Always good to have something special to look forward to.
In the meantime, she had a prison population to study and probe and play with, time to devise ways to use her fellow inmates to her advantage.
And she had the comfort, too, of knowing that her reign on the outside was not quite over. That there was something more to anticipate.
Not in nearly as much comfort as she was accustomed to.
But still, with relish.
True to his word, Nic Jones was waiting in arrivals at Nice Airport. Forty-five minutes late, the flight having landed at six-twenty, and even without baggage to retrieve, Sam had had to pass through immigration again, questions being asked about the reason for his late booking and last-minute boarding in Miami.
‘My daughter’s sick,’ he’d explained. ‘I need to be with her.’
‘We’re OK,’ Nic told him now, recognizing controlled desperation when he saw it. ‘I have a buddy waiting for us outside. His name’s—’
‘Jac Noël. Meyer told me.’
The air outside was warm, pleasant, with none of the humidity Sam had left behind, though he doubted he’d have blinked if it had been snowing. Jones led the way toward a dark gray Land Rover Freelander, illegally parked, its driver, a stocky man with short white hair, wearing a black T-shirt and jeans, waiting for them.
‘Come on, guys.’ Noël shook Sam’s hand firmly, opened the rear door. ‘I don’t need another ticket.’
‘This is good of you both,’ Sam said. ‘I take it we know exactly where we’re going?’
‘We do,’ Nic said from the passenger seat. ‘Thanks to Gabe.’
‘Still no word from him?’
‘Nothing,’ Noël said.
‘He was planning on picking up shotguns from a farm,’ Sam said. ‘But even if he did, I’d …’
‘Not to worry.’ Nic unholstered his Glock, showed it to Sam.
‘Good.’ Sam met his eyes, remembered their brilliance from their first meeting in Miami. ‘Let’s hope we don’t need it.’
‘Agreed,’ Nic said.
As Noël took the Freelander onto the autoroute, Sam texted home: ‘No more, Gracie, till I have Cathy back safe and sound,’ he typed, then added: ‘Knock on wood. Love you.’
He put the phone away, asked Noël why he wasn’t driving faster.
‘It’s not far,’ the PI said, ‘and we’ll need to wait until dusk to make a move.’
‘Sunset’s not till nine-fifteen,’ Nic added. ‘There’s time to prepare.’
‘Main thing, we know where she is,’ Noël said.
‘You know where the house in Chauvin’s photo is,’ Sam said grimly. ‘And where a white Peugeot with a Strasbourg license plate was hours ago. Chauvin might be playing mind-fuck games with us, or they might have moved.’
‘Judging by that letter, he seems to want you there pretty badly,’ Nic said. ‘Seems you’re a major part of his obsession.’
‘Sonofabitch can have me,’ Sam said.
‘I was thinking a little more taking from him than giving,’ Noël said.
Chauvin was resting, but not sleeping.
He’d stood up a while ago, gone to the sink to wash Gabe’s blood off the blade of the chopping knife, drying it and tucking it into the belt now back around his jeans, and then he’d come back and sat down on the floor crosslegged, as before, taking out the Falcon knife, unfolded and ready for use, resting it on his thigh.
‘I need to pee,’ Cathy said suddenly.
‘Too bad,’ Chauvin said.
‘And I’m worried about Gabe. He’s lost so much blood.’
‘He stopped bleeding hours ago,’ Chauvin said. ‘And I’m sorry you’re uncomfortable, but what can I do? If you hadn’t tried to escape … If he hadn’t come …’ He stood up, went to the front window, peered through a narrow slit in a shutter. ‘Your father should be here by now. I left him a letter.’
‘You did?’ Cathy glanced at Gabe, saw his nod.
‘When he comes …’ Chauvin stopped.
‘What?’ New fear shook Cathy.
‘When Sam comes, we’ll talk, and it’ll be OK.’
‘If you untie us now,’ Cathy said, ‘let us go, it’ll be OK sooner.’
Chauvin reassumed his position back on the floor.
Cathy glanced at Gabe again, thought Chauvin was right about the bleeding, and she’d realized a while ago that Gabe was trying to work the cord around his wrists but she doubted he was getting anywhere because of the scarily efficient job Chauvin had made of that in her case …
‘Your papa will come,’ Chauvin said.
‘I’m sure he will,’ Cathy said.
‘I told him to come alone. Let’s hope he does.’
Cathy said nothing.
‘Ryan’s a nobody, Catherine,’ Chauvin said, abruptly.
She looked at him. ‘And what are you, Thomas?’
His expression was unreadable.
‘Hard to say,’ he said. ‘Insane, I guess.’
‘OK,’ Noël said, rounding a corner. ‘Rue Saint Vincent de Paul.’
He drove the Freelander sedately down the narrow one-way residential road, eyes flicking left and right.
‘White car to the right,’ Sam said.
‘Not a Peugeot.’ Noël drove on.
‘There,’ Nic said. ‘Keep going, Jac.’
Sam was turned around in his seat. ‘You saw the license?’
‘Enough,’ Nic confirmed. ‘Strasbourg registered, parked badly.’
‘Eyes left – is that Ryan’s Ducati?’ Noël yanked at the wheel, turned into Traverse Dante Alighieri.
‘Yes,’ Nic said.
The PI took the Land Rover a little farther along the road, pulled over.
‘No question now that Chauvin has them both,’ Nic said.
‘Which suggests he’s probably armed,’ Sam said grimly. ‘And just one Glock between us.’
‘Actually,’ Noël said, ‘we can do a little better than that.’ From an inside waistband holster, he produced a second Glock 22. ‘For you’ – he passed it over the seat to Sam – ‘since I figure your hands are too big for a baby Glock’ – he magicked up a subcompact 27 – ‘which is fine for me. So that’s fifteen rounds each for you and Nic, nine for me.’
‘Needless to say,’ Nic pointed out to Sam, ‘you’re not licensed to carry here.’
‘I’m guessing,’ Sam said, ‘that neither of you are licensed for any part of this operation.’ He saw Jones shrug. ‘Grateful doesn’t begin to express how I feel about you both being here, but are you sure you’re up for this?’
‘Wouldn’t be here if we weren’t,’ Noël said.
‘I’ve grown very fond of your daughter,’ Nic said.
‘And this man is my favorite client and a very good friend,’ Noël said. ‘So while we’re waiting for the sun to get the hell down, let’s talk tactics.’
‘Just so long as we remember one thing,’ Sam said. ‘That’s my kid in there.’
‘Enfin,’ Chauvin said. ‘Finally.’
So softly that Cathy and Gabe could barely hear him.
Dark again outside, and the waiting had become intolerable, the bizarre quality of the nightmare rising and falling, peaks and troughs of physical discomfort and fear of the unpredictability of the man with the knives.
He’d been standing at the window for a while, staring through the slit in the shutters, gazing out as dusk became night.
‘Sam is here.’ He sighed. ‘With company.’
He took the Falcon knife from his belt, turned to look at Cathy.
‘C’est fini,’ he said.
And then he turned again, and ran lightly up the stairs.
They came seconds later, with a crash so sudden, so violent, that Cathy cried out with shock.
Sam through first, the tallest, toughest of them, kicking in the door – Nic and Noël right behind him, framing him to left and right, weapons made ready.
‘Upstairs!’ Cathy’s voice was shrill. Sam alr
eady on his way up, Noël behind him. ‘He’s got two knives! Be careful!’
‘They’ll get him.’ Nic crouched beside her, scanning her. ‘Are you OK? Are you hurt?’ He laid down his Glock between them, took a Swiss army knife from his back pocket. ‘Let me get you out of—’
‘Gabe first,’ Cathy broke in. ‘Chauvin stabbed him.’
From upstairs they heard doors slam, footsteps back and forth, steeled themselves for gunshots, Nic moving quickly, peeling the tape off Gabe’s mouth.
Gabe sucked in breath. ‘Thanks. I’m OK.’
‘Where’d he cut you?’ Nic sawed through the cord around his wrists.
‘Shoulder.’ Gabe was hoarse. ‘No big deal.’
Nic freed his ankles, turned back to Cathy.
‘Gone!’ Sam came down the stairs ahead of Noël, crouched beside Cathy, took the knife from Nic and began freeing her. ‘You’re OK now, sweetheart. He’s not here.’
‘Window’s open,’ Noël said. ‘He must have jumped.’
‘He’s on foot.’ Nic picked up his gun. ‘We blocked his car.’
‘So let’s go.’ Gabe was up, stretching, getting his circulation going.
‘You have to find him.’ Close to tears, Cathy grabbed at Sam’s arm. ‘He was so weird – I think he might do something crazy.’
‘He didn’t hurt you?’ Sam checked Cathy out, rubbed her wrists.
‘Not me,’ she said. ‘Gabe fought him and got cut.’
They all heard the sound.
A motorbike being gunned.
‘Shit,’ Gabe said. ‘He took my Ducati key.’
Sam went out into the driveway, saw the bike, headlamp on, stationary in the road twenty yards to the left, Chauvin revving gently now.
‘What’s he doing?’ Gabe was behind Sam.
‘Guess he wants me to follow him,’ Sam said softly.
‘Not alone,’ Cathy said from the doorway.
The bike began to move, passed the driveway – wrong direction along the one-way street – then turned, front tire hitting the pavement, reversing, coming back their way.
‘I could shoot a tire,’ Noël said.
‘And wake the neighbors?’ Sam said. ‘Too many questions.’
‘Please,’ Cathy said. ‘Just stop him.’
Noël came out, holstering his gun. ‘Nic, you stay with Cathy, sort this mess out.’
Gabe looked back at Cathy. ‘You OK with this?’
‘Go,’ she said. ‘Just be careful!’
The Ducati moved suddenly, roaring off down the road, swerving.
Noël ran for the Freelander.
‘Take care of my daughter, Jones,’ Sam said, and followed.
Not headed for Monaco.
Sam had voiced that best guess soon as Noël had started the engine. Some crazed last showdown at Devil’s Curse, which, according to some reading back at Heathrow, was the hairpin bend where Grace Kelly had met her end. Obsessed with the late princess’s life, so logic suggested why not her death?
Logic not on Chauvin’s agenda. He’d made a right onto avenue de Cannes, then another right, but then he’d turned left onto rue Jean Monnet and all bets were off.
‘So not a Kelly pilgrimage,’ Noël said.
‘Plenty of other hairpins you wouldn’t want to ride a bike off,’ Gabe said.
‘Maybe he’s not suicidal,’ Sam said, unsure how he felt about that.
Relief his greatest emotion for the moment, now that Cathy was safe.
He was in the Freelander’s passenger seat this time, Gabe in the back, oblivious of any pain from his cut shoulder or the plentiful bruises from his scrap with Chauvin.
The road was two lanes, four vehicles between them and the Ducati, and it was hard to be sure of anything in the dark, but they felt that Chauvin knew they were there, was staying in range, using his mirrors, and that was a concern, Gabe said, because the guy was clearly an inexperienced biker and too much time spent focusing on what was behind him was time not looking ahead. And he’d be a liar if he said he cared what happened to Chauvin, but he was sure it would impact heavily on Cathy – not to mention that he was quite fond of his Monster …
‘Sonofabitch,’ he said suddenly, seeing the autoroute to their left, leading to Fréjus and Saint-Raphael, the road known as La Provencale.
‘What?’ Sam looked up sharply, had just texted Grace: Cathy OK. More soon.
‘Nothing, I guess,’ Gabe said. ‘That’s the route I sometimes take to my uncle’s farm – just made me wonder how long this bastard has been watching us – me too, for fuck’s sake.’
‘Has Cathy been there with you?’ Sam asked.
‘Not yet.’ Gabe felt a thump of guilt, shook it off. ‘So, do we have a plan?’
‘Just keep him in sight for now,’ Sam said.
‘Nothing that’s going to spook him into a crash.’
‘He seems to be mastering your bike,’ Noël said.
‘Must have ridden before,’ Gabe said. ‘I was betting he’d come off in the first mile.’ His shrug made his shoulder hurt. ‘But then, I was dumb enough to think I could take him in a fight.’
‘He had a knife,’ Sam said.
They’d parted company with the highway, dark woodland sloping away now, and looking at it made him feel dizzy, so he redirected his gaze, found the Ducati; just three vehicles between them now, no other visible traffic ahead on the winding road, and he realized that fatigue, jet lag and anxiety over Cathy were catching up with him, and he wished he knew what the hell Chauvin was planning now …
‘I just don’t get why he bolted,’ Gabe said. ‘He’d been waiting for you – it really mattered to him that you were coming.’
‘I guess he wasn’t expecting three armed men,’ Noël said.
Sam kept his eyes glued to the Ducati’s tail and wished, not for the first time, that he’d brought binoculars. ‘Do either of you know where this road leads?’
Noël pointed to the dash satnav. ‘The domaine of Le Grand Duc – a kind of estate, I think. Expensive homes. Not sure what comes after.’
‘Maybe his family have a place there,’ Gabe said.
A sudden thought crashed Sam’s mind like a shotgun blast. ‘Call Jones. Now.’
Noël glanced his way. ‘What’s up?’
‘How do we know that’s Chauvin?’ Sam’s heart was hammering.
‘He hasn’t been out of my sight since—’
‘Sam’s right.’ Gabe hunched forward, gripped by alarm. ‘It was dark when he rode by the house. We didn’t see him clearly enough to be sure it was him even then.’
Nic’s number was already ringing as they passed a big house set back from the road, one of the cars ahead turning in through tall gates.
‘Jac?’ Nic’s voice. ‘You got him?’
‘Not yet,’ Noël said. ‘Everything OK with you?’
‘All quiet.’
‘Is Cathy safe?’ Sam’s voice resonated in the car. ‘Let me hear her voice.’
‘Dad, what’s up?’ Cathy, anxious, strung out.
Safe.
‘Nothing’s wrong, sweetheart.’ Sam’s pulse was still in overdrive. ‘Just checking.’
‘Pass the phone back to Nic, please,’ Noël told Cathy.
‘What was that about?’ Nic asked.
‘We still have Chauvin in our sight, but we can’t see his face, and Sam wanted to be certain he hadn’t pulled some stunt.’
‘Unlikely,’ Nic said. ‘Gabe said Chauvin took his key, and I don’t buy this nutjob having an accomplice.’
‘I’m sure we’re following the right man,’ Noël said.
‘We’ll be vigilant, anyway,’ Nic said. ‘And Sam, the door and windows are all secure.’
‘Just take care of her,’ Sam said.
He took some breaths, steadied himself, knowing this was no time for a meltdown. ‘Sorry, guys. Needed to be sure.’
‘But are we?’ Gabe asked.
The vehicles ahead were slowing down.
‘Barrier
up ahead,’ Noël said.
‘The Duke’s estate, I guess,’ Sam said.
The traffic moved slowly to the right, around a small oval central island planted with palms and flowers, the lighting brighter here, and the barrier lifted to allow a truck and a VW Golf to exit – and suddenly the Ducati roared into life, swung around the oval island and passed them, going back the way they’d come.
Chauvin for sure.
‘Sonofabitch,’ Sam said.
Noël nosed the Freelander out of the line, hit his hazard lights and cut in front of a Toyota, wheels screeching as he got back on the southbound lane.
‘Fuck,’ he said, watching the Ducati weave out to the left, overtaking first the VW, then the truck, really gunning it now. ‘Do we stay back or go with him?’
‘Stay back as long as we can see him,’ Sam said. ‘We don’t want to push him into something.’
Suicide by cop coming to mind.
Off-duty cop way out of jurisdiction.
A friend had given Chauvin some lessons on his Suzuki years ago in Strasbourg, but he’d made a critical error cornering, had not leaned in at the right moment, had come off unscathed – which was more than could be said for the Suzuki. Yet still, tonight, as soon as he’d got Ryan’s bike moving, the fundamentals had returned. He’d known about the black key, had researched the Monster after seeing Catherine one afternoon riding with her arms around the waiter (such a surge of jealousy that he’d pulled off his Ray-Ban Aviators, ripped them apart); and fragments had instantly come back about judging corners and the ‘vanishing point’. And stealing the Ducati had felt good, and using it to make Sam follow him – all the way from Florida and he was still calling the shots – had felt better than fine even in the depths of the one crushing, annihilating blow of realization.
That Catherine was never going to love him.
He hadn’t planned to run, hated that she would think him a coward at the end, though he had felt afraid seeing those three men coming for him – but once he’d found the Ducati, the fear had gone. And he’d thought, instantly, of getting to the perfect place, but reality had kicked in, because they wouldn’t let him get near Monaco, would find a way to stop him – and he would not let that happen, not now that he’d made up his mind …
They were still with him, two vehicles back, and he was still in charge, the winding road ahead, blackness to left and right, and the motorbike’s power was filling him now, and maybe, after all, he was still capable of anything. He could leave them behind, outride them and regroup, start another campaign, and maybe it wasn’t all over for him and Catherine after all – and here came another bend, and he was improving with every curve, feeling more at one with the bike, and he would master this bend, would show Sam …
Fear and Loathing Page 24