The Riviera Contract

by Arthur Kerns

  After a pleasant drive back, Stone parked the Porsche and walked along the quiet, lighted path to the cottage. A thin sliver of moon hung low over the pocket-sized Bay of Archos. The cicadas’ stridulations had increased in the past few days. He attributed it to the warming weather along the coast. He looked forward to getting out of his clothes and having a nightcap.

  When he slipped the door key into the lock, he could feel that the bolt didn’t disengage. The door was unlocked. Had he forgotten to secure the cottage door that morning as he hurried off? Not likely.

  With a finger touch, the door swung in. He placed one foot inside, grasping the handle of his gun with his right hand. He slid his left hand along the inside wall and found the light switch. Twice he flipped the switch up and down. The lights didn’t go on.

  Perhaps it was a movement in the dark, or instinct, but he sensed a presence. He stepped back, but large hands grabbed the collar of his jacket, yanking him into the room. Flying through the air, he stopped when a blow to his nose rocked his head backward.

  As he lay on the floor, the crunched cartilage in his nose caused his eyes to tear. Blood seeped down the back of his throat. A classic first hit, one that both stunned and bloodied.

  With no light, his assailants couldn’t see any better than he could, but he had one advantage: the room was familiar to him. He pulled out his gun.

  An attacker’s kick caught the side of Stone’s head, and he rolled over just as a body thumped down on the floor next to him. Stone’s gun slipped from his grasp. A hot garlic breath told him that the man’s face was next to his. Stone unleashed a karate blow with his elbow that connected. A curse in French followed.

  Someone else grabbed his left foot, dragging him along the floor. The man yelled something in English to the one Stone had just struck. Stone kicked his foot free, scrambled to his feet, then backed away until he felt the wall. Crouching, he spun and delivered two karate kicks. The second connected in the midsection of his attacker, who let out a loud gasp. Stone jumped toward the door.

  An arm snaked around Stone’s throat in a chokehold. He delivered a solid back kick to his attacker’s shin. Both fell to the floor. The attacker’s head brushed his face and a fleshy protuberance passed his mouth. Stone bit down hard. The man screamed, “Merde,” and pushed him away. Stone spit out a piece of the man’s nose.

  A light from outside the cottage flashed in one of the living room windows, allowing Stone to gather his bearings. He jumped over the bar separating the kitchen from the dining area and searched for a weapon. A wooden block holding carving knives sat next to the sink under the kitchen light switch.

  He lunged forward and flicked the light switch. The kitchen lights went on. With a knife in each hand, he turned to face his two assailants, but saw only one. The Frenchman with the torn nose rushed him, going for Stone’s right hand that held a bread knife. With his left hand, Stone thrust the short boning knife under the Frenchman’s ribcage.

  As the man with the knife in his side collapsed, a solid object grazed the left side of his head. Stunned, he managed to spin around. He saw a face he recognized. The second priest he’d met in the village of Cuers. He deflected a second blow by thrusting the bread knife up through the man’s forearm.

  The phony cleric screamed and held his bloodied arm. As Stone felt himself losing consciousness, the cleric pulled out a gun and pointed it at Stone’s gut. “Die, bastard!” Then thunk! The cleric’s head jerked forward and he collapsed onto the kitchen counter.

  Stone lost consciousnesses as he saw the blurred image of Ricard, the French veteran, clout the phony cleric a second time with a shovel.

  When Stone gained consciousness, he found Ricard assisting the local police as they took the attackers into custody. Two gendarmes lifted Stone and helped him out to their patrol car. Placing him in the back seat, they drove to a clinic in the center of Archos. On the way, the driver turned around and yelled to Stone, “Do not bleed on the car seat.”

  On arrival, the gendarmes and the medical staff began arguing over how much questioning Stone should be subjected to given his condition. Stone remained silent while the doctor set his nose and applied antiseptic to his cuts.

  Meanwhile, one of the policemen answered a call on his cellphone. “Oui, Monsieur Colmont.” After a few moments of speaking in a hushed tone, he flipped his cellphone closed and informed a medical staffer that he and his companion were leaving.

  Stone let himself succumb to a deep, dreamless sleep.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Côte d’Azur—May 14, 2002

  The morning sun angled through the tall windows into the bright hospital room. An African nurse with tribal scars ridged horizontally across her cheeks came in and walked over to the two windows. Before opening each one, she threw a long, hard look at Stone lying in the bed. Cool air filtered into the room. Task accomplished, she marched out, all the while maintaining a steady visual contact with him. The door slammed shut.

  Stone took a deep breath. He must really look bad.

  He didn’t feel severe pain, but a wide bandage covered the bridge of his nose, and the side of his head ached where the blow from the blackjack had left a swollen knot above his left ear. He realized he was medicated and let himself enjoy the remnants of the soft feeling it provided.

  The door flew open and Harrington and his wife, Helen, rushed in. A young doctor carrying a clipboard tagged along. The Harringtons sat down next to his bed while the doctor felt Stone’s pulse and listened to his heartbeat with a stethoscope. He then told the Harringtons in rapid French that they could stay only five minutes.

  “Hayden, how are you feeling?” Harrington leaned forward and with false sincerity said, “My God, we have never had an incident like this at the Foundation. I had to report this to the board in New York.”

  “Does your head hurt much?” Helen asked, her head tilted in sympathy.

  Stone shot a look at one face, then to the other—what gall!

  “Those two thieves are in custody,” Harrington stuttered. “Actually, they are in a guarded wing here in the hospital.” He straightened. “Helen, we can see that Hayden will survive, so we must let him rest.”

  “Anything we can do, please let us know,” she said.

  “You both are very kind to visit me. Do you have any idea why they attacked me?” Stone raised himself up on one arm. “I don’t believe they were there to steal anything.”

  Harrington stiffened. “I’m sure the police are working on that as we speak.” He stood up. “Now, we must go and let you rest.”

  “I feel lucky. I’ve missed getting killed twice in the last two days.”

  With frightened smiles, the two hurried out of the room as the doctor, accompanied by the nurse, returned.

  “My nurse is very curious about you, what with all the police attention,” the doctor said. “She doesn’t know if you are the hero or the villain.”

  “There are people who think I’m both.”

  The doctor replaced the bandage on Stone’s nose and remarked that the Harringtons had left after only a few minutes. “I gave them five minutes, but they didn’t even take that. An odd sort of visit by those two.” When he finished his examination, he said, “Your nose looks promising and should stop swelling. Meanwhile, you have two other guests waiting to see you.”

  The doctor departed and Colmont breezed in. He stopped halfway into the room, lifted up his hands, and blew out a laugh. “You look awful, my friend!” he said, and turned to the door. “Come in, dear, and take a look.”

  Margaux eased through the doorway. She looked him over, shook her head, and approached. Stone tried to sit up. Colmont reached over and pushed the button on the bed mechanism to elevate him into a sitting position. The two then sat down on either side of Stone’s bed.

  “So, my friend, you survived, non?” Colmont unbuttoned his coat. He glanced at his wristwatch then looked back at Stone. “We passed the Harringtons in the hallway. You had a pleasant visit?”


  “They were checking the damage.”

  “These two men we have in custody, you have met them before, oui?” Colmont asked.

  Stone pointed to Margaux and then to Colmont. “You two know each other?”

  Ignoring the question, Margaux said, “I looked in on the two prisoners. The one with the knife wound in his chest is one of the men we saw with Harrington the other night when we were at the restaurant.”

  “And the other is the priest we met in Cuers,” Stone added.

  “Yes. The one who had the strange French accent.”

  “He is an Englishman who learned French in Belgium,” Colmont advised. “He has a long history in drug dealing. Both men are being interrogated. When we get enough information, we will arrest Harrington. Meanwhile, we will watch your director and his wife.”

  Stone asked again, “You two are working together, right?”

  “Of course.” Colmont fidgeted.

  “And Ricard?”

  “Yes, he has been cooperating with us for some time. Now tell me, why do you think Boswell Harrington wants to do you harm?”

  Stone raised his hand. “I’m not sure. Why would he be interested in my trip to Cuers? Maybe the other night he saw Margaux and me follow him from the restaurant. Maybe, he thinks I’m involved with—”

  Colmont moved forward. “Maybe, Cherchez la femme? The beautiful contessa, he is jealous of?”

  Margaux arched her left eyebrow.

  “I have no idea why he would be jealous,” Stone said quickly.

  Colmont and Margaux looked at each other as if they were interviewing a reluctant witness. Margaux’s change in demeanor especially intrigued Stone. A bit fussy, he concluded.

  “Monsieur Boswell Harrington has been of interest to us for some time,” Colmont said quickly. “He has been involved in drug smuggling, a minor role in the past, but a lucrative one for him. He is now working with Abdul Wahab and those Saudis whom we met at the contessa’s party.”

  Margaux added, “Monsieur Colmont told me it was one of Wahab’s men who tried to shoot you after the consul general’s party.”

  “Harrington knows you have his two boys in custody. He must be very nervous.”

  “As I said, we will watch him.” Colmont rose. “Sorry, I must depart. I must return to Nice and confer with Colonel Frederick.”

  “Does Frederick know about last night?”

  “Yes. I briefed him early this morning. This Harrington business has Frederick puzzled.” Colmont started toward the door. “He expects to see you in Nice tomorrow, so I will leave Margaux here to nurse you back to health. Tough boss, this Frederick.” Colmont waved goodbye to Margaux, pointed to Stone’s nose, and laughed.

  After noon, Margaux drove Stone back to the Foundation in her Citroen. She appeared to enjoy the role of nursemaid. They entered his cottage and she shook her head at the disarray before her. Upended chairs and tables lay on the floor. She began setting the furniture back in place, standing back now and then to inspect her work, then rearranging a chair or table she apparently thought not just right. Satisfied, she went into the kitchen and fussed about the bloodstains on the counter.

  “I’ll get a cleaning crew in here to handle that,” Stone said. “Come over and sit down.”

  She came into the sitting area and sat next to him. They talked awhile until he stifled a yawn.

  She stood next to him and patted his arm. “I will return with some dinner.”

  The light jazz on the radio relaxed him and he closed his eyes. Good to take it easy, for tomorrow, Frederick would have him on the run.

  Stone awoke to a knocking on the front door. Opening it, he found David standing on the step holding a bottle of chilled white wine, staring at him.

  “Something wrong?” Stone asked.

  David entered the cottage. “Hope your nose grows back.” He retrieved a corkscrew from the kitchen, handed a glass to Stone, and poured the wine. “The word around the Foundation is that you foiled a robbery.”

  “It wasn’t a robbery.”

  David sipped the wine. “Hmm. Not bad wine.” He studied Stone. “Of course not. Harrington paid you a visit.”

  “Two of his goons tried to kill me.” Stone studied his reaction. One could talk with David for an hour before realizing he had a light-colored moustache. It was debatable whether its absence would change the appearance of his face.

  David set his jaw. “Mauling people seems to be a pastime around here.”

  Stone let a few seconds pass then asked, “What’s Harrington up to today?”

  David swirled the wine in his glass. “The Harringtons appear to be packing for a long trip.”

  “Is he cleaning out his office?” Stone asked.

  “Not yet. His wife has him packing dishes.”

  “I think it would be interesting if we got a look in his office, especially his desk,” Stone said.

  David’s eyes widened.

  “What are our chances of getting in there?”

  “Find yourself another accomplice,” David said. “Harrington plays too rough.”

  Margaux came through the door carrying a wicker basket. She invited David to stay for dinner, but he declined. Stone walked David to the door and said, “Keep me informed about Harrington, and thanks for the wine.”

  David nodded, then left.

  The boxed dinner from Margaux’s family’s restaurant consisted of an assortment of roasted meats, vegetables, and potatoes. Unfortunately, Stone’s broken nose, along with the medication, muted his sense of taste. The cold white wine refreshed his tongue, but again, no flavor.

  “Does my voice sound different?” he asked. “I mean with the bandage on my nose?”

  “Yes. You sound like a sirène de brume.” She had changed into a light cotton skirt and a pink polo shirt.

  “I sound like a fog horn?”

  “Yes.”

  He laughed. “The Harringtons appear to be planning a departure.”

  “Colmont is watching them,” she said.

  They sat at the kitchen table and leisurely ate.

  “So you work for Colmont? Are you an officer in the service?”

  She looked at him. “I am not like you, a professional.” She paused. “Colmont attended a family wedding two years ago. My mother and his mother are cousins. He asked my father if I could work for him. My father said no, but I said yes. Colmont has been suspicious of Harrington since your American friend, Herb Walker, died in Cuers two years ago. He thinks he had something to do with his death.”

  “It seems there’s a lot more to Herb’s death than I knew.” Stone put down his fork and dunked a piece of bread in the dark gravy. “When did you find out what I did for a living?”

  She hesitated. “I told Colmont about the shell casing I found in your car when we drove to Cuers. He told me then about you.” She waved her fork. “I sort of suspected all along. I never see you writing.”

  “So Colmont told you. Why did you get so angry? You know, when we were following Harrington the other night?”

  “Because Harrington was about to see us, spot us.” She speared a slice of potato. “All because you wanted to hear what the contessa and Harrington were up to.” She shook her head. “You are a very curious man. Maybe you are the jealous one.”

  He would change the subject before an argument ensued. Harrington’s interest in their trip to Cuers now made sense if Herb had been investigating Harrington. Stone was about to ask Margaux whether she knew any more about Herb Walker’s death when she blurted, “How long have you known the contessa?”

  “I knew her when both of us were very young. I was in the Navy, assigned to the consulate in Nice.”

  “You say you were young. How old were you?”

  “Twenty something.”

  “And she was how old?” Margaux looked him in the eye.

  “Oh, something like eighteen.”

  “Ha. So that is it.” She began poking at her food, then pointed her fork at him. “You w
ere her first love and you abandoned her.”

  “What?”

  “It explains everything.” Her head tilted. “You deserved what you got.”

  “My broken nose?”

  She threw the fork down to her plate and looked up at the ceiling. “No. You abandoned the contessa. Now years later, your wife abandoned you.” She raised her hands. “See? It all works out.”

  Stone stared at her. She apparently had arrived at the conclusion that part of the world had just been rebalanced. It was best to say nothing.

  After dinner, while sitting close on the couch, she told him he looked tired and that he should go to bed. He stared at her until she flushed.

  “You’re right. It’s been a long day,” he said. “Thank you for helping me.”

  The house phone rang. Usually, the calls he received were from the Foundation front office or from David. However, his two children also had the number.

  Margaux snatched the handset before Stone could. “Hello?” When she heard the voice on the other end she straightened up and looked wide-eyed at Stone.

  In French, she said, “Yes, this is the cottage of Mr. Stone. My name is Margaux.” She hurried over to him. “I will pass you on to Mr. Stone.” She paused while she tried to detach herself from the caller, then said, “Yes. He has returned from the hospital. Here he is.” She handed the phone to him, and with her hand over the mouthpiece, mouthed the words, “The contessa.”

  “Hello, Lucinda. Thanks for calling. How on earth did you hear about my being in the hospital?”

  “Is that really you, Hayden?” Lucinda asked. “Your voice sounds funny.”

  “My nose is broken. I have a big bandage on it.”

  “I talked with Harrington,” she said. “He said he saw you in the hospital and his fetching assistant, Margaux, was attending to you.”

  Stone mulled over Lucinda’s words. “Strange, that he called to tell you.”

  “I called him. There were some details about the palace lease and I couldn’t get hold of that man, Abdul Wahab.” She paused. “Are you seriously injured?”