As the Peugeot approached the huge metal gates of Dumas's estate, Harcourt suddenly suggested that Petra should revert to using her real name. It was possible that her alias of Louise Charrière had filtered through. Jokingly, she commented that if anyone checked on Petra Rebovka, with her past track record, she should fit in rather easily with the villains that were suspects.
Petra made no comment.
The gates were slightly ajar. A security guard stepped through the opening. He was dressed in a dark suit over a black polo shirt. He spoke briefly into his lapel microphone and immediately the gates swung open.
The man stepped forward and leaned into the car. “Il faut arrêter à la barrière avant la maison.”
They passed through the gateway, following the tree-lined driveway. Harcourt was intrigued. At night with the lanterns and up lighters between the trees, the down lighters on the villa and the glow from the pool, one's first impression was akin to entering a magical, glittering wonderland. In the daylight, everything appeared lush and green, still colourful but more harmoniously subdued. The contrast between artificial glitz and raw nature was amazing.
On reaching the barrier a short distance from the villa, she slowed and stopped the car, as instructed. Further security in a suit approached the stationary vehicle. She recognised him; he was the Canadian from the previous evening's encounter.
“Leave the keys in the ignition. A member of staff will park it for you. Bring whatever you need for the day and follow me to the cabin.” The man showed no emotion in his expression.
The two women carried their bags and walked towards the main entrance of the villa.
“He's okay,” Harcourt whispered. “He's one of us, the one we told you about. Actually, he's probably a spook from the Security Intelligence Service, so he's probably one of your lot.”
Petra was unimpressed. “Whether he's S.I.S. or not, he certainly looks as though he got out of the wrong side of bed this morning.”
“He warned Massey and me to stay away. I don't think he's too pleased that we're still about.”
An army of workers occupied the vast front lawns. It was as if whole regiments were busy erecting scaffolding and marquees in preparation for the engagement party. Petra smiled. The protocol of behaviour peculiar to building sites existed even on a remote hillside in Southern France. Work almost came to a standstill as the two glamorous women passed by.
They followed their escort through the gardens to the more secluded and quieter pool area, whereupon he pointed to an extensive log cabin that stretched along one side of the rectangular pool. A covered walkway connected the end of the cabin to the main house. Petra looked beyond the pool and found the infinity concept quite fascinating.
The Canadian stopped at the edge of the terrace. “You will find the cabin open. Enjoy your stay, but be careful what you say and where you say it.” He melted away into the surrounding greenery.
“Is he implying that the place is bugged?” Petra asked, looking warily about her.
“It appears that way. Hardly surprising, given that we are in the inner sanctum of organised crime.”
Petra smiled. “Perhaps we can have some fun with that later. Maybe we could openly discuss Massey's proclivity for muscular men in suits and suggest that he could take his pick here.”
Harcourt laughed. “So that's why I'm having no success with him.”
Once inside the cabin, they entered an open-plan lounge that incorporated a kitchen area in a galley style. The main part of the room contained several white soft leather sofas, a Nordpeis Manhatton wood burner complete with a basket of neatly hewn logs, occasional glass tables and a widescreen wall-mounted plasma television above a blu-ray DVD player.
A corridor led to a sauna beyond which were two dressing rooms each with a power shower in an adjoining wet room and separate bathrooms with WC's. At the other end of the cabin, sliding patio doors from the lounge gave access to a square open-air terrace that sported a jacuzzi.
Petra carried out a thorough inspection. “Some bloody set-up, this is. I still can't believe how perfectly that pool appears to merge with the sea. I'm impressed. Is that cool or is that cool?”
“Welcome to a millionaire's paradise.” Harcourt leaned closer and whispered. “Who said that crime doesn't pay?”
They were changing into their swimwear when Dumas appeared. A half-naked Petra quickly covered the exposed top half of her body with a towel.
He walked over, shook Harcourt's hand and looked piercingly at her companion. “You must be her new friend, yes?”
“Petra is a friend of my daughter. We met unexpectedly in Marseille.”
“Enchanté, mademoiselle.” Dumas extended his hand.
Petra offered her hand, which he gently held in his, brushing it with his lips as he bowed slightly. The towel fell away exposing one of her breasts.
He reacted reassuringly. “If you wish to spend the day topless, that is okay. It is normal here. I give you Bobo, who wait on you and help you. He also swim well. If you have need of drinks and food, he bring. He is your esclave for the day. What is the English translation of that…slav?”
“Slave?” Petra offered, guessing correctly.
He laughed. “Yes, that is it. Your personal slave. Today, I am not here. I have business to make.” He turned to Petra. “Why you choose Marseille for holiday? You look enough beautiful to charm the playground of le Midi, especially Cannes or Saint Tropez. My yacht is there now, you must join us for a voyage after it return. How long stay you here?”
Petra blushed slightly, maintaining her grip on the towel. “I depart after the weekend unfortunately.”
“So, it is short holiday?”
“It was partly business.”
“You have business here in Marseille?”
Petra was thinking quickly. So many damn questions. She had to concoct a story, improvising as best she could, but still trying to sound plausible. “My sister and I have a saddlery shop. I'm looking for new suppliers.”
Dumas looked mystified. “What is this ‘saddlery’?”
“We sell leather goods and equipment for horses and riders.”
“Ah, yes,” he said. “A saddle for a horse. You must visit the Camargue. It is famous for its horses and excellent horsemen.”
Petra wished that she had not continued the conversation. “Maybe next time, I will make a point of visiting the Camargue.”
“You must call me. I have many contacts. Perhaps tomorrow one of them is here for the celebration. You must come with Mademoiselle Harcourt. I introduce you to my friend.”
“Thank you,” Petra said, not happy with the hole that she had dug for herself.
“A demain,” Dumas said with the hint of a bow and a smile to both women. “Have a nice day, as the Americans say.” He walked down the corridor and disappeared along the walkway towards the villa.
Harcourt beamed at Petra. “Well, you certainly made an impression.”
Petra emitted a huge sigh of relief. “Phew…all those damn questions. He must have had Massey as a bloody tutor. Yet for all that, he's the epitome of charm, if you like that sort of thing. Mind you, I wouldn't trust him as far as I could throw him.”
“Are we going topless then?” Harcourt sported a red and black striped bikini, sunglasses and a straw hat.
Petra looked at her, shook her head in disbelief and giggled. “Let's check out this Bobo first. I don't want to be lying there sunbathing with some perverted lech leering at me.”
It was almost mid-day when they stretched out on the sun-loungers by the pool. Bobo was a coloured youth. From his physique and expression, he seemed to be a mere teenager. He spent most of the time at the far end of the cabin where he sat on a wooden bench beneath a sunshade. He read a magazine between occasionally smiling at them. Both women considered him harmless. They decided to go topless.
Petra leaned across to her companion. “This daughter of yours, my imaginary friend, does she really exist?” she asked quietly, wondering if the pool surroundings were bugged. Having made a casual inspection visually, she considered that their chosen spot seemed clear of anything that may have concealed a hidden mike.
“Oh, yes, she exists. She's also abroad at the moment.”
“It might be useful if you could tell me about her. You know, just in case someone asks me a tricky question.”
“Since you're now here on horsey business, you could say that you met through her interest in equestrian activities.”
“She rides, then?”
“She had a pony when she was younger, but once she passed her driving test, I think that she found the car more appealing…no stables to muck out, no tack to clean, et cetera.”
“How old is she now, then?”
“Similar age to you, I should think. She's twenty two.”
“Whereabouts abroad is she?”
Harcourt leaned closer. “Afghanistan. She's out there with the military.”
“Bloody hell.” Petra gasped under her breath. “She's fighting insurgents? That'll go down well here if they're supporting Al Qaeda suicide bombers.”
“She's not front-line. Let's just say that she's involved with communications.”
Petra lay back on the sun-lounger and turned her head towards Harcourt. “Let's just say that she works for a local stud farm near Manchester…keep it simple, eh?”
A roar that sounded like a low-flying aircraft suddenly shattered the peace and quiet of the pool area. The noise resonated from beyond the villa. Slowly the source of the disturbance rose above the turrets. A blue and white Eurocopter AS 350B3 Ecureuil helicopter appeared. The rhythmic drone and harsh whoosh of the rotor blades became louder as nearby trees swayed from the air turbulence. Seconds later, the craft turned and swung out of vision towards the coast.
Petra turned to Harcourt. “I've made some dramatic entrances in my time, but that was some exit!”
The remainder of the afternoon passed without incident. Between bouts of small talk, the two women alternatively swam and sunbathed. Occasionally they sent Bobo to bring drinks and nibbles that appeared as if by magic within minutes of their order. The ‘slave’ spent the remainder of his time relaxing beneath his parasol or sitting cross-legged on the concrete bunker that housed the filtration unit and heating system for the pool.
Security suits hovered periodically as they patrolled the perimeters of the property. When in vision, their gait almost slowed to a standstill as they soaked up the spectacle of the half-naked females. Petra commented that all the security cameras in their vicinity mounted on the walls of the villa had gradually re-positioned and now pointed in their direction.
“Why do you think Dumas is tolerating our presence here? He's aware that you and Massey are detectives. Do you think that he bought my story about knowing your daughter?”
“I see no reason why not. He may have known about the existence of a Louise Charrière from Roche or through his police contacts, but I cannot see how he can know that you and she are the same, unless he has a photo. I reckon he bases his hospitality on the old adage of keeping your enemies close. On the surface, he has nothing to hide from us. Our initial enquiry was regarding Roche, nothing more. As far as he's concerned, his own criminal activities are not in question, so presumably, he doesn't see us as a threat.”
Petra was puzzled. “Because you say that he is well connected with people in authority here, I cannot believe that he is unaware of the ongoing investigation by the security services.”
“But how far advanced is that investigation? Is local law enforcement privy to the bigger picture? We only have the word of a bogus security guard that something is about to surface this weekend. Surely your people could confirm that. Can you not contact them?”
“I'm supposed to be on my way to the U.K. If I contact Rob, I'll be in the proverbial shit when he finds out that I'm here with you in Marseille.”
“Just tell him that you're here helping us to conduct a local surveillance op.”
“Nor is he happy that you're here. They're concerned that you might jeopardise their ultimate game plan, whatever that is. Besides, coming here on surveillance was not my mission.”
“It was,” Harcourt argued. “It's just the location that's changed. What can they do about it? From what you have told me, your position is solid. Let's face it; in their eyes, you may be expendable. Nevertheless, they need your services more than you need their support. I'll certainly back you, if necessary.”
Petra sighed. “Massey won't support me.”
“You leave Massey to me. He's mellowed since your past involvement with him. He may have been a clinical, abrasive sod but, since he lost his partner and suffered a heart attack, he resorts to peaceful resolutions as opposed to creating conflict situations. Don't be disturbed by his attitude towards you. He's remonstrating against the system, not castigating you personally.”
“But I murdered the man who tried to kill me. Massey wanted me to serve life.”
“For which they found you guilty and sentenced you. Now you are paying your penance, possibly with your life if these people are as evil as intelligence would have us believe. I think justice is being served. To offer you the opportunity to repay your debt to society in this way is a great concept. Maybe more criminals should serve their country instead of languishing in the overcrowded prison system.”
Petra stepped towards the edge of the pool, her supple, tanned body glistening in the bright sunlight. She grinned. “As you mentioned earlier, who said crime doesn't pay?” She plunged into the warm depths of the sparkling blue water.
She emerged still smiling. “This is as good as it gets for a serial killer.” She dived once more below the surface.
Harcourt looked puzzled. What did she mean? What serial killer? Obviously, Massey had not yet related the complete Petra Rebovka saga.
Bobo waved at her from the bunker, still smiling.
8888
As Petra entered her hotel, refreshed but slightly fatigued from her excursion to the villa, she failed to notice the man in the reception area. Casually dressed, he wore shades and appeared to be engrossed in a copy of Le Monde. He folded the newspaper, placed it on a low mahogany and glass table and followed her into the lift. Petra leaned over to press button number three.
“What floor…quel étage?” she asked, without turning to face the other occupant.
“Same as you,” was the instant reply. “We need to talk.”
The lift rose. Petra's heart sank. As she looked up, her expression said it all.
Rob Smith leaned back casually against the wall of the lift. “Compared to locating terrorists in the Tora Bora cave complex, finding you in France was a cinch.” He folded his arms across his chest. “From your intensive training, you should know that phone calls, e-mails, access to internet history and CCTV images together with regular intel reports can be quite illuminating. You're supposed to be undercover.”
The lift shuddered to a halt. The doors slid open. Without replying, Petra strode down the corridor to her room. Rob followed and sprawled in an armchair by a window that overlooked the old port. Petra dropped her bag on the floor and sat on the bed facing him.
She folded her arms defensively across her body. “Well, go on then…give me a bollocking.”
Rob grinned. “How is Monsieur Dumas?”
Petra not only expected but also wanted him to be angry to clear the air. His calm approach disturbed her. Uncharacteristically, she was uncomfortable, on tenterhooks. She sat motionless, unable to relax as she awaited the inevitable criticism of her actions. Why was he prolonging the agony? Was this merely his way of dealing with the situation or was he playing some psychological game? Despite her concern, deep within she was aware that she must respond in a similar way, show no fear, remain confident, stay in control of her emotions. Her reaction would demonstrate her ability to maintain mental strength in adversity. That much she had learned in training.
“He's fine…charming and, at the same time, inherently devious.”
“Have you found Roche and your informant, Alexis?”
Petra shook her head.
Rob stood and walked to the window, turning his back towards her. “I want you to describe in detail everything that you have observed at his villa. We have images from a drone that we diverted recently from Afghanistan. They show the general layout of the place including the helipad at the rear of the property, but we lack detail. We have two undercover operatives on site, but I'd like to hear your version, especially your impressions of security and any apparent routines.”
“You should speak with Massey and Harcourt. They spent Wednesday evening there, both inside and outside the villa. Today, we were restricted to the pool area and the log cabin. I only observed a surfeit of security cameras, but you're probably already aware of those. They must feed into some pervert's control centre…they followed our movements around the pool.”
“Serves you right for posing topless;”
“How do you know that we were topless?”
“You'd be surprised by what we know. For example, we know that there will be hundreds of guests tomorrow for his daughter's engagement party. We also know that some Al Qaeda network chiefs will be attending. We consider it to be a perfect window of opportunity.”
There is to be some action after all, thought Petra. She eased herself forward into a more attentive position. “Harcourt seems convinced that S.I.S is proposing a raid.”
“There is an assault planned by Special Forces and all personnel involved are on immediate stand-by. We are awaiting final approval. Joint ops and government agencies are in favour, but there is still some opposition at a higher level. There is reluctance to implement a raid where casualties will be inevitable. The fear of collateral damage involving innocent guests would invite severe international condemnation. Dumas is clever enough to realise this.”
“The detectives and I have been invited. Is that significant?”
“As far as he is concerned, the greater the number of guests, the more protection it affords. They become his human shield allowing him the opportunity to assemble all our targets but simultaneously render them untouchable.”
Rob looked across the crowded miscellany of boats at their moorings in the old port. “We think that Roche evaded capture by a cross-country route to Saint Tropez where he probably joined the party on Dumas's yacht. They are due to arrive in Marseille tomorrow morning.”
“I take it that the principal targets are Al Qaeda people. Can we not intercept them? How will they be arriving at the villa?”
“That's the problem. Some may have already flown into local airports like Nice, Montpellier and Marseille. Some could be already en route across the Med. In addition, there are road and rail networks and of course, helicopters direct to the villa. It's impossible to cover every possibility. There isn't the manpower.”
“How many targets are we talking about?”
“No more than five or six, excluding Dumas, Roche and Alexis.”
Petra was stunned. “Alexis? What has Alexis done?”
“We're not too sure. It's possible that he was responsible for the destruction of Roche's house. What do you think?”
“But the police were still there. He wouldn't…would he?” She slid off the bed, strode towards the door and turned abruptly to face Rob. “Anyway, how could he manage something like that?”
“As I said, we're not sure. It could have been Roche himself or even Dumas. It had to be destroyed. There was too much evidence in that cellar linking them to the transit of suicide bombers. The explosion also destroyed the garage next door. It was probably a cover for the stolen cars that they used. Forensics discovered metal bed parts in the wreckage. It's possible therefore, that it also contained facilities for temporary accommodation. The device had probably been in place for some time. A simple coded phone call detonated it.”
“But Alexis hated Roche. He thought that he was responsible for his father's death. Why would he try to protect him by destroying evidence? They fought each other when I was in the house.”
“You were unconscious for most of the time, unaware of what ensued afterwards. Roche is probably sitting on the deck of the Etoile Olympique, as we speak. Initially, it seemed that Alexis had also disappeared but turned up rather inexplicably in the cellar. For some unaccountable reason, we lost track of him following his departure from the gendarmerie.”
Petra became defensive. “Why do you keep banging on about Alexis? He's an accountant in Limoges. He told me about his work.”
Rob smiled. He was enjoying this. “Yes, and you told him that you were a researcher studying at the university.”
Petra's head dropped. “Shit! How stupid am I?” She joined Rob at the window. “I still don't understand. How does Alexis fit into all this?”
“He was not on our radar until recently. We checked him out. Routine background stuff revealed little apart from odd meetings and occasional phone calls with Dumas. That started ringing alarm bells.”
He turned to scrutinise her face. He wanted to see her reaction to his next bombshell. “We also know that a young man similar to him stayed overnight at the Grand Hotel Europe in St. Petersburg, where meetings of Al Qaeda leaders took place over several days. We have received confirmation since then that at least one of them, yet unidentified, flew on to Dubai and Lebanon. That's it.”
Petra turned away and sank once again onto the bed. “Bloody hell.” She smoothed the crumpled duvet. Her eyes adopted a glazed expression. “And to think that…”
“What?” Rob asked.
She averted her eyes. “It doesn't matter.”
Rob grinned. “You slept with him.”
“Bastard,” muttered Petra under her breath.
“Well, well…sleeping with the enemy! Have you no scruples?”
“Shut it. You're enjoying this, aren't you? It's your way of paying me back.”
“Not at all…I'm grateful. You've exposed Roche for what he is; you've made a connection with Alexis…excuse the pun,” Rob coughed, stifling another smile “and you've wormed your way into the inner sanctum of Michel Dumas. What a different performance to your previous efforts. Having said that, you did lose an expensive Sig Sauer, but that's salary deductible.” He sat on the bed alongside her. “Petra, just accept it all as one big learning curve.”
“Don't start patronising me now, after laughing at me.”
Rob became serious again. “Talking of guns, when you visited the villa, were you or Harcourt body searched?”
Petra shook her head. “Not even our bags were checked. They could have searched the car. They took it away to park it somewhere. I must admit that, with such impressive security, I was surprised that we were not checked out.”
“Unless the entrances have in-built scanning systems.”
“I did manage to carry a gun with me today disguised as separate items in my cosmetics bag. I found it in the kit that I received in Limoges.”
Rob returned to the window. “Call your detective friends. We need to meet up tonight. I have a proposal.”
8888
They met in Harcourt's room. It was the largest of the three hotel bedrooms that they each occupied. Petra and Harcourt sat on the bed, Massey in an armchair, Rob on a stool by a desk. He had a lot to explain.
“The various factions associated with Al Qaeda extremist operations are undergoing radical changes. Apart from a minority of entrenched militant fundamentalists, the world of Islam is losing confidence and patience with its current strategy. Their bombing campaigns in Iraq and now specifically in Afghanistan and Pakistan are killing more Moslem men, women and children than the ‘western infidels’.
“The supposition that the occupying coalition forces would become demoralised and that pressure would grow to withdraw the troops has failed. As you are probably aware, the Taliban in Afghanistan, for example, are ready to fill the void. We have intel that, to restore credibility in their jihad, they are about to refocus and concentrate their militancy on a more global scale, reverting back to the concept of their more notable successes like 9/11, the London bombings, the Bali nightclub and U.S.S. Cole.
“To co-ordinate similar atrocities globally amid western and pro-western democracies, they have recruited several key players to form yet other nebulous networks…Al Qaeda franchises. From our sources, we believe that six Islamist chiefs have each taken over regional responsibility for North and South America, Africa, Far East Asia, Europe and Australasia. Bin Laden and his close associates are retaining control of the Middle East, where we believe that they will scale down such operations to create complacency and simultaneously win back support. Intel has identified all of these new commanders except the one designated with responsibility for Europe. We think that he met with other group leaders a few days ago in St. Petersburg but, unfortunately, we lost him. We believe that the meeting was possibly to finalise details or to negotiate some further deal. We're not sure.”
Petra remained silent, too immersed in her own thoughts about Alexis. What, if any, was his involvement?
“This ‘we’ that you use so liberally,” Massey asked. “Can you enlighten us?”
“I refer in general to the Fusion Task Force, which includes Interpol, members of the United Nations Al Qaeda and Taliban monitoring teams, national anti-terrorist units, MI5, the C.I.A. and S.I.S…in other words, everyone involved in counter-terrorism, national and international security.”
Massey pressed. “So, for which outfit do you and Petra work?”
“I'm not prepared to disclose non-relevant information.” Rob spurned the question and continued. “We believe that the general intention is to flood selected countries in these six regions with fully trained and equipped suicide bombers. There is a never-ending flow of volunteers primed to attack densely populated targets. Our guess, from current information, is that some of these potential bombers are already in place in the U.K. with a mandate to hit major cities or possibly football and other major sports venues that attract large numbers. Initially, they will attach themselves as sleepers to existing cells nationwide. They will employ similar tactics elsewhere in other countries.
“For the Al Qaeda network, the major problem is logistical: how to stealthily position the bombers and their kit in designated target areas. When they have achieved that end, we believe that a constant series of attacks will take place worldwide, creating terror and panic on a scale unprecedented since World War II. An even worse scenario is that it could culminate with bioterrorism attacks or even a nuclear explosion.”
Harcourt wanted to establish some relevance locally. “How does Michel Dumas and his set-up fit into all this?”
“Dumas is a procurer, a facilitator, motivated by money as opposed to religious ideology or misplaced fanaticism. He is involved for purely financial reasons. We believe that one of his associates, our young French friend, Alexis, is some kind of negotiator. As a go-between, he will have access to valuable contacts.” Rob glanced quickly at Petra, who sat quite unmoved on the bed.
“He will have his reasons for being involved. On the other hand, people like Ludovic Roche are simply on the payroll to take the risks and to deliver the end product…in our case, the potential suicide bombers probably brought over from North Africa by Dumas's yacht. There will be counterparts of Dumas and his associates in other countries who will undertake similar roles, not for the cause, but for monetary gain. Tomorrow presents a one-off opportunity to take out some of this new Al Qaeda hardcore and to prevent or at least delay a global catastrophe.”
Massey was concerned. “If these bombers are already in the U.K., how do you propose detecting them?”
“That's where you guys will come into play, supported by MI5, the counter-terrorism unit and the national security services. That is work already in progress. Our objective is to annihilate the source by chipping away at the major players. The key to our success will be intelligence. That is why tomorrow's operation could be vital.”
Rob unfolded an A3 sheet on the desk and called them to join him. “This is a sketch plan of the interior and exterior of Dumas's villa. We have produced it from satellite images and info from our man on the inside, Tom Cathcart, whom you have already encountered, I believe. I want to explain in rough detail our plan of action based on the intel gathered over the past few weeks. It's complex, risky and dangerous. It requires precision, courage and total commitment. With you guys now on the scene as guests, we can include you in the action, but more of that later.”
Rob moved away from the desk. “I suggest that we take five, break for a coffee or some other liquid refreshment, stretch our legs and return with clear minds.”
Harcourt slid from the bed. “Who wants coffee? There's also the option of the mini-bar, of course.”
Petra selected a bottle of Evian from the refrigerated cabinet and joined Rob near the window. “Do you think Alexis will be there?”
“Missing him?”
“I can't believe that he's mixed up in this. He has so much to look forward to. Why would he involve himself with terrorist organisations?”
“As I said earlier, he has his own agenda. His situation and his role is complex. Without all the details, you would find it difficult to comprehend. He's young and inexperienced. We have prepared a file on him at Lyons. You've obviously spent time with him. What are your thoughts? Were you aware of anything strange about him?”
Immediately, Petra's thoughts turned to his grandmother, but Katherine had been adamant that Alexis was unaware of his historical background.
“You've gone quiet,” Rob said. “Was there something?”
“No, nothing. I was just reflecting on our conversations together. Roche's alleged involvement over the death of his father seemed to be his main obsession. He is somewhat headstrong, but apart from that, he seems like any other twenty year old. I met his grandmother. She was a bit strange. She wittered on about Russian history, reminiscing about her past. I suppose that's natural at her age.”
“No references to terrorism, Islamic fundamentalism or Al Qaeda?”
“Nothing.” She recollected a fleeting remark from their conversation in Le Capricorne. She said nothing.
“I'm sure that you will soon have some answers,” Rob said, pointedly. He returned to the desk and addressed the detectives. “Gather round and I'll brief you on the general outline of tomorrow's game-plan. You'll be pleased to know that your presence at the villa will have some value, after all.”
They congregated around the desk on which the layout of the villa became the focus of attention. Rob stood to one side to enable them to conceptualise his narrative with the sketch plan.
“We have conducted covert negotiations with Canal+, the French TV station. They have agreed to make arrangements to cover the engagement at the villa on their news channel.”
“Why?” Massey asked. “What's so special about his daughter's engagement party?”
“It's a celebrity thing. She's a top fashion model in France and her intended is a young politician, supposedly destined for a top position in the government,” Rob replied.
Harcourt smiled. “A future replacement for Nicolas Sarkozy and Carla Bruni, I presume.”
“Whatever.” Rob showed some irritation with the unnecessary interruption. “Dumas was extremely enthusiastic about their offer, believing that the news report would increase his credibility and popularity in influential circles. The film crew will consist of a camera operator, a sound recorder and an interviewer. All three, however, will be Interpol field operatives. Their role is threefold. By arrangement with Dumas, they will film the speeches and some ceremony where there will be an exchange of the couple's rings. That is scheduled to take place in the main marquee at 16.00hrs. However, for our benefit, they will also film as many guests as possible. Finally, they will use their presence to plant a small explosive device in the vicinity of the marquees, but at a safe area from the assembled guests to ensure that no-one suffers injury.”
Harcourt was puzzled. “Whatever for?”
“It will be merely a distraction…more about that later. We have explained to Dumas that it will be necessary to take excess footage in all areas. We have promised to edit the film for his approval before eventual broadcast. Consequently, they have permission to roam freely. Apparently, no vehicles will have access to the grounds of the villa. There will be a temporary parking area on a patch of terrain outside the perimeter walls where we intend to station the TV support vehicle as a decoy. We will have the technology inside to analyse all the footage and match against our database. This process will enable us to identify the targets that we expect to attend and any others that may be of interest.”
Massey was a stickler for detail. “Let's say that they achieve all that amid tight security. How long will it take to check?”
“Look, it can be accomplished in minutes,” Rob replied, his patience running out. “The G.I.G.N. special forces team, a French equivalent of SWAT, will be at the ready beyond the rear perimeter wall of the compound. Confirmation of the militants’ presence will be communicated to their team leader and to Tom Cathcart.”
“Why Cathcart?”
Massey was beginning to annoy him. “If you let me finish, that will become obvious.”
Petra stifled a smile. She was accustomed to lengthy briefings and knew that they should withhold questions until the end.
Rob continued. “Cathcart has already informed us that each member of the villa's security team will be working three hour shifts with a half hour respite between each. They will also change over locations with every new shift. Apparently, that arrangement is to ensure that they remain fresh and alert at all times. His morning stint is at the entrance, the afternoon places him in the pool area and the evening one in the villa. He will have three Sig Sauer P220 handguns, one for each of you. Because he is a trusted member of their security team, they do not subject him to body searches when he reports for duty. He will secrete the weapons with their magazines in the filtration unit by the pool during his afternoon shift.”
“What about surveillance?” Harcourt asked, thinking of the cameras that had homed in on them at the pool. “Surely, all this covert activity will be captured by the security cameras?”
“According to Tom, the marquees will obstruct many areas. For example, the marquee erected as an evening dance-cum-disco venue will hide the rear of the pool area completely. One of you must use it as cover to slip unnoticed onto the pool terrace to retrieve the guns during Tom's period of duty in that area. I suggest that Petra undertakes that specific assignment.”
“Why do we need guns?” asked Massey.
“At 18.00hrs, Tom's role in the villa changes. His extra responsibility is to guard the garden exit from the library.” Rob pointed to a point on the sketch plan. “Two other security guards are to protect the library entrance inside the villa. Because of his demand for armed security in this specific location, we believe that Dumas will be meeting with his associates inside the library at that time.
“At precisely 18.30hrs, Tom will dial a code to activate the explosive device near the main marquee. This is where we can use your presence. The blast will create sufficient noise, panic and distraction to provide you with the opportunity to enter the villa, head for the library, disarm the two guards and render them inoperative. That includes shooting them if necessary. They could possibly be wearing bullet-proof vests, so it's crucial to aim for the head.”
Harcourt looked dubiously at Massey.
“Look, if you're not up for it, Petra will have to go it alone. The operation requires steady nerves. At least she's been trained for such situations.”
“And experienced,” added Massey, recollecting her criminal history and not relishing the prospect of armed confrontation.
“My speciality was knives,” snapped Petra, sniping back at him.
Rob returned to the sketch plan, unimpressed by the bickering. “Sort it out amongst yourselves.”
He pointed to the library once again, indicating a rear vestibule with two exterior doors, one leading to the covered walkway linking the log cabin, the other to a path that crossed the rear gardens. After passing through an opening in an inner boundary wall, the path terminated at the helipad.
He continued his overview of the game plan. “Tom will access the library through the rear door and inform the group inside that the villa is under attack. He will offer to escort the Al Qaeda chiefs to the sanctuary of Dumas's chopper affording instant escape via his yacht. They will see it as a rescue mission. Dumas will believe his security guard to be acting in good faith. Timing is critical. As soon as Tom leaves with his captives, you will enter the library, arrest Dumas and any remaining members of his group and detain them until the arrival of the G.I.G.N…. or to give it the full title, the Groupe d'Intervention de la Gendarmerie Nationale.”
Harcourt had reservations. “What happens if his own security guys turn up?”
“They too will have to be dealt with. However, the assault team should on the scene within minutes.”
Petra could see the wider picture. “I assume that the chopper will be in our hands by this time. Where is it destined for in reality?”
“It is planned to commandeer the helicopter and the yacht earlier, prior to you storming the library. Once Tom has the group safely on the chopper, it will head for the yacht, which an American SEALs unit will have seized. The yacht will take the captives several miles out into the Mediterranean to rendezvous with a U.S. Los Angeles-class attack submarine. The SEALs will transfer them on board. At that point, an officer will inform them of their arrest.” Rob stood to one side to allow them to digest his briefing.
“What about all the other guests caught up in the midst of this mayhem?” Massey asked.
“The special forces team will process and release them, apart from any deemed to be a security threat. Any assistance that you could give would be most welcome, but if you so wish, you can return to the U.K. following the usual de-brief.”
Petra sprawled on the bed. “You said that we are to restrain Dumas until the task force takes over. What about Alexis, if he's present?”
“Everyone must be detained,” Rob replied, “including the two guards. No exceptions.”
Harcourt smiled as she rejoined Petra on the bed. “You make it sound so simple. What if the plan fails?”
Rob spread his arms to emphasise his confidence in a successful outcome. “If we all play our part, it cannot fail. This is a one-off opportunity. Failure is not an option. There will be a detailed briefing for the full team at 08.00hrs tomorrow morning. We will provide transport. You will learn the location for the meeting en route. Any further questions?”
Harcourt turned to Massey. “I should have listened to you in Limoges.”
“You should have listened to me in bloody Manchester,” he retorted.
Rob folded his sketch plan. “Okay, under no circumstances will anyone speak about what has been discussed here. The remainder of the evening is yours to act normally. Dine out or find a bar. Chill, but have an early night. Tomorrow will be a long day.” He turned to Petra. “I'd like a word with you before I leave. Meet in your room in, say fifteen minutes?”
Petra nodded, said her goodbyes and walked back to the Escale Oceania to await Rob's visit.
8888
Petra left her door open. Rob found her lolling casually across her bed. She patted the duvet. “Sit yourself down. You look worried. What's bothering you?”
Rob ignored her invitation. He paced the room, deep in thought.
She guessed the cause of his disquiet. “It's those two, isn't it?”
“Partly…can we rely on them? They shouldn't really be involved, but the extra bodies will help.”
“I'm sure that you can trust their confidentiality. Whether they have the bottle to partake in any action remains to be seen.” Petra sat upright and leaned forward more earnestly. “It's not just that, is it? What else is on your mind?”
“This Alexis guy. How close are you?”
Petra laughed. “You're asking me that! You know me…the good time girl, no commitments. Play the field. That's my motto.”
“What if the situation arose where you had to confront him in say, a life or death scenario, you or him? Could you kill him or would you freeze?” Rob studied her face.
Petra held his gaze. “If your evidence is correct and he is involved in some terrorist activity, I'm sure that he would have no hesitation in putting me down.”
“That doesn't answer my question.”
Petra played with her hair, twisting strands between her fingers as she spoke. “If my life was threatened, I would have to defend myself, wouldn't I?”
Rob nodded, not really convinced by her reply. “How involved do you imagine him to be? Would you shoot him without proof or full knowledge of his role in all this? ”
“Probably not…I'm not sure…it would depend on the circumstances. You took me completely by surprise by stating that he was working with Dumas.”
Rob sat on the end of the bed. “Tell me about this Russian connection. You say that his grandmother still talks about her ancestry?”
“She's like a bloody encyclopaedia on Russian history. I think that she likes to embellish and romanticise on the facts. Alexis gave me the impression that he found it all very amusing.”
Rob thought that some explanation was required. “The former Soviet Union, despite the predominance of the Orthodox Church, had quite a diverse ethnic population. Over centuries, the demand for recognition and more recently for independent states has caused horrendous problems for successive governments. The unrest continues to this day, particularly in Chechnya, where nationalism is more radical and anti-Russian. Recent bomb atrocities in Russian cities are naturally attributed to Chechen militants as the region is perceived as a breeding ground for terrorists.”
“What has that to do with Alexis?” asked Petra.
“You don't think that his family has a Chechen background, do you?”
Petra leaned back on the bed and grinned. “He has more chance of being a descendant of the Romanov dynasty.”
“What makes you say that?”
“His grandmother talks incessantly about Tsar Nicholas II and his family. I think it more likely that they have royalist rather than revolutionary sympathies.”
Rob stood up shaking his head, confused. “Your observations don't make any bloody sense.” He checked his watch. “I'd better make a move.”
“One last question. What's your role in this offensive tomorrow?”
“Communications co-ordinator. Initially, I'll be with the bogus TV support crew before joining the G.I.G.N. Responsibility for the militants captured by the SEALs will remain with the Americans. I'll assist Interpol later with the subsequent investigations at the villa.”
He turned to leave. “Stick around and help, if you've no wish to rush back.”
Petra smiled. “Thanks, I'd like that.” She remained on the bed as she watched him leave. She continued to fiddle with her hair, her mind elsewhere.
She so wanted to visit Katherine again, whatever the outcome. Had Alexis flown to St. Petersburg? If that were the case, what was the reason for the visit? Had he stayed at that same hotel mentioned by his grandmother in her reminiscences of the Romanovs? Could it be merely coincidence or was there more to Katherine's ramblings than just a sensational historical connection? Once again, her head was spinning with unanswered questions. Since Rob's revelations, she was desperate to learn the truth about Katherine's mysterious grandson, but firstly, there was tomorrow's mission to survive.
8888
Petra was still sleeping when a foretaste of the day's unfolding horrors took place over 100 kilometres east of her hotel room. As the silver entrails of a fading moon receded from the placid surface of the Mediterranean Sea, the first streaks of dawn began to project their pink, sun-kissed fingers over the horizon.
A shadowy figure approached the man who had just appeared from his cabin below deck. The shadow's arm reached out, plunging a knife upwards into the man's back. His heartbeat ceased as the blade ripped apart his vital organ. The victim lunged forward from the force of the assault. His assailant thrust his boot into the man's back, tumbling the limp body over a glistening chrome rail.
Blood spurted from the corpse as it spun like a dying Catherine wheel towards the blue-green waves below. It quickly disappeared beneath the surface replaced by the foaming wake of the yacht. Dimitri tossed the knife overboard into the white streaks of water as the vessel ploughed through the dark depths of ocean. He turned away and busied himself with a hose to wash from the deck any vestiges of Roche's presence.
It had been dark when the Etoile Olympique had slipped quietly from the harbour of Saint Tropez. By the time he was satisfied with his clean-up attempt, the sun had risen, casting a rosy glow over the blue and white superstructure of the yacht. He had roused Roche early to help him in getting underway before the first guests appeared for breakfast. That had been his explanation. In reality, he needed that first hour free without the presence of any crew or passengers. Not only would there be no witnesses to his evil act, but also the yacht would be far out from the shore, surrounded only by the rippling azure of the Mediterranean.
He had dutifully carried out the instructions that he had received. He was loyal to his paymaster; he knew no other way of life. He was the perfect individual to be a right-hand man, whether as a bodyguard, an assassin or a general dogsbody. As Dumas once said, with Dimitri alongside, your chances of survival in the trenches would be increased ten fold. He would fight to the last man.
With the warmth of the sun on his back, he headed west towards Marseille. He shrugged his shoulders; he had done the deed. He never cared much for Roche, anyway. In his opinion, the man was a loser, a low-life and an uncouth bully. He checked his watch; time for chef to start breakfasts. The early morning activity had sharpened his appetite. The day had started well, the weather forecast was good and there was a weekend of celebration to anticipate. What could go wrong?
8888
Immediately after breakfast, a chauffeur drove Petra and the detectives to Le Chateau des Fleurs on Boulevard Michelet, a conference centre not far from the Vélodrome. They were escorted to Salle 4, a large meeting room where representatives of all the agencies involved in the full-scale security operation had assembled. Once all non-participants had vacated, the doors were locked. There must have been close to forty attendees.
Aided by graphic images on a screen show, the director of the operation explained each detail meticulously. The presentation covered roles, responsibilities, positions and exact timings. There was to be no contingency plan. The only acceptable result was a successful outcome.
Following the briefing, they returned to their respective hotels to prepare themselves and their minds for what lay ahead. Unfortunately, this period of inactivity tormented the thoughts of Massey and Harcourt. In their minds, they were about to face the unknown. Both detectives had been in similar situations preparing themselves for a drugs raid or a criminal suspect swoop. However, none of their previous experiences had prepared them for a mission of this magnitude.
Petra had no time to dwell on such things. Rob had asked her to join him for an early lunch at a nearby restaurant before he left to join the task force. They sat on a terrace outside La Samaritaine on the Quai du Port and ordered two seafood platters. To a passer-by, they must have seemed like a couple of holidaymakers taking lunch together. The sun shone, promising good weather for the approaching engagement party and its unexpected guests.
Rob had quietly observed the detectives’ reactions. He impressed on Petra the importance of the forthcoming operation and the part that she had to play. She appreciated his concerns.
“It's vital,” he said, “that your detective friends understand that this mission is not like a normal police raid or a simple house arrest. The action is more likely to run as a military offensive, different to anything that they may have previously experienced. Don't forget that you have undergone specialist training for dealing with such situations, including how to outwit and overcome desperate adversaries.
“It will be crucial to monitor your two colleagues constantly. Do not allow that to obstruct any decision that you deem necessary. If you give them an order, impress upon them that they must carry it out to the letter. I know that you can be tough, if required. Today, that approach could be fundamental, not only to our success but also to your own survival.”
Petra nodded in agreement. “From past experience, Massey has always struck me as organised, resolute and disciplined. Harcourt is an unknown quantity. She appears to want to be in control, but somehow lacks the necessary air of authority. I don't intend to be over-reliant on them.”
“Good. After the event, they'll need to be de-briefed. Ensure that they stick around. What are your immediate intentions when it's all over?”
“You mean I can take a break or have you something planned?”
“A couple of days off may be on the cards.”
“I need to stop off at Limoges before returning home to hand over the car and the apartment. There's also unfinished business there with a certain old lady.”
Rob was coming to terms over her preoccupation with Alexis and his grandmother. “Okay, but remember, there will be resultant business to conduct in the U.K. I believe that Counter-Terrorism Command, SO13, will lead that in liaison with local forces. We will still have to resolve the fall-out from this mess, so don't stray too far. You may be called into action nearer to home.”
Suddenly, a stranger interrupted them. He approached Rob and greeted him warmly. “Ralf…Ralf Mairose in person…what a pleasant surprise!”
Rob spun round, looked towards the voice and stood to face a giant of a man. He wore a faded green tee shirt, yellow Bermuda shorts and sandals. His appearance reminded Petra of a monstrous pineapple.
Rob gasped with astonishment. “Yury, my friend…it's been a long time.”
Petra recollected her first encounter with Rob in Phuket. She cast her mind back to when he had set off to help survivors of the tsunami. In his bedroom, she had discovered an assortment of passports; one alias was Ralf Mairose. His past appeared to have caught up with him.
The two men hugged each other cordially before Rob turned to introduce her.
Yury took her hand and brushed it with his lips; his grip was firm but gentle. “How fortunate to meet you again and with such a beautiful companion.” Yury's voice seemed to boom across the terrace. “What are you doing in Marseille, besides enjoying local seafood in this wonderful setting?”
Petra smiled in response to his compliment. Yury was well over six feet, built like a bear, probably aged mid to late forties, she thought. His fair hair was cropped short, his face angular but of sallow complexion, his eyes deep blue and smiling. Without any invitation, he drew up a chair and joined them at the table.
Rob seemed a little apprehensive of his intrusion. The Russian ordered drinks…three vodkas. Petra glanced at Rob as if to say that this was not the moment for socialising or starting a drinking session. Time was pressing.
“Nazdarovye.” Yury downed his vodka in one. “You here on vacation or is this a business trip?” He winked at Petra, laughing loudly.
Rob raised his glass. “Cheers. It's a mixture…business and pleasure. How about you, Yury…still ploughing the same co-operative furrow?”
Yury clicked his fingers at a waiter and indicated another round of drinks. “Times have changed, my friend. Gone are the days when the state would send you around the world to exotic locations. That image exists only in your James Bond films.” He brushed his fingers through his thick mass of short hair. “Now, all our questions are answered in cyber-space. I can achieve more success in a two-bedroom apartment in Moscow just by logging onto the internet.”
“So why are you here in Marseille?” Rob asked. “Is this time off for good behaviour?”
The Russian grinned and lowered his voice. “You would hardly credit it. They have sent me to investigate an arms dealer. This bastard has been supplying arms to the Chechens…the bloody Chechens! Can you believe that? I can remember the time when all the arms dealers supplied only the Russians.” He roared with laughter.
The waiter arrived with three more vodkas. Petra had yet to sip from her first glass. Yury gulped most of his down immediately and leaned once more across the table. He grasped Rob's wrist tightly. It was as if he had trapped his arm in a vice.
“You know me, Ralf. I am an expert…that is why I am here. I have found the bastard. This afternoon, I am paying him a visit with some of my friends.” He let go his grip. “He won't be supplying the Chechens or anyone else after we have finished with him.” He drained the glass and licked his lips. “The best part is that I am going to sort him out in front of his guests. He is holding a party for his daughter's engagement. Fuck his celebrations. Yury will show him that you cannot fuck with the Russians.”
He slammed the empty glass on the table, stood and checked his watch. “I need to go.” He looked down at Petra and held out his hand. “Delighted to meet you.” He turned to Rob. “She doesn't say much, does she?” He winked. “You've certainly pulled a fit looking broad there, as the Americans say.” He held out his hand. “If you fancy meeting up for a drink whilst you are here, I am staying at the Hotel de Rome in the centre of town…room number sixty four.”
Rob's mind was racing as he clasped Yury's hand. “It will be a pleasure, my friend.”
Yury nudged him, almost knocking him to one side. “Don't forget to bring the girl. You should recruit her. With those looks, she could get away with murder.” He grinned and looked at his watch again. “I must dash…need to change into something more suitable. I mustn't be late for the party.” He laughed loudly and the giant pineapple merged into the busy street scene.
Rob dialled a number on his mobile, walked beyond the terrace and spoke for several minutes before returning to the table. Petra was both fascinated and concerned. Rob appeared more relaxed after making the call.
Petra giggled, partly from nerves, partly from amusement. “Who the hell was that?”
Rob sighed. “Not to worry. He's an old friend. We met in Budapest several years ago.” He ordered two coffees; their second vodkas were still untouched on the table.
Petra awaited his reaction. “Well? Are you going to explain?”
“That was no coincidence. It's obvious that the Russians have wind of our operation this afternoon and needed to verify it.”
“The Russians? I thought that we now shared our counter-terrorism measures with them.”
“Not in every case; there's a fine line. Don't forget, Russia supports Iran's nuclear programme, a country that provides funding and weapons for terrorist activities in Iraq amongst others. Russia still runs with the hare and the hounds.”
“So, Yury was here on a pretext?”
“Yury used a fabrication to see how I would react. To prevent him from spoiling the party, we would have to take some action. If we were not to react, it would signal that we had nothing planned.”
“I assume your phone call concerned his visit. What's going to happen to him?”
“I've asked for him to be intercepted at his hotel, the name of which he offered quite openly. He'll sleep until tomorrow. The Russians will guess from his silence that we've dealt with him. They'll sit back and watch the fall-out from our operation.”
“But, isn't Yury taking a risk? You could have arranged to have him killed to stop his interference.”
“It's a game, Petra. We go back a long way. They chose to send him because they knew that our friendship would prevent any drastic action towards him. He's done what they asked of him. This way, everyone's a winner.”
“I don't understand. Why didn't he just ask you?”
“By asking, it would be evident that they know our plans and therefore, we would be aware of their ability to infiltrate our security. Consequently, we would tighten any feasible loopholes.”
“But surely, they will know that we know that they know by our treatment of Yury.”
“Yes, but neither party is absolutely certain. For example, we have no evidence of Dumas supplying arms to the Chechens. Can we ignore that? If it is true, we'll do them a favour by taking out Dumas. If it's a lie, nothing lost… nothing gained. The Russians cannot lose. The whole charade keeps everyone on their toes.”
Petra sighed. “I can cope with counter-terrorism, but counter-intelligence seems to exist in a bloody fantasy world.”
“You should be an expert. Your constantly changing deception about the Manchester serial killings was a masterpiece. Why do you think that I recruited you?”
Petra grinned. “Blame the drugs. Klara and I were off our heads for most of the time. If you hadn't come to our rescue, we'd still be rotting in prison.”
They finished their coffees, paid the bill and engaged in some small talk before going their separate ways to prepare mentally and physically for the day's planned events.
A couple of hours later, Massey and Harcourt arrived to pick her up from the Escale Oceania. They parked the Peugeot on the improvised parking area amongst an array of expensive vehicles: Porches, Mercedes, Jaguars, an Aston Martin and even one Rolls Royce Corniche convertible. The bogus Canal+ support vehicle was stationed close to the main entrance to the villa. Petra noticed a small unobtrusive camera mounted beneath the rooftop satellite dish. Angled towards the entrance, it gave those inside the van a view of the majority of partygoers as they arrived.
Security was out in force. Guests had to queue to gain entry. Most visitors were dressed in attire suitable for a Royal garden party or Ascot, unlike Petra and her colleagues. Aware of their involvement in possible physical action at a later stage, they wore smart casual clothes. Fortunately, they blended in with a similarly attired younger element.
As they strolled along the tree-lined driveway, they observed an enormous circular marquee to the right of the main house. Many guests had congregated in that area to sample the aperitifs that were on offer from a central bar. They walked on, noting the general layout.
The main marquee in front of the villa served principally as a dining area. White cloths adorned the tables. Black serviettes, crystal glassware and silver cutlery added a sense of finery to the display. Black and white drapes hung from the outer extremities of the structure, creating arched openings that bedecked three sides of the vast arena. A temporary floor of black and white squares in a chessboard design complemented the colour scheme. Along one complete interior wall, four chefs in their immaculate white jackets and chequered trousers stood ready to serve a magnificent buffet. A mass of bouquets and baskets of freshly cut flowers fronted a raised platform at the far end.
Beyond the main marquee, stood another immense tented zone set aside for the evening entertainment. It contained a stage, a raised black and white dance floor, banks of spotlights, cluster lasers, scanners and sound equipment. Ample seating, consisting of white chairs clustered around black tables encompassed the whole area. Relaxing background music from speakers mounted in trees pervaded the landscaped gardens as guests mingled and socialised.
Massey suggested that they should blend in by accepting the aperitifs on offer. They could then wander amongst the groups of guests, at the same time acquainting themselves with the general layout and the level of security. With a glass of Champagne in her hand, Petra wandered leisurely into the villa to check the access route towards the library. Having studied Rob's sketch plan, she found it quite easily, but was surprised at the amount of space in the anteroom leading to the library door. She tried the door. It was locked. She turned to leave.
A thickset brutish looking individual in a suit approached her, questioning her presence and her intentions. She asked directions to the ladies loo. He guided her brusquely towards the exit, pointing out the portakabins beyond the bar marquee.
Meanwhile, Massey and Harcourt had wandered towards the pool area where they could study the covered walkway and its access to the rear door of the library. All three of them reconvened near the dance marquee.
Massey turned to Petra. “What d'you reckon?”
“Access is fine. My only concern is, if the guards are stood in front of the library door, they will see me approaching as soon as I step into that corridor, giving them ample time to stop me before I reach the ante-room.”
“You'll just have to use your persuasive personality to convince them to allow you through,” Massey replied, somewhat sarcastically.
Petra ignored him, trusting that his resentment would not get in the way of his professionalism. “I'll have to be ready to hit the corridor as soon as Cathcart sets off that device. Hopefully, the explosion will distract them enough before they realise that I'm in the ante-room.”
“We've had a brief look at the walkway and the rear vestibule,” Harcourt said. “The layout at the rear of the building seems to be as depicted on the plan. The path to the archway, however, is quite short, so the helipad could probably be reached in less than a couple of minutes.”
“Let's hope their timing is spot on,” Massey said. “It seems critical. Talking of timing, we have fifteen minutes before Cathcart starts his tour of duty by the pool area. Let's have another wander, so as not to look too conspicuous hanging around an empty marquee. Let's mingle with the crowd.”
Bloody hell, thought Petra. Finally, Massey's beginning to assert himself. Perhaps he is committed after all.
Thirty minutes later, they had returned to loiter near the empty disco area. The bogus camera crew had arrived on the scene and had already commenced filming the events taking place in the main marquee. Some guests, unable to find sufficient seats, stood watching from various vantage points in close proximity.
Petra checked that everyone was engrossed in the special ceremony before she slipped unobtrusively behind the back wall of the marquee earmarked for the evening disco. She crept through an arch of bougainvillaea before stepping cautiously out onto the flagstone terrace leading to the swimming pool. A quick glance to her right confirmed Cathcart's report as correct. The security cameras were not in her line of vision.
Suddenly she stopped in her tracks. Bobo was sitting on the bunker. He stared at her; as usual, he was smiling. He waved to her. She returned his wave, but as she drew closer, she realised that he held something in his other hand. He was holding a handgun.
8888
A satellite had tracked the Etoile Olympique. Its movements were relayed to the command and control centre. This was located in a more remote area of the Bouches-du-Rhône not too distant from La Campagne Pastre and the villa. The U.S. submarine had taken up station a few miles from coastal waters to where the SEALs detachment would transport their captives later in the captured yacht.
Perhaps as a precautionary measure, Dumas had ordered Dimitri to head for Sormiou, a picturesque but remote cove. It was not destined to dock at Marseille. The yacht anchored out in the deeper waters of the narrow inlet to the bay. A dinghy fitted with an outboard motor took the guests, mostly young females, ashore. Dumas's helicopter was waiting on the quayside ready to airlift them together with Dimitri to the celebratory party. A skeleton staff, including the two sailors who crewed the dinghy, remained behind to safeguard the yacht.
Informed of this unexpected anchorage by the command centre, the submarine had re-positioned itself by moving farther inshore towards the small islands and creeks along the rocky coastline. This new development also favoured the SEALs. A cove, busy in the summer months but now quiet out of the tourist season, was less likely to attract attention than a full-scale assault in the old port of Marseille.
The raiding party slipped smoothly from the submarine in a Zodiac combat rubber raiding craft. Passing the Calanques, the rugged limestone cliffs that dominate this stretch of coastline, the SEALs powered unnoticed between the uninhabited island of Riou and the small creek of Marseilleveyre. As they rounded the headland, the yacht came into view. With both outboard motors shut down, they drifted alongside the Etoile Olympique as it swayed in the gentle swell of the cove.
The SEALs overcame the crew within minutes of boarding the yacht. Most had taken advantage of the lull in activity to take a nap on their bunks. The action took them completely by surprise; the navy SEALs roused them by prodding them with Heckler and Koch MP5 machine pistols. The few locals in and around the harbour had been too interested in watching the departure of the helicopter to have witnessed the takeover. The captors confined their prisoners below deck, placing them under guard in one of the guest rooms. The new incumbents withdrew to the upper deck to await further orders.
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Petra looked around in the hope of seeing Cathcart. He was nowhere in sight. Bobo beckoned her. He appeared excited and pleased to see her as he slid down from the bunker.
“Regardez, missi, regardez.” He waved the gun at her. “Boom, boom,” he cried.
Shit, thought Petra. If he pulls that trigger, even if he misses me, he'll alert everyone in earshot. Bobo lifted the lid of the bunker, reached inside and withdrew two more handguns. His smile broadened. Petra was now two metres from him, desperately hoping that none of the weapons contained their magazines. Her mind was in overdrive. Rob had said that Cathcart would stash the guns ‘with their magazines’. Did that mean loaded or separately? She had to take the risk.
“Donnez-moi les pistolets, Bobo,” she said quietly but firmly, holding out her hand. “Give me the bloody guns,” she muttered under her breath.
Bobo shook his head from side to side and backed away. His smile disappeared as he pointed one of the weapons at her. “Non, je tiens,” he shouted. “Ils sont à Bobo.”
Petra glanced around again. There was no one in sight. “Il faut donner les armes à Monsieur Dumas,” she whispered. She drew closer to him. Please God, let them not be loaded.
Bobo backed away further, shaking his head and tightening his grip on the weapons. The mischievous smile returned.
Bloody hell, I'll have to act quickly, she thought. Control is vital, even if I have to attack him physically. He was quite small and wiry. She was taller and fitter. She had to get closer to overpower him, to prevent him pulling that trigger, even if he were to fire the gun accidentally.
Suddenly, she had an inspiration. Kneeling down, she reached into her shoulder bag and took out her small but bulky cosmetics bag. She emptied the contents onto the flagstones. Thank goodness for gadget technology, she thought, sorting real cosmetics from fake ones.
Bobo watched intently as she selected the component parts of the makeshift handgun. Shiny silver metal tubes and black resin sections slotted together to form the completed weapon. Bobo moved closer, fascinated by her creation. When she had completed the assembly, she held it up for him. His dark eyes widened saucer-like.
“Pour vous, Bobo…un cadeau pour vous,” said Petra, hoping that the novelty would grab his attention.
Instantly, the smile broadened. Placing the Sig Sauer handguns on the ground, he reached out for the shiny new gun that he had watched her assemble.
Petra attempted to visualise the impact on his mind. Maybe he thought that this is far more interesting. It comes apart like a toy, but it looks for real. Perhaps he imagined that he could show his friends.
The smile became a wide grin as he grasped his new toy. “Merci, mademoiselle.”
Petra put her forefinger to her lips. “Shush! C'est entre nous. Dites rien…compris? ” Please tell no-one, she wished inwardly.
Bobo nodded and copied her by putting his finger to his mouth. He shook his head again. “Je dis rien. Merci.” Clutching his special gift, he turned and ran across the terrace, disappearing into the shrubbery near the cabin.
Petra sighed with relief. Her heart was pounding to such an extent that she looked about her expecting to see someone striding towards her in heavy boots. She quickly checked the handguns. They were not loaded with the magazines. Reaching inside the bunker, she found the magazines, closed the lid, placed the weaponry in her bag and scooped up the rest of her cosmetics. She made a final check before strolling casually back to rejoin Massey and Harcourt.
8888
The camera crew chatted to Dumas, explaining that their back-up team in the support vehicle would quickly edit the film that they had shot. They would invite him later to preview it before transmission. They shook hands, picked up their equipment and headed for the main gate.
“When did they plant the device?” Petra asked as she stood and watched with the two detectives.
“Whilst you were collecting the firearms,” Massey replied. “The cameraman moved towards the bushes to make adjustments to his camera. I presume that's when he planted it. Anyway, what kept you so long?”
“Tell you later. It's nothing to worry about.” She turned to Harcourt. “Let's go across to the loos, where we can load the mags and share out the weapons.”
“What about me?” Massey asked.
“You'd better come too. Don't worry; we won't be dropping our pants.”
They followed the pathway to the portakabins installed beyond the circular drinks marquee. Having found three adjacent cubicles unoccupied, Petra passed the equipment through the gaps beneath the partitions.
“This is all very well,” Harcourt protested, “but how do you operate the damn thing?”
Petra joined her in the cubicle to give a quick demo on loading and using the firearm.
Harcourt grinned. “If we're seen coming out of here together, they'll think were a couple of dykes.”
Petra was unconcerned. “This is France. Anything goes here.”
Massey became the unofficial timekeeper to watch the clock until it was time for action. By six o'clock, they had manoeuvred themselves towards the main entrance of the villa. Dumas was running late. He was supposed to be in the library, but was still socialising amongst the guests.
At six fifteen, Petra decided to wander towards the walkway to check with Tom Cathcart. If he set off the explosion before Dumas was in the library, they would have to abort the whole plan. She spotted him standing by the vestibule door. He appeared to have a grasp of the situation. When she caught his eye, he pointed at his watch and gave a thumbs-up to acknowledge her concerns.
She walked back to rejoin the others. Shit, she thought, was that signal to indicate that he was ready or aware of the delay? She called Rob on her mobile…no answer. Leaving Massey and Harcourt outside, she entered the villa and turned towards the library. The two armed guards were already in position. Distracted by a noise behind her, she spun round. Dumas approached flanked by several smartly dressed men.
“Bonjour, mademoiselle.” He greeted her warmly. “We must speak later about your business. I introduce you to a useful contact, yes?”
“Thanks,” Petra said, slightly flustered. She wanted to check her watch. Not now, she thought.
“You search for something?” Dumas asked pointedly.
“Er, I need a toilet,” she replied in a low voice.
“Ah, là-bas, near the bar.” He pointed towards the far end of the villa.
“Merci.” Petra turned away as they walked down the corridor towards the library. Relieved, she reached the main entrance.
Massey glanced at his watch. “They're cutting it fine. It's six twenty five.”
“Still, it's solved my problem…they're finally in the library. We'd best hang on here. It seems that the action could kick off any minute.”
At precisely 18.30hrs, from his position in the walkway, Cathcart detonated the explosive device. Outside, chaos descended on the main body of the engagement party. Guests fled in all directions. Security staff appeared on the scene, vacating their positions.
Tom Cathcart entered the library through the vestibule, carrying an AK47 assault rifle. He beckoned the stunned visitors to follow him to the helicopter, telling Dumas to stay put with his associates in case of more bombs. Dumas ordered him to tell the pilot to fly the Al Qaeda associates to the safety of the yacht.
Petra was halfway along the corridor, her hand gripping the Sig Sauer in her shoulder bag. Harcourt and Massey followed behind. One armed guard, anxious to see what had happened, had left the library doorway to peer through a side window of the anteroom.
“Laissez tomber vos armes!” she screamed at them on entering the anteroom, her gun pointing first at the guard by the door, then swinging towards the one by the window. Taken completely by surprise, they lowered their firearms to the ground.
“Au dessous…sur le sol,” she shouted. They dropped to the floor. “Volte-face. Restez le visage en bas, les mains sur la tête.” She had rehearsed her commands in French before leaving the hotel. Would they understand?
They obediently faced downwards and put their hands behind their heads. Breathing a sigh of relief, she stood over them, legs apart, the gun pointing from head to head. Massey looked on, impressed by her cool dominance. She had instructed Harcourt to act as a rearguard and to watch their backs. She stood by the entrance to the anteroom, nervously pointing her gun down the corridor.
Massey checked his watch. “That's two minutes, go now!”
Petra shouted at Harcourt. “Guard these two. If they move, shoot the bastards.” She tried the door to the library. It was locked. She stepped back and fired twice at the lock, smashing it in bits. She forced open the door with the heel of her foot and entered the room. Dumas and several others were huddled together in the far corner away from the windows. She levelled her gun at them. He and two other men, members of his legal team, stared at her. They displayed a mixture of fear and curiosity. Alexis was with them, stood to one side. Confused but relieved at seeing him again, she glanced about the room.
Massey followed her. Suddenly an armed guard appeared in the vestibule, raised and pointed his assault rifle at Petra. He was too late. Ducking level with a table, she took him out with two shots. He dropped to the floor.
“Face the wall,” she screamed at Dumas and his colleagues. They half turned as a second guard entered the vestibule and took aim. The bullets flew past Petra, striking Massey in the shoulder. They lodged in the wall, spraying it with his blood, tissue and fragments of bone. He dropped to the floor. Harcourt screamed. Petra ducked low and shot dead the second guard. As she raised herself from a crouching position, she felt the cold metal of a gun barrel on her neck. The two guards from the anteroom stood behind her.
“Ne tuez pas!” Dumas yelled at the guards. He addressed Petra. “Put down your gun. You are more use alive than dead.”
She placed the Sig on an adjacent table before turning round to find Harcourt kneeling over Massey. The detective was attempting to stem the flow of blood from his wound. Untrained for critical situations, Harcourt had left her post to tend to her colleague. So much for my rear cover, thought Petra. Alexis came across, took her firearm and backed away.
Shit, she thought, that's the second gun I've lost. Rob'll kill me if these guys don't kill me first. Why am I even thinking that? She looked across at Dumas. “You're surrounded by an international counter-terrorism unit. I suggest that you give yourselves up before other lives are lost.”
Dumas smiled. “Vous êtes mes otages. Hostages make for good assurance.” He picked up the detectives’ weapons and took charge of the situation. He turned to Alexis. “Search them. Check they not carry any other weapons. After, everyone go down the walkway to the cabin. There is safer. There I negotiate with the lives of my hostages.”
Alexis quickly checked their pockets and the women's shoulder bags, finding only spare magazines that he gave to Dumas. The guards pushed their captives at gunpoint towards the vestibule. Harcourt helped Massey to stand before grabbing a handful of linen serviettes from a side table to assist in plugging the blood loss from his shoulder. Outside, they could hear more shooting. Scampering awkwardly through the walkway, they crouched to stay below the level of the windows.
Petra rose up and glanced several times towards the main entrance until the dance marquee obscured her view. The front lawns were deserted. Most guests appeared to have taken cover in the shrubbery and in or behind the portakabins. The marquees now appeared to be empty apart from two security guards who were using the bar counter in the round marquee as an improvised foxhole. The assault team was nowhere in sight. What was happening, she thought. Where was Rob when needed?
Inside the cabin, Dumas asked Petra for a contact number. “I need to arrange a safe passage for me and my friends. The helicopter will return soon.”
Petra folded her arms and grinned defiantly. “Your chopper's gone. Your terrorist mates are en route to the U.S.A. and I don't have a contact number, so mister big shot, you're stuffed!”
Dumas raised his arm and smacked her across the face, drawing blood from her lips. “You find me a contact to make negotiation or I shoot your friends here.”
Harcourt looked terrified. “Petra, give him a number.”
Massey was slumped on a sofa, his eyes closed. His face had changed colour; it was ashen. Petra realised that he would not survive without urgent medical attention. In addition to his trauma and blood loss, there was the possibility of serious internal damage.
She turned to confront Dumas. “I'll give you a number if you allow me get medical aid for D.C.I. Massey.”
“You are not in position to demand,” Dumas ranted. He pointed Harcourt's gun at Massey's head. “I ask once more.”
“If you shoot us, any of us,” Petra said calmly, “you'll sign your own death warrant. You'll never leave here alive.” She looked at the two legal men. “Vous aussi,” she added, drawing her forefinger across her throat, unsure whether they understood what she had said to Dumas. Their faces paled; they knew now.
Alexis stepped forward and whispered something in Dumas's ear. He nodded in the affirmative. Alexis, still holding Petra's handgun, ushered her down the corridor into the sauna.
“What's going on, Alexis?” Petra asked. She stood facing him with her hands on her hips.
“It's a long story,” he replied, tight-lipped.
“Well, you'd better make it quick. The task force are about to blow you all away.”
He sat on one of the slatted wooden benches, holding the Sig Sauer across his lap. “I'm sorry. Initially, I had no idea that you would become involved to this extent.”
“Who cares? What about now?” she yelled. “Anyway, you took me to Roche's bloody house. How can you say that I wouldn't be involved?”
“I thought that we would be safe. I was trying to impress you.”
She glared at him, hands on hips. “You certainly did that. I ended up in hospital and then I heard that you had possibly pissed off to Russia. What's that all about?”
Alexis took a deep breath. “Dumas has been playing this game for a long time now. For years, Marseille has had problems with crime and corruption. At first, he was small fry, merely trafficking small quantities of drugs over from North Africa. All he had to do was grease a few palms and the authorities turned a blind eye. Gradually, he became more ambitious…more involved with major players. It's all about money, financial rewards, whether he trafficks drugs or people. It matters not if they are doctors, carpenters or even terrorists. To him they are just another commodity. He has no scruples, no morals. He's an expert in creative smuggling. He provides the service and in turn, that provides his wealth.”
“But if you're so critical of him, how did you become involved?”
“I came across some paperwork that Roche had carelessly left lying about. I challenged him about it. Next thing, Dumas arrived on the scene with a guy called Dimitri to deal with me. He came to the house and charmed grand'maman. She entertained them with her tale of my ancestry and their attitude towards me changed completely. I think that he visualised me as another financial opportunity.”
“You know about the Romanov connection,” Petra said, surprised by his admission.
Alexis smiled. “I know about grand'maman’s version. Whether it's fantasy or not, I'm unsure, but it has certainly opened doors for me. Dumas offered me a job in his organisation, a kind of ambassadorial role, selling his so-called services to some very powerful people. He put it about that I was the true heir to the Russian throne. The story propelled me to dizzy heights, unfortunately within the criminal fraternity. I was sucked in, too young and impressionable to take it seriously.”
“So, why didn't you get out?”
“I was naïve. I was unaware of the depth of his criminal activities. The lifestyle, the glamour, the prestige attracted me. By the time I realised what it really involved, it was too late. I knew too much.” He shrugged his shoulders. “To have walked away would have been my death sentence.”
“Am I to understand that you are the one responsible for sending suicide bombers to the U.K. with false passports?”
He shook his head. “Not directly. Let me explain quickly.” He adopted a more relaxed demeanour.
Petra sat on a bench opposite.
Alexis placed the handgun to one side. “There are radical Islamic factions who are intent on committing atrocities. However, sometimes they have difficulty in assigning trained operatives to designated targets. For example, to equip and employ British Moslem fundamentalists to cause carnage in the U.K. would involve sending them to Pakistan, Afghanistan or other such places where these training camps exist. Such trips are constantly monitored by the latest intel and surveillance techniques. On their return, they become prime suspects. Their movements are restricted, their contacts compromised and they are under constant surveillance. At the same time, there is an endless assembly line of well-trained jihad supporters, willing to die for the cause. They are stuck in various Middle Eastern countries awaiting assignations.”
“And you decided to bring them in, disguise them as members of your football club and ship them to the U.K.?” Petra showed some annoyance with his feeble excuses.
“Roche came up with the scheme. Initially, he suggested sending over a team of about fifteen players, but Dumas considered that would create too much media attention. Therefore, Roche became an intermediary to arrange varied forms of transport and false documentation on an individual basis. The pay-off for Dumas was generous and the scheme was successful until the cock-ups in Manchester.”
“One died accidentally, but who was responsible for the murder of the other one?”
“Not a clue. Maybe one of the established U.K. cells. Perhaps he was about to blow their cover. I really don't know. It was certainly not down to us.”
“So, how do you fit into this? Do I take it that you don't actually murder innocent people, but merely facilitate the process?”
“I'm just a negotiator, meeting with clients and arranging financial deals. Roche was the facilitator.”
“What's the fuckin’ difference?” Petra screamed, furious with his continued evasion of her questions. “Hang on, you said ‘was’. Where is Roche? He left Limoges. We presumed that he headed for Marseille. Why isn't he here?”
“He never made it this far. I believe that he's somewhere in the depths of the Mediterranean. He was a liability.”
“You've killed him?”
“As I said, Dumas has no morals.”
Petra shook her head. “You're unbelievable. Did he blow up his own house?”
“It contained too much evidence, especially in the cellar. I removed some and, as it was previously wired for destruction, I said that I would deal with it if necessary. It only required a phone call, but I had to be certain that you were okay. When I saw the emergency services arriving, I took off in a boat that Roche kept down on the river. I returned early the following morning to collect more documents that I stashed in my car. I returned to the cellar and shredded quite a lot of stuff. Then the gendarmes arrived, trapping me down there. Nothing appeared to have been touched, so I realised that they hadn't found the secret passage. I thought that I would be safe until they had finished searching, but then you turned up and revealed the sliding panels.”
Petra glared at him. “So, you made it look as though you had also been Roche's victim.”
“Got it in one. The rest you know. Fortunately, the phone call to detonate the explosion came after you arrived at the gendarmerie.”
His composure stunned Petra. “Fortunate! They were still there. You killed the forensic team and some officers, you bastard.”
“I'm sorry, but I didn't make the call.”
“Too fuckin’ late for that.” Petra was now uncertain what to believe. “I suppose that you're going to have to kill at least one of us to prove that you mean business. There's already a detective dying in there unless he gets some medical attention. If you kill any more of us, the task force will simply take you out. They have what they came for. You, Dumas and his associates are just an added bonus. You know damn well that they won't negotiate with you.”
Alexis retrieved his gun, stood and walked towards the door. “It's complex. Stay here. I'll see if I can get some help for your detective friend and ask Dumas to start negotiations at the very least. It'll give both sides time, otherwise as you said; Dumas will kill one or all of you. To him, human life is worthless unless there's a trade-off. If he believes that he can achieve a result by offering you up as his hostages, your lives will be of value to him. There must be someone with whom you can make contact. I need a number from you to call.”
Petra took out her mobile.
“Where's that appeared from?” Alexis asked. “You were searched earlier.”
“Inside my right boot,” she replied, her face relaxing into a wry smile. “You only checked my clothes and my bag. Before I give you this, I want your assurance that you'll bring it straight back to me and that no harm will come to the two detectives. Phone Rob Smith. You'll find his number under ‘Smithy’. He's the best guy to contact.”
“I'll do my best, but it may take some time. Believe me, I've no intention of hurting you or your friends.”
Petra stepped towards him. “You fail to protect them and, God help me, I'll fuckin’ kill you!”
Alexis shouted one of the armed security men to guard the door to the sauna. He had not envisaged this scenario. At least I can buy some time for everyone, he thought. He returned to the main lounge area. The two legal advisers sat together on a sofa; their silence reflected their anxiety. Dumas was pacing the room, but stopped and listened to what Alexis had to say. Dumas ordered the other security guard to take the detectives to the sauna, giving him more privacy to discuss how they might negotiate their own freedom.
Whilst they discussed the situation, a smiling face appeared at a window. It was Bobo. Dumas beckoned him inside.
“Une bataille a passée là-bas,” the young man said. “Partout boom, boom!”
His observation of a noisy battle having taken place prompted them to realise that the shooting had actually stopped. They concluded that the security forces must have gained control, leaving Dumas and his group isolated in the cabin. The disco marquee blocked their view of the front garden area and the major part of the villa. Consequently, they were unaware of what was taking place on the outside. The sun had almost set in the west, indicating the imminent approach of darkness that would make their situation even more untenable. It was imperative to broker a deal involving the hostages. The only other option was to stage a breakout.
8888
Petra was concerned for Massey. He looked in a bad way. She approached one of the men guarding the door to the sauna. She pointed at the wounded detective. “Il est blessé. J'ai besoin des serviettes de bain pour lui. Il y a beaucoup dans la salle de douche à côté. Allez chercher, vite.”
The guard hesitated, looked at his colleague, glanced at the almost unconscious Massey and stared back at Petra.
“Allez…vite. Portez au moins quatre ou cinq.”
He turned and entered the adjacent shower room, brought out a pile of thick white bath towels that she had requested, threw them into the sauna and started to walk back towards the lounge.
“Il a soif. Allez chercher de l'eau aussi.” Petra shouted. She spread some of the towels on a wooden bench to enable Massey to lie down. The remaining guard slammed the door on them.
Harcourt protected Massey's wounded shoulder with two more towels. She turned to Petra. “I think it must have clotted. The bleeding has finally stopped. What did you just shout to that security guy?”
“I asked him to bring some water. I also gave my phone to Alexis earlier, so that he could contact Rob.”
“Was that wise?”
“We need Dumas to negotiate,” she explained, “otherwise we're all dead meat. I gave him the phone on the understanding that he requests medical assistance for D.C.I. Massey.”
Several minutes passed before the door opened again. The guard pushed Bobo inside and closed the door. The young man carried a plastic jug filled with water.
He smiled. “Monsieur Dumas m'a demandé apporter de l'eau pour vous.”
“Merci Bobo.”
He passed over the jug, whereupon Petra asked Massey to take a sip.
“Qu'est-ce que se passe au dehors?” Petra asked, attempting to persuade Bobo to update her with the state of play.
“Une bataille, mais je pense c'est fini maintenant.”
In their preoccupation with Massey, they had not realised that silence now reigned outside. According to Bobo, the struggle for control had apparently ceased.
Bobo lifted up his shirt, revealing the makeshift gun that Petra had given him earlier. He withdrew it from the waistband of his jeans and passed it to her. “Il ne marche pas.”
Petra took it from him. Little wonder that it was not in working order, she thought. The trigger mechanism was jammed. It looked as though he had taken it apart and re-assembled it incorrectly. “Laissez avec moi…je regarde plus tard…oui?”
“D'accord.” Bobo smiled, happy to leave it with her. He left the room, closing the door behind him.
“You bloody little star,” Petra whispered to herself.
“What was all that about?” Harcourt asked.
Petra showed her the device. “This is what I exchanged for the Sig Sauer guns that Bobo had taken from the filtration housing. We've got ourselves a gun.”
“Is it loaded?”
Petra grinned. “Watch this.” She fetched her toiletry bag and took out her electric toothbrush, unscrewed the end piece and slid out six miniature bullets. She dismantled the gun, re-assembled it correctly and inserted one bullet into the slim chamber. “It is now.” She pointed it towards the door. “This is our passport out of here.”
She leaned over, slipped the gun under one of the towels and patted Massey's good arm. “You're going to be okay. Bobo has given us a lifeline.” She walked towards the door and turned to face the two detectives. “Now I just need Alexis to return my mobile.”
Massey murmured. “If you need a phone, they missed mine. It's in the inside pocket of my jacket. Remove it carefully, please. It's near the bullet hole.”
Harcourt reached over and gently lifted one side of his leather jacket. He grimaced and caught his breath as she eased out the phone.
“There's only one problem,” Petra said. “I don't know Rob's number. I normally just use my contact list. I suppose that we could simply call the police.”
“I don't think that's advisable,” Harcourt said. “We formed the impression that Dumas has a pretty friendly relationship with the local gendarmerie.”
“I'll give Alexis ten minutes. If he doesn't show by then, we'll have to overpower the guy outside and take them by surprise.”
Harcourt had reservations. “With a one bullet toy gun?”
“He's carrying an assault rifle and probably a handgun. If we can entice him inside, I can threaten him with my toy gun, as you describe it, disarm him and we'll be armed with some serious firepower.”
“Then what?”
“We go in, guns blazing if necessary, but we should be able to catch them off their guard. They won't be expecting an attack from this end of the building…not with a security guy in situ here.” She glanced at her watch. “I have an idea. It'll be dark soon. When we spent the afternoon here for our swim, I noticed that the electricity circuit board for the cabin is on the wall at the end of this corridor. If you cut the electrics, I could be at the entrance to the lounge in seconds without them seeing me. Switch the lights back on and I'll be there holding them at gunpoint.”
Harcourt had more concerns. “Surely there'll be lights from outside.”
Petra shook her head. “By the time they adjust to the change in light, I'll be there amongst them. It'll be like a great blink of the eye. One minute, complete blackness…seconds later I'll be stood before them with the assault rifle.”
“You're mad,” Harcourt said, shaking her head in despair.
Massey forced an agonised smile. “She'll never change. She's a deadly killer. Maybe that's what we need at this moment. Let's face it, we've nothing to lose.”
“How about our lives?” Harcourt asked.
“If we do nothing, we lose those anyway,” Petra replied. “I don't mind putting myself in the firing line. From what I've seen so far, they're bloody amateurs. All you have to do is flick a power switch off and on.”
“If they're amateurs, why are we in this mess?” Harcourt argued.
Petra swung round to confront her. “If you'd have covered the guards outside the library as arranged, we would have been in control still.”
“So, it's all my fault?”
“Ladies, please,” croaked Massey. “What's happened has gone. Forget it. I say, give it a try…better than waiting here to be shot.”
8888
“They refuse to negotiate,” Alexis faced Dumas. “They want us to release the hostages.” He slipped Petra's phone into his pocket.
Dumas kicked out at a chair. He was in a foul temper. “Merde! Amenez une des femmes. Je montre qui commande ici.”
“Attendez.” Alexis had other ideas. “Je parlerai avec la jeune femme. Peut-être elle changera d'avis.” He was hinting that Petra might be able to persuade them to change their minds.
He walked down the corridor to the sauna. Petra looked up as he entered. Already, she knew from her training experience that any negotiation was a non-starter. The expression on his face merely confirmed this fact.
He passed her the mobile. “Here, you try. Unsurprisingly, your contact refused point-blank.”
“I told you. You have to give yourselves up or suffer the consequences. You're outnumbered. It's suicidal.”
“Just try,” Alexis pleaded. “Between us, we need to find a solution. Test your powers of persuasion.”
“Are you happy to see us all die for the sake of Dumas's pride?” Petra stood before him and looked him in the eyes, the windows to his soul. It's now or never Alexis, she thought. “There is another way,” she said quietly. “Help us and help yourself at the same time.”
“Help you? If Dumas doesn't kill me first, surely you are aware that the security forces will lock me up and throw away the key.”
“Alexis, I can help you. An arrangement is possible. I can ask them to do a deal for you.”
Massey coughed. “I can vouch for that, young man. She should be serving life for murder and look at her now.”
Alexis looked puzzled. “I don't understand.”
“It's a long story and we don't have the bloody time.” Petra's impatience was growing. “Are you with us or not?”
“What do you have in mind?” he asked. He was intrigued to see her wrestling with her situation.
Petra explained her original plan, but omitted to mention her makeshift gun, just in case he was still uncertain. “What d'you reckon?”
“I can't see it working without my help. I doubt that you will be able to overpower the guard. He'll turn his gun on you all. You need me to lure him in here without him suspecting anything. He'll trust me.”
Harcourt needed reassurance. “But can we trust you?”
“Swear on the honour of the Romanovs, Alexis,” Petra said.
Alexis smiled. “You believe her?”
“If we make it out of here alive, I'll prove it. I have the evidence and that's another reason why you should be let off lightly.”
“What on earth are you two prattling on about?” Massey whispered. “Are you going to sort out the guard or not?”
Petra held up her hand. “Let me call Rob first. I don't want to jeopardise any plans that are in place.”
Petra explained their situation. She learned that the main task force was in the villa processing all the guests. Two squads were systematically searching the grounds of the property for any of Dumas's security team still unaccounted. Rob asked her to hold her action until he could position some of the team around the cabin under cover of darkness. They would storm the main entrance as soon as they were able to cut the electricity. There was no need for her group to be involved apart from overpowering the guard and accessing the circuit board. He would call her when everyone was in place. She asked that a medic be on hand for D.C.I. Massey after they had secured the cabin.
“Be quick,” Petra urged, “or Dumas will become suspicious. There's a coloured youth with him. Please make sure he doesn't get hurt.”
“Since when have you had a soft spot for the enemy?” Rob asked, bemused by her demand.
“Just look out for him, Rob…a small favour for me.”
“Give me two or three minutes…no more.”
Petra changed her phone to vibrate. The brief wait seemed like an eternity. They sat in the sauna in silence. Despite no ring tone, she still jumped when the call finally came. Rob reported that they were in position.
Petra knelt by Massey. “Don't think you're getting out of this without playing your part,” she whispered, smiling. “Alexis will use your condition as a pretext to bring in the guard. When they enter, I want you to moan as though you're in great pain.”
“Damn you, I am in great pain,” Massey replied, wearily.
“Well you're half-way there, aren't you?” Petra grinned and touched his good arm. “You'll be in safe hands within a few minutes. Hang on in there.” She slipped the makeshift gun from under the towel and nodded her readiness to Alexis.
He opened the door, spoke to the guard and brought him into the room. Massey started to groan loudly.
Alexis sought the guard's opinion on transferring Massey to the lounge area. “Monsieur Dumas a commandé un médecin. Il faut enlever et porter au salon. Qu'est-ce que pensez-vous?”
The guard leant over the prostrate detective. Massey emitted an elongated moan.
Petra placed her gun against the guard's cheekbone. He froze, unsure if it was the genuine article.
“Laissez tombez le fusil,” said Alexis. He relieved him of the assault rifle and forced him to the floor.
Petra took his handgun and used the belt from his trousers to bind his wrists behind him. She passed the makeshift gun to Harcourt. “If he moves, pull that trigger and put a bullet through his head.”
Harcourt winced, partly at the thought but mostly because of Petra's cold-blooded attitude. Massey lay on the bench reflecting on their previous encounters. Then, the consensus was that Petra Rebovka and her sister, Klara, had no capacity to be serial killers. How wrong they were, he thought. This young woman's a natural killing machine.
Alexis checked the corridor. Petra stood ready by the electricity circuit board. She cut the power. Raised voices from the lounge area punctuated the immediate silence. Moments later, the assault team smashed in the main door and burst through the opening. Petra threw the switch to the ‘on’ position and raced down the corridor, wielding the guard's handgun. There were no fatalities. Within seconds, everyone was held at gunpoint, including the other security guard. The only damage was to the door. Dumas looked stunned.
Rob entered the salon, smiling. “Fait accompli.” He put his arm around Petra's shoulder. “Pretty good for a novice,” he remarked. Two medics arrived.
“Right, let's get this show on the road,” Rob said. “Where's the invalid.”
Petra pointed down the corridor. “There's also a trussed up security guard in there.”
Rob despatched one of the team to collect him. “Cuff them all and take them to the chopper. It should be back by now.”
Petra suddenly realised that Alexis was nowhere in sight. He must be in the sauna, she thought. He stood next to me when I cut the electrics. Where was he when I switched them on? She walked down to the sauna…no sign of Alexis. In the confusion, he had somehow disappeared. The guard was led away. The medics were attending to Massey. Harcourt was standing by his side. The assault rifle that Alexis had taken from the guard lay on the ground below the circuit board. Petra looked along the corridor. It led to the walkway. She felt a hand on her shoulder. She spun quickly.
It was Rob. “You look puzzled. What's the problem?”
“Alexis has disappeared. He must have legged it towards the walkway. There's no other way out.”
“Well, he won't get far,” replied Rob. “The villa, the helipad and the surrounding area are now completely secured.”
Petra pointed out the assault rifle. “He's unarmed. He took it from the guard, but has left it here.”
Following a swift search of the grounds by two of his team, Rob informed her that Alexis had melted away. The processing of the guests and staff continued late into the evening. The Security Forces cordoned off the property, classing it a crime scene. An armed detachment of the G.I.G.N. patrolled the restricted area throughout the night.
Paramedics rushed Massey to Hospital Sainte-Marguerite on Avenue Viton. Harcourt stayed on at the villa with Petra until quite late. They departed following a de-brief with some of the agents whom they had met during the original briefing session at Le Chateau des Fleurs. Leaving the security teams to continue the inevitable complex investigation of Dumas and his associates, they returned to the port and their respective hotels.
With Massey hospitalised for an unspecified period, Harcourt returned the Peugeot to Hertz Rental at Marseille airport before embarking on a flight to the U.K. Petra returned to Limoges via Lyon. She had two issues to resolve: the handover of the car and the apartment to Jean-Marie plus a visit to La Bastide to see Katherine. The disappearance of Alexis was still a mystery. Maybe his grandmother had the answer.