The Dying Minutes

by Martin O'Brien

  ‘You,’ said Didier, waving his gun at Jacquot, and then pointing it at the grab-bag. ‘If you wouldn’t mind.’

  ‘Who are you? And what are you doing on my boat?’ asked Jacquot, stepping past Delphie and heading for the stranger. But three guns turned in his direction and he stopped in his tracks.

  ‘Do as I say, copain. Or the ladies’ll go first,’ said Didier, turning his gun on Claudine and letting its muzzle slide up and down her arm. ‘And do it now.’

  Without further argument, Jacquot kneeled down and opened the bag, tipped it up and spilled the contents on to the deck. Sun tan cream, Delphie’s camera, his cigarettes, lighter, the GPS handset, sandals, espadrilles. Wrapped in a towel and caught in a fold at the bottom of the bag, the gold bar was the last item out. It hit the deck with a muffled but solid thunk.

  With a nod from Didier, Dhuc sprang forward, waving Jacquot back with his gun. He picked up a corner of the towel, snapped it out and the gold bar tumbled into the sunshine.

  There was a moment’s silence. No one spoke. No one moved.

  And then, ‘Ooh là là,’ said Didier. ‘What a catch, Monsieur. You have been busy.’

  Jacquot could see that the man was not surprised. So he’d known about the gold. He’d known what was in the bag. He’d been expecting it.

  ‘Dhuc, s’il te plaît …’ he said, releasing Claudine’s arm and holding out his hand.

  Dhuc picked up the bar and carried it over to his boss.

  Didier took it and his arm sagged with the weight.

  ‘My, my,’ he chuckled, his eyes licking over the golden brick. ‘So, tell me, Monsieur … Monsieur?’

  ‘Jacquot. Daniel Jacquot.’

  ‘Jacquot, Jacquot, Jacquot,’ said Didier quietly, repeating the name, as though to see if it registered. It clearly didn’t. ‘So, Monsieur Jacquot. Tell me about the gold.’

  ‘It was buried on the island,’ he replied, matter of factly.

  ‘And how did you know about it?’ asked Didier, handing the gold bar back to Dhuc who laid it on top of the instrument panel.

  ‘I might ask you the same.’

  ‘You can ask all you like, Monsieur Jacquot, but I’m the one with the gun,’ replied Didier, an easy smile playing over his lips.

  ‘The man who owned this boat. He hid it here,’ said Jacquot. There seemed little to gain from being obstructive.

  ‘And he told you that?’

  ‘Not really. But he left some clues.’

  ‘His name?’

  ‘Philo.’

  ‘Philo? Not Niko? Niko Emanetti?’

  ‘One and the same,’ replied Jacquot. ‘Philo was a nickname.’

  ‘And clues, you say?’

  ‘Co-ordinates. How to get here. Disguised as a bookmark.’

  ‘A bookmark?’ Didier nodded, giving this information due consideration.

  Jacquot pointed to the wheelhouse windshield. ‘There’s one there, just behind you.’

  Didier turned, saw the bookmark and picked it up, examined it.

  ‘Ingenious,’ he said. ‘Just numbers to me. What a clever fellow you must be.’

  Jacquot made no reply.

  ‘Was there a woman? Edina?’

  ‘She died, too. A couple of years ago.’

  Didier nodded, as though it all made perfect sense.

  ‘And your friends here? These two lovely ladies.’ He waved his gun at Claudine and Delphie.

  ‘My wife and her sister.’

  Didier frowned. ‘Your wife? Really? I see no ring.’

  ‘We haven’t got round to the formalities quite yet.’

  ‘Although it’s clear you’ve got around to other things,’ said Didier with a chuckle. His two companions grinned at their boss’s joke. ‘But let’s get back to business, shall we? The gold. I’m assuming there’s more where this came from?’

  Jacquot didn’t reply.

  Didier lifted his gun and rested the barrel against Claudine’s belly.

  ‘I said …’

  ‘Yes. There’s more.’ Jacquot glanced at Claudine, smiled encouragement. She managed a smile back.

  ‘Good. That’s more like it. And just how many bars have you found?’

  ‘Hard to say. Maybe twenty.’

  ‘Along that path?’ asked Didier, nodding towards the shore.

  ‘That’s right. About half a kilometre.’

  ‘Good, good. So, here’s what you’re going to do. First of all, you’re going to get this little tub of yours a little closer to the beach, then you’re going to show my boys where the gold is, and help them bring it back here. Do I make myself absolutely clear, Monsieur Jacquot?’

  Jacquot nodded.

  ‘Because if you do anything to upset me, if you try anything stupid, these two ladies will suffer. Please assure me you understand completely?’

  ‘I understand,’ replied Jacquot. ‘But you’ll need some tools to dig up the bars.’

  ‘Tools?’

  ‘A good hammer, some kind of chisel to lever them out.’

  ‘You have these tools? Here on the boat?’

  Jacquot saw no reason to lie, to play for time, for Didier to have someone on his cruiser come over with what was needed when he had them in a drawer below deck. He knew this man, whoever he was, was a serious player. If Jacquot did something stupid, it had been made abundantly clear that either Claudine or Delphie would suffer for it. Possibly the pair of them.

  ‘Yes, I do,’ he said. ‘In a drawer in the main cabin. Below the chart table.’

  Didier considered this then smiled, teeth gleaming in his tanned face. ‘So, mes amis. Let’s get to work.’

  117

  WHILE DIDIER STAYED on board Constance with Claudine and Delphie, the two sisters locked in the for’ard cabin, Jacquot, Dhuc and Léo set off along the path. By now the sun was dropping towards Marseilles and the Golfe du Lion, the air warm and dusty rather than searing, their shadows longer now. Earlier that day he had come along this same path with Delphie, excited at the prospect of finding gold. Now he made the same journey knowing it was there, with Dhuc and Léo, guns drawn, following just a few paces behind him.

  Jacquot carried everything – three rucksacks for the gold, and the tools they’d need to dig it up – vividly aware that time was running out. He prayed that the two men behind him wouldn’t shoot him, here on the island; prayed they’d keep him alive at least until he’d helped them carry the gold back to the boat. Or until he found some way to put them down, and remove the threat.

  Without any attempt at delay, Jacquot led them straight to the courtyard where, for centuries, the men imprisoned there had exercised, or lain sick in their beds, or come to eat, and pointed to the low wall.

  ‘It’s there,’ he said, dumping the rucksacks on the ground. ‘You going to help, or just watch me?’

  ‘We’ll just watch,’ said Léo, and the two of them squatted down a few safe metres away. Léo laid his gun in the dirt and pulled a pack of cigarettes from his shirt pocket, lit up. Dhuc kept his gun trained on Jacquot.

  ‘What are you waiting for?’ Léo called out, taking a drag, letting the smoke whistle through his lips. ‘Get a move on.’

  Setting to work, Jacquot hammered away at the low wall, knocking the bricks aside. And there, just as he and Delphie had left it, set down in the footings, was the gold.

  As soon as they saw the sun glint off the bars, Léo and Dhuc came forward.

  ‘Jésu. Will you look,’ whispered Léo, pushing his gun into the band of his trousers and leaning forward to pull one of the bars free.

  For a moment Jacquot was tempted to swing the hammer he was holding, take at least one of them out, then try to wrestle the gun from the second. It was a risk, but a fair one, the two men clearly distracted by the gold. But as he clenched his fingers round the handle of the hammer, he felt Dhuc poke him in the shoulder with his gun.

  ‘Keep digging,’ the man said.

  It took Jacquot another twenty minutes to loosen and dig up al
l the bars, handing them back to Léo one by one until his shoulders ached and his hands and fingers were almost numb. He was also aware of shooting pains in the top of his thigh, like a kind of cramp, kneeling there in the dirt. Twice he’d had to stand up, stretch, before starting back on the dig.

  When the last brick came up, it was clear that Jacquot’s estimate hadn’t been too far off. Stacked on the ground in front of Léo and Dhuc were twenty-four gold bars.

  The three men looked at the haul for a moment or two.

  ‘You thinking what I’m thinking?’ Léo asked Dhuc.

  Dhuc smiled. ‘I think I think what you think,’ he replied, with a squeaky little laugh.

  Léo turned to Jacquot. ‘How many did you tell the boss?’

  ‘Twenty. Thereabouts.’

  ‘And we’ve got twenty-four.’

  ‘Don’t tell me.’ said Jacquot, giving them both an amused look. ‘You want me to put a couple back. For later.’

  Just what he and Delphie had considered.

  Only these boys were going to do it.

  ‘Exactly right, my friend.’ said Léo, and gave him a sly smile. ‘But make it the four.’

  Jacquot knew what that smile meant.

  It meant that he was a dead man.

  118

  IF LÉO AND Dhuc had had any intention of killing Jacquot and leaving his body in the prison ruins, they thought better of it when they’d finished loading up the three rucksacks. Six bars to a rucksack. Almost impossible to lift. Dhuc, who was clearly the fittest and strongest, and the shortest, had to have it hefted onto his back by Jacquot and Léo, and he staggered under the weight.

  ‘Too, too heavy,’ he said, trying to work the padded straps into a more comfortable position on his shoulders. He could hardly budge them. ‘We need take some out,’ he said in his whining, sing-song voice. ‘Make two trip. Come back for rest.’

  And as though to support this suggestion, there was a ripping sound as one of the straps tore loose, the rucksack swinging to one side and almost throwing Dhuc to the ground.

  For the second time Jacquot spotted an opportunity to take the two men out, to make his move, and once again he felt his muscles tighten. The hammer he’d used on the wall was now just a metre away from his left foot, but close enough, he reckoned, to make a quick snatch, aim a lucky swing and even the odds. But actions are slower than thoughts, and a hammer against two guns, he now realised, was always going to be a risky move. Once again the moment passed, and he gritted his teeth with irritation, determined not to miss the next chance that came his way, whatever the odds.

  But it wasn’t just the strap of Dhuc’s rucksack that had gone. With a sudden tearing sound the thin, nylon ripped along a seam and the six gold bars tumbled to the ground.

  ‘Holy Mother,’ said Léo, shaking his head in exasperation.

  And then, without any warning, he started to giggle. At Dhuc’s stunned expression. At the ripped, useless bag hanging from his shoulder. And at the tumble of gold in the dirt.

  Then Dhuc started up, too, a high-pitched whinny that showed his flashing white teeth.

  It was the gold, Jacquot knew. Just looking at it brought on a kind of madness, a lightheadedness. The same thing had happened when he and Delphie had finally found it. The sheer, stunning improbability of it. So much of it. So much money. Yet so heavy to move, so cumbersome to handle.

  ‘Okay, okay, so let’s think about this,’ said Léo, swallowing back the laughter, grabbing the torn bag from Dhuc and tossing it away. ‘Four bars in each, and we’ll come back for the rest. And you,’ he said, pointing at Jacquot, ‘you carry as many as you can.’

  With the two remaining rucksacks suitably lightened, Dhuc knelt down and Jacquot heaved the first of them onto his shoulders, with Léo’s gun following every move. Then, with Dhuc holding a gun on him, he did the same with Léo. With the two men loaded up, he stooped down to pick up a bar, cradling it in his arms.

  ‘And another,’ said Léo, giving him a humourless look. ‘You look like you can manage it.’

  Jacquot did as he was told and rose unsteadily to his feet.

  Just two bars. More than twenty kilos. Hell, it was a heavy, awkward load.

  ‘So let’s go. You first,’ said Léo, digging the muzzle of his gun into Jacquot’s shoulder.

  Just as they had done on the way to the prison ruins, Jacquot walked ahead with Léo and Dhuc behind him. He couldn’t see them, didn’t know how far back they were, but he could hear them: the scuff of their shoes on the path, their panting breath. And as he walked, his arms soon burning with the weight of the gold, he tried to think which man he should go for first, when the next opportunity presented itself. The one called Léo was taller and heavier than his accomplice and looked like he’d be difficult to put down. But Dhuc seemed to Jacquot the more dangerous of the two – slim, lithe and fast on his feet. And being Asian, Jacquot was pretty certain he would know how to look after himself, in ways that Jacquot couldn’t imagine. The springy, wiry little Asian would have to be the one to neutralise first – and on their way back for the second load seemed the most likely time to plan for.

  Ten minutes later they came off the path and down onto the beach where Jacquot let the bars drop from his arms, the two of them sinking into the shingle with a soft crunching sound.

  ‘Hey, pick them up,’ said Léo, coming up alongside him and poking him again with the gun. ‘No one said you could drop them.’

  Jacquot flexed his arms, rubbed the red marks where the bars had pressed into his skin, and felt the ache in his shoulders. But he did as he was told. Leg muscles burning, the wound in his thigh beginning to scream, he staggered to his feet and waded out to Constance where Didier was waiting for them, his eyes bright with anticipation.

  ‘How many?’ he asked, taking the two bars from Jacquot, one by one, laying them on a seat locker, so Jacquot could help Léo and Dhuc with their rucksacks, levering them off their shoulders and manhandling them aboard Constance.

  ‘Twenty,’ Léo replied. ‘Like the man said. But it’ll take another trip to bring them all in.’

  Didier tore open the two rucksacks, peered inside.

  ‘So there’s what? Another ten left?’

  ‘That’s right, boss. Too much for one man.’

  ‘So go fetch them,’ said Didier, tossing the two empty rucksacks at Léo after he’d spilled out their contents onto the aft deck. ‘Five each. Shouldn’t be a problem. And make it quick. You,’ he continued, pointing to Jacquot, ‘get your arse up here.’

  Léo’s face fell. ‘I thought …’ he began, ‘I thought he could help …’

  ‘Don’t think,’ snapped Didier, as Jacquot clambered aboard. ‘Just do what you’re told.’

  119

  BY THE TIME Léo and Dhuc had waded ashore, crunched over the shingle and reached the path, Didier was back in the shade of the wheelhouse, in the skipper’s chair, blowing down the barrel of his Beretta like a kid might blow in the neck of a bottle.

  ‘I’d like to see my wife,’ said Jacquot, feet planted among the spilled gold bars. He didn’t know why the man had kept him back, but he felt a rise of confidence. There was still a gun to take into account, but now it was just one on one.

  ‘My little friend here says you’re in no position to ask anything,’ Didier replied, pulling back the hammer and moving the barrel back and forth between Jacquot’s head and belly as though trying to decide which target to settle on.

  ‘Still,’ said Jacquot. ‘I’d like to see her. And her sister. If it’s okay with your little friend.’

  Didier looked at him carefully. ‘You’re either a brave man,’ he said at last. ‘Or a stupid con. Which do you suppose it is?’

  Jacquot shrugged, but held the man’s eye.

  ‘They’re fine. Shout down to them if you want. They’ll answer.’

  ‘I told you I want to see them.’

  ‘And I’m telling you it’s not going to happen,’ Didier replied. And tilting his head, e
yes still fixed on Jacquot, he called out, ‘Hey, you two. You okay down there? Your man’s back and he’s worried about you.’

  ‘Daniel? Are you there, Daniel? Are you okay?’ It was Claudine.

  ‘I’m fine,’ he called back. ‘And you, and Delphie?’

  This time both women answered. Yes, they were fine. And what was happening?

  ‘Okay, Okay. That’ll do. Quieten down now.’ Didier turned back to Jacquot. ‘You happy now? Good. So start stacking the gold, there’s a good boy.’

  With a nod, Jacquot did as he was told, kneeling on the deck and reaching for the bars, wondering whether he dared throw one, or if he could somehow get past the gun and put the man down. But the gun never left him, its single black eye following every move he made.

  ‘You a sailor then?’ asked Didier, when Jacquot had the deck tidied and the gold stacked. ‘You look like a sailor.’

  Jacquot wiped his hands on his shorts and pointed to one of the seat lockers. Didier nodded, and Jacquot sat down.

  ‘I asked if you were a sailor? I won’t ask again.’

  ‘Yes … day charters, that kind of thing.’

  ‘So you know the coast around here? Know how to get places?’

  ‘Yes, I know the coast.’

  ‘That’s good. That’s good,’ said Didier.

  ‘You got anywhere in mind?’

  Didier gave it some thought. ‘I’ll leave that to you.’

  Jacquot frowned. ‘I don’t understand …’