“Bruno, it’s Jack Crimson. I’m at home, and Florence is here along with Brian Fullerton. But so are Paul Murcoing and his sister, and they’re pointing guns at us.” He was trying to make his voice sound calm, but Bruno could almost feel the tension through the phone line. “They’re holding us all hostage…” Crimson’s voice cracked, but he went on: “And Murcoing wants to speak to you.”
“Bruno, I told you this wasn’t over,” came the now-familiar voice. “This is why.”
“Putain, I didn’t think you could possibly get into worse trouble, but now you have.” Bruno’s mind was racing as he tried to recall the checklist of procedures for a hostage situation. “What do you want, Paul?”
“A presidential pardon, safe passage out of the country for Yvonne and me and the promise of a public inquiry into the Neuvic money. I’ll release Crimson when those conditions are met.”
“What about the others, Fullerton and Florence? You don’t need them; you could let them go.”
“After what you told me about the mobiles? I don’t think so. Call me back on Crimson’s landline one hour from now, or things will start to get unpleasant. I have three hostages, don’t forget, and I only need the one.”
He hung up. Bruno immediately dialed J-J and walked briskly back to the mayor’s office as the call connected. He saw the mayor’s startled face when for the first time in his career Bruno entered without knocking. His eyes on the mayor, Bruno said into the phone: “J-J, I’ve just had a call from Paul Murcoing at Crimson’s house. He’s taken Crimson hostage at gunpoint along with two other people.”
The mayor rose, looking stunned, and then sank back into his chair as Bruno recounted Paul’s conditions.
“J-J, I’ll meet you at Crimson’s house, and I’ll arrange for a doctor and an ambulance to be on standby. I have my mobile phone, and for anything else the mayor will be in his office. I’ll patch my phone through to his and rig up a tape recorder.”
“Mother of God,” said the mayor as Bruno hung up and called Fabiola’s cell phone.
“I’ll be right back with the recorder,” said Bruno, and left for his office. When Fabiola answered, he briefed her and asked her to arrange for an ambulance and someone to check on Florence’s children. One of her pupils was probably babysitting but could not be expected to stay all night. He opened his safe and took out his gun and a spare magazine and put on his holster and uniform jacket. He forwarded all his calls to the mayor’s extension and took the recorder back with him along with two spare cassettes and rigged it to the mayor’s phone.
“I’m going to Crimson’s house, where I’ll meet J-J,” he said. “You’re the communications backstop. Get Roberte in to answer your phone rather than Claire; she’s more levelheaded. Fend off all calls that aren’t related to this hostage situation and make sure you keep your mobile charged and ready, since I’ll use that to stay in touch with you. Is that clear, sir?”
“Yes, Bruno.”
“Please make a note to call me in exactly fifty minutes to remind me that’s when Paul is expecting me to call him again.”
The mayor looked at his watch, took the top from his fountain pen and scribbled a note to himself on a clean pad.
“And nobody, nobody, is to talk to the press. If Delaron gets hold of this, we’ll have a circus.”
Bruno was already dialing again, the special number that he was only to use in emergencies.
The phone was answered, but there was no reply, just a silence. “This is Bruno Courrèges in St. Denis, and I need to speak to the brigadier urgently.”
“Bruno?”
Oh, God, it was Isabelle’s voice. Of all the people in the ministry she had to be the duty officer of the day. Firmly squashing all the emotions and recriminations that flooded through him, he kept his voice crisp and neutral.
“Crimson has just been taken hostage at his home,” he began, and explained the details.
“Putain, the brigadier’s not here. He’s gone to the Élysée, and there’s complete chaos here. You heard our minister just resigned? I’ll try to patch you through, but if he’s with the president he can’t take the call.”
“Stay on the line to see if he answers and, if not, keep calling him until you can brief him. I’m on my way to Crimson’s house where J-J will join me. We have some Jaunes in the vicinity with a chopper, but they’re trained in antiterrorist response, not hostage rescue. So do your best to keep them out of the way.”
“You got it. If the brigadier doesn’t answer in ten seconds leave it to me. And Bruno, please take care.”
He waited the ten seconds, but the brigadier did not pick up. He hung up and then began to dial the gendarmerie when the mayor coughed and said: “Er, Bruno?”
He stopped at the door, about to trot down the mairie stairs, phone to his ear.
“I’ll look after Balzac, don’t worry.”
The pup was sitting on the rug beside the mayor, looking up at Bruno in perplexity. Was his master going for a walk without him?
“Thank you, I know he’s in good hands.”
He ran down the stairs as the call went through, hoping that Sergeant Jules would answer rather than Yveline.
“Gendarmerie, St. Denis,” came a female voice, but it was Françoise.
“It’s Bruno. Is Jules there? It’s an emergency.”
“He’s right here. I’ll put him on.”
As he got to his Land Rover, Bruno explained to the unflappable Sergeant Jules that he wanted all available gendarmes deployed to form a distant cordon around Crimson’s house. They were to stay out of sight and keep all traffic away unless it was official.
“It’s a hostage situation, so you know the procedure. I’ve informed J-J. Perhaps you could inform the prefect’s office and the proc. We’ll probably need more gendarmes from St. Cyprien on standby if this goes through the night. Tell Ivan to start making sandwiches and pots of coffee. If you call the mayor, he’ll arrange for someone to bring them out. Where’s Yveline?”
“It’s her day off. She said she was going shopping in Périgueux.”
“Call her and brief her and suggest that when she gets back she holds the fort at the gendarmerie, but I need you and the rest of the squadron out there as soon as you can.”
“Understood. I’ll see you there. I’ll get Ivan to make ham and cheese; they’re always the most popular.”
Bruno grinned. He could always count on Sergeant Jules for the essentials. He put his phone in his breast pocket and tried to concentrate on his driving while, despite himself, his brain kept building mental maps of Crimson’s house and grounds, access points and vulnerabilities. He knew the rough technique of the hostage-rescue squad; plastic explosives on front and rear doors simultaneously, as flashbang grenades, meant to startle and stun, not to kill, went through each of the windows, followed by the first assault team. A second team would use ladders to break into the upper floor.
But he remembered wooden shutters on Crimson’s ground-floor windows. If they were closed, they would have to be broken before the flashbangs could be launched through the windows, so they’d lose the benefit of surprise. Drenching the place in tear gas and smoke was the usual alternative, but it was risky. The other options were even worse: snipers, starvation and stealthy entry.
When he arrived at the entrance to Crimson’s driveway, Bruno was alone. He parked out of sight, leaving the sidelights on so Sergeant Jules would see his Land Rover. Avoiding the driveway Bruno slipped through the woods at the side of Crimson’s property to scout the sides and rear of the house. The shutters had all been closed, and he could see no open windows on the upper floors. Inside the garage was a rented car, presumably Crimson’s. Brian’s car was parked in front of the doors and Florence’s bicycle leaned against the side wall. There was good cover by the garage for an assault team to form up, and only a single window, probably for a staircase landing, on the nearest wall. The mobiles could cover that window with a silenced gun, put up two ladders and break in that way. Tha
t’s how he would do it.
Bruno crept close to the shuttered windows, each of which showed chinks of light from inside, but there was no sound from the rooms at the rear. One of the mountain bikes was leaning against the kitchen door, something that might give them a warning if it was moved. Gently he felt along the frame, and his fingers touched a taut piece of string that led through the keyhole into the house. There would probably be a bell or something on the other end that would make a noise if the bike was moved.
At the front of the house, in the room he recalled as Crimson’s study and which had earlier that day been his makeshift operations room, he heard the murmur of voices. The sound was not clear enough for him to tell with certainty who was talking, but he thought it sounded like Florence. At least he knew where some of them were. The other bike lay against the front door. Paul had probably rigged a warning system on that one too.
As Bruno withdrew to the fringe of trees and back to his Land Rover he was sure he was forgetting something. Had there been another door into the house? Perhaps he could find a way to break silently through the French windows. He cast his mind back to his previous visits and remembered the descent to the wine cellar and the hatch for the fuel-oil delivery. He crept back to the rear of the house and felt for the metal plates and the padlock that sealed them. Bolt cutters could take care of it. Damn, he should have made a sketch of what he could recall of the interior for J-J. There would be five in the house, Paul and Yvonne, Crimson, Florence and Brian.
Crimson had explained that Florence would be coming to his house after school to hear what had happened with the trap they had set. But why was Brian Fullerton inside? Wasn’t he supposed to be flying back to England today with his brother’s ashes? Bruno had heard nothing about a delay in the release of the body, but that had to be the explanation, and Brian had become friendly with Crimson. Maybe he’d simply dropped by to say good-bye and walked into the kidnapping. Bruno knew from Pamela’s trips that the Ryanair flight left at around five, so Brian would have missed his flight back to England from Bergerac by now.
Bruno stopped, struck by something he had not considered before. That flight usually landed around four, so how had Brian arrived in Bruno’s office on Friday morning? Brian said he had canceled the flight to Bordeaux the consulate had booked for him and flown into Bergerac instead. And he’d added that he’d come straight to Bruno’s office from the airport and had not even checked in to his hotel.
The thought nagged at him, so he called the security office at the airport where Marco, one of the shift chiefs, had been in Bruno’s class at the police academy. Bruno asked about the inbound flights from Britain on Friday morning. There had been none. He asked Marco to check if there were any records last week of a Brian Fullerton arriving. He heard the sound of a keyboard being tapped.
“Nothing on the computer,” said Marco. “Let me check other airports? It’s all on the same database now. Here he is, flew into Bordeaux Monday last week on British Airways from London Gatwick. Open return.”
“Thanks, Marco. You’re sure it was Monday? Could there be any mistake?”
“No, this comes from the airline boarding lists. If they’re not on the flight they’re not listed.”
Monday last week was the day before his brother was murdered. Why was Brian flying in then? And why had he misled him? Brian had flown into Bordeaux. Édouard was in Bordeaux, and his Jaguar had been caught by a speed camera returning from Périgueux to Bordeaux on the evening Brian’s brother was killed. And Brian, Édouard and Paul were all directors of Francis’s company. But this couldn’t be about inheritance; Francis’s will put everything in trust for his nieces and nephews.
Was he sure about that? Hadn’t he asked Isabelle and J-J and even Crimson if there was some way to check Francis’s will? Suddenly he remembered Pamela telling him that, unlike in France, under English law you could leave your property to anyone you chose. If Francis was planning to leave his property elsewhere, that could be a motive for murder.
As he reached for the phone at his belt, he felt it vibrate.
“Bruno, it’s J-J. I’m on my way, I’ll be with you in ten minutes or so. The brigadier just called me. They can’t get a hostage-rescue team here before tomorrow morning, and he suggests we use the mobiles. He doesn’t seem to care too much about taking Murcoing alive, and we can have them here in ninety minutes. What do you say?”
“If they go in guns blazing, there’s always a risk to the hostages. Is the brigadier ready for that?”
“He says he is. But that kind of operation has to be authorized by a minister, and we don’t have one. That’s the problem.”
“We’ll talk it through when you get here.”
Bruno saw headlights coming around the bend from St. Denis and stepped into the middle of the road to flag down the vehicle. It was the gendarmerie van, Françoise at the wheel and Sergeant Jules beside her, with the ambulance following close behind. He was advising Jules where to position his men when his phone vibrated again. It was the mayor.
“Bruno, it’s time to call Paul Murcoing.”
“Thanks. Any developments?”
“Everything’s fine. Roberte is handling the phones, and Jacqueline is looking after Florence’s children. I’ll call if anything happens. Isabelle called, asking for news.”
“Could you call her back and ask if she had any reply from England about Francis Fullerton’s will?”
“Okay, but you’d better phone Paul.”
Bruno found Crimson’s home number in his phone and dialed it. Paul responded instantly, as if he had been standing by the phone.
“It’s Bruno. There’s a problem. If you turn on the TV or radio you’ll realize this is no trick. The interior minister has just resigned for personal reasons. Normally that’s the man who would have to make a decision about your conditions, but right now the post is vacant.”
There was a silence as if a hand had been placed over the mouthpiece at the other end. Bruno could faintly hear the sound of Yvonne’s voice, high and angry. Then Paul spoke, trying to sound calm but not succeeding. “There must be a deputy or an acting minister.”
“Yes, but without lawful authority. We’re trying to get this clarified, and I’ve asked the mayor of my town whether this can go to the Élysée for the president to make a decision. Can I call you back as soon as I hear anything?”
“Where are you now?”
“Near the house, and there’s just me, so far. A couple of gendarmes are setting up a roadblock to keep other traffic away. We’re waiting for the Police Nationale from Périgueux.”
“Call me back in an hour, and tell those people in Paris that if they don’t have a decision by then, I will start putting bullets into hostages. I’ll start with feet and knees, unless I think you’re dicking me around, and then I’ll get serious. One hour, Bruno.
“Don’t make this worse,” Paul said, and hung up. Bruno called the mayor to pass on the message.
“I spoke to Isabelle,” the mayor said when Bruno had finished. “Apparently Francis Fullerton changed his will very recently. His estate goes to any natural child of his own and, failing that, to Yves Valentoux to be held in trust for a girl called Odile. Who on earth is she?”
“I think she might be the key to all this, and that’s exactly what I needed to know. Thank you, and thank Isabelle for me when you speak again. What do you think the chances are of the Élysée intervening?”
“Very slim. It would mean potentially taking responsibility for the death of Crimson and the others. The fact that there’s a vacuum at the top of the interior ministry is just the kind of escape clause politicians like.”
Bruno hung up and immediately called Yves Valentoux. From the background sound, he was in a bar or restaurant.
“Yves, this is really important. Lives may hang on it. How serious was Francis about asking you to marry him?”
“I know he was planning a trip to the States for us to get married there. I hadn’t agreed, but he was
always so confident about everything…”
“Would it be legal for a non-American?”
“He’d obtained U.S. citizenship when he lived there in the nineties. Apparently it was quite easy before 9/11. He also kept his British passport.”
“And you told me he wanted to give Odile a little brother or sister. What about his HIV?”
“He said he’d researched it, and there were ways to sanitize his sperm. I never took it that seriously, but he certainly did.”
“I think this plan to marry you and have a child was what got Francis killed. It would have changed the inheritance.”
31
J-J closed his phone with a snap. “They won’t make any decision in Paris, and they won’t authorize using the Jaunes. I guess it’s down to you now.” He looked with sympathy at Bernard Ardouin, the juge d’instruction, who was standing beside Sergeant Jules’s gendarmerie van. It was the nearest they had to a mobile operations room until the real one arrived from Périgueux with reinforcements.
“You could order the gendarme general for the département to send in the Jaunes,” J-J went on. “But he’d probably want to consult the defense ministry, and we’d be back where we started. The only people you can be sure will carry out your orders are my team and Bruno.”
Ardouin’s own boss, the chief procureur for the département, was at a gala dinner and opera in Bordeaux along with the prefect. Their phones were turned off.
“I have to call Paul again in ten minutes,” said Bruno. “Damn it, does nobody have the balls to make a decision?”
“There must be an intermission coming up,” Ardouin said, trying to sound decisive. “I’m sure we’ll be able to reach someone soon.”
Bruno had expected better from Ardouin. He turned away to hide the disgust on his face and called the mayor.
“Nobody wants to make a decision. Will you authorize me to go in? I think Paul will speak to me.”
“Bruno, whatever you decide to do will have my full support, and Roberte who’s sitting here heard me say that.”
The Resistance Man Page 27