Snow Rush

by James Easton

  “Sorry, last night caught up with me, must be the nerves or something.”

  He crossed his legs when he sat down. Carolina stood where she had before he pretended to throw up.

  “What’s she doing with Haim, Julian?”

  “Right, yes. They took her and told me I mustn’t contact any authorities. I really think, if an alert goes out, she’ll be in terrible danger. I misled you last night that she had gone voluntarily. I didn’t want any disruptions when I picked her up.”

  If this were a lie, then it was well rehearsed.

  “They want ransom?”

  “No.” He shook his head. “He wants her to do a video. He’s talking about stuff he knows. Secrets. And he’s got a big ego.”

  That seemed true, as well. “How did they make her come to Morzine?”

  He shrugged. “They didn’t. We were brainstorming new project ideas. Kind of an offsite. Sharing a room too. So you have the full picture. They came here for her.”

  She nodded. He’d wanted to tell her they were sharing, and Carolina doubted he’d want to if he had got anywhere with her.

  “Why did he choose her?”

  He convulsed with scorn, shaking his head. “Don’t ask.”

  “She knows him?”

  “Cannes Film Festival, of all places, three years ago. Robin wasn’t very sensible. Let’s put it that way.”

  She wondered what Haim was doing at a film festival, but there wasn’t time to ask questions like that.

  “OK, listen. I’ve got your number. Here’s mine. If you hear something, tell me. Was there any conversation with Haim before we arrived last night?”

  “Yes. He wanted to know who else knew about Robin being here.” He looked stricken. “He threatened my ex-wife if I lied. I had to tell him the truth.”

  “So he knows it is only you who knows about Robin?”

  “Yes,” he nodded.

  “So you are still in danger. If he takes you out, then Robin is one hundred percent his. We do not want that to happen. What’s your contact routine?”

  “She calls every morning and tells me she’s ok.”

  “That’s it?”

  He nodded. “Afraid so. It’s all we were able to establish.”

  “Alright, Julian,” she said. “You should go home.”

  He shook his head. “I can’t leave her.”

  “If Haim can kill you, he will. The police here are stretched. Haim can’t reach you in London. You can protect yourself.”

  “Don’t tell anyone she’s here, please. It will endanger her.”

  “Pack your bags, take a taxi to Geneva and fly. Stay in a UK address that isn’t linked to you if you can. The shop on the ground floor has personal alarms. Get one of those on your way. Let me know when you are clear.”

  He agreed and turned to his cold omelette as she left.

  She got back to her room. Berg was asleep. She called everything in to Pablo, feeling better for passing it on because the question of why Julian didn’t want her to tell anyone was nagging her. Pablo seemed impressed with what she had learned. Looking at Berg, she really hoped she was done with the Morzine criminal fraternity now. She had twenty minutes before Eva wanted to see Miguel snowboard. Carolina undressed and slipped into bed.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  Henri and Eric drew up by the kerb.

  “OK, my friend, I will find my own way back to you.”

  “What are you going to do, Eric?”

  “I told you. I put this in a safe place. It’s better for you that you don’t know where it is.”

  “Can you sell it?”

  “I think, maybe. These guys, Max and whoever he is working with, have GIGN on them. It’s our best hope of making a deal, no? We must get something for this.”

  Henri ran his hands through his hair. “Or it’s for nothing.”

  Eric patted his shoulder. “Buy something from the shops. Tell Max you went shopping, dropped me in town, you don’t know why. OK?”

  Henri nodded.

  Eric walked toward the Hotel Chalet Manon.

  “Miss Grimes invites you up,” said the check-in man at the Hotel Chalet Manon. “Sixth floor, end of the corridor, left at the lifts.”

  Eric smiled at the restful decor as he walked down the corridor and knocked on the door at the end. A woman opened it. She was about Eric’s height, around fifty, hard-faced, with a blonde bob. Warm and tough at the same time, wearing jeans and a sky-blue roll-neck sweater.

  “Alright, love,” she said.

  They kissed, formally, and hugged, informally. A mix of greetings.

  “This place is OK?” he asked.

  “I know the owner. Good as gold. We like that.”

  He smiled again. “This does not surprise me.”

  They sat next to each other on the sofa. She opened a small suitcase, took out a laptop and a couple of compact black boxes. Then she activated the laptop and hooked the boxes up to it. Eric watched her, went to the bathroom, and took a towel. He folded it and placed it on the coffee table, then opened his backpack and took out the protective case Henri had seen. From the case, he retrieved a piece of flat, grey metal. He gave it to Angela Grimes, who wiped it with a cloth from her glasses case and slipped it into a discreet slot in one of the black boxes, tapped a single key, and sat back. They watched the results come up on the laptop screen together. Numbers, a graph, rippling in gold on a blue background, codes spilling down the tables underneath. Angela sat forward and pointed at the screen. “Yes, yes, yes. Oh, you beautiful man.”

  She hugged him and made a call.

  “It’s me mate. Yeah, all good here. Rest of the day off for me. Can you take care of the banking around this? Thanks.”

  She cleared away the electronic gear and picked up the carrying case Eric had bought. “What on earth have you been doing? This is filthy.”

  Eric shook his head. “You do not want to know.”

  She went to an old-style attaché case on the side and took out a small envelope. “Token of my appreciation. Personal thanks.”

  He stood up and took it from her. Put it in his pocket without checking.

  “What are you doing now?” she asked.

  “Nothing much.”

  “It’s nearly lunch. Want some room service?” She gave him a menu. “I’d like some beef shabu-shabu.”

  Eric smiled. “That was Tokyo.”

  She twinkled at him. He read the menu. “They have it!”

  “Told you I knew the owner. Order it. Then I want to dance.”

  Eva said, “Oh, shit, his nose.”

  She went down the short slope on her skis to where Ignacio and Anders had hauled Miguel out of a snowdrift. Carolina joined them on her board a second later. A twenty-metre slope had been a bit excessive, but she was pleased Miguel’s parents had encouraged him.

  “I crashed again,” said Miguel snorting blood onto the snow.

  “You are supposed to put your hands out when you crash, Miguel. Break your fall a little bit. We’ll practice.”

  He grinned at Carolina. “I’m used to it.”

  Eva produced a tissue and dabbed at Miguel’s nose. He took it from her. “I’m fine. I want to go again.” He laughed and went back up the slope the way she had shown him. Doing it well.

  “You speak English to each other?” said Eva in Spanish.

  “Yes, he’s taken me under his wing. I have the job in London starting, and I’m just not fluent enough. I can speak, but not like they want.”

  “How long do you have?” Eva asked in English.

  “About ten days.”

  “OK. Another hour of this, then we’re all going back to Mr. Berg’s place. Ignacio wants to stay on for a bit, and we’d like Miguel not to always be in places like Chalet Guy Koffmann. You and I are going to talk English. A lot.”

  “You don’t have to help me.”

  Eva looked around at the scenery, the busy slope five hundred metres to the north, the sky a crazy, deep blue. She smiled aga
in, pushed her ski shades up.

  “Carolina, in two days you have got Miguel snowboarding with a bloody nose. Look at how his father is with him there.” She nodded at Miguel and Anders and Ignacio making their way up the hill, sharing a joke. Ignacio clapped Miguel on the back when they reached the top.

  Eva said, “I’d like to help you if I can.”

  “Thanks,” Carolina thought about people like this. Different from her. She also thought about her old job, and the people in Morzine she was helping hunt. She still felt shaken from her experience on the mountain. But she had learned her lesson. The lesson wasn’t to avoid tangling with people like that.

  It was to wake the hell up first.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  Max was in the study, finishing a phone call. He said, “I can hear him coming back now, thanks.” He hung up, went to the back of the room, and opened the wine cellar trap door, then went back to the door and listened. Eric let himself in, left his backpack in the hallway, and walked down toward the kitchen. Max heard Eric murmur a greeting as Eric walked past the door.

  He brought his left palm up from down by his hip, slapping it into Eric’s mouth and nose. His right hand he brought the other way, clamping it on the back of the little prick’s neck. He wrenched him into the study and threw him across the floor.

  Max stamped on Eric’s ribs and punched him between his shoulder blades then toed him in the mouth. He felt Eric’s lack of weight with each blow. Behind him, Henri said, “Max, for God’s sake. What are you doing?”

  Max ignored him. He picked Eric up by the back of his sweater and pulled him to the trap door and put his head over the steps, and put the trap door on his head.

  “Talk. Or I’ll stamp on this until your head comes off.”

  Eric coughed and spat, down into the cellar. “What?” There was a lot of pain and an edge of anger in his voice. He was watchful. Max thought this was not his first time being kicked around. He hadn’t screamed once. Max stamped on his hand. Not hard enough to break it, but to get that squeal and he yelled beautifully for him.

  “You did some business in town. Someone working with me saw you. What the hell was it?”

  “Max, you idiot.”

  “What? You little bastard. What?” He stamped on Eric’s back.

  Eric groaned. His voice was muffled by the trap door. “It’s personal. Private information.”

  Max put his foot on the trap door. He pushed down.

  Henri stepped forward. “Max, please. This is dangerous. Max, his neck.”

  “Exactly why I am doing this. Eric? This is what happens to traitors. I’ll break your damn neck. You hear me, you little runt?”

  Eric moaned, “It’s my - a woman… I…”

  Max took the pressure off. “What?

  “My… service provider… specialist... Max. I pay for her boobs.”

  Max dragged him out and threw him on the floor away from the trap door. “You were getting laid?” He felt a cloud of doubt now. It was plausible. He had to admit. The only reason to head into that hotel, other than business, would be for some ass.

  Eric put his hand against his face, took it away. Looked at the blood on his palm.

  “Talk, you little bastard.”

  “I like women with huge tits,” Eric said. He gestured with his hands, one bloody, demonstrating. “It is like fire in my veins. Talking to Henri about boob jobs, I could not wait.”

  Max looked at Henri, who nodded. “It’s true. Eric has an obsession with large breasts. It’s a fetish. You saw this, Max, in the restaurant.”

  “Non!! Non. Henri. Please. It is my life’s passion. Not a fetish!” Eric looked up at him imploringly, hurt by the mischaracterisation. Max frowned, which aggravated his injured ear. He got the conversation back on track.

  “That hotel you were seen at is owned by Frederic Gibbon. Gibbon is plugged in. He knows players.”

  Eric hawked, spat out bloody saliva. He rolled onto his side.

  “It’s where she could get a room. I think. It’s what she said.”

  “What else did you do?”

  Eric sat up.

  “I told you. I wasn’t there that long, was I?”

  “No business? Just tits?” He tried to remember how long Eric had been gone. He wasn’t sure because of the stupor Henri had put him when he fixed his ear. He’d been sleepy afterward. He should probably have checked. “What did you do with her? Don’t lie.”

  “We played a game.”

  Max crouched down, looking into Eric’s eyes.

  “That is all?”

  “Yes, Max, yes. She’s a specialist. She comes from London when I want her.”

  “I can believe it,” said Henri. “Max, I’m not surprised.”

  “What game did you play?” asked Max, looking closely at Eric.

  Eric looked away. “It’s embarrassing to talk about.”

  Max grabbed his throat. Let it go. “Tell me.”

  He sighed and spoke with his eyes closed. “That she wanted a breast reduction, and I was a councillor, and I persuaded her not to, by worshiping her boobs.”

  Max almost couldn’t process it, but it didn’t sound like the kind of thing anyone would make up.

  “Little guy like you, like a bouncy castle for the kids, eh?” He made wave motions with his hand. “How do I explain this to Jean? I have to say, what, the guy was motorboating?”

  Eric looked put out. “It is up to you, Max.” He got to his feet painfully. “I helped you this morning.” He kept touching his face and looking at his hands.

  Max’s anger was mixing with embarrassment now. He’d gone too far. Suddenly he wanted to say it was because his deal was hanging by a thread, whether Rédoine would tolerate the loss of his man and the GIGN presence here. “Yeah, and if we ever sell that kit, you’ll get just as much as you did before,” he said. “I had a shit morning. You know this. No hard feelings, eh?”

  Eric nodded. Max jabbed a finger at his chest. “Although if when we go back there, the interface is missing, you will wish you were dead.”

  Eric shrugged. “I had to move away from that area right then. I told you.”

  “Yea, yeah. I have something to do now. Henri, patch him up.”

  Henri helped Eric to the sofa at the side of the room. He tilted his chin to one side, looked at his eyes with a medical torch, checked his tongue and his jaw.

  “Ribs, OK?”

  Eric nodded.

  Henri felt the fingers on Eric’s left hand. “You may have strained a tendon here. I’ll tape those. Let’s see that elbow.”

  “No, it’s fine.”

  “I heard it hit the floor from the other side of the room.”

  Henri put his hand on Eric’s wrist and went to push his sweater back. Eric put his hand over Henri’s. Shook his head. Henri’s eyes went to their hands, on Eric’s wrist. He felt something under the sweater. A ribbed structure of some kind, like a bracelet, slightly corrugated. He looked at Eric.

  “Don’t worry about that. Just something in case we need it. Max is ticking. Too much pain, too much frustration, too much pressure. Now take as long as you can fixing me,” said Eric.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  Jean passed Robin his phone, and she looked at the screen. “It’s like a pallet, but with these legs.”

  “Yes, they expand. You see how long it is. Perfect for this,” he said.

  She looked down into the gap between the floorboards in the spare room. “I suppose, yes.”

  Jean took his phone back and brought up an article on the advantages of using lime to protect steel.

  “It’s the only one I could find in English. I can look for more if you want me to.”

  Robin glanced at it before giving him his phone back. She wasn’t really a detail person. She was kind of lazy like that.

  “I believe you. Jean, I’m sorry.”

  “It is a bit crazy, if you don’t mind me saying.” He kept his voice level, not giving her any relief yet.

&nbs
p; She nodded.

  “You could have screwed everything, Robin. It is painful to me, you know, that you think I would hurt you.”

  “I panicked, Jean. This is an unusual situation for me.”

  He nodded. “Let’s go through there.”

  They went to the sofa in the lounge. Jean said, “I have to plan some stuff, and I don’t want to have to tie you up again. But I have to trust you, Robin.”

  “You can. Let’s just sit here today. I’ll work on the video, bring you coffee?”

  That made him smile a little. It was a nice idea. “What are you planning?” she asked.

  “This job tonight.” He nodded toward the hill, where they had gone to look at Anders Berg’s place.

  “That’s happening?”

  “Our other stuff has problems, and this is a good opportunity. I need the money if I am to get free.”

  Robin turned more toward him. “What do you mean?”

  “There’s some gold,” he said. “It was taken in a bank job in the sixties, by mistake. An Interior Ministry insider tipped them off about the bank being vulnerable. That man did not know the gold was there. It was an illegal holding of a member of the government, which meant they wouldn’t admit to the theft. It was transported to the Balkans. Serbia. The insider had the crew murdered. Big cover-up.”

  She looked cool, listening to everything, waiting.

  “I know where it is,” he said, evenly.

  She waited. Not saying anything. Jean said, “I thought if I could get that gold, with the other things I know, maybe I could buy my freedom. They let me change my name. I disappear. New life.”

  Robin softened her voice. “Is this what you earned from the Interior Minister’s niece, Audrey Charon.”

  He nodded. “One of the things. I need money to prepare the job. It will take time.”

  “What else do you know?” She said it like her mind was elsewhere, still with the gold.

  He kissed her. “The other things stay with me for now.”

  It wasn’t enough. “I need it, Jean. The sellability of this film is ten times greater if we get that angle as well. It gives it investigative credibility. I told you that. Otherwise, it’s mainly a French interest piece that maybe we can give a kind of cult status outside France if we can get enough variance in the conversation. The big rocking secret is key.”