by John Gubert
They headed for the motorway. “We need to lose the BMW. Soon we’ll have to dump this car. It’s too dangerous to take it far. The police will be searching for it.”
“Stop here.” Moments later she had pulled in on a bend. They both got out. He crossed the road and hid behind a bush. She did the same.
“Fire at the wheels,” she called. “I’ll try the occupants.”
They waited for a few moments and heard the roar of the BMW as it ploughed round the corner towards them. They opened fire together and the blast took the car and its occupants by surprise. The tyres ripped to shreds and they heard the ear-shattering scream of metal on tarmac. The windscreen seemed to implode and the men in the car screamed before the bullets ended their terror. The car veered off the road into the scrubland and, suddenly, all was ominously quiet.
They made their way carefully towards the car. It was wrecked. Three men were dead. There was no need to linger and they headed back to the sports car and drove on. There was going to be no further pursuit..
Charles took some wipes and cleaned the black camouflage from his face and hands. He took off his shirt, and turning it inside out, completed the task. He looked into the mirror. His face was cut just above the eye. He felt the cut. There seemed to be no signs of a splinter. The bleeding had stopped but there was still blood on his shirt.
He looked over at Maria. Her face was tense. Her lips were pursed as she pushed the car to the limit. Her face and hands were still black from the camouflage but otherwise she seemed unmarked. She would be able to provide cover for the two things they would need a change of clothes and transport.
She pulled in just off the motorway and they changed seats. She was cleaning up just as he had done as he drove them along the still empty motorway that Sunday morning.
She wiped her face carefully and then took off her shirt to remove the last vestiges of the black. She delved into her pocket and surprised him by bringing out a lipstick and carefully applying it. Then she produced some eye shadow and carefully, but lightly, made up her eyes. Turning the shirt back to its right side, she brushed it clean and pulled it back on.
She looked at the signposts. “Let’s get to Valence and then dump the car. We can get the train from there. I prefer that to hiring a car as long as one comes through soon after we get there.”
“Shouldn’t we go to ground somewhere? Dumping the car in Valence and getting on the train is dangerous. It’s a long journey to Paris. So let’s get a train for Paris but get out along the line. It’ll be safer. We can go to ground overnight. Then we get new clothes on Monday. We can hire a car and be back in London by evening. We need to warn Jacqui. We may have been recognised. We were definitely followed to the hotel.”
She agreed and they sped on, without hindrance, until they entered Valence. They left the car in a side street and walked to the station. It was just after eight. The church bells peeled and disturbed the peaceful calm of the provincial dawn. Picking up their earlier cover of two lovers on a romantic weekend, they made their way to the station and sought out the best options for their return home.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
They walked through the deserted streets of Valence and entered the empty station hall. There was no train for Paris but there was one for Lyon leaving in a few minutes time.
Maria said, “We go to Lyon and then cross to Geneva. I know we’ve a problem with Di Maglio but we need him now. We need to know how he knew that Rastinov was alive.”
Charles’ instinct told him that she was right. In any case they had no time to discuss the matter. He walked to the ticket office and took tickets for the Lyon train. Minutes later they were on the platform and then in a half empty compartment speeding away from the town.
The French countryside at that time of the year is far from enchanting. The craggy scenery and the despondent, empty vines looked back morosely as they journeyed through them.
They didn’t discuss the day’s events. They sat there quietly and hardly exchanged a word. They were out of sight of the other passengers except when they walked down the central corridor. Their aim was to blend into the background. They needed to be forgotten. They could not afford being remembered.
Late that morning they pulled into Lyon station. They let the other passengers disembark and then followed the stragglers. As always, these pulled their over heavy cases and were too preoccupied by the thought of the long and painful walk ahead of them to notice others in the small crowd.
Opposite the station, they walked down a narrow street and found one of those gloomy hotels that are based in such locations throughout the world. They asked for a room and booked it.
“We’ll be back later with our luggage. We left our stuff in the station.”
With that, they walked out and through the streets until they found a telephone. They called London and Jacqui answered. Charles spoke quickly and cautiously for he was conscious of the risk of being bugged.
“I don’t want to be traced. It could be dangerous. Rastinov has been killed. We’re on the run. We were close by when it happened and could be suspected. Don’t tell your father what we’ve told you. He doesn’t need to know. But we may need to get in touch with him. We may need to sort some things out. He could be the only one who can help. Unfortunate as that is, we’ll have to work with him if necessary. We’ll call you tomorrow.”
With that, Charles put down the phone. Jacqui would understand. They couldn’t risk anyone tracing them and, these days, modern equipment could do so in minutes. If she’d had problems, she would have alerted him. She would double the guard for, if they were on the run, it spelled danger. She knew they would only call Di Maglio if things were really grim. She also knew that she had to cover for Charles on Monday. If he planned to call her then, he wouldn’t be in the office
They walked through the streets and found a luggage shop. They each bought a bag. They found a supermarket and bought toiletries. They then found a shop and stocked up on clothes.
They wanted to get out of their black outfits and into something less sombre. Charles found a blue sweatshirt and Maria got herself a similar one. They picked up some sneakers. Maria even managed to find some jeans but Charles had no such luck.
Sunday was not the best time to go shopping.
They grabbed a coffee and loaded their purchases into their bags before heading back to the hotel.
The room was as grim as the outside. The wallpaper was dark and dirty. The bed was high and covered by a dark coverlet. It seemed clean enough but one couldn’t be sure.
Charles walked into the bathroom. The bath was stained. The basin was chipped. The bidet was uninviting. The toilet was cracked. The white tiles were greyish and only vaguely reflected the dim light from the ceiling bulb. There was a rotten smell of dank carpet and decaying wood mingling with the acrid reminder of the half-washed bodies of past occupants.
Feeling sickened, he went to the window and looked at the wall of another unimpressive building. He winced. She laughed.
“At least we’re not overlooked,” said Maria. “We can leave the blinds open all night. Mind you, I can’t think of anything else going for this place other than the fact that we won’t be traced.”
Charles sat down on the bed. “Maria, this all doesn’t make sense. Di Maglio said that Rastinov was alive. He was. Di Maglio alleged that Rastinov was behind the attacks. Yet, we know that Di Maglio was the cause himself. The evidence is overwhelming, and in cases like the kidnapping, absolute. We thought we killed Rastinov. I saw him dead myself all those years ago. I knew him. I recognised him. Then we had all the indications that Rastinov was dead. Turpin took control of the Russians. Their behaviour changed. I find it confusing.”
Maria sat next to him. “Let’s be logical. You saw a dead man years ago. He was Rastinov or he looked very like him. He could have been a double in effect. We know the Russians changed their behaviour those years ago but they had little choice. Their only alternative
was to continue a vendetta and be totally destroyed.
“Di Maglio played clever and left them with a role. They could have taken that with Rastinov at their head. The man was no genius but he wasn’t a total moron either. So he could have been alive. There was always a possibility that Turpin was just a front. Then we see Rastinov today. And those thoughts don’t stack up. He’s ill and in some sort of cell in a sanatorium. He’s isolated. Why?”
Charles took up her theme, “Let’s assume that the dead man was a double. Let’s assume that the real Rastinov did acquiesce to Di Maglio’s offer. If he was dying why was the sanatorium in an outhouse and why was he in a cell? And would that have started the Russians making a play for Di Maglio’s Empire?”
“It could be that he was trying to attack Di Maglio and had faced opposition. He was a prisoner. That was certain. The fact he was ill could have been incidental. But why would Di Maglio then pretend to be under attack from him?” Maria agreed. It didn’t make sense. They needed to see Di Maglio to check it out.
“What about the plan to sell off Di Maglio‘s business to the Russians?” she asked.
“We can’t do that now. It would be no use tackling them until we know who’s in charge. If Turpin has been in charge as a front for Rastinov, then he may not be now. On the other hand, he could be. Perhaps he overthrew Rastinov when he saw he was dying. But why do that? He would have waited for the inevitable.” Then a thought struck him. “It could mean that Rastinov was the boss and there was a palace revolution by opponents once they realised he was dying. That would mean that Turpin doesn’t run things but some new man.”
“Why would they chase us if they were waiting for Rastinov to die? That hardly makes sense.”
“Perhaps there is a group opposing Rastinov and a pro Rastinov group. Perhaps they didn’t know who we were but assumed we were part of the pro Rastinov group. Then the antis would have attacked us. They could have thought we were trying to free him. They came after us immediately. They may not have known he was dead.”
But they couldn’t be sure. Charles and Maria knew they were going round in circles. They failed to come up with a solution. There was definitely turmoil in the Russian camp. They needed Di Maglio to help sort it out. After all, he had business links with them despite the battles they were fighting. They had enough information he wouldn’t have to allow them to discover the truth.
“We’ll have to wait till tomorrow,” concluded Maria. “Should we hire a car and move out of here?”
“Better wait till tomorrow. But we should hire a car tonight and head out early. That way we can get to Geneva early and see Di Maglio in the morning. I have to get back to London by Tuesday. I need to concentrate on business there.”
Maria looked at her watch. She went over to the TV and switched it on. They got a French television station and waited for the news. Perhaps it would cover the events at the Pont du Gard. Perhaps it would help clarify things.
The bulletin started with the ominous words, “Four policemen were killed and three seriously wounded in a gun battle at the Pont du Gard in the early hours of the morning.”
Maria and Charles looked at each other in horror. The attackers had been police. Yet they had never identified themselves. They both went pale. The cameras went over to the hotel. The presenter gave the story.
“It appears that a couple who booked in yesterday were suspected by police to be part of a terrorist gang. The two, believed to be Iranian or Libyan, left the hotel in the early hours. The police trailed them but lost them. Then several hours later, they were seen returning to the hotel. They were armed and in combat gear. Police stormed their hotel room.
It was here that the first policeman was killed as an attempt to force the door was met with a hail of bullets from a sub machine gun. The couple escaped from the hotel as the police attempted to regroup, mainly by diverting attention through an explosion that totally destroyed their room.
There was a further gun battle, during which another policeman was seriously injured. After this, the terrorists fled in a stolen car. The car evaded a roadblock and later the terrorists, joined, it is believed, by accomplices, ambushed a pursuing car, killing all three occupants.
The car has not been found and the terrorists have disappeared. Police suspect they may have headed towards Marseilles and road blocks have been erected on all major roads around the area.”
There was then a sketch of them. Maria looked quite Arabic. They had her height wrong as well. Charles looked quite thuggish, with black hair rather than light brown, and again his height was wrong. He was described as heavy build. Unless the pictures were intentionally misleading, the images did not look at all like them.
“That explains the pursuit. It still doesn’t explain why Rastinov was being locked up,” said Maria.
The only realistic solution they could find was the one they had put forward before. There must have been a palace revolution in the Russian camp. Rastinov had been ill and he was sidelined. But they still needed Di Maglio, for they had to find out exactly what was happening.
“Let’s change plans,” Charles said. “Hiring a car is too dangerous, even if we used false papers in Nimes on the way down. We should take a train to Geneva. That will allow us to remain anonymous for a bit longer. We may get searched. I’m glad we left the guns in the car at Valence. At least they can’t be traced.”
The guns had been delivered to a locker at the airport and they had collected them there. Charles was allowed to carry one with him on planes as he had a special permit, but they had taken the precaution of using a false name on the way out. Mr and Mrs Green would hardly be associated with them. They had, as part of their preparations, destroyed those papers long ago.
“What do we do now?” said Maria
“Let’s find out about trains and then act like tourists. This fleapit is a tourist hotel. So we’d better see the sights and get some food. We have to act the part.”
So Maria and Charles wandered around Lyon. They checked out the early train to Geneva. They ate in a café in the centre and then took in a film. Tourists don’t go to bed too early, but they thought that they should wait around till around ten. At that time hotels are casual. In any case, they had paid the hotel in advance and in cash. So they didn’t have to check out formally. They would just expect them out by the morning. There couldn’t be extras, as the phone had not been switched through. They didn’t do that for cash accounts. And there was nothing else on sale in the room.
So they watched a film, but only half-heartedly. Charles had his arm around the back of Maria’s seat and she rested her head on his shoulder. Both of them were quite shaken at the thought that they had inadvertently killed four policemen. That had been so unexpected. And it was highly dangerous. But, as they allowed the film to drift on in front of them, they took comfort from each other’s presence. They calmed down in the strange silence of the cinema.
The movie ended and they returned to the hotel. At night it looked even gloomier than before. A sad faced man barely greeted them as he handed over their key. The message he conveyed was one of total indifference to them and to the world around.
Upstairs, Charles turned on the TV again and caught the start of the news. Television and radio had been a good means of tracking reactions to some of their more public escapades in the past. Sometimes they were big news, like now. At other times their news suppression machine triumphed and they failed to make the smallest of headlines. The newscasters focused again on terrorist activities. There was no mention of the Russian Mafia. There was no mention of Rastinov’s assassination.
The story line was about the Middle East. They had to question the reason for this. Was it true? Or was it a useful scapegoat for the government? Would it allow them to make some moves against a domestic problem with the support of the population? Did they really believe the story? Charles found it hard to imagine people seeing Maria and him as Arabs. They just didn’t look the part. But the
South of France has its fair share of myopic bigots, willing to deceive themselves into believing anything that supports their prejudices.
Maria commented that the story served their purpose. If the police had been on their trail, the story would be different. There would be no point in putting out such misleading information in that case.
They discussed how they would approach Di Maglio. He must not know about their escapade with the police for that would give him leverage over them and make him more dangerous. He definitely had a file on them already that could put them away for years. They had one on him as well, and on many of his people, that would do the same.
Charles disliked this episode, as it was too valuable potential ammunition for Di Maglio. It weakened them, he still needed to destroy Di Maglio. And he would have preferred to deal with the Russians for that. He needed to know who was in charge. Was it the brutes, who had supported Rastinov and would stick to crime alone? Or was it the diplomats like Turpin, who would seek to diversify into legitimate businesses as well as operating their own version of the evil Empire?
They would have to wait. There was no purpose in planning further. They needed more pieces to the jigsaw. He stripped off. Maria looked up and moved over to him. She put her arms on his shoulders and lay her dark hair against his chest. She was fully dressed. For the first time since he had known Maria, she sought him out not for sexual excitement but for comfort.
He held her to him, gently. He felt her relax. His hands moved up and down her back and the tension left her. Her clothes slipped off without protest. They moved towards the bed and threw off the blankets and covers. They made love, slowly and peacefully, on that high bed with a pale, watery moon sending the odd oblique ray through the open shutters.
Then they fell asleep. They felt a peace descend. The horror was outside. The threats were far off.
Next day’s morning light was faint and forbidding. Through the angle of the window, they could see the clouds. There was no blue sky. Charles glanced at Maria lying next to him. She had half curled up in a foetal position. She lay there, trusting and calm. She, who had been a protector for so long, now had one herself. For the first time, a killing had shocked her. Charles knew it meant that she was coming to the end of the road in her job. Once one developed a conscience, it was impossible to continue.