Magic Lantern

by Des Sheridan

He was pleased with her support. Freya was right. He needed to heighten his performance. The thought of killing the child had gripped him. It raised the stakes for all involved.

  Chapter 20

  Buedon, France, 23 October 2014

  Nico stood in the doorway from the porch, a sub-machine gun in his hand. He raised the barrel towards them.

  ‘Drop the weapons, now. ALL OF YOU – NOW! ’

  The tone of his voice left no room for doubt that he would shoot. The Frenchmen and Pip obeyed, letting their weapons fall to the tiled floor. Nico beamed, showing his white teeth to Tara. As usual he looked totally cool and dishy, she thought. She could smell the cologne at five feet.

  ‘Tara, pick them up and throw them over there. Now!’

  He waited for her to complete her task, eyeing the men carefully.

  ‘Buono, you lot – in one place, and you two over there. Now Tara release Robert. Buona ragazza. Go to my car – it is just down the road - and get the envelope from the glove compartment of my car. A questo momento. It is open. Go!’

  As soon as Robert was free he instantly retrieved a gun from the floor, and said,

  ‘Votre altesse, asseyez vous, s’il vous plait.’

  The young man, clearly surprised at the politeness, accepted the invitation and sat down opposite Robert, looking decidedly unsure about what was happening. After a few minutes Tara re-entered the room with the envelope and Nico said, ‘Show him please, Tara. Explain to them.’

  Tara flanked the Duc on one side and Janet on the other, so when Tara spoke Janet could translate.

  Pulling out the photographs, Tara started.

  ‘This man is your father’s killer, monsieur. His name is Pascal de Waverin-Looz.’

  The transformation in atmosphere over the next five minutes was total. Janet decided to organise brunch. Nico was busy demonstrating his uzi to one of the Duc’s group, a young man called Gerard. Two other men were on guard at the front and back of the house respectively, under cover of the vegetation. If anyone came up the approach roads to the village they would know. The Duc, his number two and Robert and Pip were sitting at the table talking and planning.

  ‘I’m glad you aren’t a wrong ‘un,’ Janet said to Tara in the kitchen. ‘We got on so well yesterday. I’m sorry for your troubles. Yesterday must have been terrifying.’

  ‘Yes, it was completely horrible. We had to lie to you. I wasn’t comfortable with it, but what choice did we have? We were desperate.’

  At the other end of the kitchen Nico whispered in Robert’s ear.

  ‘Robert, I must interrupt your discussion - we need to talk’.

  ‘Can’t it wait?’ asked Robert.

  Nico looked at him sombrely, and just shook his head silently. They went to the window and exchanged words. Robert then approached Tara and said.

  ‘Tara, you need to ring home’, he said then paused. ‘Straight away. It’s important.’

  Janet, overhearing, took the phone off the cradle and handed it to Tara.

  ‘Use the lounge, it’s more private,’ she suggested.

  Tara left the room and Robert followed and stood nearby. Less than a minute she cried out like a wounded creature.

  ‘Oh my God! No, it can’t be!’

  Everyone in the kitchen stopped talking and looked towards the lounge door. After a minute or so she removed the phone from her ear and turned to Robert. Her face was stricken, all colour drained from it.

  ‘It’s Aoife, she’s missing!’

  Chapter 21

  Nantes, France, 24 October 2014

  An hour after returning from Machecoul, Pascal had showered and was drying off in the large luxury towelling gown that the hotel supplied. He knew Jean would arrive soon and he turned his thoughts to how to handle his hesitant accomplice. At Arz two days ago, Jean had sat in the car with his hands shaking uncontrollably. He was such a spineless creature, Pascal mused. But a general needs troops of all kinds and Jean more than earned his keep in other respects. And with his first solo kill at Mont Saint-Michel under his belt he was bound to harden up. As Pascal towelled his hair, there was a small knock on the door and Jean’s head appeared around it.

  ‘Come in, come in,’ Pascal called amiably. Time to patch his subordinate back together again he thought, noting the expression on Jean’s face. It managed to combine anxiety and reproach in equal measure.

  ‘Sit down, Jean, please. I owe you an apology. I know, I know – the defenestration at Arz was a bit grand guignol.’

  He wanted to reassure Jean but somehow he still couldn’t stop himself giggling at the thought of the Duc flying through the air. He continued,

  ‘It was foolish, but the impulse just came upon me and it seemed so juste, so fitting for the moment.’

  He waved his hands, as if to imply he wasn’t responsible for the event, and then looked Jean straight in the eye.

  ‘I really believe that, you do realise Jean? There are moments when greatness is defined by seeing the fitness of a course of action and acting immediately upon it, without hesitation. That bastard’s ancestors broke skulls to get on top of the shit heap, so two days ago he got a taste of it himself. The turd looked down his nose at me, Jean. When I saw the look in his eyes I just snapped. Anyway, look at it this way - we got the Triskell and we got away.’

  He slapped his colleague’s knee and laughed. Jean looked sideways at him, attempting a smile but failing.

  ‘It is just the level of risk we are running, Pascal. Seven dead bodies in two days. We can’t go on crossing France leaving mayhem in our wake. The police are stupid but even they must strike lucky with a trail like this.’

  He was sitting on the edge of the bed twisting his hands anxiously. Pascal poured a glass of champagne and passed it to him. Jean must have recognised that this was intended as a solicitous gesture for, after a moment’s hesitation, he accepted it.

  ‘Look Jean, I am hearing you loud and clear. Arz was it – c’était la fin - no more impulsive risk taking, I promise. We will lie low here and be squeaky clean, I promise you. Look, you can even call the shots on that. Make sure I behave!’

  The absurdity of that remark made even Jean laugh.

  ‘OK Pascal, steady now! But two pieces of the Triskell are still missing, are you going to give up on them?’

  Pascal could hear the hope that Jean couldn’t quite mask in his voice. He anger flared, as a passing cloud might momentarily occlude the sun.

  ‘Don’t be a fucking idiot, Jean! You know what we are on the brink of. I am not fucking stupid. What I said was that I would be more careful. My objective remains the same.’

  For a moment Pascal felt like striking Jean. He towered over his subordinate in a tense silence for seconds and could sense Jean’s fear rise as the time extended. Finally Pascal spoke, firmly but quietly.

  ‘I will get the rest of the Triskell and soon. I will have my way on that, Jean, make no mistake.’

  He paused locking his gaze on the man. After an uncomfortable moment Jean nodded his head, a gesture of submission, of acceptance of his master’s decision. Pascal sat down on the bed alongside his subordinate and put his hand on his shoulder, pulling Jean in close so that their faces were only an inch apart.

  ‘You know Jean, in a way you and Erik are like family to me. Like the brothers I never had. We have come a long way together and we should look out for one another.’

  He leant an elbow on his knee and raised his forearm, his hand open-fingered. Jean reciprocated and their two hands clasped, their fingers interlocking.

  ‘That’s my man! Sooo...., what we need to do is this. I want our people to be discreet but to continue looking for Grainger and Ruane. Not to intercept them, just to find them and watch them. But your judgment is on the button in one respect, Jean. I am buggered if we are going to keep chasing them across Europe. No, I need a means of getting them to come to me. We need this to be organised – it is the twenty-fourth of October already – that leaves us seven days. There is all to
play for. And I know just how to achieve it. Do you recall the alternative tactic that we discussed last week?’

  Jean nodded, his eyes widening.

  ‘Well, I made that call some days back. The cargo is at Esse already. But I need to know you are with me on this Jean. It will need your.....input. Is that understood?’

  Again Jean nodded and even managed a weak smile. Pascal was pleasantly surprised. He had expected some resistance. Unless, Pascal pondered, Jean was feigning ease with the suggestion to avoid conflict. He decided to leave well enough alone and not probe that possibility.

  ‘Good!’ Pascal exclaimed. ‘Very well, give me an hour and then we eat dinner with Freya. Now go on, get out!’

  Chapter 22

  Essé, France, 24 October 2014

  Aoife Delaney knew they had flown out of Kerry Airport because she had seen the name above the curved entrance when they had first arrived there. Earlier the woman had told her that if she didn’t cooperate they would kill her mum and she had forced her to drink a tumbler of water all in one go. Aoife had soon felt sluggish and realised that they had drugged her, not enough to knock her out but enough to slow her down. She wondered how they got around the need to show her passport. Could they have stolen that also? Had they been to the house? She knew where Dad kept the passports but how would the kidnappers have found it?

  On the side of the plane she had seen the words Gulfstream G150 and briefly glimpsed the two jet engines near the tail end. It was a small six-seater with a long couch and it was very comfortable. These people must be very rich, she realised.

  The woman was accompanied by two men, who totally blanked her as though she wasn’t human - more like a piece of luggage. She had got upset when she had to go to the toilet for big ones and they wouldn’t let her close the door. The man stood there watching. It was so humiliating. Tears came into her eyes at the memory. Life was stupid enough in that respect already. She knew it sounded silly but recently there were times when her body didn’t feel like hers at all. She had shot up two inches. At school they’d starting calling her giraffe. The school teacher had told them about the changes at her age but it was different when you felt them. Sometimes her nipples itched and, down below, a fine down had started to grow. It frightened her and she had almost shaved it off a few weeks back, when she had been on her own in the house. She had locked herself in the bathroom but then bottled out. And now for a strange man to watch her like that – she felt so ashamed she wanted to die.

  The woman was really horrid. Her name was Kirsten, she had said. She was old, but somehow she was dead glamorous, with blond hair and a smile like a film star. And she dressed like one too. She had lovely pretty blue eyes. And designer jeans with studs on them and a short, fluffy top made of white fur. When Aoife had first seen her she was sitting in a big car about half way home from her friend’s house. Aoife knew straight away that she was foreign. She had leaned out of the window and smiled. Her lipstick was a sort of purple-pink and Aoife had never seen anything so high gloss apart from on the telly.

  ‘Hi there honey. I’m hopelessly lost! You look like a bright girl. Can you come over and help me out?’

  In her hand the woman held a road atlas and she smiled again.

  ‘I’m lost! Come on round – hop in the passenger seat.’

  And Aoife had done just that. It was such a stupid thing to do after all the warnings about stranger danger from her parents and teachers. But she wasn’t a child anymore and the woman had seen that. She had spoken to her like an adult - like a real grown-up friend. That had made Aoife feel good and special. Aoife would have loved a friend so glamorous and sophisticated. She could imagine taking her into town and showing her off to her school mates. That would be some craic. She never thought about a woman being dangerous until the woman’s manner went like ice. She had pressed the central locking button and stared, just stared. Then a hand with cotton wool and something smelly closed over Aoife’s nose and that was the last thing she remembered. How could she have known there was a man hiding in the back?

  A wave of shame and guilt swept over her as she recalled how foolish she had been. She was a complete idiot! Her skin blushed hot at the thought. She imagined the scene at home. Mum and Dad completely freaked out about her disappearance, her Mum crying and blaming everyone around her, especially Dad. It would be just like when she had a fight with mum about something silly and then felt bad, later. A huge row and fuss that all turned out to be totally unnecessary.

  Except this time it wouldn’t be all right. This situation was worse - much worse. She knew it was illegal to kidnap someone. You could go to prison for it. At that awful thought, fear gripped Aoife in the hollow of her tummy. She knew people with money didn’t kidnap a child unless they had something in mind. She knew what they said on TV. Stuff about sex and she knew what that was. What adults did even though it must be awful. The girls at school used talk about it. It was when a man’s willy turned into a huge rod, although the sex education diagrams at school didn’t show that bit. And it was true - she had seen it. A boy had shown her a clip on his smartphone a few months ago. It was disgusting – but a bit exciting too. The boy had wanted to put his hand down her pants but she hadn’t let him. Although in a way she had wanted to. Not that she had told anyone but sometimes – often if she was honest - she did wonder what it would be like. And that made her feel all gooey. She knew it couldn’t be all bad because grown-ups did it. They all did it.

  And she worried that her situation was worse than that. Forcing children to have sex was especially bad and was called abuse. You could tell that from the way adults talked in hushed tones about paedophilia and the wicked priests. It must be something really bad. Not just sex but something that hurt the children as well. Some people had said Madeleine McCann would have been dead in days. Assaulted horribly then murdered.

  The tears came now, rolling silently down. She didn’t sob anymore, if she could avoid it, because Kirsten would punish her. She knew how to pinch you in really horrible ways. What was worse, she seemed to like doing it. Aoife looked around the room. It was very small, and she remembered how she felt when they shoved her down the stairs. She knew she was going underground and she went crazy and fought them like a terrier. And she had done well, - she’d made them stop. Then one of them hit her on the head and that was that. When she woke up she was in the tiny room with no windows. Just a bed along one side with a small wardrobe and a chair on the other. At one end there was a small ensuite with a toilet, basin and shower. She wondered why anyone would build a bedroom like this underground. On telly there had been a trailer about men locking up prostitutes in a cellar. Then she decided she didn’t want to think about that.

  She reckoned she had been here two days now. She was notching it up each morning with a scratch on the skirting board under the bed, so they didn’t see it. She didn’t know where she was but an announcement in French on the airport loudspeaker system when they had landed made her think it must be France. Why France?

  Aoife sat on the bed and pulled her knees up under her chin. She missed not having Banba, her old teddy, with her. She still kept him under her pillow at home although she made sure that no one knew. Hugging him would have helped so much. She wished she could turn off the light but they controlled it from the outside. If she could have made it dark she could pretend it was all just a bad dream - for a while anyway, just for a change.

  Chapter 23

  Nantes, France, 24 October 2014

  The October evening air was cool and Jean shivered slightly as he walked in the gardens, alongside the outdoor swimming pool. Fallen leaves were gathering in it already, he noticed, and starting to rot. Soon they would drain the pool for the winter.

  He thought again of the encounter earlier with Pascal. How his boss had sat beside him on the bed and placed his hand on Jean’s knee. Pascal’s voice had been low and intimate, and for a dreadful second Jean had thought his boss was going to either kiss him on the lips or perhap
s strangle him with those great hands. Jean’s armpits had moistened in terror, but he had taken care not to flinch. The seconds had ticked away as they sat motionless, then the moment passed and Pascal removed his hand.

  Jean agonised. Should he make the call or not? He knew it would be irrevocable. The prospect of there being no way back terrified him, but then so did his present predicament. He tried once more to fathom Pascal’s behaviour towards him. It was changing, that he knew for sure, but it was so hard to read. Was Pascal simply seeking some deeper commitment from him, a step further into shared guilt, or was he starting to mistrust or tire of him? Either prospect sent the alarm bells ringing. Jean’s hand started to shake – it was happening regularly now, ever since Mont Saint-Michel. Today it had happened twice and he was sure Pascal had noticed.

  The evening breeze felt cold now against the wet drops of sweat on his forehead. He couldn’t avoid an involuntary look over his shoulder, as though half expecting Pascal to jump out of the shadows at him. It wouldn’t have surprised him. Over the years he had found ways of handling Pascal. The violence, although unpredictable and absolute when it happened, was normally a rare occurrence. But recently, since the Rosnaree discovery, Pascal’s behaviour was spinning out of control, like a runaway cancer spreading fast and furious. Erik and Theo spoke literally of a Beast that seemed to share Pascal’s body at times – a spirit that entered the man’s body and took it over. Jean had laughed at first at this idea, mocking Erik and Theo for their superstitious reading of events. But the killings at Mont Saint-Michel and Arz fitted the pattern. Either that or Pascal was simply metamorphosing into some kind of insane monster. And now he had activated Plan B and it was barbaric.

  With an unsteady finger Jean hit the first three digits on the mobile. The name he wanted appeared on the screen. In the darkness the illuminated script looked larger than life. He stood staring at it in a paroxysm of doubt until after ten seconds the screen went dark. He tapped the phone once more and it lit up again. His finger hovered a moment over the call button, before touching it. After a few seconds the call tone sounded at the other end of the line. Jean took a deep breath and waited.