“Magali came to me!”
The police officer felt agitation come over her as well. Fate was putting her back on track. All was not lost, then.
“What did she tell you?”
“She didn’t speak to me, but I saw Sophie! She’s still alive. And she showed me where she was.”
“Perfect, I’m coming to get you.”
“There’s still a sizable problem,” replied Julien.
“What?”
“I’ve seen what the building where she’s being held looks like, but I don’t know what village it’s in.”
“Villard-de-Lans.”
“Pardon?”
“It’s in Villard-de-Lans, we just got the intel. You’ll know how to find the house?”
“Yes. Don’t ask me how, but I know she’ll guide me to her!” Julien exulted.
“Give me your address, and I’ll be right there.”
Denise and Emmanuel Lombard gazed at their son with the same question. They’d understood from the tone of the conversation that the search had progressed in the course of the last hour.
“She’s in Villard. Nadia’s coming to get me, and we’re going up there.”
His mother was torn between two feelings—the fear of seeing her son confronted with killers, and the hope of seeing Sophie rescued. She’d realized during the evening Sophie’s importance for Julien. She understood all the risks he was going to run, even if she feared them. She reasoned with herself, saying he’d be accompanied by experienced police forces. He’d guide them to where Sophie was being held, then the professionals would intervene. She was worrying over nothing.
Julien went into his old room. She heard him rummaging in his closet. He came back with a large-bladed knife in his hand.
“What is that?” asked his mother.
“Your father’s hunting knife. He gave it to me for my eighteenth birthday, told me it would be of use one day. I doubted it at the time, but he was right.”
Denise Lombard stared at her son. She saw a determination in his face that she’d never seen before. Julien was an even-tempered boy with a charming sense of humor. He was always willing to be of service, even if it meant sacrificing some of his own interest. She immediately knew that wouldn’t be the case tonight. He put on a pair of jeans that had been lying in his closet for years and a pair of sneakers, and attached the knife to his belt. Emmanuel Lombard pulled his son to him and gave him an emotional hug.
A horn sounded.
“I have to go. Nadia’s waiting for me.”
“Good luck, my son,” murmured his father.
He knew Julien might run into his biological father. And even if he hated him for what he was subjecting Sophie to, Emmanuel suspected his son would not emerge unscathed from such a confrontation—if he emerged. That thought crushed his heart like a vise.
“See you tomorrow,” replied Julien to compel fate. Then he looked at his parents, smiled, and left the room.
The car flew through the Grenoble suburbs. Nadia Barka was concentrating on her driving. She passed Sassenage City Hall at nearly seventy miles per hour, then headed up to Vercors with the mastery of a champion racer. Julien hadn’t understood why they were going up there alone, but faced with the driver’s silence he hadn’t tried to find out. Besides, he didn’t really care. He was aware that tonight he had the most determined of allies.
While skirting the village of Lans-en-Vercors, Nadia reopened the conversation.
“We’ll be there in ten minutes. I haven’t been very talkative, but I had to concentrate on the road.”
“Have you ever done rally car racing?”
“Yes, just after entering the police force. Happy that was useful to us tonight! Look, here’s the deal. The gendarmerie and the police are already on the scene, but they don’t know where Boisregard and Sartenas are hiding in the village. So your presence is indispensable.”
“Where are they?”
“Who?”
“Your colleagues!”
“We’re not meeting up. You and I are looking for the house, and when we find it, we’ll tell them.”
Julien looked at the policewoman in surprise. “Is all that in the rules?”
“It’s in mine.”
“Okay, suits me.”
Nadia turned toward the man at her side. She could no longer see the worried young man she’d met the first day. She sensed he was determined and without qualms. Perhaps she would have to curb his enthusiasm. Mazure would see that his own decision had not only been bad but also counterproductive if she had followed it.
The police officer’s phone rang. Nadia took it out of her interior jacket pocket and looked at the number on the screen. She swerved but quickly righted the trajectory.
“I don’t know who’s calling me at this hour. Answer for me.”
He picked up and listened.
“An Urbain Biddère wants to talk to you.”
She braked suddenly and parked the car on the side of the road. She held out her hand, then listened more than she talked. She spent two minutes on the phone. Julien watched the seconds tick by on the lighted dashboard. When the numbers flashed two o’clock, he felt his anxiety mount. He’d chased away the fear by leaping into action, but it was coming back. The two previous murders had happened around three o’clock, and they were only sixty short minutes away from the fatal moment.
Lost in his thoughts, he was glued to the seat when Nadia pulled out onto the road again. He turned toward her. She looked at him, satisfied and reassuring.
“What was worth losing those precious minutes?” Julien asked, annoyed.
The young woman didn’t lose her smile.
“I think we have some good news. It’s not one hundred percent certain, but it would be very good news.”
Julien looked at her, astonished. What good news could this Biddère have given her at two o’clock in the morning? “Well, tell me!”
“There’s a very good chance Dominique Cabrade—or Sartenas, whichever you prefer—is not your father!”
Julien’s mouth gaped; he was overcome by this news. It took him several seconds to realize the consequences of the information the police officer had just given him. He was suddenly relieved of a great weight. He had no connection to that psychopath! He wasn’t the son of a pervert, a killer! He wouldn’t have his father before him, but a wretched killer, a killer who had murdered his mother.
“And who is my father?”
“As I told you, I have only strong suspicions and . . .”
“Cut it short, Nadia! Every second counts! Who is my biological father?”
“Aurélien Costel.”
After a few seconds of reflection, he remembered that name. “My mother’s childhood friend?”
“The same.”
“And where did you get that?”
“I met him today at his restaurant. When he arrived, his face seemed familiar to me, but I didn’t realize right away it was you he resembled. We had a long conversation. He told me he’d slept with Magali nine months before her disappearance.”
“But are you sure he’s my father?”
“Scientifically speaking, no! But Aurélien Costel sent me a photo of himself at thirty. I forwarded your picture, Cabrade’s, and Costel’s to Urbain. Urbain is a physiognomist in a big casino: he’s a wiz. For him, there’s no doubt.”
The young woman noticed her companion’s bewilderment. She decided to provide him with a few more clarifications. “According to Costel, Magali wasn’t happy with her husband. One night, she came to confide in him. One thing led to another, they rediscovered their bond, and ended the evening in each other’s arms.”
“But why did she go back to Cabrade? Why didn’t she ask for a divorce?”
“It appears she wanted to try to save her marriage in spite of everything. She met with Aurélien once more, the
n she was held hostage by her husband. Aurélien never managed to see her again before her death. But the most important part of this story is that bastard who killed your mother and kidnapped Sophie has no blood relationship to you. That’s what’s important for us tonight. Focus on that. We have to save your future wife—it’s been a long time since I was invited to a wedding I really wanted to attend.”
Julien’s eyes widened. Nadia burst out laughing. It was the first time he’d seen her so relaxed, only a few minutes away from the action. That calmed him down and restored all his confidence. He forced himself not to think about what Sophie might endure so that he could concentrate on action.
Chapter 76: Let the Games Begin
Sophie struck her last match and looked at her watch in the flickering flame. It was two o’clock. She knew it wouldn’t be long now. She remembered perfectly the dreams Julien had told her about. The crimes had always taken place between three and four o’clock in the morning. But contrary to the previous victims, she had two extra pieces of information. First, she knew the fate awaiting her. Second, she’d just set on her trail a team of men and women who would know how to do battle with her captors.
So she had only one thing left to do: stall for time! Every second she could wrench from her executioners would be a step closer to her survival. She just hoped to gain enough. Only that perspective kept her from losing her footing. She still held a tiny part of her destiny in her hands.
She’d studied the question from every angle. Ballat’s flushed and lustful face had imposed on her the only option she still had. Abandoning her body to that man, or to the others, would help time play out in her favor. She’d even decided to provoke them, to do anything to postpone the moment when Sartenas would want to tear her heart out. Like a drunken metronome, she teetered between excitement and panic. Excitement at the thought she might get out of this cellar alive, and panic when imagining what she was going to have to do . . . or try to do, because nothing assured her they would want her proffered body. Sophie was now reduced to hoping her abductors would be excited enough to want to take advantage of her! What an unbelievable situation! But she was willing to pay any price for several minutes of life. Shivering with disgust, she’d spread her blouse wide open.
Sophie tried to take a step back from events as she’d envisioned them. She forced herself to empty her mind. Inaction gave free rein to her anxieties. She stood up, then started doing some stretches. An image straight out of her childhood suddenly imposed itself on her. She saw herself reading Prisoners of the Sun on her father’s lap, admiring Tintin for doing calisthenics mere hours before his sacrifice by the Incas. She just hoped the story would end the same way. She laughed nervously. She was in between laughter and tears—closer to tears, really. No, she wouldn’t get away. Julien, Nadia, and the others would arrive, but too late.
The sound of the key turning in the lock brought her immediately back to reality. Be brave, Sophie, you don’t have to show them you’re afraid. Your future depends on you.
Boisregard turned on the light as he pushed open the door. Sophie Dupas was sitting in a corner of the room, blinded, hands over her eyes. He put his sidearm back in his jacket pocket and hurried over to her with Simon-Renouard. He didn’t want to find himself in a situation like the one they’d experienced a few hours earlier. They searched her completely: no blade, however small, could have escaped them. The young woman kindled shocks of violent emotion in Boisregard, but he was Fra Bartolomeo’s trustee. His primary role was to give life to The Book of the Sun and not to let loose his sexual arousal. Thomas Simon-Renouard didn’t have the same preoccupations. His hands caressed Sophie Dupas’s body, lingering over her most intimate parts. The young woman hadn’t reacted. It had even seemed to Boisregard that she’d imperceptibly accompanied the journalist’s palpation with slight movements. Accelerated Stockholm syndrome, an attempt to buy back her life, or simply fear stripping her of any notion of reality? Irrelevant; she was now harmless, and that was the main thing.
“You can all come in. We’re going to set up for the ceremony.”
The five men assembled, encircling Sophie lying prostrate in one of the corners of the sacrificial chamber. Simon-Renouard and Lèguezeaux couldn’t take their eyes off the young woman. Their gaze went from her chest, generously offered up by the wide-open blouse, to her tanned, muscular thighs, accentuated by the skirt hiked up to her waist. The taste of blood was exacerbating all their impulses, and this available female was driving them crazy. Their animal instincts were mounting by the second. By mutual agreement, they took Boisregard aside.
“Arsène, you hadn’t told me you’d found such a hot babe!” Simon-Renouard began. “I have to admit it’s rare for a woman to get me this hard. So I’d like to propose a little modification to the ceremony. Before we revitalize ourselves with her blood, we’ll start by doing it with her body.”
When Boisregard seemed not to react, Lèguezeaux continued.
“Simply and vulgarly put, we want to fuck her first. That girl is made for sex . . . at least for us, that is,” he added with a sardonic smile. “And it could only give more shine to the sacrifice we’ll make to Quetzalcoatl. We’ll have benefited from the girl’s blood both inside and outside of her. It’ll add a little spice to what we were able to do with Laure Déramaux—that one was no gift!”
“And you know what I can give you,” added the journalist. “I promise if you let us enjoy this chick, you’ll be well compensated in return.”
The historian didn’t know how to respond. He should have refused outright. He wasn’t there to organize a gang bang. But he knew humanity well enough to know he could doubtless profit from this rape, the idea of which tantalized his companions so much.
They went back to the center of the room where Ballat and Sartenas were waiting for them. Boisregard gestured toward the young woman.
“Jacques and Thomas find that it would be a pity not to honor what nature offers to us tonight. They propose adding a prologue to our evening, to verify the vitality of our guest.”
Dominique Sartenas looked at them coldly. “You want to bang her, is that it?”
“We’re willing to let you participate! I’m sure Sophie would have nothing against it,” added the journalist, turning toward the young woman.
Sophie didn’t respond to the commentary. She was swinging between anguish and satisfaction. In a gesture of feigned submission, she positioned herself to highlight the curves that were unleashing the night’s morbid passions.
The doctor began again in an even voice, turning to his friend. “Arsène, would you happen to have any porno to give these men to calm them down? I believe they haven’t understood they’re not on the set of a snuff film. Tonight, we’re sacrificing this victim to satisfy the spirits of the underworld and deliver us of our burdens.”
Simon-Renouard reacted like clockwork. “Who do you think you are, Monsieur Mental Patient? Everyone’s goal here is to elevate their vitality, not to get some two-bit pseudopsychotherapy. So keep your comments to yourself!”
Sartenas paled at the insult. He gripped his scalpel, knuckles whitening at the effort. He walked deliberately toward the journalist, ready to do battle. He’d confronted the worst kind of men, and this uppity jackass wasn’t going to . . .
“Now that’s enough!” Boisregard said loudly.
His intervention stopped the mounting aggression in the room, now palpable. The four participants turned toward him. They were awaiting his decision. Boisregard gave a discreet sigh of relief. He was taking the situation back in his hands.
“The sacrifice is our priority tonight. It is essential for Dominique, and his power will rebound to us, be sure of that.”
He looked at Sophie once more. “This woman is indeed tempting, but let’s not be guided by our base impulses. She’s going to bring us much more than an orgasm.”
Simon-Renouard and Lèguezeaux silently accepted th
eir companion’s decision. The historian appreciated the gesture.
“Jacques and Thomas, you’ll prepare the victim. You will respect the ritual and bind her, naked, on the sacrificial table.”
The words entered Sophie’s brain as though cushioned by a layer of cotton. When she became conscious of her abductors’ decision, she screamed.
Chapter 77: End in Sight
The vehicle had been driving around and around for more than twenty minutes in Villard-de-Lans. The village was constructed around an old market town, but extended out over a large area. They’d already encountered three gendarmerie cars, but Nadia had managed not to be stopped. She was supposed to be in Grenoble. She knew it would go badly if they stopped her, and she’d explode. All her energy had to be concentrated on a single goal: finding Sophie and neutralizing her captors. In one hour, the order of her objectives had reversed. Saving her friend had become more important than slaking her hatred for Boisregard and those of his ilk. But she still wondered how she would react when she had the guy on the other end of her gun.
Julien had opened the window and was concentrating on the residences they were slowly driving past. The moon, now high in the sky, silhouetted the houses starkly against the landscape.
“So, you don’t see anything that could resemble where she’s being held?”
“No. Head north, and we’ll keep at it. We’re going to come across it, I know it.”
“But how can you be so sure?”
“I know it, that’s all.”
It was now Nadia who was feeling the anxiety of the passing minutes. She furtively glanced at the car clock, as if trying not to startle it into accelerating the flow of time. It was 2:30 a.m. She spied headlights on a road in the distance. She recognized Drancey’s vehicle—her colleagues hadn’t found anything yet, either. She decided to turn out her lights. They would eventually attract attention. Julien didn’t say a word. And the moon’s radiance was sufficient for driving slowly through the sleeping village.
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