by John Gubert
I needed to get out of the hospital. I needed to get away from the police. But it was not going to be easy. I did not know how good I would be on my feet. My head still felt bad. I was not in a state to move fast. That meant I needed transport and also a disguise.
I opened my eyes again and met those of one of the policemen. He got up and called to someone outside the door. Police outside the room as well. That was a bad sign.
A doctor came in and looked at me. He called a nurse. They took my pulse and looked into my eyes. There was no sign of sympathy. There was no sign of friendship. This did not look good.
I groaned as they touched me. I worked out that it was better to make out I felt bad. That would make them relax. And that could give me my opportunity to escape. Or perhaps get a message to the outside world.
They left me and I heard the doctor say, “He is not up to being questioned. Perhaps he will be better tomorrow. But he is not hurt badly. How he hasn’t broken anything I do not know. He is badly bruised and shaken. That’s all really. In a few days he will be all right. Then in a few weeks the bruising will go.”
The police stayed with me through the night. I realised I needed to act quickly. I would have to try to escape. I had no alternative.
I woke up later and saw that just one policeman was there. He was dozing in the chair. I wondered if the other had gone for good or just for a few minutes. I was never going to know and needed to act quickly. I quietly lifted myself upright. The policeman dozed on.
I swung my feet out of the bed. I was on his side. There was no evident weapon. Then I saw his truncheon lying on the floor beside him. And next to his truncheon was his service revolver. He must have put them there to make himself more comfortable.
I carefully picked up the holster with the revolver and drew it from its pouch. I checked the safety catch was on. I took it by the barrel and lifted it through the air with all the force I could muster. He started just before the heavy weapon crashed into his skull. I caught him as he fell. I had no interest in letting him fall noisily to the ground. I saw my clothes were actually in the room and pulled them on, torn and filthy as they were. They were better than the hospital robe.
The policeman was groaning. He was gradually coming round. I grabbed a sheet and tied one end around his legs, pulling them up behind him. I then tied him up with the rest of the sheet. He looked like a trussed chicken. He would find it hard to move. I lifted my arm high and smashed him over the head again. I had to be sure that he did not raise the alarm until I had made my escape.
I hoped that I had only given him a headache. I knew that I could have done more than that. There is no way to be gentle in situations like that.
I tucked his gun in my trousers and went to the window. I was several floors up but there was a fire escape to my left. There was a narrow ledge that led to a few feet of it. I shut the window behind me. I eased my way along the ledge and then launched myself at the fire escape. I made it without much difficulty. I ran down. I saw a door. It was open. I slipped inside. To my left was a room marked ‘store’. I tried the door. It was open. I hurriedly entered the room and prepared for a long wait.
I was exhausted and needed to rest before making good my escape. I had to work out how. I then saw the phone on the wall. I now knew what I had to do.
I looked around the storeroom. At the rear was a laundry basket on wheels. I took some sheets from a shelf and placed them over the basket. If disturbed, that is where I would need to hide. The folded sheets gave the impression that there was basket full of sheets waiting to be placed on the racks. I would be underneath them, with a gun if necessary. I then looked at the door. I placed a chair against the handle. That would give me a warning and time to hide if needed.
I went to the phone. I knew the number by heart. I thought, though, that I would never need to dial it. I did not recognise the voice that answered.
“I need to speak to Mr Di Maglio. Say it’s Charles De Roche. Jacqui is in danger.”
Di Maglio came to the phone. “We got ambushed. Read the papers. It was in the Rue de la Paix in Paris. I almost got them. I am in a hospital. The police are looking for me. I just clubbed my guard and got out. But I am still hiding inside the hospital. I need to get out. Can you help me? We can then put the pieces together and find Jacqui.”
“Where are you inside the hospital?”
I looked at the phone. It read, ‘Storeroom. South Wing. Eighth floor,’ I told him.
He was brief. “Stay where you are. We’ll get the address by tracing the number. My man will knock on the door. He’ll knock twice. One long gap between knocks. So don’t blast his head off.”
The phone went dead. I pulled the chair away from the door and climbed into the laundry basket. I pulled the sheets into place and waited.
I guessed it would not be long before one of Di Maglio’s men came. They would be able to find the hospital easily.
I waited a couple of hours. I resisted my urge to go back to sleep. There was a knock on the door. Then there was a pause. Then came another knock. I drew out my gun. The door opened and then shut quickly. There were two of them.
One called hoarsely, “De Roche.”
I answered, “Here.” I climbed out of the basket. I trailed my arm with the gun until I checked them out. I then put the gun into my trouser band and pulled my sweater over it.
“You look in bad shape,” said one of them. “We’ve got to get you out. He handed me a long white raincoat. “That’ll do for a start.”
He produced a bandage and worked it round my head and under my chin. They sprayed my cheeks with a white spray. They looked at me critically.
“You’ll do. In case we meet anybody. We got a wheelchair outside. You’ll sit in it and we wheel you to the car. If we have to split, run with us. If you can’t make it we’ll dump you.”
I nodded. They checked outside and beckoned me to come. They called the lift. They had a key that allowed them to override the controls and we headed straight down into a basement garage. They walked me over to a car parked close to the lift.
“You go in the boot.” I was pushed roughly inside and they shut it. I felt claustrophobic but killed the sense of panic. This was better than the alternative. The car pulled off. It stopped. I heard voices and it moved on. It gathered speed.
It stopped in a side street. The boot opened and they helped me out. They steered me into the back seat without a word. And then they drove off again.
“Where are your papers? Where were you staying?”
I told them and they gave instructions over a mobile phone. “One of our people will pick up your stuff and also Miss Di Maglio’s. We’ll sort out the bill. If you were as discreet as you said, your sudden departure will raise no suspicions. We’ll spin some story and the people we’ll use will be known to them,” I was told.
They then drove off the motorway and headed to a medical centre. There, outside, stood an ambulance. I was helped into the back and they pulled on uniforms. Both were dressed as paramedics.
“The place is owned by one of Mr Di Maglio’s companies. We find it useful to have medical facilities where we can depend on their discretion,” explained one of my rescuers.
“Has Di Maglio heard anything from the guys who grabbed Jacqui?”
“Not that he’s told us,” came the laconic response.
And with that they instructed me to strip and don a hospital robe. I lay on a stretcher. They attached a drip.
“It’s just a solution with glucose in it. It’ll do you good and makes everything look more authentic if we’re stopped. You’re a car accident victim returning home.”
We then headed back to the motorway and made our way to Orly.
We waited outside the airport until a dark limousine drew up alongside. It delivered our cases and also our papers. One of the men turned to me.
“Are you sure that the Rossi name that you are using is not known to the police? Is there any way that they could have matched you wit
h it?”
We have only been using it for a couple of months. It was organised by Di Maglio’s man in San Francisco. It’s clean. It has been used in the States to get cards and guns. Then we used it in Hong Kong for business. And finally to get into France. We’ve had no problems with the authorities in that name.”
“Have you had problems with them in France at all?” asked one of the men.
“In Cannes, we were involved in a shoot out with some Russians. I think the head of the special branch there suspected something was fishy about our stories. But he let us go. I don’t think he took our fingerprints. If he did, it was without our knowledge. We were using another name then.”
He nodded. “And you are certain that the police will not have your details as a result of the crash?”
“We were attacked as we were walking down the road. Jacqui had my wallet in her bag. Otherwise everything was in the hotel. I had nothing with my name on it. I don’t know if they traced one of the guns to me. It was supplied by one of your people here. Jacqui arranged it.”
He shrugged his shoulders. “Our people would send them on a wild goose chase. They never reveal the true identity of their customers without our permission.”
I asked if the kidnappers could have sent the police any papers. He shook his head. “We don’t know yet what they want. We can guess though that they are going to want to trade Miss Di Maglio for something. We’ll see. They are hardly going to want to help the police. Anything they have they’ll try to use for whatever their purpose is.”
They then got into the front of the ambulance again and we drove straight to Orly to an area where an air ambulance waited. In the end the police and customs were cursory in their examination of the vehicle. They were used to such events. In any case, even if they had a description, they would never have recognised the ashen faced and bandaged body as belonging to me.
When we landed at Geneva, the approach was even more relaxed and I was soon speeding out of the city on country roads. Wherever Di Maglio was going to hold me, it looked as if it would be well away from the centre of the city. Beyond that I could not tell.
We pulled up and then started moving again. This time our speed was much reduced and we went over several humps in the road. We drew to a halt.
One of my captors came into the rear of the vehicle and unfastened the drip. “No need to change. We’ll wheel you in and then get you tidied up. Mr Di Maglio will see you in an hour.”
Inside, a man who was evidently a doctor examined me. He shook his head over my bruises and expressed amazement that I had not broken any bones. A nurse cleaned up my face and carefully cleaned out my cuts. They put various creams on my face.
They explained, “These will sting. But they will accelerate the healing. You need to get the bruising down or it will affect your breathing. And it will stop any infection.”
I was led to a bathroom. A hot bath was already waiting. The nurse helped me out of my robe. She held me as I stepped into the bath and then sank gratefully into the warm water.
“I can help you wash if you want,” she said with a mischievous grin.
I shook my head. “I wouldn’t want to put you to too much trouble. I guess I need a period of rest and calm. I’ll need to avoid too much excitement. It’s better that I do it myself. But thanks for the offer.”
Once bathed, I stepped into the clothes that I had been left. There was a tracksuit and also some sneakers. The nurse was waiting as I came through the door.
“We’ll get you some proper clothes tomorrow. We were not sure of your size so we had to get the tracksuit. We knew you were tall and needed a large size. Let me dry your hair so that you look less dishevelled. Don’t shave for a couple of weeks until your face is healed.”
I was soon deemed suitably prepared to meet Di Maglio. I was nervous at the thought of meeting Jacqui’s father. It would be the first time since our fracas in Cannes. I was unsure what sort of reaction I could expect. In the end though, I was unconcerned. My objective was to get Jacqui back safe and sound.
Di Maglio came to me as I entered the room. I was walking stiffly. My back ached and so did my ribs. My head at least was no longer throbbing whenever I moved any part of my body. I also felt quite weak. I suspect that I had not eaten for a couple of days.
“We have a problem,” he said. “We need to find Jacqui. We forget what happened before. I won’t promise you anything I can’t deliver. So I am not going to promise that I won’t do it again. I know what you have done. You’ve killed my people. You saved my brother. And you mean something to Jacqui. You also piss me off. But we need you to help us find Jacqui. And, if you were fit, I wouldn’t mind you on our side. You’re good.”
“I just want Jacqui safe. Once that’s done we can go our separate ways. I don’t care for your methods. But I have no scruples in this case. We get Jacqui back. And we get her back safely.”
“All right,” he said. “Let’s eat some food and discuss what happened. We’ll see if that gives us some clues.” He was furrowing his brow. His eyes were anxious. He was really worried. And that worried me.
Aldo walked into the room. He came up to me and then surprised me.” He put his arms round my shoulders and kissed me on both cheeks. “I’ll work with you. We’ll get Jacqui back. You are a good boy. I owe you my life. Until I repay you, I am ready to do all you ask. I am a blood brother. There is only one condition. You never ask me to harm the family.”
I smiled in agreement. We went to a table. There were four chairs. Giovanni, Di Maglio’s adviser whom I had met earlier, was also there.
“Take your broth. It is good for you. We have arranged special food to build you up again. First of all though, describe the kidnapping.”
“I think they were Russians. They could have been some other Slavonic race, but I doubt it. It sounded Russian to me. I recognised a couple of words. Simple ones like ‘nyet’. But they definitely spoke with a guttural accent. And they knew who Jacqui was and where she would be. We were being followed. Now nobody knew we were in Paris other than my parents.
We only booked the day of our departure. Jacqui did, though, use the Di Maglio passport. Therefore, she could have been recognised at Hong Kong or Roissy airports.
We booked into the hotel in my name. They did not ask for Jacqui’s details. My guess is that they identified us at the airport. The only other alternative is that we were recognised by chance. But that is so unlikely that I would discount it. We were pretty low key in our approach.”
“Rastinov,” said Aldo. “It has to be him. All the others would use locals. They alone would use Russians. And it was by brute force. It happened in a stupid place. They loosed off their weapons in a crowded street. That’s a crazy approach. It has to be them.”
Giovanni nodded, “They have people at Roissy. They would have identified you there. They would have checked the computer to see who was ahead and behind Jacqui at passport control and then traced the names through the major hotels. It’s so easy when you know how.”
“But why has nobody made contact yet?” I asked. “It’s almost two days.”
“They would wait at least a week to get us really worried. Then we’ll get a message. They may even send a picture or something to make us scared for her safety. The question is what is their game plan?” asked Di Maglio.
Giovanni considered the question. “Jacqui is high stakes. It must be something big. It has to be one of your franchises. I would guess the drugs.”
Aldo nodded. “They are trying to corner the market. With our distribution power, they can make a fortune.”
I asked, “Then why don’t you give them the drug empire?”
They looked at me with incredulity. “Because it makes a fucking fortune.”
I turned to Di Maglio. “Trade it and you get Jacqui back. As a daughter as well as out of danger.”
“Just stop trying to be smart,” he warned with a scowl. “We’ll do this our way and, if you don’t like that, you needn’t be p
art of it.”
I allowed them to continue their conversation, but I was thinking through the options carefully. We could find where they were hiding and try to rescue Jacqui. The chances of that were slim. We could trade in whatever they wanted for Jacqui. The risk was that they would double cross us. So we needed to make sure that we covered that angle.
Then a brilliant idea struck me. It would satisfy Di Maglio and get Jacqui back. We could deliver them what they wanted, get Jacqui and then strike back. We would get back what they had taken by destroying them altogether.
I turned to Di Maglio and explained my options. He nodded. “But how do we get her back?”
“We split up into two teams. The first team delivers Jacqui and the assignment of your agreements with your distributors. The second kills them once you are clear and gets the list back.”
He smiled grimly, “And then we will get outright gang warfare. That would not worry me. But we cannot do it for it is dishonourable. And if we lose our honour, nobody will trust us. No my friend, there is only one way out of this. We fight or we surrender. And I will never surrender. So we fight.”
“But won’t that put Jacqui at risk?”
“Yes. But she is in danger anyway. If we give them what they want, then she is at risk if we renege on the deal. If we fight them she is at risk. And, as you say, she is at risk if we do as they want. They are mindless. They are not men of honour. No, it is inevitable. There will be war until they surrender.”
“Surely, in that case the lowest risk strategy is to exchange Jacqui and then fight them. There is a risk but the odds must be good.”