Hands of the Traitor

by Christopher Wright

  Matt felt his heart racing. A narrow track led into the woods and he swung the Peugeot down it. A few yards along, the track turned sharply right.

  The radio burst into sound again. Their description was perfect, even the color of their clothes. Lacoste must have been making notes during the interview. The young priest seemed to have made good his getaway on the bicycle. This news was followed by a description of two men wanted for questioning about a smashed white Citroen.

  "Mon dieu, that sounds like the 'Einmans," said Zoé.

  Two police cars, sirens blaring, shot past the end of the track. Matt started the engine and drove a little further down, to get deeper into the trees. "We have to stop them getting back to America. Any ideas?"

  Zoé found a large scale map in the door pocket of the Peugeot and began to trace the route of their escape with her finger. "If the 'Einmans are hiding in a hotel we could phone the national police and hope they are smarter than Lacoste and his gendarmes."

  "I could make a citizen's arrest if we can find them. Can you do such a thing in France?"

  Zoé shook her head. "I do not know. Perhaps Monsieur 'Einman still has a gun. Ah, I can see where we are on the map. This track has what you call a dead end."

  He leaned across for a look, and could feel the warmth of her body and detected a slight smell of sweat from her fear. On the map he could see several houses marked in the area, but nothing on this track. They should be safe for an hour or so. "We'll get out of this somehow."

  She gave him a kiss on the cheek. "I do not fancy twenty years in a tiny cell -- without you."

  He could see tears in her eyes. Matt reckoned they were tears of relief. Quickly he returned the kiss, but right now he had more on his mind than romance. He snatched the phone from its cradle. "Lacoste owes us a call. If this is working, I'm going to speak to Ken." He switched it on and punched in the numbers, including the UK country code.

  Within seconds the phone rang at Habgood Securities.

  "Listen, Ken, this is Matt. We're in trouble."

  Ken gave a hollow laugh. "As usual. What do you want me to do?"

  "Can you get over to France with two blank passports?"

  Ken laughed again. "And end up on the wrong side of the law? You've got to be joking."

  "It's serious," said Matt urgently. "We're wanted for murder. Zoé is convinced she's going to end up behind bars, and..."

  "Zoé behind a bar? She's attractive, Matt. Good money in pub work."

  Matt felt annoyed by the flippant response. "Ken, you've got to help us."

  "Tell me what's happened."

  "My grandfather's been murdered. He..."

  "Hey, kiddo, was that your granddad at the South Memorial? I didn't realize. Hell of a story. All that blood and..."

  "Ken, I know what happened. And I think I know who did it."

  "So why aren't you back here sorting things out?"

  "Because the murderer is over here. Or he may be. I'm not sure. It's all to do with Domestic Chemicals. I need more info on them."

  "Louise Grantham dropped something into the office on her way to work this morning. It's marked confidential."

  "Open it, Ken. Louise may have found something that will help us dish the dirt on DCI."

  "Is that DCI in America, or DCI in Switzerland?"

  "DCI is a New York company."

  "They've got a base in Geneva."

  "Who says so?"

  "I've ... read it on their labels. United States of America and Switzerland."

  "Have you been looking at Louise's notes?" inquired Matt suspiciously.

  "Of course not." Ken's denial came quickly. "It's common knowledge. I'll open the envelope and read it all out to you."

  "You're lying, Ken. You've been through the lot. Tell me about DCI."

  "You remember the man who called on me? Miller."

  "He had a car accident, Ken. Look, I..."

  "I've seen his picture in the DCI literature Louise downloaded."

  "I didn't want her to register."

  "She says she did it through an American contact."

  "That's something. So who is Miller?"

  "The chief executive officer. Bit of a coincidence, I'd say."

  "It's no coincidence. Just tell me what else is in Louise's envelope."

  "I'm not sure I should be interfering with Domestic Chemicals' private business."

  "Do it to get your own back on Miller. He made a fool of you in the office."

  "Not exactly a fool." Ken hesitated as the accusation sunk in. "The way I see it he..."

  "He made a complete fool of you, Ken. You'll never live this one down at your club if you don't settle the score." He winked at Zoé. "I don't want anyone getting a fix on this phone. I'll call you back in fifteen minutes."

  "Better make it thirty."

  Matt replaced the phone in its cradle.

  "Louise?" asked Zoé, raising her eyebrows. "Again?"

  He shrugged and gave a strained smile.

  Zoé seemed to brighten up. "Now what? I do not think Ken is going to be much help."

  "That's because you've only met him once. He's a pro. I sometimes needle him a bit, but he knows what he's doing, all right."

  "Perhaps." Zoé sounded far from convinced. "Anyway, the 'Einmans, they could be going back to England. We need the police to watch the ferry crossings and the Channel Tunnel."

  "They should have started doing that last night. But if they were driving that white Citroen, they must still be in the area. Ken says DCI has an office in Geneva. That changes everything."

  "It is important?"

  "It's where the Heinmans will run for safety. They can fly out to the States from Switzerland."

  "They would never be allowed to leave Geneva." Zoé started to put her lipstick on.

  "Never be allowed?" Matt shook his head. "You don't have a clue about the clout of an international firm like DCI."

  "They are above the law?"

  "They can buy enough time to escape justice."

  "So we go to Geneva after them?"

  "Not in Lacoste's car. We'd be picked up in five minutes. That young man you met at the garage, doesn't he live near here?"

  "Philippe?" Zoé licked her fingers and smoothed her eyebrows.

  "His brother sells second-hand cars. He offered you a road test."

  "Oui." Zoé blushed.

  "Then take him up on his offer."

  "Not now." Zoé shook her head in bewilderment. "This is serious, Matt."

  "Look in your purse and find the card he gave you. Please."

  Zoé rummaged through the contents. In her hand she held a small printed card from the Garage de Saint Somer. On the back was a hand-written address. She studied the large scale map and gave a little cry of excitement. "It is less than a kilometer."

  "Let's walk there and borrow one of his cars."

  "Stay here," she instructed him. "I am French so it is better if I go alone. I will not be long."

  "Hold it, Zoé!" He reached out to stop her leaving but Zoé jumped from the Peugeot and ran along a muddy path through the trees.

  After thirty minutes, Matt picked up the car phone and pressed the redial button. "How's the reading going, Ken?"

  "I've gone through Louise's papers. Domestic Chemicals isn't that big a company. More mouth than manpower, I'd say. The president is Jason B. Heinman, and Frank B. Heinman is the ex-president who still works for DCI part time. There's a photo of each of them."

  Matt looked anxiously down the track. Every gendarme in France would be hunting for Lacoste's car by now. "I've got an idea."

  "Nice clear line, Matt. Where are you?"

  "It's a high quality mobile phone, Ken," Matt explained curtly. "In a police car. Do you have the number for DCI in Geneva?"

  "You're going to phone them?"

  "I'll pretend I'm in the New York office, and tell DCI Geneva I need to know when the Heinmans are expected in Switzerland."

  "What makes you think they'll t
ell you?"

  "I'm going to ask when they're expected, not if. I can work out if the Heinmans are expected by the answer. I can do a reasonable job of sounding like an American."

  "I remember when you tried that one on me last Christmas. I can't see them falling for it any more than I did. Is Zoé with you?"

  He laughed at Ken's denial. He had fallen for it one hundred percent. "Zoé's gone to see a friend."

  "What sort of a friend? You sound in a panic, kiddo."

  "Dead right I sound in a panic," agreed Matt. "She went off ages ago to borrow a car, and for all I know the gendarmes have picked her up. Why do you ask about Zoé?"

  "Remember the Jackson case? We hired an actress for that one. She pretended to be a pharmacist and found out everything."

  "Zoé isn't an actress."

  "She could learn."

  "What, here in the car?"

  "It's your problem, kiddo, not mine. I'm safe and cozy in my little old office. You're the one on the run."

  "I suppose ... Yes, why not? Zoé pretended to be a reporter when she phoned Sister Ewing at the South Memorial."

  "Don't forget to tell her to act the bully. People always give things away when they're under pressure."

  "Do me a favor. Tell the Trinity Green cop shop about the Heinmans, and show them the photo of Frank Heinman in the package Louise brought round."

  "The ex-president? Are you going crazy, Matt?"

  "Don't argue. Get the police to take the picture to the South Memorial and see if anyone recognizes him as the padre. If they do, get the police to set up a border alert."

  "I've got it," said Ken, although he didn't sound particularly enthusiastic.

  "Someone's coming." A dark green Renault 25 was bouncing its way down the track. The headlights flashed briefly. "It's Zoé. She's wearing a bright yellow headscarf. And there's someone with her."

  Zoé pulled up alongside the Peugeot.

  "It's Sophie," Matt explained on the phone. "Sophie Boissant is here with Zoé."

  "You certainly attract the women, Matt. Have you done with me?"

  "For the moment. Don't forget to tell the police what I've just told you. And do it straight away. As soon as we've dumped Sophie, we're going down to Geneva."

  "You're not doing this on your own?"

  "It's a risk, but it may be our only chance of catching up with the Heinmans."

  "And what are you going to do when you find them?"

  "You tell me."

  "See, I told you not to rush into things without a plan."

  "Just help me, will you?"

  "Ram their car and make such a fuss that the police get called. It's your chance to tell them everything, while the Heinmans are sitting by the side of the road. With any luck, the British police will have alerted Interpol by then."

  "I like it, Ken. The Heinmans might have incriminating papers on them, or even some of their poison gas."

  "It's not my best plan ever, kiddo, but it's something to get you started. Try not to get arrested again. Once you're in custody, you're powerless. Maybe you'll think of something better on the way down."

  "How do I find DCI in Geneva?"

  "You're in luck. Louise has come up with a map. Their offices are in the center of the city, on the edge of some big lake." Ken gave the address and phone number. "Watch yourself, kiddo."

  Matt replaced the phone in its cradle and examined the old green Renault. "Where on earth did you find it, Zoé? It's a heap."

  "Say thank you," said Zoé. "I smiled nicely and Philippe's brother gave it to me for a test drive."

  "To Geneva?"

  Zoé shrugged. "I did not say how far I wanted to go. I found Sophie at her sister's house. She is coming with us."

  Matt started to protest.

  "No, Matt, Sophie's life is in danger. We must leave the Peugeot of Captain Lacoste here. The gendarmes they are everywhere."

  "Let's hope they don't recognize us," said Matt.

  "I will do the driving. That is why Sophie lent me this headscarf."

  "It doesn't suit you."

  Zoé ignored the observation. "Hurry up and get in, Matt. You will have to lie on the back seat under the covers, and Sophie will have to lie with you."

  Matt shook his head. "All the way to Switzerland -- in this? Look at the state it's in. It's even worse than the Mini. I hope it's got breakdown cover."

  "It is a good car," insisted Zoé. "Get in."

  "I want you to make a phone call before we go." He pointed to the mobile in the Peugeot. "To DCI in Geneva."

  Everything depended on Zoé getting this call right. He ran through the plan, making sure Zoé understood exactly what she had to do. He leaned into Lacoste's car and switched off the police radio. It wouldn't do to have urgent voices interrupting the call to DCI.

  "Speak in English, not French," he reminded her. "And whatever they say, don't take no for an answer."

  Zoé smiled. "The determined English pharmacist -- that is me." She raised a finger as the phone was answered. "'Ello, I have to contact Monsieur F. B. 'Einman urgently ... Yes, I know he is not with you, but I have an important message for him. Put me through to a private secretary immediately."

  She breathed out heavily and waited for the secretary to answer.

  "'Ello," said Zoé, raising her voice so it sounded confident. "This is the pharmacist of Monsieur F. B. 'Einman in London. There has been a serious problem with Monsieur 'Einman's medication ... Yes, it could be extremely serious in view of his age. I have to contact him immediately. He told me he was going to Geneva with the company president. ... Yes, that is what he said. So I thought ... Excuse me, but surely you are not taking responsibility for ... You are right, you cannot possibly make medical decisions like that. If Monsieur 'Einman becomes seriously ill because you ... Ah yes, that is good."

  Zoé caught Matt's eye, but she was so taken up in acting the part that she didn't even smile. "How soon until he arrives? ... It is most important I know exactly when you will be contacting Monsieur 'Einman about his medicine ... Who? Monsieur Urquet? Yes, of course you must tell Monsieur Urquet about it. I do not think you realize the implications of a delay."

  Matt listened in astonishment. He guessed she'd do the job well, but Zoé was so involved in playing the part that she seemed to have actually become the pharmacist. She knew when to snap at the secretary with exactly the right amount of impatience.

  Zoé stopped talking and there seemed to be silence at the other end. Then she started speaking again. "All right, if you are sure he will be with you this evening I will send a fax ... No, no problem now, thank you ... Yes, and you have a nice day, too."

  Matt clenched both fists and laughed out loud. "You were brilliant, Zoé. You hardly sounded French." He took the phone and punched in a few random numbers. "I don't want to make it too easy for Lacoste to find out who we've been phoning. Now, tell me about it."

  "The American secretary in Geneva, she believed it all," said Zoé, smiling at last. She gave a little giggle to relieve the tension. "There is someone called Simon Urquet working at the Geneva office. He is, I think, the most senior man there, but he is only visiting from New York. The secretary spoke to him and he told her to get me to send a fax ready for the 'Einmans."

  Matt nodded. "Sounds like father and son are expected."

  "And now?"

  "We don't bother messing about with a fax. We concentrate on getting there first -- and hope Urquet is a man with a conscience."

  Zoé frowned. "Why did you say I hardly sounded French? I was speaking English."

  "You sounded very efficient." Matt decided to change the subject. He'd not mentioned Zoé's heavy French accent before, and had no intention of starting now. "Tell me, were all the cars museum pieces?" He kicked the front tire of the large Renault.

  "This was his best," said Zoé. "In a car like this you will discover just how big this country is. You English come over here with your little road maps and think you can get from one side of France
to the other in two or three hours."

  "I know how big France is," Matt said. "I only hope this fossil holds together for the journey. It's got a local department registration, so we're probably breaking the law by taking it out of the area."

  "Are you going to thank me for the Renault or not?" demanded Zoé. "I went to a lot of trouble to get it for you."

  Sophie Boissant sat in the back of the old car with a perplexed look on her face. "We are going somewhere?" she inquired politely.

  Matt opened the rear door and took hold of her arm. "Come on, Sophie, we have to climb under the blankets and hide."

  Zoé turned round from the driving seat. "All the way to Geneva," she added.

  Sophie coughed politely and tapped Zoé on the shoulder. "Excuse me for saying so, mademoiselle, but I think it would be a mistake for me to be covered over with the young man for the next few hours -- pleasant though it would be. If I sit with you in the front I will make the car less suspicious. Whatever is happening around here, two women on their own are not going to be stopped."

  "That's good," said Matt. He let Sophie into the front then stood in the track listening for police sirens. There had been nothing for the past few minutes.

  "Tell me, Zoé," he could hear Sophie saying, "you like Matthieu. But I think the two of you are not lovebirds."

  Matt stayed where he was.

  "Lovebirds? Of course not," he overheard Zoé answer.

  "You like Matthieu very much, I think. But there is a problem, which is why you hold back."

  "I already have someone. In Clermont Ferrand. I am helping Matt, and that is all."

  "No, Zoé, that is not all. You are in a dilemma over two men, n'est ce pas? You know you have to make a big decision in your life."

  "What sort of big decision?"

  "Only one man is right for you, ma chère. Sometimes it is hard to turn a man away, but you must do it if you have serious doubts."

  Matt stood still, hardly believing what he was hearing; but Zoé said nothing more. He got slowly into the back seat and had to slam the door four times before it latched. Probably Zoé didn't know he'd overheard her exchange with Sophie. He'd say nothing, but he'd remember the sting that came in those words.

  Lovebirds? Of course not! If Zoé had doubts, which man would she turn away?

  "All right, Zoé, step on it."

  "You worry too much." She shook her head sadly and adjusted the yellow headscarf. "Always in the hurry. We will wait here until the gendarmes have stopped rushing about in their little cars. They will soon tire of their game and go into town to bother the motorists going too fast."