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THE NOSTRADAMUS PROPHECIES

Page 16

by Mario Reading


  ‘The­re’s be­en a mur­der. Back at Ro­ca­ma­do­ur. Last night. No one told them, ap­pa­rently. So they didn’t ma­ke the con­nec­ti­on. Then they we­ren’t su­re how best to con­tact you, as you re­fu­se to carry a cel­lpho­ne whi­le on ac­ti­ve duty. It was the rep­la­ce­ment se­cu­rity gu­ard. Bro­ken neck. Who­ever got him got his dog, too. Threw it aga­inst a wall and stam­ped on its he­ad. That’s a who­le new tech­ni­que, in my ex­pe­ri­en­ce.’

  Cal­que scre­wed shut his eyes. ‘Is the Vir­gin go­ne?’

  ‘No. Ap­pa­rently not. He must ha­ve be­en af­ter the sa­me thing as we we­re. And Sa­bir. And the gypsy.’ Mac­ron was bri­efly temp­ted to crack a joke abo­ut the sud­den po­pu­la­rity of vir­gins but de­ci­ded aga­inst it. He glan­ced up from the pho­ne. “Do you think the eye-man’s be­en and go­ne from he­re al­re­ady? He wo­uld ha­ve had ti­me, if he dro­ve stra­ight on he­re af­ter do­ing the se­cu­rity man. It’s auto­ro­ute all the way down. He co­uld easily ha­ve ave­ra­ged a hund­red and sixty.” ’

  ‘Impos­sib­le. The­re are ten ar­med men scat­te­red aro­und the­se bu­il­dings and in the shal­lows of the fo­ot­hil­ls. The eye-man hasn’t fl own in by mic­ro­light and he dam­ned cer­ta­inly hasn’t sec­re­ted him­self in­si­de the Sanc­tu­ary. No. His only ra­ti­onal way in is by the ma­in ro­ad, now that the tra­in has stop­ped run­ning for the night. I am go­ing down to warn Vil­la­da.’

  ‘But, Sir. This is a sta­ke­o­ut. No one must mo­ve from the­ir po­si­ti­ons. I can text the Cap­ta­in. For­ward La­mast­re’s mes­sa­ge to him as an at­tach­ment.’

  ‘I ne­ed to talk to him per­so­nal­ly, not wri­te him a blo­ody let­ter. Wa­it he­re, Mac­ron. And ke­ep yo­ur eyes pe­eled. Use the night sco­pe if you ha­ve to. And if you sus­pect that the eye-man is ar­med, kill him.’

  60

  Achor Ba­le fell to his kne­es be­hind a rock. So­met­hing was mo­ving in front of him. He squ­in­ted thro­ugh the dusk but was unab­le to ma­ke out suf­fi­ci­ent de­ta­il to sa­tisfy him­self. Easing the Red­hawk in­to his hand, he be­gan to inch his way furt­her down the hil­lsi­de. Wha­te­ver was mo­ving was ma­king a me­al of it. Small sto­nes clat­te­red down ahe­ad of him and the­re was even a grunt as wha­te­ver it was en­co­un­te­red an unex­pec­ted obs­tac­le. Not a wild go­at, then, but a man. The smell of swe­at and sta­le ci­ga­ret­te smo­ke waf­ted to­wards him on the lightly he­ated bre­eze.

  Ba­le was just ten yards away from Mac­ron when he fi­nal­ly ca­ught sight of mo­ve­ment. Mac­ron was using the night glas­ses to fol­low his su­pe­ri­or’s tor­tu­red at­tempts at a so­und­less prog­ress down the hil­lsi­de. Ba­le le­vel­led the si­len­ced pis­tol on the back of Mac­ron’s he­ad. Then, dis­sa­tis­fi­ed with his vi­ew of the front sight, he felt aro­und in his poc­ket for a small pi­ece of whi­te pa­per. He bal­led up the pa­per in his mo­uth, co­ve­red it in sa­li­va, then wad­ded it, pa­pi­er-mâché li­ke, over the red-tip­ped aiming nip­ple, so that it sto­od just pro­ud of the si­len­cer. He li­ned the sight up on­ce aga­in with Mac­ron’s he­ad, then let out a long, di­sap­po­in­ted sigh. It was qu­ite simply too dark for ac­cu­racy.

  He she­at­hed the Red­hawk, and felt aro­und for his le­at­her sap. With this in hand, he be­gan to belly his way over the rocks to­wards Mac­ron, using the dis­tant clat­ter Cal­que was still ma­king as co­ver.

  At the last pos­sib­le mo­ment Mac­ron sen­sed so­met­hing, and re­ared up from his po­si­ti­on, but Ba­le’s first blow ca­ught him fl at on the si­de of the he­ad. Mac­ron scythed to the gro­und, his arms pres­sed tightly aga­inst his flanks. Ba­le crept for­ward and squ­in­ted in­to Mac­ron’s fa­ce. So. It wasn’t Sa­bir. And it wasn’t the gypsy. Lucky, now, that he hadn’t used the pis­tol.

  Grin­ning, Ba­le felt aro­und in Mac­ron’s poc­kets un­til he fo­und his cel­lpho­ne. He lit up the scre­en and chec­ked for mes­sa­ges. Then, with an angry grunt, he gro­und the pho­ne in­to the earth with his fo­ot. Only a po­li­ce­man wo­uld encrypt his text mes­sa­ges and, on­ce encryp­ted, ma­ke them ac­ces­sib­le only with a pas­sword - it was li­ke we­aring a belt and bra­ces.

  He dug aro­und furt­her in Mac­ron’s poc­kets. Mo­ney. Iden­tity pa­pers. A pic­tu­re of a co­lo­ured girl in a whi­te dress spor­ting an over­bi­te that her pa­rents we­re ob­vi­o­usly eit­her too tight or too po­or to ha­ve rec­ti­fi­ed. Li­e­ute­nant Pa­ul Mac­ron. An ad­dress in Créte­il. Ba­le poc­ke­ted the wad of ma­te­ri­al.

  Re­ac­hing down, he to­ok off Mac­ron’s sho­es and tos­sed them be­hind him in­to the brush. Then, ta­king first one fo­ot in his hand and then the ot­her, li­ke a mot­her cat scruf­fing her kit­tens, he struck Mac­ron a furt­her sharp blow with the sap aga­inst each ins­tep.

  Sa­tis­fi­ed with his work, he pic­ked up the night glas­ses and mo­ni­to­red the sur­ro­un­ding hil­lsi­de. He was just in ti­me to catch sight of Cal­que’s spect­ral­ly pa­le he­ad di­sap­pe­aring be­hind a bluff six hund­red met­res be­low him.

  So what was hap­pe­ning? How much did the po­li­ce al­re­ady know abo­ut him? He had ob­vi­o­usly un­de­res­ti­ma­ted them as well, for they too must ha­ve had ac­cess to the mes­sa­ge hid­den on the Vir­gin’s ba­se, thanks to Sa­bir’s qu­ick thin­king in not ma­king off with her when he had the chan­ce.

  Ba­le rat­her reg­ret­ted knoc­king out Mac­ron now. A mis­sed op­por­tu­nity. To qu­es­ti­on a man in ab­so­lu­te si­len­ce and on a sta­ked-out hil­lsi­de - that wo­uld ha­ve be­en a de­fi­ni­te first in his ex­pe­ri­en­ce. How co­uld he ha­ve ac­hi­eved it? Only one way to find out.

  Ba­le eased him­self out of the hi­de and set off to­wards the bluff. It was ob­vi­o­us that the­se idi­otic po­li­ce­men we­re only lo­oking for him down in the val­ley - it wo­uld ha­ve ta­ken far too much ima­gi­na­ti­on for them to ima­gi­ne him tra­ver­sing a bar­ren and, to all in­tents and pur­po­ses, im­pas­sab­le mo­un­ta­in­si­de. This me­ant that he wo­uld co­me up with them con­ve­ni­ently from be­hind.

  Every fifty met­res or so he stop­ped and lis­te­ned with his mo­uth open and both hands cup­ped be­hind his ears. When he was abo­ut two hund­red met­res from the bluff he he­si­ta­ted. Mo­re ci­ga­ret­te smo­ke. Was it the sa­me man co­ming back? Or was one of the pa­ra­mi­li­ta­ri­es sne­aking a qu­ick drag?

  He eased him­self away from the bluff and down to­wards the fi­nal es­carp­ment over­lo­oking the Sanc­tu­ary squ­are. Yes. He co­uld ma­ke out a man’s he­ad high­ligh­ted aga­inst the al­most lu­mi­no­us backd­rop of the sto­ne clad­ding.

  Ba­le sna­ked his way down to­wards the man’s hi­de­o­ut. He had had an idea. A go­od idea. And he in­ten­ded to test it out.

  61

  Cal­que drop­ped in­to the front se­at of the cont­rol car be­si­de Vil­la­da. Vil­la­da bri­efly ack­now­led­ged him with his eyes and then con­ti­nu­ed his scan­ning of the ra­il­way li­ne and sur­ro­un­ding bu­il­dings.

  When he was sa­tis­fi­ed that not­hing was mo­ving, he put down his night glas­ses and tur­ned to­wards Cal­que. ‘I tho­ught you we­re sta­king out the hil­lsi­de?’

  ‘I left Mac­ron do­ing that.’ He squ­at­ted down in the car-well and lit a ci­ga­ret­te, cup­ping it bet­we­en his two hands. ‘Want one?’

  Vil­la­da sho­ok his he­ad.

  ‘The eye-man. He’s he­re.’

  Vil­la­da ra­ise an eyeb­row.

  ‘Our pe­op­le botc­hed it. He used his trac­ker fo­ur ho­urs ago, up ne­ar Man­re­sa. He al­so kil­led a man back at Ro­ca­ma­do­ur. Last night. A se­cu­rity gu­ard. Got his dog, too. This man is no light­we­ight, Vil­la­da. I’d even go so far as to say he was tra­ined in as­sas­si­na­ti­on. Both the gypsy, in
Pa­ris and the se­cu­rity gu­ard at Ro­ca­ma­do­ur had the­ir necks bro­ken. And that di­ver­si­onary sce­ne he set-up on the N20. With the man and the wo­man. That was mas­ter­ful­ly do­ne.’

  ‘You al­most so­und as if you ad­mi­re him.’

  ‘No. I ha­te his guts. But he’s ef­fi­ci­ent. Li­ke a mac­hi­ne. I only wish I knew what he was re­al­ly af­ter.’

  Vil­la­da flas­hed him a smi­le. ‘Per­haps he’s af­ter you?’ He re­ac­hed down for the ra­dio trans­ce­iver, as if to de­fu­se the im­port of his words. ‘Do­ra­da to Mal­lor­qu­in. Do­ra­da to Mal­lor­qu­in. Do you re­ce­ive me?’

  The trans­ce­iver crack­led and shot out a bri­ef burst of sta­tic. Then a me­asu­red vo­ice ca­me thro­ugh. ‘Mal­lor­qu­in to Do­ra­da. Re­ce­iving.’

  ‘The mark is clo­se by. The­re’s a chan­ce he may be co­ming in over the Si­er­ra. Adj­ust yo­ur po­si­ti­on if you ha­ve to. And sho­ot to kill. He mur­de­red a French se­cu­rity gu­ard last night. And that wasn’t his first. I don’t want any of our men to be next on his list.’

  Cal­que re­ac­hed ac­ross and to­ok Vil­la­da’s arm. ‘What do you me­an, co­ming in over the Si­er­ra?’

  ‘It’s simp­le. If yo­ur pe­op­le no­ted him fo­ur ho­urs ago in Man­re­sa and we ha­ven’t pic­ked up any sign of him sin­ce, I will gi­ve you odds of fifty to one that he’s co­ming in ac­ross the rid­ge. It’s what I’d do in his pla­ce. If he finds no one wa­iting for him, then he just sne­aks in and hi­j­acks the Vir­gin, hops on a tra­in or ste­als a car and he’s out aga­in. If he finds we’re he­re, he simply hi­kes back over the Si­er­ra and we’re no­ne the wi­ser.’

  ‘But I’ve left Mac­ron out the­re. Li­ke a sit­ting duck.’

  ‘Don’t worry. I’ll send one of my men back for him.’

  ‘I’d ap­pre­ci­ate that, Cap­ta­in Vil­la­da. Thank you. Thank you very much.’

  62

  Ba­le was on his belly, abo­ut twenty yards from the ca­mo­uf­la­ged pa­ra­mi­li­tary, when the man sud­denly tur­ned ro­und and be­gan to mo­ni­tor the hil­lsi­de be­hind him thro­ugh his bi­no­cu­lars.

  So. His plan to way­lay the po­li­ce­man, qu­es­ti­on him and ste­al his clot­hes, was a non-star­ter. Tant pis. It was ob­vi­o­us, too, that he wo­uld no lon­ger be ab­le to bre­ak in­to the Sanc­tu­ary and check out the ba­se of La Mo­re­ni­ta. Whe­re­ver you fo­und one of the­se con­ce­aled clowns lur­king abo­ut, the­re we­re al­ways mo­re ne­arby. They ope­ra­ted in packs, li­ke me­er­kats. The idi­ots ob­vi­o­usly tho­ught the­re was sa­fety in num­bers.

  Ba­le felt aro­und for his pis­tol. He co­uldn’t just wa­it the­re un­til dawn - he’d ha­ve to ta­ke ac­ti­on. The po­li­ce­man was now out­li­ned ne­atly aga­inst the lu­mi­no­us ex­pan­se of the Sanc­tu­ary squ­are be­hind him. He wo­uld kill the man, then lo­se him­self ne­ar the bu­il­dings. The po­li­ce wo­uld fi­gu­re that he’d he­aded back in­to the hills and fo­cus the­ir man­po­wer in that di­rec­ti­on. By mor­ning, the pla­ce wo­uld be abuzz with he­li­cop­ters.

  But then they wo­uld al­most cer­ta­inly find his car. Lift it for DNA and prints. They’d ha­ve him cold. Get him on to the­ir com­pu­ters. Start up a re­cord on him. Ba­le shi­ve­red su­pers­ti­ti­o­usly.

  The pa­ra­mi­li­tary sto­od up, he­si­ta­ted a lit­tle and then star­ted up the hill to­wards him. What the Hell was hap­pe­ning? Had he be­en se­en? Im­pos­sib­le. The man wo­uld ha­ve let rip with his Star Z-84 sub-mac­hi­ne gun. Ba­le smi­led. He had al­ways wan­ted a Star. A use­ful lit­tle gun: 600 ro­unds a mi­nu­te; 9mm Lü­ger Pa­ra­bel­lum; 200-met­re ef­fec­ti­ve ran­ge. The Star wo­uld pro­vi­de so­me com­pen­sa­ti­on at le­ast for the loss of his Re­ming­ton.

  Ba­le lay still, with his fa­ce tur­ned to the gro­und. His hands - the only ot­her part of him that might show up in the in­ci­pi­ent mo­on­light - we­re tuc­ked sa­fely away un­der­ne­ath him, crad­ling the pis­tol.

  The man was co­ming stra­ight at him. He’d be lo­oking ahe­ad, tho­ugh. Not ex­pec­ting anyt­hing at gro­und le­vel.

  Ba­le to­ok a de­ep bre­ath and held it. He co­uld he­ar the man bre­at­hing. Smell the man’s swe­at and the waft of gar­lic left over from his din­ner. Ba­le fo­ught back the temp­ta­ti­on to ra­ise his he­ad and check out exactly whe­re the man was.

  The man’s fo­ot slid off a sto­ne and brus­hed Ba­le’s el­bow. Then the pa­ra­mi­li­tary was past him and he­ading up to­wards Mac­ron.

  Ba­le swi­vel­led aro­und on his hip. In one sur­ge he was be­hind the man, the Red­hawk held aga­inst his thro­at. ‘Drop. To yo­ur kne­es. No so­und.’

  Ba­le no­ted the sharp in­ta­ke of bre­ath. The ten­sing of the man’s sho­ul­ders. It was no-go. The man in­ten­ded to res­pond.

  He thras­hed the man ac­ross the temp­le with the bar­rel of the Red­hawk and then aga­in ac­ross the ba­se of the neck. Po­int­less kil­ling him. He didn’t want to ali­ena­te the Spa­nish any mo­re than was strictly ne­ces­sary. This way they’d just re­sent the French for ha­ving put them in such an in­vi­di­o­us, hu­mi­li­ating po­si­ti­on. If he kil­led one of them, they’d sic In­ter­pol on him, and ha­rass him un­til the day he di­ed.

  He li­be­ra­ted the Star and then rif­led the man’s poc­kets for anyt­hing el­se of use. Hand­cuf­fs. Iden­tity pa­pers. He was bri­efly temp­ted to ta­ke the man’s hel­met trans­ce­iver but then de­ci­ded that the rest of the pa­ra­mi­li­tary cha­me­le­ons might be ab­le to tra­ce him on the back of it.

  Sho­uld he re­vi­sit Li­e­ute­nant Mac­ron? Gi­ve him anot­her tap on the he­ad?

  No. No po­int. He had may­be half an ho­ur’s start ac­ross the mo­un­ta­ins be­fo­re they cot­to­ned on to what had hap­pe­ned. With luck, that wo­uld be eno­ugh. The­re was no way they co­uld track him ef­fec­ti­vely in the dark - and by dawn he wo­uld be long go­ne. Back to Go­ur­don to re­new ac­qu­a­in­tan­ce with fri­end Sa­bir.

  63

  ‘I think you’ve had eno­ugh to drink, Ale­xi. You’re go­ing to fe­el li­ke Hell to­mor­row.’

  ‘My te­eth and my ribs are hur­ting now. The ra­kia is go­od for them. It is an­ti­sep­tic.’ He slur­red the word so badly that it so­un­ded li­ke ‘athle­tic’.

  Sa­bir lo­oked aro­und for Yo­la, but she was now­he­re to be se­en. The wed­ding ce­leb­ra­ti­on was on its fi­nal legs, with mu­si­ci­ans gra­du­al­ly drop­ping out eit­her thro­ugh ex­ha­us­ti­on or ineb­ri­ati­on, whic­he­ver ca­me first.

  ‘Gi­ve me the gun. I want to sho­ot it.’

  ‘That wo­uldn’t be a go­od idea, Ale­xi.’

  ‘Gi­ve me the gun!’ Ale­xi grab­bed Sa­bir by the sho­ul­ders and sho­ok him. ‘I want to be John Way­ne.’ He threw his hand out in a gre­at arc to en­com­pass the camp and the sur­ro­un­ding ca­ra­vans. ‘I am John Way­ne! You he­ar me? I am go­ing to sho­ut-out yo­ur lights!’

  No­body to­ok any no­ti­ce of him. Thro­ug­ho­ut the eve­ning, at surp­ri­singly fre­qu­ent in­ter­vals, men had sto­od up, in a fe­ver of al­co­hol and dec­la­red them­sel­ves. One had even cla­imed to be Jesus Christ. His wi­fe had hur­ri­ed him off to cat­cal­ls and je­ering from as yet less ineb­ri­ated so­uls. Sa­bir sup­po­sed this must be what the no­ve­list Pat­rick Ha­mil­ton had me­ant when he de­fi­ned the fo­ur sta­ges of drun­ken­ness as pla­in drunk, figh­ting drunk, blind drunk and de­ad drunk. Ale­xi was at the figh­ting drunk sta­ge and cle­arly had a long way still to go.

  ‘Hey! John Way­ne!’

  Ale­xi swung aro­und dra­ma­ti­cal­ly, his hands fal­ling to his hips and to an ima­gi­nary pa­ir of six-sho­oters. ‘Who asks for me?’

  Sa­bir had al­re­ady iden­ti­fi­ed Gav­ril. Well he­re go­es, h
e tho­ught to him­self. Who­ever sa­id li­fe isn’t pre­dic­tab­le?

  ‘Yo­la tells me you lost yo­ur balls. That the sa­me guy who kic­ked out yo­ur te­eth al­so bit yo­ur balls off.’

  Ale­xi we­aved a lit­tle, his fa­ce con­tor­ted in con­cent­ra­ti­on. ‘What did you say?’

  Gav­ril wan­de­red clo­ser but his eyes we­re el­sew­he­re, as if part of him felt de­tac­hed from wha­te­ver it was he was mac­hi­na­ting. ‘I didn’t say anyt­hing. Yo­la sa­id it. I don’t know anyt­hing abo­ut yo­ur balls. In fact I’ve al­ways known you didn’t ha­ve any. It’s a fa­mily prob­lem. No­ne of the Du­fon­ta­ines ha­ve balls ‘

  ‘Ale­xi. Le­ave it.’ Sa­bir put one hand on Ale­xi’s sho­ul­der. ‘He’s lying. He’s trying to wind you up.’

  Ale­xi shrug­ged him off. ‘Yo­la ne­ver sa­id that. She ne­ver sa­id my balls didn’t work. She knows not­hing abo­ut my balls.’

  ‘Ale­xi…’

  ‘Then who el­se told me?’ Gav­ril threw out his arms in tri­umph.

  Ale­xi glan­ced aro­und, as if he ex­pec­ted Yo­la sud­denly to ap­pe­ar from aro­und the cor­ner of one of the ca­ra­vans and con­fi rm what Gav­ril was sa­ying. He had a pe­eved exp­res­si­on on his fa­ce and one si­de of his mo­uth was han­ging down, as if he’d suf­fe­red a mi­nor stro­ke along­si­de his crus­hing by the cha­ir.

  ‘You won’t find her he­re. I just left her.’ Gav­ril snif­fed his fin­gers me­lod­ra­ma­ti­cal­ly.

  Ale­xi lurc­hed ac­ross the cle­aring to­wards Gav­ril. Sa­bir re­ac­hed out one arm and swung him aro­und, just as you wo­uld do a child. Ale­xi was so ta­ken aback that he lost his fo­oting and lan­ded he­avily on his rump.

  Sa­bir step­ped bet­we­en him and Gav­ril. ‘Le­ave it off. He’s drunk. If you ha­ve a prob­lem, you can sort it out anot­her ti­me. This is a wed­ding, not a kriss.’

 

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