I am here,” said Elyse.
“What is it?” asked Gorski.
“A prison,” said Elyse.
Flynn frowned. “A prison?”
“More or less.”
Flynn looked it over. There was a gatehouse at the front, with a boom. Beyond the boom he could see a tall wire gate. It was secure enough, but he wasn’t buying the prison story.
“What is it really?”
“It’s a refugee center.”
“Aren’t they usually tents and portable toilets?” asked Gorski.
“Depends where they are. Technically this is called a refugee processing facility.”
One for One (John Flynn Thrillers Book 3) Page 10