One for One (John Flynn Thrillers Book 3)

by A. J. Stewart

  The guy pulled two beers and dropped them on the bar without a word. He clearly wasn’t catering to the tourists, if there were any. There was only a handful of people in the cafe, all men, all solo except two chatting in the corner. Flynn and Gorski took their drinks to a door that lay open out to the back of the building. There was brick patio and some plastic chairs. The view was no postcard. Railway tracks and then the open field of the airbase. A young guy in a torn t-shirt was sitting in one of the chairs watching nothing happen.

  “Bonjour,” said Flynn.

  The guy looked around as if surprised anyone was speaking with him. He looked at Flynn with a blank expression.

  “Bonjour.” He said it like he was unsure.

  “Anything happening out there today?”

  The guy shrugged. “No. Not today. The weather is not so good.”

  “Is it usually very busy?”

  The guy waved his hands to encourage Flynn to take a look around.

  “You watch aircraft?” Flynn asked.

  “So?”

  “We were watching at Le Bourget yesterday,” said Gorski.

  The guy nodded like he was reassessing them.

  “Paris?” he said.

  “Oui,” said Flynn. “We saw an aircraft take off that we were told often came down here. A Dassault Falcon 8X.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Don’t see it though.”

  The guy pushed himself out of the chair and the legs buckled slightly despite his thin frame. His hair was down to his shoulders, and as he waved for the men to follow it wafted like grass in the breeze.

  Flynn and Gorski followed him across a grass yard that looked like it was never maintained but had grown as much as it cared to. Then the guy stopped and pointed. Between two hangars they saw the rear section of the fuselage and the tail of a jet. Gray with black markings.

  “That’s it?” asked Flynn.

  “Oui.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Oui. I saw it come in last night, on schedule.”

  “It runs on a schedule?” asked Gorski.

  “It’s a turn of phrase. I mean it’s regular.”

  The guy turned back toward his seat and Flynn followed him.

  “Can we buy you a beer?” Flynn asked.

  The guy looked surprised all over again.

  “Sure, I guess.”

  Flynn went inside and asked for a glass of water, and then returned and handed the guy his untouched beer.

  “Merci,” said the guy. He sipped the beer.

  “Do you live locally?” asked Flynn.

  The guy nodded. “Nearby.”

  “In Ambérieu?”

  “No.”

  “Saint-Suliac?”

  The guy snorted. “No.”

  “You know who owns that aircraft?”

  “Oui.”

  “Jean Loup?”

  The guy raised an eyebrow. “Oui. What is your interest in Monsieur Loup’s aircraft?”

  “It’s unusual, is it not? For a civilian to have landing access at a military airfield?”

  “No.”

  “It’s not?”

  “No. This is not a top secret facility, monsieur. There is an aero club on the grounds.”

  “So a civilian can use it as they please?”

  No. There are requirements. But oui, civilians can land here.”

  “Are you in this aero club?”

  The guy’s mouth turned down. “No. I do not own an aircraft.”

  “But you know something about them.”

  “I know plenty about them.”

  “And you know something about which aircraft are flying in and out of here?”

  “I know everything about that.”

  Flynn nodded.

  “And Monsieur Loup’s aircraft comes in every Friday.”

  “The Dassault does.”

  “What other aircraft is there?”

  “Monsieur Loup also has another aircraft, a BAE Avro RJ-100.”

  “How often does he fly in that one?”

  The guy shrugged. “Him? Never.”

  “He has a plane that he never flies in?”

  “Oui.”

  “How do you know it’s his?” asked Gorski.

  “It’s registered to a company in Cyprus, but I have a friend online who tracked down the ownership through the registered agent. It goes back to Loup Holdings.”

  “How often does this other aircraft come here?”

  “Once every couple of weeks. On a Friday, usually.”

  “And Loup is never on it?”

  “No. He never seems to be here when that one flies in.”

  “So who comes in on it?”

  “No one.”

  “No one? Why does it come?”

  “Sometimes it picks up cargo.”

  “What cargo?”

  The guy shrugged. “I do not know, monsieur.”

  Flynn looked at Gorski and Gorski nudged his head to suggest they should get going.

  “I’m John, by the way,” he said to the young guy.

  “David.”

  “Thanks for the intel, David.”

  David held up the beer and said, “Anytime.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  The Loup estate sat along the west bank of the Ain River about 6 kilometers from the airbase. They passed through the local village which was cute and authentic compared to Saint-Suliac. The main road ran by the estate, which was fronted by a kilometer of hedgerow, and was only parted by three meter tall stone pillars either side of massive wrought-iron gates.

  Gorski slowed as the reached the gate and they glanced through. They saw manicured lawns and a French geometric garden, but any house was hidden behind more hedges and trees. Gorski kept going for another kilometer until the river jinked to the west and then back. He took a small road that looked designed for farming equipment.

  He pulled the rental car off into the grass at the side of the road and then he and Flynn walked another five hundred meters to the river. Either side of them forest land spread along the banks. The river itself was wide and handsome, about fifty meters across and flowing steadily. There was no bank to speak of, just rocks and a short drop into the cold water. A group of canoes and kayaks floated down the river on the flow. Flynn had done such a trip, a lazy man’s paddle. A van dropped tourists off upriver and they floated back, paddling or not as they desired, past old castles and ancient forests, and wildlife.

  They retreated back up from the water to the tree line. The rear of Loup’s property abutted the river and was heavily forested. Flynn and Gorski walked parallel to the river. The forest floor was a soft matting of fallen leaves and branches. The trees were thick in trunk and density so it was as if night had already fallen. But they chose to not use a flashlight. They startled a herd of roe deer, who gave them a look and then dashed away into the darkness.

  Flynn counted his steps off in his head. A kilometer past the gates meant a kilometer to get back to the estate house, and Flynn knew that over such terrain his stride was close to a meter. When he got to a thousand steps, he directed Gorski with a hand signal to break away from the river.

  About three hundred steps later they saw the trees end. Flynn and Gorski crept to within a couple of meters of the tree line and crouched.

  The house was about five hundred meters from the trees. Half a kilometer, a third of a mile. One and half American football fields, give or take. But it was no kind of house. It was a palace. It reminded Flynn of Versailles. It had clearly been there for many centuries. The yellow stone had worn a muted gold. There must have been a hundred windows in the back section alone. The lawn rose gently so the house was on a mound, perhaps as a concession to occasional flooding of the river. Up some stairs was a large patio that led into the house. There were two security men standing on the patio watching over the lawn. The sun was falling, so the house threw long shadows across the men and deep over the lawn.

  The forest ran along the south side of the h
ouse, the left side as they looked at it. Against the tree line on the left was a large stone outbuilding. It was only about a hundred meters from their position and was clearly a stable. A man in riding boots led a horse along a crushed granite path toward a trough next to the barn. Another security guy was positioned near the trough.

  On the right side of their view, the north end, was an equestrian arena. A crushed granite track ran around a sand interior. Jumps were in various positions in the middle, but the rider in a red riding jacket and black helmet practicing out there was not bothering with them. The horse they were riding was prancing, lifting its legs high as it marched around the perimeter of the sand area, bouncing as if on springs.

  Then they heard the thunder of hooves. Another rider came across the lawn along the tree line at a canter. The rider was in a blue riding coat and a black helmet the twin of the other rider. As Flynn watched the blue rider pulled up his horse into a gentle trot, he noticed another security guard wandering along the lawn, right against the tree line. Unlike the others, he carried an assault rifle. Flynn and Gorski both recognized the bugle, the distinctive shape of the FAMAS rifle they had used themselves, too many times to count.

  The blue rider called to the other, and the red rider trotted across the track to join up on the path. Together they walked across to the stables. They both dismounted and patted their horses’ necks, and then led them to the water trough. The man who had led the other horse to the trough put it inside the stable and then took care of the two that were drinking, while the two riders stepped away.

  They removed their riding helmets. The red rider first, shaking out long brown hair that fell below her shoulders. Then the blue rider. He ran his hand through his hair, working out the sweat. As the man turned to the stablehand and said something, Flynn recognized Jean Loup.

  Loup and the woman wandered together up the straight path to the house as a security guy dropped in behind, about fifty meters back. Flynn glanced along the tree line to see the guard there. He had stopped walking and was close to invisible in the fading light. A third security guy came out onto the patio near the house and greeted Loup and the woman, and then followed them inside. Close security. Then Flynn noticed one of the other men on the patio was coming down the stairs. He was walking quickly, not running but not far from it.

  The security guy who had been by the stalls turned to where Flynn and Gorski were hiding. There was no way he could see them, and he wasn’t wearing any kind of optics to help him see in the dark. Then he started walking toward them. Flynn glanced along the tree line. The guy there was gone.

  “We’re made,” said Flynn.

  He and Gorski slipped backward into the forest. The ground underfoot didn’t crunch so they were close to silent. They proceeded slowly at first, not wanting to create the sensation of movement. Humans were predators, and they were drawn to the movement of the fleeing pray. The sky from the estate showed the silhouette of a man enter the woods in their direction.

  Once they were well inside the trees they moved faster. They were both painfully aware that they were unarmed. They had brought weapons from Gorski stockpile, but they were in their packs, which were in the car. Flynn counted out three hundred steps—more quickly this time—and then tapped Gorski to stop.

  There was a sound from the north. A man moving through the woods, not noisy but not that concerned about being quiet. Cutting straight through the forest toward the river. Between the men and their car. They could see the silhouette moving into the forest. He was also headed for the river. The stepped away from both guards, toward the south, away from their car and away from the only exfil point. Then Flynn saw the silhouette change direction slightly, and make for Flynn and Gorski’s new position. Gorski put his lips to Flynn’s ear.

  “Phone off,” he said.

  Flynn put his hand in his pocket and found his phone. He ran his finger along the side of it until he felt the power button and then he held it down until he was sure it was off. They got down low in the underbrush and positioned themselves behind trees. The silhouette stopped, searching the darkness for movement again.

  Then they heard the other guy, the one who had come through fast. He had gone straight for the river and was now doubling back. Flynn held his breath. He was behind a tree to the silhouette guy so he was facing the second one. If the second guy’s eyes acclimatized and he took a good look around, he would find Flynn sitting on his backside.

  The second guy stopped a meter from Flynn. He could have grabbed the guy by the ankle. He might still have to. Then the guy spoke in a forced whisper.

  “Anything?”

  “No, nothing,” said the silhouette in response. “Gone cold.”

  “There are groups of kayakers on the river, just gone by. I bet it was them.”

  “How close to the bank?”

  “Close. They make their way over to the west side to stop down at the village. That’s where they usually get out.”

  “Okay. I’ll call it in.”

  The silhouette turned back toward the house and starting talking. Flynn couldn’t hear what was said. He was a statue. Because the second guy wasn’t moving. He stood in the darkened forest, and then he turned back toward the river. They heard the sound of laughter from the water. Not the group Flynn and Gorski had seen. Another group. It was a popular spot. The village they were stopping at looked like a great place to end a day on the water, even in winter.

  The second guy turned back toward the house, and then he marched off, out of the trees. Flynn didn’t move for five minutes. Finally Gorski edged quietly toward Flynn, and then they both moved, along the river, against the flow, back to the car they had left in the grass.

  Gorski took off to the north, away from the estate and the village. He took the long way back to Saint-Suliac.

  “How did they know we were there?” Flynn posed. “Cameras?”

  “Too dark.”

  “Heat signal.”

  “The deers would set it off.”

  “Then same for motion sensors in the ground.”

  Flynn glanced at Gorski. “You know, don’t you.”

  “I think so.”

  “Care to share?”

  “Cell phone signal.”

  “We didn’t make any calls.”

  “But you could have. Your phone was on. So was mine. And how do they connect to a cellular tower? They emit a signal. If Loup has a system to scan for those signals . . .”

  “Like finding a lost phone,” said Flynn.

  “Kind of. But we got lucky. Those kayakers on the river probably had cell phones for taking photos. It gave us camouflage.”

  “Pretty serious security.”

  “Like a head of state.” Gorski looped across the river and turned back toward Ambérieu. “Which some of these guys pretty much are. Just not elected by anyone.”

  “And not answerable to anyone.”

  “Doesn’t mean he’s hiding something.”

  “Doesn’t mean he’s not.”

  “What the hell is going on?” spat Jean Loup. His head of security, Thierry, came striding up to him.

  “A signal in the forest, sir. By the river.”

  “What is it?”

  “Looks like nothing.”

  “Nothing? You spook my horses for nothing? You imbecile.”

  “The cellular receiver picked up a signal. It looks like it was kayakers on the river.”

  “I thought you said that thing was accurate?”

  “It’s more accurate in the city. Out here, not so much. It’s a triangulation thing.”

  “A triangulation thing? Do you think I’m an idiot? I own the damned system, I know how it works.”

  “Of course, sir.”

  “Find something better.”

  “The sensors would work. If we got rid of the deer.”

  “And I’ve told you. My wife likes watching the damned deer. So the deer stay, or I have to listen to the result.”

  “Otherwise we put more men
on the perimeter.”

  “Is that coming out of your pocket, Thierry.”

  The head of security said nothing.

  “No, I didn’t think so.”

  “I’ve got new night vision equipment in. We’re testing that.”

  “We’ve only had the property for three hundred years, Thierry. Sort it out.”

  Loup strode away toward his shower and his Cognac. Both would calm him some, Thierry knew from experience. There was nothing wrong with the security. Nothing that a half dozen more men wouldn’t fix. But these billionaires were all the same. Tight fisted, and of a belief that they couldn’t be touched.

  Thierry hated the estate. The Tower was easy but the estate, even with the extra crew, was problematic. And his boss was harder work than usual. The stress was showing. Things couldn’t happen fast enough.

  Chapter Sixteen

  They stopped in Ambérieu-en-Bugey on the way back to the farm. Flynn found a bottle of Maker’s Mark and Gorski a packet of Gauloises.

  It was almost dark but the time Gorski pulled into the driveway of the farm. Elyse came out of the farmhouse and strode toward them in the headlights. Gorski flicked the lights off as she got to the car. She waited by the driver’s door until both Gorski and Flynn got out.

  “Where have you been?” she asked.

  “We told you where we were going,” said Gorski.

  “You took your time. I thought you were doing a drive by.”

  “We didn’t say we were doing a drive by.”

  “You said you were taking a look.”

  Flynn stepped around the front of the vehicle. “And we did.”

  Elyse glanced at him but said nothing. She strode back into the house.

  “Are we supposed to follow?” Gorski asked Flynn.

  “I don’t know,” said Flynn.

  “You were the one who lived with a woman.”

  “I don’t think she revealed all their secrets. It was a need to know kind of thing.”

  “The mystery eternal.”

  “I think they say the same about us. And then some.”

  Flynn grabbed his pack from the car and took it into the barn. In their absence, three cots had been arranged. One on the side where the spare cots were stacked, with a pillow and blankets. Two more on the other side of the barn by a steel cabinet, blankets folded neatly on the beds. They each dumped their packs at the end of a cot and then looked at each other. Flynn glanced in the cabinet. Supplies for the tending of cattle. Tools for trimming hooves and plastic overalls and rubber gloves. Antibiotics and Xylazine solution and Telazol powder. He closed the cabinet and turned back to Gorski.