It was early in the morning and the small bar was empty except for a couple of Japanese tourists reading guidebooks whilst drinking espressos. Hunter walked in and noted the man in the corner wasn’t there. ‘Un espresso s’il vous plait,’ Hunter ordered from the bar. ‘Le toilette?’ The barman gestured through the back. ‘Merci.’ Hunter walked through. Checking behind him he put a Euro in the phone and punched in a number.
‘Pont Neuf. One Hour,’ the message played. ‘No more messages.’ Hunter put the phone down, went to the W.C. Waited thirty seconds, flushed the toilet and returned. He paid the barman for the coffee and checked his watch. It was the first time the meet location had changed from the usual place. He analysed the reasons why, remembering The Frenchman’s caution of the sniper by the church, perhaps he’d changed it for that reason. It was the first time he had met so early, so maybe there was a different routine. He finished his coffee, nodded at the barman and left the bar. He scanned up and down the street, wrapping his scarf around his neck and pulled down his flat cap to shelter from the first snow flurry of winter. He made his way to the metro station, bought a ticket then walked over and traced his route to the station nearest to Pont Neuf Bridge over the River Seine. He made his way down to the station platform, it was mostly empty. The artist’s quarter was rarely busy as its occupants slept off the previous night’s drinking sessions discussing Le Sartre and Victor Hugo whilst procrastinating over whatever artistic work they had started, but likely would never finish. The train arrived, Hunter checked in the carriage before finding a seat next to an old lady reading a newspaper. He picked up an abandoned copy of Le Monde and began reading it as the train pulled out of the station. As it made its way through the city the train filled up. Hunter changed lines through a busy intercourse, got on another train before arriving at his destination. A distinct chill cut down The Seine as he crossed over the busy road and began walking towards the centre of the bridge. He reached it, took out a small tourist map he had in his pocket and began to unfold it, pretending to look for directions for a few minutes.
‘Are you lost?’ The American voice over his shoulder asked. ‘I can be of some assistance.’ Hunter turned round to look at the man briefly.
‘I think I’m okay. Just trying to get my bearings.’
‘It’s easy to end up pointing in the wrong direction isn’t it? On a long journey. Sometimes you need just a nudge in the right direction so you can get to your destination.’ The man walked over and stood next to Hunter, looking over the river. Dressed in a long black wool coat over a smart black suit and red necktie, expensive framed glasses, a small American flag lapel pin badge. Hunter looked at him.
‘I guess so.’
‘So, maybe I can give you that nudge. What do you say?’
Hunter nodded. ‘If you think a nudge is all I need.’
Sanders smiled. ‘Perhaps something to help cover the costs needed to get where you want to be?’
‘How do you know where I want to go?’
‘Because it’s where we all want to go, isn’t it? The top of the hill, where the air is clear and the view is unobstructed.’
‘Do you know the way?’
‘I can take you there, if you like.’
‘How do I know I won’t end up getting lost on the way?’
‘You don’t I suppose. But then if I didn’t think you were meant to come to the top of the hill, why would I have come to guide you there in person, Judas Iscariot.’
Hunter turned to face him. ‘I know your face, but I don’t believe I’ve made your acquaintance.’
‘You know who I am. I’m Sanders.’
‘I’m a patriot Sanders.’
‘Of course you are, you’ve given your life’s work to the flag, we appreciate that. But like all patriots you weren’t always well rewarded for your efforts. We’d like to make amends.’
‘Is it that simple?’
‘It can be.’ Sanders shrugged. ‘We understand the sentimentality over the girl. You wouldn’t be the first or the last patriot to have their head turned by a pretty young thing. Maybe we handled things badly. She was working in the right direction, but she just didn’t understand the bigger picture.’
‘And you think I do?’
‘Maybe, maybe not. But if you let us illuminate that picture fully for you then you’ll come to understand that we’re all working to a common purpose here. You, me, the girl. Nobody needs to fall out over these things. It played out badly because we let people who were not so competent deal with it. That’s why I’m here. To make sure we deal with things the right way, to get the right result, for our country.’ Sanders put a hand on Hunter’s shoulder and squeezed it. ‘Now how about I give you that nudge, I’m sure we can get you to your destination. We both know where you want that to be, now don’t we? A seat in the big office, a say in how things are done. I can give that to you.’ Sanders removed a U.S flag pin lapel from his pocket and pinned it on Hunter’s jacket. ‘It’s time to remember who you are, where you belong. Whose team you are fighting for. Come home with me. Let me take you to that house on the hill.’ Hunter nodded. ‘Good. You know it’s the right thing to do.’ Hunter turned round, a black Chevy Tahoe was waiting, escorting a black limousine with a U.S embassy flag on the bonnet, in between another Chevy Tahoe. Sanders and Hunter walked over to the car. The driver opened the door and Sanders gestured Hunter to get in. ‘It’s time to go home Hunter, where you belong.’
From across the bridge in a parked Renault, Vincent watched as Hunter got in the car and the convoy drove away. He took out his cell phone and dialled a number. ‘It’s me, Hunter betrayed you. I’ll meet you at the farm.’ Vincent put his phone back in his pocket and started his car. He drove across the bridge and headed for the ring road to exit the city.