Charlie burst in through the front door to find Suzanne standing quietly above the lifeless bodies of Victor Kemp and Luisa Guzman.
“Are you okay?” he demanded. “I couldn’t get off a clean shot. I heard everything, though. I feel as if I’d been listening to a damned soap opera.”
Suzanne removed her earring, which held a tiny microphone. Yet another device the doomed guards overlooked. She looked around.
“Where’s Simon?”
“Here.” Brian’s nephew walked in from the dining room, his rifle at his side. “Thank God you’re all right,” he continued. “I wasn’t sure what was going on in here.”
“Where are the guards?”
“Luisa used her Taser on two of them. I found the third man by the pool, knifed in the back.”
“Lucas did that. Luisa’s nephew.” Suzanne grabbed Charlie’s arm. “Someone has my mother. Luisa’s brother. Gabriel. We have to find her, Charlie.”
“I know where she is. We’re about twenty kilometers away. Simon will drive.”
“How do you know? Forget it, tell me on the way.” She swayed on her feet.
Charlie took her arm. “First, I need you to slow down for a minute. Do that breathing thing you do. Come on.”
She did as he asked. Some of the tension seemed to drain away. “What about the bodies?” she asked
“I called in some favors. It’s covered. Let’s go.”
The Audi was parked in a nearby driveway that conveniently lacked a security camera. They tossed their weapons in the car and jumped in. Suzanne angled her body so she could see Charlie in the back seat. He noticed her color was returning along with her characteristic calm demeanor.
“Do you think Lucas called Gabriel with instructions to kill my mother?” she asked him.
“Unlikely. Gabriel Guzman’s not cut out to be a killer, although he has a deep attachment to his sister. How deep, I can’t say, nor can I vouch for what he’s willing to do. He’s devoted to her. And to his own son, the nephew, who is supposed to be a borderline psychopath. Delightful family, that one.”
“But what if Lucas told his father about Luisa’s death? That might set Gabriel off.”
Charlie leaned forward and put a hand on her shoulder. “They want you, Suzanne. That’s always been the plan. Your mother is more valuable alive. As bait.” He nodded for emphasis.
“How much of a head start does Lucas have?”
“It won’t matter. Simon knows a shortcut that doesn’t show up on the maps. That should get us there before or at the same time. There’s something else, though.”
“What?”
Simon looked at Charlie in the rearview mirror. “You might as well tell her.”
“Tell me what?”
Charlie cleared his throat. “Ah, well, it seems Brian is also in the area.”
~
After Michael received his mother’s instructions, he set about locating Lisette. According to her personal representative, his grandmother had gone off with a mysterious Latin lover she’d met poolside. The representative recommended he call Lisette’s travel agency. There, Michael had more luck. Although they didn’t arrange the vacation, they followed with their client’s request to do some follow-up to ensure the accommodations her “friend” booked were satisfactory. They had an address.
Michael called Lisette’s condominium on a hunch to inquire about visitors and staff. The gossipy concierge recalled the man who worked at the pool in January as “unusually attentive” to Ms. Brooks.
“She didn’t seem to mind. He was older but good-looking.”
“I don’t suppose he still works there?”
“No, he left. Just about the time Ms. Brooks went on vacation, come to think of it. You can draw your own conclusions.”
Before disconnecting, Michael got a name. Gabriel Silva.
He prepared to text the information to his mother. Something made him hesitate before pressing “send.” Great, he thought. Now I’m infected with spidey sense.
Instead, he called his father and filled him in on his research activities.
“Well done, son. I can understand why your mother might be concerned, what with all the strain she’s under.”
“Should I go ahead and text her?”
“Why don’t you hold off for now? It’s entirely likely Lisette is simply off having a good time. We’ll let your mother know tomorrow night.”
Brian disconnected with his son and immediately called his chief. He filled Tenant in on his fears about Lisette. He held back that his wife was on her way to the south of France for a personal confrontation with Kemp.
“Does Suzanne know Kemp has her mother?” Tenant asked.
“No.”
How easy it was to shade the truth, he thought. His wife doesn’t know this; his son doesn’t know that; he denies his boss another piece of information. Brian put those thoughts aside and pushed ahead.
“Look, Chief, what I’m about to ask will put you in a difficult position.”
“What do you need from me?”
“Your private plane.”
At 8:00 a.m. the following morning, Brian boarded a Cessna 172s Skyhawk out of Heathrow. He carried a small locked case. He’d hoped to leave Heathrow hours earlier, but a horrific accident on the M4 had put him behind. Then he had to jump through hoops at the airport because of the absence of a flight plan.
Though a licensed pilot, he hadn’t flown in ten years, a fact he hadn’t mentioned to Tenant when he asked to borrow his superior’s plane. He guessed the man knew that, just as he probably knew Brian wouldn’t be filing a flight plan. Fortunately, not much had changed with the Cessna in a decade. It really was like riding a bicycle.
He landed at Nice at 11:00 a.m. local time, picked up a rental car, and drove out of the city. Along a quiet road, he pulled over. He removed his Walther and holster from the case, checked and sighted the pistol, then placed it on the seat next to him. Locked and loaded, as the Americans said.
He lifted a slightly flattened sandwich out of the case and wolfed it down. He’d found it on his gun case with a note that said simply “safe travels.” Kate, he reckoned. The girl knew more than she let on.
The villa he sought was listed in Gairaut, a suburb of Nice north of the city. Like most of the homes in the area, it was behind an old wall and off a private road. Considering how densely populated the area was, it seemed quite isolated. Brian stood two streets away and lifted a pair of high-powered binoculars. From what he could tell, the place was quite modern, with so many windows the structure seemed to be made entirely of glass. That might be an advantage, providing both ingress and a view into the house.
Rather than navigate the narrow roads, he decided to leave his car down the hill and hike the two kilometers back to the house on the hill. He expected to encounter security guards, police, or even dogs as he walked along roads marked “privée,” but he arrived at the address without incident just at noon. He entered, staying close to the low wall, took up a position behind a shrub, and texted Charlie.
~
Gabriel paced nervously. Luisa had promised to call by 12:30. He kept watching his phone while trying to appear happy in the old woman’s company. He had to promise an afternoon of lovemaking to keep her in the house. She wanted to see an exhibit or go shopping or parade around Nice with a younger man. He didn’t care about any of it. He was sick of her, sick of pretending to enjoy her company. He wanted to leave. He wanted his beloved Luisa.
The phone rang at 12:45.
“We’ve had a change of plans, Gabriel. You must do exactly as I say.”
“Lucas? Where are you? Where is Luisa?”
“I’ll be there shortly, Papà. I’ll explain everything to you then. Meanwhile, you must continue to behave as if all is well. Do you understand?”
“Let me talk with Luisa. I need to talk with her.”
“Stay calm, Father. Do you hear me? And stay away from the windows.”
He hung up.
~
We make good time. Then the Audi breaks down outside a modern-looking hospital called Clinical St. Georges in the hills north of Nice. Charlie has brought us as promised to within two kilometers of the villa via an unmarked road that has led us to the highway and then this exit. We pull up, forced by pedestrian traffic to actually stop at the stop sign. The car returns the favor by shutting itself off. Nothing Simon tries can persuade it to start again.
“Shit,” he yells. “I think it’s the fuel line!”
Charlie adds several other creative curses. “We can’t wait for help. We need to—”
Before he finishes speaking, I grab the rifle case and jump out of the passenger side. “Simon, Charlie,” I call out, “go on foot. I’ll track you from here.”
Simon sprints away, fast as a jackrabbit. I know he will cover the distance in a few minutes. Charlie sends off a text to Brian, plants a quick kiss on my cheek, and whispers, “Good hunting, lassie.” Then he takes off, slower than Simon but steady.
I look for a structure with some height to it.
Across from the clinic sits a nondescript apartment building with an open roof. I race over and press every buzzer. It’s so common as to be almost a prank. It works, though. Someone buzzes me in. I ignore the lift and take five flights two stairs at a time. I don’t hear any alarms go off when I push open the door to the roof.
I drop and crawl to the side of the building that faces away from the clinic to the north and west. From this position, I can see up the boulevard to the back of the white mansion whose picture Charlie showed me in the car. It sits higher than the others and is exactly as he described, an odd mix of Southern France and Southern California.
I assemble the L115 Simon brought for me along with an adjustable bipod. At least I know the weapon. I fiddle briefly with the knobs on the scope to tweak for the uphill shot angle and wind speed, which seems to vary from moment to moment. I still have to factor in ground temperature, humidity, and even the curve of the earth. I don’t have time for fine-tuning. I don’t even know if the rifle has been properly zeroed.
I can’t recall ever working under so much pressure, even during my years with Victor Kemp. Then again, I never had so much at stake as I do at this moment.
Through the scope, I look at the back of the house. Good God, it seems to be made of glass. The many windows reveal little. Nothing moves except a palm frond. I focus on a tree by the pool. Using the scope’s optics, I run some quick calculations in my head and my breath catches in my throat.
The house, the tree, and whichever humans come into view in the next few minutes have at least one thing in common. They are all about 2,050 meters away. More than a mile and a quarter.
~
Brian’s position at the side of the property gave him a decent vantage point. He’d been observing Lisette and Gabriel for the better part of an hour. At first, they seemed companionable, even affectionate. Two mature people on vacation along the Côte d’Azure. He had his first look at Suzanne’s mother. A slender woman, she seemed as light as air with her gauzy blouse, her flowing skirt, and her pale hair. Brian sensed she was far less fragile than her appearance suggested.
He knew Luisa Guzman’s brother from surveillance photos. Gabriel Guzman was movie-star handsome. He wasn’t relaxed, at least not today. He glanced at his watch; he looked out the window. He kept picking up and putting down his phone. Then it rang.
There was no disguising the man’s agitation after he disconnected. He walked out of the kitchen and paced the patio. Lisette came out to join him, lightly touching his arm. He pulled away angrily. Trouble in paradise, Brian thought.
Twenty minutes later, a small gray Nissan pulled up the driveway. No security barred the way, possibly because the house was essentially a full-time rental. The driver jumped out and strode around to the back to the pool area. Tall, broad-shouldered, black-haired, mid-thirties: Luisa’s nephew and Gabriel’s son. Lucas.
Gabriel caught sight of the younger man and immediately began to talk, a voluble outpouring of pent-up emotions. They spoke in Portuguese, a language Brian understood. He edged forward, realizing he’d be able to hear just fine. Gabriel was yelling. Lucas had to raise his voice to match his father’s.
“What the hell is going on, Lucas? Where is she? Where is Luisa?”
“Has anyone shown up here? Or called?” The younger man swiveled his head this way and that, his eyes narrowed. Brian flattened himself against the grass.
“Lucas! Goddammit, answer me.”
Lisette came out on the porch. She looked confused and nervous.
“Gabriel, what’s wrong? Who is this?”
The men ignored her.
“She’s dead, Gabriel,” Lucas said. “There was nothing I could do. Kemp killed her. The son of a bitch shot her in cold blood.”
Gabriel began to wail. Lucas slapped him across the face. Lisette gasped. Even Brian flinched.
“Shut up, damn it. She’s gone. We can’t bring her back.”
Lucas looked around again, grabbed Lisette by the elbow, and shoved her at his father.
“Take her. Others are coming. I’ll deal with as many as I can. For now, think of this woman as your hostage. Keeping her alive is our way out.” He handed his father a revolver and pulled a second weapon from his waistband. Then he crept around to the front, just passing but not noticing Brian. He crouched, facing the street, and pointed his gun in the direction of the driveway.
Gabriel pulled Lisette back into the house. Brian had a decision to make.
~
Simon got to his destination in under five minutes. He imagined Charlie would take another three or four, but he wasn’t sure they had that much time. The gray Nissan that tore past him, forcing him off the road, had been heading for the house on the hill. He’d caught a glimpse of a hard-faced man behind the wheel. Lucas Guzman.
As he approached, Simon heard yelling. Then it ceased altogether. He paused to catch his breath and assess the situation. Lucas might be expecting a carload of people or individuals on foot. Dropping to his knees, he risked a peek over the low wall. The Nissan was haphazardly abandoned almost at the front door. No sign of Lucas, his father, or Suzanne’s mother. Or Brian.
He backed away and followed the stone barrier. It extended a few meters before joining a much higher barbed-wire fence obscured by greenery. Clever. He’d have to go in the front.
From his position near the driveway, Lucas rose into a half crouch. If they were arriving one at a time on foot, he thought, his job would be that much simpler. He raised his arm to shoot the intruder. The cold barrel at his right temple stopped him.
“Don’t move.”
He did move, as Brian anticipated. Lucas swung away and to the right, expecting to knock a gun out of his adversary’s hand as he shot the man. The object Lucas knocked aside was a steel cylinder, a simple piece of metal connected to nothing. The shot that killed him came from the gun in Brian’s left hand. The violet eyes opened wide. Otherwise, Lucas barely had time to register that he'd been duped before he died.
Brian signaled to Simon, and they ran to the back of the house just as Gabriel began yelling hysterically in Portuguese and English. Rounding the corner, they saw him at the edge of the pool, a pistol to Lisette’s head.
“Gabriel, wait.” Brian spoke in Portuguese. “We can talk. Look, I’ll put my gun down.” He made as if to lower his weapon. Simon tried to edge out of the gunman’s line of sight.
“Stop. Get back. You’ve killed them, haven’t you? All of them. All of you.”
The man sounded half out of his mind. He kept his gun on his hostage. His finger rested on the trigger.
Suddenly, Lisette’s hand went to her chest. She slumped in Gabriel’s arms, her head lolling. She seemed to lose consciousness.
Good Christ, Brian thought. Was she having a heart attack?
Gabriel continued to rant, even as he struggled with Lisette’s limp body. “I will not die before I make sure you all go to hell,” he screamed. “All of you. I will see to it—”
All at once, he came to a dead stop. His face registered an interested sort of surprise. He dropped Lisette to the ground and followed her down, a neat round hole in his forehead. Simon and Brian looked at each other, astonished, just as Charlie puffed his way into the yard.
“Lisette!” Brian yelled. He ran towards the older woman, expecting to see blood or worse. Blood would at least mean she was alive. For the moment.
She was already back on her feet, not a scratch on her. She stared not at the body of the man who betrayed her but at a point in the distance, down the hill and toward the sea.
She smiled, raised her hand, and waved.