Chapter 81

 

Caplin began to feel faintly carsick as the Interpol van wound its way up the mountain road. The van was the last of four vehicles; ahead were a car with the commander and Interpol chief, a Humvee with a special metal ramming grid on the front, and another van with eight armed SWAT members. His place was merely to watch the action for now; he and the French gendarmes would come in to make arrests once the location was secure and any live fire was finished.

Ahead, the lead car had stopped. He pressed forward to get to a window and some fresh air. The van driver and another officer were conversing rapidly in French and he saw the man outside gesture toward a car sitting in a turnout. Apparently they decided not to worry about it; the other guy got back into the lead car and the little procession began to move.

“Tourist rental car,” the driver said. “Probably out of gas. They do it all the time.”

About a mile from the end of the curving road, the four vehicles rolled to a stop and switched off their lights. Any closer, they risked being seen or heard well in advance. The guard would surely alert the entire household to anyone approaching at three in the morning.

Four men in black clothing and bulletproof vests jumped from the van ahead and quickly moved up the road toward the speck of light coming from the guard house. The Humvee had moved to center-of-road, ready to coast forward as soon as the radio call cleared it.

Caplin tensed. Any moment now all hell could break loose.