Despite the anger that Ryker knew both of them felt, and that urged them to give immediate chase, he persuaded Henrik that they should stay away from St Ricard for now. They found a secluded spot in the woods to shelter in for the night. Henrik had twisted his ankle in the fight with the man. Nothing serious, but Ryker hoped the hours of rest would ease the injury sufficiently for the long trek back down to civilization.
It was possible that the man and woman could head back to St Ricard and gather backup before returning to the mountain for a second try at killing – or was it capturing? – Ryker and Henrik, but Ryker decided the chances of that, given the distance they’d need to cover – and the added difficulties of moving at night – were slim.
Before they retreated to the tent for the evening, Henrik insisted on burying the remains of his new-found friend. Ryker found the tender moment, as they stared silently at the small brown mound surrounded by white snow, both heartwarming and heartbreaking. Henrik had known the animal for all of ten minutes, but the bond was unmistakable. As was his anger. Ryker had rarely seen him so emotional. Was there something more to his anguish?
‘It was my fault,’ Henrik said.
‘No, it wasn’t.’
‘If I had just scared him away to start with, he wouldn’t have been hurt.’
‘You didn’t do anything wrong.’
‘No. It was my fault. I shouldn’t have fed him. I wanted to show you, I… I wanted to impress you.’
‘You did.’
Henrik huffed.
‘He’s dead because of me.’
‘No. He’s dead because of them. And because he tried to protect you.’
Henrik walked away without saying another word.
* * *
Ryker awoke the next morning to the intense winter sun beating down on the thin fabric of their tent. Not exactly a blissful night, out in the cold, the wind whistling, his brain whirring. But they’d needed the rest. At least the shining sun brought some feeling of positivity.
‘How’s the ankle?’ Ryker said as Henrik emerged from the tent twenty minutes later, by which point Ryker had relit the fire from the night before and had a tin of soup bubbling away in a pan.
‘Good enough,’ Henrik responded, but he had a noticeable limp and Ryker could tell he was battling through pain, trying to be brave.
‘We can stay here longer,’ Ryker said.
‘I’m not sitting waiting for them to come back.’
‘We could move to a different location—’
‘We’re going down this morning. I’ll be fine when I’m moving.’
Little more was said as they ate and then packed up their site. Ryker kicked heaps of snow over the fire to put it out then tossed his backpack over his shoulders.
‘A lot of gear for an assault,’ Henrik said.
‘We’re not going on an assault,’ Ryker said.
‘Then what are we doing?’
‘We’re going to find out what’s going on.’
Henrik didn’t hide his agitation very well, a sneer spreading across his face.
‘They tried to kill us,’ Henrik said.
‘Perhaps they did. Perhaps that wasn’t their original intention. Either way, when we get back down to St Ricard, it’s not on a revenge mission. I want some answers.’
‘And what if they answer your questions by shoving a gun to your forehead?’
‘They can try. And then we’ll protect ourselves. But this isn’t an all-out assault.’
Henrik still didn’t look convinced.
‘Or we can just forget all about it and go somewhere else. Your choice.’
A silent standoff. Then, ‘Fine. Let’s go.’
* * *
They were tired and hungry as St Ricard came into view below them. Despite the bright start, the sun had disappeared behind thick cloud not long after they started their descent, and given the murkiness, the lights of the town were already on, drawing them in. Ryker was tempted to at least refuel with a proper meal before they headed on to Monique Thibaud’s home, but would the gendarmes swoop if they made their presence so obvious in a public space?
Instead, they settled on having some more of the rations from their backpacks while sitting in a small clearing in the woods, the twinkling lights of the town less than a mile below them.
‘Should we dump our gear?’ Henrik said as they finished off the cold food.
‘Probably a good idea,’ Ryker said. They needed to be mobile. Just in case. Even if it did potentially mean a waste of good money if they couldn’t get back here, or if the items were ruined or stolen.
They hid their backpacks below a mesh of sticks and piney branches, completely covering the colored fabric from sight, and hopefully providing decent cover from the elements, for a short time at least. They retained their winter clothing, and each of them had a hunting knife, plus Ryker had a pocket utility knife, a compass, and a torch.
In quiet trepidation, they made the final descent, skirting around the outside of the town as much as they could to keep out of sight.
‘How far?’ Ryker asked Henrik as they crossed over a road that Ryker knew led into the main town square, not far from their previous hotel.
‘Less than ten minutes from here,’ Henrik said.
They walked past the last of the town’s buildings. Ryker glanced behind him at the fading lights as they moved up a steep, twisting road, barely wide enough for a vehicle.
‘How did you get in last time?’ Ryker asked.
‘I went over the wall at the back. There are a couple of spotlights there but I managed to evade them to get to the back of the house.’
Evaded the spotlights, though not the CCTV cameras, it seemed.
‘I prized open a window. They’re all sashes, pretty old too. It’s not a fortress, it’s a big old stone house.’
‘Security system?’
‘There is one. I saw the infrared sensors inside. And a control panel in the kitchen and in the entrance hall. But it wasn’t set at all when I was there. I think because she was home and because she had the security guards patrolling anyway.’
Ryker thought for a moment.
‘Is that the plan again?’ Henrik said. ‘I know we’ll get in that way. There’s plenty of cover, even in daylight.’
Though there wasn’t really much of that anyway.
‘But you were caught last time,’ Ryker said. ‘So your plan wasn’t foolproof.’
‘I kind of wanted to be caught. I went there to confront Monique. To find Sophie. I wasn’t there to steal gems or anything.’
Ryker said nothing to that.
‘So?’ Henrik prompted.
‘So what?’
‘Shall we do the same again?’
‘No. Like you said, we’re not here to steal. We’re here to talk.’
‘What do we do then?’
‘We ask nicely if we can go inside.’
Henrik paused, then, ‘Seriously?’
‘Seriously,’ Ryker said with a smile.
They rounded a bend on the incline and the house came into view in front of them. Perhaps a farmhouse originally, the stone-built building had at some point in its history been transformed into a handsome – and very big – home. The low-rise wall at the front swept up to a pair of wrought-iron gates that were closed but didn’t appear to be locked. No one in sight as Ryker and Henrik approached.
‘Like I said, it’s hardly Fort Knox, is it?’ Henrik said.
Ryker smiled at the colloquial expression. ‘Fort Knox isn’t that secure, either.’
Henrik looked at him, eyebrow raised.
‘Fort Knox is just a military base. People confuse the name with the United States Bullion Depository. It’s right next door to Fort Knox, but it’s not technically part of the military base.’
Henrik stopped walking a couple of yards from the gates. Ryker followed suit.
‘Okay. So I should have said, it’s hardly the United States Bullion Depository.’
‘It’d be more accurate. And anyway, even the security at the depository isn’t as advanced as it used to be. Nor is the place anywhere near as important, all things considered.’
‘There’s no gold there?’
‘Oh, there’s still plenty of gold. A few thousand tons. About half of the reserves of the US. But it’s less than half of what they used to store there, and overall gold itself is much less significant these days, when you think about it.’
‘Huh,’ Henrik said, eyeing Ryker with suspicion now, as though he sensed Ryker knew a lot more about Fort Knox and the US gold reserves right next door to it than most people did.
Which Ryker did, but that was a story for another day. They had company.
‘Bonjour,’ Ryker said, turning to face the man who sauntered toward them from beyond the gates.
‘What do you want?’ the man asked in French.
Not the same man as had shot the dog up in the mountains, even if he was similarly dressed – waterproof trousers, bulky outdoor coat, black boots, beanie hat. He was short but thickset, mottled skin on his face.
‘To speak with Madame Thibaud,’ Ryker said as he and Henrik moved slowly toward the gates.
‘She’s not expecting anyone.’
Ryker looked beyond the man and to the grounds around the home. He couldn’t spot anyone else lying in wait. So where were those other two?
He wondered how serious the woman’s wounds were.
‘I think she’ll want to speak to us,’ Ryker said. ‘My son broke into her home last night.’
Henrik squirmed, as if about to contest that, or perhaps to run, or attack, but Ryker put a firm hand on his shoulder to keep him where he was.
‘We’re here to apologize.’
The guy stared intently at Ryker for a few moments, as though working over the information and the proposal.
He reached to his side. Ryker tensed, but only a little. A radio. The guy turned his head, covered the handset to muffle the conversation. Then he pulled the radio back down and glared at Ryker but didn’t say anything.
After a few moments of silence, Ryker stepped forward again, right up to the still-closed gates. He put his hands out onto the cold metal.
‘Don’t,’ the man said, holding a palm out to Ryker.
Then the radio crackled and he lifted it back to his ear for the response.
‘Madame Thibaud says that if you don’t go, she’ll call the police.’
Henrik sighed. Ryker held in any reaction to the pretty much expected response.
‘Tell her if she doesn’t let us in, we’ll gladly speak to the police about your colleague trying to shoot me and my son in the mountains. Where is he and his delightful companion, anyway?’
The man didn’t respond. Just gave Ryker a death glare as he gritted his teeth.
‘Go on, then,’ Ryker prompted.
The man lifted the radio. With him distracted, Ryker moved quickly as he slid the bolt across, then grasped the open gate with both hands and swung it forward, using it as a battering ram of sorts. The heavy metal thudded into the guard’s shoulder, sending him stumbling. Ryker slunk in through the gap, grabbed the guy’s arm, twisted. Swiped his feet away and eased him down to the ground, arm held aloft and pushed to breaking point. The radio dropped from his grasp as he squirmed and winced.
‘Sorry,’ Ryker said. ‘It’s quicker this way.’
The man said nothing as Henrik bounded up, then crouched down. Patted the man’s side.
‘Got it,’ he said, lifting the handgun from under the man’s coat.
Henrik stepped back with the gun. Ryker really didn’t want the kid to have that. Too risky. He let go of the guard’s arm and reached out to Henrik, who reluctantly handed over the weapon. Ryker stuck it in his pocket, then looked down at the man in the snow, whose face was creased with rage as he nursed his arm.
‘I’m going to—’
‘Save it,’ Ryker said, putting an end to whatever threat or ultimatum the guy had his mind set on. ‘I’ve heard it all before. Get up and show us which way to go.’
Silence. Then the guy – looking a little surprised – clambered back to his feet and made a meal of brushing the powdery snow from his trousers and coat. Buying time for someone on the inside to rush to his rescue?
He took his hat off to reveal a shiny bald head, smacked the fabric against his coat to remove the white stuff, then pulled it back over his scalp.
‘Ready now?’ Ryker said to him.
‘Follow me.’
They walked slowly, the man at the front, Ryker and Henrik a couple of steps behind. Every few yards the man glanced over his shoulder at them. Was he planning an attack? Ryker didn’t think so. Whoever this guy was, he wasn’t that well-trained. Just a simple security guard. He wouldn’t put his life on the line for his employer. His lackluster efforts had already made that clear. Kind of like how those other two had run from conflict up in the mountains.
‘Who’s inside?’ Ryker asked.
He got no response. Ryker looked about the grounds as they moved. Snow covered much of what he thought was a large lawn, flower beds too, perhaps, but all along the perimeter were a variety of trees – some evergreens, some deciduous, their twisting branches bare and forlorn.
Two cars sat parked up next to the house. Both rugged, off-road types. The house itself looked in good condition, even if it was obviously old-fashioned. No grand entrance, only an arched wooden door set back within the thick stone walls.
Movement there caught Ryker’s attention. The front door opened.
Ryker whipped his hand to his side for one of the two guns he now carried.
‘Don’t,’ he said, and Henrik, Baldy, and the wolf-killer all froze as if they all thought the instruction was directed at them.
Ryker’s hand remained in place, his fingers a couple of inches from the grip of the pilfered handgun. In front of him, at the door, the guard from the mountain mirrored Ryker’s pose. A similar height to Ryker, the man was leaner, and also a good ten years younger. He had a full face, and dense stubble rose up his cheekbones – the kind that would reappear only hours after a full shave.
‘Bruno, it’s okay,’ the shorter guard said, holding his hand out to his friend, as if afraid of getting caught in the crossfire.
‘Yeah, Bruno,’ Ryker said. ‘We’re here to talk, that’s all.’
Ryker slowly moved his hand away from his gun. Bruno hesitated, switching his gaze from Ryker to Henrik and back again.
‘Anna is still in the hospital because of them,’ Bruno said to his friend.
‘That was all down to you,’ Henrik said, the anger in his tone clear to all.
Another silence followed, the tension not easing at all. Ryker knew Henrik wanted nothing more than to race at Bruno and pummel him. Ryker, too, remained angry that for some reason this man, and the woman named Anna, had followed them to the mountain, armed, and intent on doing them harm. But most likely the answers lay with the employer of these two men. Other than satisfying a primal need for revenge, attacking Bruno now would achieve little.
‘Just take us to your boss,’ Ryker said. ‘That’s why we’re here.’
‘Their boss…’ said a woman’s voice from behind Bruno.
He looked aggrieved by the development, as though he now couldn’t do whatever he’d been planning. He took a half-step to the side to reveal the woman. Late fifties, with thick, wiry hair, she had a lined face and wore deft makeup, her lips blood-red. Together with the sequined blouse, smart pressed trousers, and low heels, she didn’t look like she belonged in a farmhouse in the snowy Alps. More like at a villa on the Med.
‘I am their boss,’ she said. Her English was good and had a soft French lilt.
‘You must be Monique Thibaud,’ Ryker said.
‘I am.’
‘I’m James Ryker. This is my son, Henrik.’
She looked Ryker up and down with disapproval, before setting her gaze on Henrik. No up-and-down look this time, just an all-out glare, her eyes narrowing.
Then she turned and walked away. After a couple of steps, she called over her shoulder.
‘Bruno, Jules, please invite our guests inside. Take them to the morning room.’
She moved out of sight.
‘After you, gents,’ Ryker said with a smile.