Roche ordered some coffee and some croissants. As I ate he talked.
“Ethan Connelly is a dangerous man. I’m not quick to label anyone as dangerous, as, in our business, it is as common as wearing a shirt. By dangerous I mean that he is ruthless and obsessive. His empire, if you wish to call it such, stretches further than most and no one really knows the extent of his reach. He is enormously powerful and extremely wealthy.”
He stopped while a girl with long dark hair came to collect some plates from the table next to us. When she left he continued, “There are rumours about his ruthlessness that have turned almost into legend. One of which I know is true. He had a wife, Cheryl, and a child. A small boy named Sebastian. A Russian mafia gang, tired of his influence, decided to launch an attack. They managed to kidnap Sebastian from his school and used the boy to threaten Ethan and make demands on him and his empire.”
“That doesn’t sound like a good idea,” I said.
“Ethan put out a contract to find his son worth ten million euros and, when he was located, he hired more firepower than a small nation to launch an attack and infiltrate the Russian family’s headquarters.”
I’d stopped eating, intently listening to his story.
“The kidnappers had been subdued and held at gunpoint and his son released. When Ethan arrived at the building where he was being held he walked into the middle of them, said nothing, pulled out a Glock and shot his own son in the head. Then he walked out and ordered the captors to be released.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Words failed me on his shooting his own son. Instead I said, “He shot his own son and let them go?”
“So that the word would spread; at that point the world knew that he was untouchable. Despite this, he blamed them for the death of his son, although they had no intention of harming him, and took revenge. He had all of the Russian family killed, starting with the youngest child. Not just the immediate family but anyone in the extended family and included by marriage. Parents and grandparents watched their children and grandchildren die, and then grandparents watched their children die, finally to die themselves. It is rumoured that over 150 people were killed. His wife never recovered and about a year ago she took her own life by jumping off the roof of his building.”
“Why did he shoot his son?”
“His son made him potentially vulnerable and by shooting his son he told the world that he had no limits and nothing can be used to put any pressure on him. Like I said, a dangerous man.”
I was stunned. I’d heard of ruthless people and I’ve seen some terrible things but I couldn’t rationalise the mentality behind someone who would kill their own child for a strategic advantage.
“What does he want with me?” I asked.
“If we knew that then I think we could have resolved this some time ago. You’re sure that you have no knowledge of meeting this man before or of anything unusual happening within the past year?”
“I can’t think of anything.”
Jeremiah sat back and rubbed his eyes. “He hasn’t killed you, which makes things harder.”
“Depends on your point of view,” I said.
“I mean, it makes it harder to understand. If he’s not killed you then he clearly has a message to send, and the fact that people have been killed means that he is intent on that message getting through. Whatever you were part of to start with, it’s not finished. We need to find out why you’re involved and what the message is to you. Only by doing that can we hope to sort this out.”
“But what’s that got to do with Claudia?”
“Claudia is a friend, right?”
“Yes, we used to talk and she used to give me drinks and somewhere to sit and chat when it was cold outside.”
“Ethan clearly thought that kidnapping Claudia and making it national news would be almost the same as putting out an advert in the paper; which I guess he did.”
“It got my attention.”
“Indeed. When Ethan destroyed the club and killed the employees it naturally angered a lot of people, some of whom blame you. They think that possibly you’re working with Ethan. Ethan, on the other hand, is still interested in you, which kind of puts you in the middle.
“But I’m nobody!”
“Do you have any idea how hard it is to remain off radar? People spend huge amounts of money to stay off government records and yet you seem to have managed it quite nicely, despite your obvious… disadvantages. You stand up as either a criminal mastermind or a half-brained homeless kid. It turns out to be the latter.”
“Thanks.”
“The people who hired me are very keen on finding Ethan.”
“Isn’t that stupid?”
“My employers are very powerful and, no matter what the cost, they cannot allow it to go on, no matter what happens. It’s a matter of respect and national security, which in reality boils down to them keeping a hold of their assets. If word gets out that they had an important location compromised and they did nothing to correct the situation then everyone would see it as an open house.”
“What will happen to me?”
Roche regarded me for a few seconds and said, “I have no idea. Pray we find Claudia.”
“But…” I started but Roche threw up a hand.
“Wait,” he said.
He stood up and moved to the wall, scanning the winding road that we’d driven on to reach the top. I stood up to join him. Following his line of sight I saw a car, an off-road truck, stopped at the side of the road about a mile down the track, half a mile as the crow flies.
From inside his jacket he pulled a short telescope and used it to scan the area. I watched, bemused.
Suddenly, Roche grabbed the back of my shirt and yanked me backwards. I fell, throttled, backwards against the table we’d been sitting at moments before and painfully hit the floor just as glasses on the tables around me started to shatter.
I had no idea what was going on. Windows smashed and objects flew from tables. I heard muffled thuds as if things were hitting the wall and suddenly realised we were being fired at.
The waitress who had cleared the table next to us screamed and ran for the steps but was caught in the fire. Bullets ripped through her, shredding her clothes as blood and stuff burst out of her front and all over the steps. A shot went through her head and fragments of her skull exploded across the cobbles. She fell to the ground, dead.
Other people were diving for cover; some were shot as they tried to run, others as they crouched behind insubstantial objects like tables.
I was in full panic mode. I was hyperventilating and shaking uncontrollably. Roche grabbed me by both shoulders and shook me. “Listen, you need to do exactly what I say.”
I couldn’t focus, and continued to stare at the ground, shaking.
Roche grabbed the back of my head by my hair and dragged my head upwards so that I was staring directly into his face.
“Listen and do what I say. Understand?”
I nodded.
“When I say ‘now’, run behind me, follow my every move and keep as low as you can.”
Before I could respond he was off.
I crouched after him, trying to keep up, my legs like jelly. We got up the steps in one piece and made it into the main village. Roche grabbed the strap of my backpack and drove me through the crowds, who were starting to panic and run in all directions.
We ran back down the lane and headed for the car. However, instead of getting into the car, we ran past, around a corner and into a field. People in the field, disturbed from their picnics and dog-walking, were beginning to catch on that something was wrong.
Some of them were running towards the village and others were collecting their families and heading in the opposite direction. No one paid us any mind.
I heard a sound getting loude
r and then realised that it was a helicopter. Roche heard it as well and changed direction at ninety degrees. We were heading across the field away from the road.
As we ran he shouted at me, “Use the cables to follow me. Right for right, left for left, up for faster, down for slower. Got it?”
“What? What cables? I don’t know what you are on about!” I yelled. I had no idea what he was talking about.
“Then learn. Quickly.”
With that we ran faster and I then noticed that we were running towards a cliff edge. I tried to slow myself up but Roche had anticipated my hesitation and pushed me forward harder.
As we got closer to the edge he shoved his hand through the strap of my backpack and into one of the metal loops.
We reached the edge of the cliff and he grabbed me and threw us both off.
We fell.
I was terrified. I felt Roche put a knee into my chest and push me away from him as we fell. As he did so he pulled the metal ring on my backpack. I felt my backpack being dragged upwards and I started to slow down. I looked up and I could see a billowing shape appear above me. A parachute. It folded and billowed for a second or two before mushrooming out into a rectangular shape.
Hanging in front of me and slightly to the sides were two cables with D-shaped handles. I grabbed them. Right for right, left for left, up for fast, down for slow. It made a bit more sense now. I looked around me and below I could see a black rectangle shape the same as the canopy above me. Roche.
I tried the handles. It was very disconcerting. As I pulled the right one my legs went left and I felt like I was going to tip onto my side. I tried the other one more gently and began to get to grips with what was happening. I tried to follow Roche.
It was hard. I kept turning too much one way and then the other. In addition to that, he was much lower than me, so every time I turned I lost sight of him and had to turn more to catch sight of him again.
I decided that I needed to get closer. Up for fast? I pushed both cables up and I felt myself falling faster. I started panicking and pulled hard on the cables to slow down. Again the pack tugged hard on my back as I slowed down.
Feeling a little braver and trusting more in the system I pushed them up again and fell faster.
I left it slightly longer this time before pulling back. When I slowed down again I turned myself around and saw that I was only about a hundred metres from Roche. At this distance he was easier to see and I found it easier to follow him. We drifted down towards a field, still some way beneath us and I started to relax a little until I heard the noise of the helicopter again. I tried to turn to see what it was but it must have been behind me as I could only hear it.
Then, gunfire. I heard high-pitched whizzing noises as bullets flew close by and a jerk as some of them clearly hit the canopy.
Fortunately, we were falling faster than the pilot was willing or able to do and he went over my head. The downdraft of the rotors disturbed the canopy and for a couple of frightening seconds I fell fast before it opened out again and slowed me down.
I was concentrating so much on what was going on with the helicopter that I’d lost track of Roche and, for that matter, the ground.
When I turned to look I saw the field and it was extremely close. Instinctively I tried to pull myself up to avoid hitting the ground, which might sound stupid, but by doing so I tugged on the cables which slowed me down. I hit the ground on my backside, rolled onto my side and started to get dragged along the field by the wind in my chute.
Roche, already landed and out of his gear, caught hold of me and pulled a couple of quick release latches and my pack fell away, blowing towards some trees.
“Get up!” he yelled.
I fought to get on my feet and he dragged me across the field. I could hear the helicopter getting louder again, which spurred me on to run faster. Ahead of us were some trees which I thought we’d make a break for but Roche pulled me to the side and we headed for a small stone building.
We weren’t going to make it.
The helicopter was getting closer very, very quickly and I kept stumbling on the uneven field. The grass was long and was catching my feet as I ran. Each time I slipped Roche would yank me back up and shout something in French, which I was glad that I couldn’t understand.
Machine-gun fire and clods of mud and grass flew up around me, some of it hitting me in the face. I heard a loud, angry buzz as a bullet flew past my head, the air hot. Fortunately there were some overhead lines and the helicopter pilot circled around to avoid them.
We kept on going. Running and stumbling, we finally made it to the stone building and Roche threw himself at the rotting wooden door. The old rusty catch burst apart and we fell inside.
Once inside he shoved the door closed and wedged a plank of wood against it.
I wasn’t sure what to expect inside but what I wasn’t expecting was what looked like a small aircraft covered in tarps.
Next to the machine was a black chest. Roche opened it and started to remove items wrapped in black cloth.
When he unwound the cloth I saw that it was covering a gun. I’m not good with guns and have no idea what type it was but it was clearly a big one. He did some basic assembly and loaded a magazine into the bottom. The bullets looked huge, much bigger than I was expecting.
Next he climbed a ladder leading up to a mezzanine level in the barn. Not knowing what to do, I followed.
When we got to the mezzanine, he shuffled along to a small window and kicked it open. Ahead of us, the helicopter was making circles, possibly looking for somewhere to land.
Roche lay down, leaning the gun on his arm and cocked it. The helicopter, either deciding to change tactics and come directly at us or maybe the pilot had seen us at the window, started coming towards us. I could clearly see the machine guns on the front pointing in our direction.
Roche was calm, looking down the telescopic sight of the gun. Carefully aiming it through the window he pulled the trigger.
A load crack.
At first I thought he’d missed his target as nothing happened. Then, I noticed that the helicopter was starting to spin. I’m guessing that he’d hit the pilot as it seemed to be getting out of control.
Through the side door I could see some people holding on and yelling but the spin was getting worse and they could do nothing but hold on. Next the helicopter started to list to the side. It wasn’t far from the ground and as it turned over the edge of the rotors hit the ground. The rest happened very quickly.
Caught by the stuck rotors, the helicopter flipped on its axis and span quicker. As fragments of rotor blade flew in all directions the helicopter flipped onto its back and landed on the ground.
Everything went silent.
I went to stand up but Roche said, “Wait.”
We waited. For a couple of minutes nothing happened and then we saw movement to the side of the helicopter. Some of the men inside had survived the fall and were trying to get out.
Roche waited for them to clear the helicopter and, when they were checking their wounds, he put a single shot into two of them. Seeing what happened to the first two, the third started to run. Roche took careful aim and fired. A cloud of pink mist burst from the third guy’s head and he fell to the ground.
“We’d get nothing out of them,” he said.
They all lay still on the ground.
“What now?” I asked.
Roche said nothing but lay still, watching the hills.
He laid the rifle down and unscrewed the telescopic sight and slid it off its mount. Lying on the ground, he used the sight to scan the hills.
“They will have seen the incident and will be waiting for us to emerge from the building,” he said. “I can’t see anyone but they could be hidden in the rocks. Come on.”
He got up and
I followed him down the ladder to the ground.
“We need to get out of here.”
I looked at the small aircraft under its cover. “In this?”
Roche looked at me and raised an eyebrow. “This was here when I arrived. You’ve been watching too much TV. Our exit will be less glamorous.”
He led me to the side of the barn and started kicking straw to the side to reveal a wooden trap door in the floor.
“Help me lift this,” he said. We both heaved on the heavy wooden door and it lifted up so that it leaned away from the hole below and against the side wall.
A dry, musty smell rose up from below. Roche retrieved a head torch and another handheld torch from the chest. He handed me the torch and put the head torch on himself and turned it on.
Inside the hole was a ladder leading down. He started climbing and disappeared into the darkness. I waited a few seconds and then followed.
About three metres down I stepped onto an uneven floor and looked around. We were in a tunnel about two metres wide. We were clearly at one end and as I shined the torch along the tunnel I could see that it disappeared off into the distance.
Roche started off along the tunnel, the beam of his head torch lighting up areas of the walls and floor. I followed close behind.
As we made our way along the tunnel Roche said, “During the Second World War the French were invaded and occupied by the Germans. The Nazis were removing all of the valuable art from France and shipping it back to Germany and Switzerland. This region of France and the surrounding areas were highly regarded for their wine and, scared that their legacy would be stolen, the locals concocted elaborate plans to protect the wine. Some of it was sealed up in caves and some of it was moved to secure locations. This tunnel was dug to allow them to move the wine from storage into secure areas and to allow them to escape if they thought they were at risk of it being stolen.”
“Where does it go?”
“Not far but far enough for us to be out of sight from the hills and in a place they’re not watching.”
We walked on for about five minutes until we reached the other end of the tunnel. A similar ladder led up to a wooden door, which was already standing open.
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