by James Easton
She dissolved again into groaning laughter.
Berg’s hands left her legs. Why had he stopped?
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Carolina sat down in the bar and asked for a small pilsner. Berg, opposite, ordered the same. There was no sign of Miguel and his family as yet. She looked at Berg, sulking.
“I thought that was what you wanted,” Berg said, looking pleased with himself.
“Oh, so innocent. Then you just stopped.”
“It was dinner time. That man’s looking at you,” Berg said.
“Which man?”
“I think he was there last night.”
Carolina turned and saw the guy who’d got zeroed on the nose the night before gesturing at her. She went over.
“Thanks,” he said. He was drinking sparkling water out of a huge wine glass. “Look, I’ll get to the point. Julian Farquar.” He held out his hand. Carolina shook it without taking her eyes off his face.
“Was it you I saw last night? I was holding my face, couldn’t see a lot. But I remember you,” he said.
Carolina nodded slowly. She saw his nose was swollen a little, bruised across the bridge, but not broken.
He was looking at her. “God, you’re so young. I’m sorry. You’re obviously handy. Are you a police officer or security of some kind?”
Carolina said, “I’m not going to confirm anything. If you have something to say, say it.”
“There’s a woman, and she may be in danger. I am going to meet her, bring her back here. If we don’t come back, I’d appreciate it if you could alert the police.”
“How do I know if you come back?”
“I’ll leave a message for you at reception. I’ll be back within an hour. If you can give me your name?”
“What sort of danger is this woman in.”
“It’s not necessarily danger. It was voluntary.”
“What are you talking about, Julian?”
He sighed.
“It’s professional. She’s a journalist, you see. She went voluntarily, and I’ve no reason to think she’s in difficulty other than hearing she may have seemed uncomfortable with the situation earlier today. Anyway, I’m asking you to look out for a message. If you can give me your name.”
Carolina did not like Julian whatever his name was very much. She had nearly died chasing bad guys over a cliff, seen a man torn apart, neglected her chaperoning duties with Miguel Pérez, and Berg had just turned her into an unexploded bomb. She did not need this.
She also knew she wouldn’t forgive herself if something happened to the woman he was talking about that she might have prevented. And she thought of that woman with the auburn hair.
Carolina asked for his phone, and he unlocked it for her.
“Call this number if you need to tell me there’s a problem.” She kept hold of the phone. “What’s her name?”
He sighed. “Robin King.”
She handed the phone over and smelled the wine on his breath. She saw the water and some shreds of meat and bread crumbs on the plate next to him. He was trying to sober up. “How far away is your meeting place?”
“Fifteen minutes, maybe.”
Carolina said, “Tell me where it is. I’ll go. You’re drunk.” She went back to Berg to tell him that he was coming with her to collect a journalist.
“Look, this guy has got some woman.” She watched Berg’s eyes move out to the lobby and turned around. Julian had left the hotel.
“Leave your drink,” she said. “We’ll be back before dinner.”
Carolina followed Farquar while Anders ran to their room and got his jacket and a spare fleece he had with him. It was far too big for her, but she rolled the sleeves up and made do. It was, in fact, nice.
“How are your legs?” said Berg as they ran to his SUV.
Jean got to his destination. He made sure the bag containing Robin’s dinner was still upright. He’d probably have to heat it up for her, but at least she’d be hungry. He’d been out a while now.
He changed his jacket for a climbing fleece that gave him more room and checked he had everything. Two pairs of plastic police ties, his tactical gloves, and a ski mask. He put it on. You wouldn’t believe the stories of men who’d gone to do work without their ski mask on. Everything else prepped, but forgetting to cover their face at the end. He tucked the neck of the ski mask inside his shirt and made sure his fleece was done up at the neck, then walked a hundred metres back down the road to the short footbridge that crossed the narrow ravine. He sent a text on Robin’s phone: ‘In the trees with a flashlight. See you soon.’ He was lucky with the reception on the phone. Just one bar. Even that went after he’d sent the text.
He couldn’t hear the stream at the bottom of the ravine. It was frozen. He slipped into the trees to wait.
Carolina pulled into a layby.
“We’ll lose him,” said Berg.
“No, you can see his lights because of the bend. He’s slowing, too.”
“This says Robin King is a rising star in deep dive news documentaries. Seems young.”
Berg held out his phone. Robin King talked at some location in Marrakesh, interviewing a cop. Carolina confirmed it was the woman who had cut her up on the road into Morzine. She wondered if this was fate.
“What about her boss?” she asked.
Berg looked up Julian Farquar and showed her an image of him in body armour, reporting from Lebanon. Probably 2006, she thought.
Up ahead, the same man’s brake lights flickered through the trees as the road he was following cleaved to the left with the ravine.
“Why can’t the cops do this?” asked Berg.
“She went voluntarily. There’s no crime.”
“So why are we here?”
“The town is crawling with criminals, and Julian said she’s in danger. He was punched in that fight last night, and she was there at one point as well. I think she’s doing something with the bad guys I’ve seen.”
Berg gave off a frustrated vibe. Carolina felt for him. A dark car on a freezing road was some way from her legs and dinner in Chalet Guy Koffmann. But that would all be there after this interesting diversion. And she wanted to get something right after getting the mountain so wrong today.
Julian’s headlights went out. She saw a flashlight.
Jean stepped out of the trees, making sure he held the flashlight so Julian wouldn’t see who was holding it. The man had stopped on the other side of the road, and Jean moved to the passenger seat door. Julian leant across the seat, peering at him. He popped the door. Jean opened it.
“Surprise!”
He punched Julian as he got into the car, then flashed out a switchblade and held it to his throat.
“Lights off. And drive.”
Julian’s hands were shaking, but he didn’t say anything, kind of just nodded and did as he was told. Jean took him around another couple of bends, then into the trees where there was a gravelled parking spot. He opened the passenger seat door, punched Julian in the guts to make him duck his head, then hauled him out over the passenger seat by the collar of his ski jacket. Jean stepped over the back of the man’s legs, reached one hand under his throat so the crook of his elbow was under his jaw, and the other around the back of his neck, clasping his own bicep. He pulled him up to his feet.
“I’ll break your neck if you screw around.”
He pushed him like this toward the edge of the ravine, back in the trees away from his car. He decided he didn’t need the restraints. Julian wasn’t very strong and was still quite drunk. He hauled him round to face him, punched him in the solar plexus. He dropped, and Jean heard him gasping in the dark.
Jean turned him onto his back. Pulled him up by the front of his jacket and threw him into some brambles. Julian got some air in, whimpering. “Please. Please. I’ve got money. I can pay you.”
Jean stood over him.
“Ok, who knows about Robin King? Her family, maybe? Her work? What she’s doing here? Tell me, you pie
ce of shit.”
He stamped on Julian’s knee. Julian howled.
“A lot of people, the whole chain in the office. My boss. His boss. It was approved. They know I’m here supporting her.”
Robin had said nobody knew apart from this guy. Jean didn’t think she’d lie to him. It made sense. She’d want the authenticity of the kidnap to spice the film, which was why she was so firm about being in it with the questions. If a lot of people knew about this, then the risk of leaks was higher. This useless, whimpering fool was all Robin had.
He dragged him through the dead bracken and briars and dropped him a metre away from the edge and crouched by his head.
“If you are lying to me, Julian, I will kill your former wife. I will go to London, and I will kill her.”
He moaned. “No, please. I have money. I can pay you. Please. I’ll send it right now from my phone. Just give me where.”
“Phones aren’t working here, Julian. Who knows about Robin King? Who? Who? Your ex-wife Julian. Tell me for her. Who at your company have you told?”
“I told you,” his fear was so great he could hardly speak.
“If you are lying, I will kill Robin, Julian. Put a gun in her mouth and blow her brains out.”
His breath was staggered now. He was weeping. “It’s just me. Nobody else. Don’t hurt her. Please. She’s alone apart from me.”
Jean thought that was about all the certainty he was going to get from this man.
“Thanks, Julian. I believe you! OK, time to fly.”
He reached down for the front of Julian’s jacket. But he stopped. He could hear voices.
“His car, there. It’s back in the trees. A Volvo.”
Carolina and Berg ran to the Volvo. The door was open. There was a desperate shriek from the trees. “Help me! He’s here. Help!”
She recognised Julian, in extreme distress, and heard someone move in an arc, around to the right away from the scream. It was smooth, fast movement in thick snow and undergrowth.
“Help me, please!” The scream had not moved.
“Julian, quiet. Quiet!” She called.
The man in the trees rushed around the other side of the car. Berg spun, ran around the back of the Volvo.
“No! Let him go!” yelled Carolina.
Berg launched himself.
The men collided, and Berg hit the ground. Carolina heard a switchblade flick into position and ran at the sound and went low, sliding into him on one hip and lashing her foot into the man’s calves. He fell, dropped the knife. Berg grabbed him from the ground and was heaved over again, then the man came up like a big cat and grabbed Carolina’s shoulders, his knee coming up to her chest. She grabbed his thigh and hitch kicked her legs, her aching muscles screaming against the effort, all her reserves going into this one move. She kneed his jaw and fell straight down when he stepped back. It was messy, but she managed to roll out of the fall. Her boot connected with his switchblade handle on the ground. She grabbed it.
“Very nice. Very nice.” He laughed. She heard his foot scraping, searching for the knife. Berg was drawing himself in.
“No!” She said. They couldn’t win. He was fighting within himself. His strength and skill were far beyond hers. Berg was a liability, and she was already maxed out, heaving for breath. She closed the switchblade and flicked it back open, held it behind her right hip. That’s right, she thought, you can take us. But you’ll wear stitches and you don’t want that.
He laughed again.
“Ha! You know the knife. Beautiful. You know, I’d love to see how this finish. But enough for tonight.” She heard him run to the road, sprint away in the direction of Morzine. She took a deep breath and went to Berg. Put her hand on his shoulder.
“You OK?”
“Yeah,” he was doubled up, with his hands on his knees.
“Julian? Julian?” she shouted, putting the switchblade in her pocket.
The car started in reverse, jerked backwards. Julian revved into the road, slewed around, slammed the passenger door, and drove to Morzine.
“Asshole,” said Carolina. “Come on.” She put her arm around Berg’s back, half way down.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
It didn’t take long to get home. Jean turned the engine off, put his ski mask and the ties in a carrier bag under the seat, changed his jacket.
He liked the Spanish woman. That move she’d pulled, levering up off his leg. Outrageous. Like a dancer. Then the knife. Insane courage because she would have known by then what he could do. He got out of the car and went inside.
Robin was where he’d left her, which wasn’t surprising. There were some pillows on the floor against the wall opposite her position in the bed.
“Hi. All is OK?”
She didn’t say anything. She watched him move around the bed and take the unused casserole dish, then he came around and sat on her side and undid her bonds. She hurried into the bathroom. He guessed it had not been an emergency.
“I’ve been thinking,” she said after she came out. She didn’t seem that pleased to see him. “What if the house had burned down?”
He grinned. And lied. “I had a man outside, in a car, for that. I’d never leave you completely alone. My partner arranged it. And even he doesn’t know exactly who you are. I want you for myself.” He kissed her. “I have some dinner for you.”
Robin was wearing a T-shirt. She put some jeans on.
“You must be hungry.”
She nodded. He took her hand and led her into the kitchen, showed her what he had for her.
“And rum baba for dessert.
Robin slapped him. “Wake up.”
Jean blinked, puzzled.
“You are a criminal who is the subject of a massive manhunt, and I have one outside contact, on your terms. I’m sleeping with you. And you tie me up when you go out for dinner.”
Jean didn’t understand exactly. “It’s security, just security.”
She hit him again. Jean held up a hand.
“I guess you are a bit upset.”
“I’m beyond furious, you dickhead.”
“Why?” He frowned.
“Because it means you don’t bloody trust me.”
How was this not clear to her? “I go back, they put me in a hole. That’s death. A slow one. Trust? It’s nice. But you might make a small mistake, do something, I don’t know.” He shrugged.
“I’m risking things too. My safety. My career.”
He gave a small laugh. “You will still have a nice life. I am sure.”
She hit him again. Jean didn’t understand what she was trying to achieve.
“Do something, you bastard. I’ve just hit you three times. It means I’m angry. Respond.”
Jean floundered for a moment. What did she want him to do? Then he had an idea.
“OK, so I make you this food, to say sorry. I mean make it hot. We have dinner together.” He was even a little hungry again from the excitement on the road.
She hit him again. He pushed his tongue into the corner of his lip.
Another big slap on the other side. “Dinner?! You think I want dinner with you?”
Her hair was kind of tangled, falling over her shoulders. Her eyes were wide, and the light caught them. It was like they were flashing. She looked gorgeous messed up like this.
Jean moved the cream for the rum baba out of way and pulled the lamb shoulder over. His face tingled where she’d hit him. She couldn’t hit like the Spanish woman. Kilo for kilo, the Spanish woman hit as hard as some men. The way she’d flown at him like that. Strong. Great timing.
“So I do you some lamb,” he said.
Robin pied him with the cream.
“Stick it up your arse.”
He turned to her, blew into the cream so it flopped off his face. Robin took a half step back. Jean couldn’t decode this emotion. He got that she was pissed off, even though he’d explained the situation. But the cream was pretty funny. He liked her swearing in English. He smiled, l
ooking into her eyes, a curtain of cream in the corner of one eye.
“So, every time I tie you up, I get the baba?”
Robin smashed into him, her thighs, her stomach, her breasts. Her arms went around his neck. Her tongue went into his mouth with some of the cream.
Carolina left a message for Julian Farquar at the desk at Chalet Guy Koffmann while Berg went and changed his jeans for dinner. It had seemed funny to leave their drinks while they followed the guy for a few clicks. Now, although they were both starving, dinner didn’t seem so attractive. Her mind was wired with that guy she’d brushed with. She called it in to Pablo and let him know one of them was a very high-level martial artist, possessed great physical strength, and was French, speaking good English with a strong accent even she could pick up. She felt the strength of the profile as she relayed it. There could not be many guys like him.
She expected to be scolded for continuing this, but either Pablo was getting kudos or was genuinely worried about her because he just told her to take care. Maybe both were true.
The lift doors opened, and Berg stepped out. Carolina looked into the bar and saw Miguel with his parents. Berg looked subdued. Telling Pablo all of that had made her feel better, kind of unburdened. Time to cheer Berg up.
“You look OK, not worse for some action. Am I OK?”
Berg looked her up and down.
“Yeah, you’re fine.”
“Good because these are my only clothes.” She nudged his hand, and they went through to dinner.
They were all seated in the restaurant a few minutes later. She craved patatas revolconas, pinchos morunos and pilsner, but, of course, it was not on the menu. She ate the French stuff Eva ordered for everyone to share and drank the expensive wine Ignacio took a while ordering. Her glass seemed always full. It did the job. Over dessert, she realised she’d followed the English conversation adequately this time. Maybe they were adapting their speech to her.
Pablo called her as they all got out of the lift. She left everyone in the family’s suite, with Berg talking to Ignacio about a ski outing the next day, and went to her room.