N’DJAMENA
Paul Deladier glanced up from his paper as Marcel entered. “I’ve been waiting for you,” the younger man said. “I thought you’d be back by now.”
“It always takes longer at the embassy,” Hurtubise replied evenly. He loosened his tie and looked around. “Where’s Gabrielle?”
Paul shrugged. “I haven’t seen her today.”
Hurtubise glanced at the clock on the stove. “She should be back by now.”
Deladier turned a page. “Maybe she’s out shopping with her nigger friends. I don’t know what she sees in them.”
“No, she was…”
Four sharp raps came from the door. One, pause, three. “That’s Raoul,” Hurtubise said. He opened the door.
Raoul Clary’s face told the story. “She’s dead.”
Deladier gasped audibly. “My God! Gabby…”
Hurtubise pulled the operative inside, then closed and locked the door. “Tell me.” His voice was emotionless, flat.
“I followed her as you said, making sure she didn’t try to run. But she kept the appointment all right. She met the fat American at the other apartment like you suggested. Gerard and I had the van with a body bag and cleaning supplies and the medical kit. All we had to do was look for her signal.” He spread his hands. “Marcel, why didn’t you let us do it? There would have been no trouble. The black woman would just disappear.”
“I have my reasons,” Hurtubise snapped. “Go on.”
“Well, after twenty minutes we saw the American arrive. She left not long after that. There was no sign of Gabrielle so we waited a little more, then entered through the bedroom window. She was dead in the kitchen.”
“How?”
“Shot in the head.”
“Executed?” Hurtubise asked.
“No, not if you mean from behind. But…”
“Yes?”
“Well, now that I think of it, the entry was in the left temple. Her Makarov was on the floor beside her.”
“Had it been fired?”
Clary nodded. “Once.”
Hurtubise felt a chill. Gabrielle had been left-handed. “No other ballistics? Any sign of a fight?”
“No. Oh, it looked like she had been sprayed with Mace. We could smell it a bit, too.”
“Where is she?”
“Gabrielle?”
“Yes, Gabrielle, you idiot!”
“Well, I thought you might mean the American. Gabrielle’s body is still in the van. Gerard is parked outside. We thought it best to come here rather than risk calling.”
Hurtubise began pacing, biting his lip in concentration. Deladier and Clary watched him closely. They thought they knew what Gabrielle Tixier meant to him, but they also knew his ruthless quality. It was at once a strength and a fault.
Abruptly he turned on a heel. “Raoul, you and Gerard get rid of the body. Remove all identification, everything. In fact, bring the clothes. I’ll burn them myself.” He turned to Deladier. “Paul, call the charter pilot.”
“Where are we going?”
“We’re flying up to the mine tonight. Something’s going to happen there. I feel it. Let Etienne know we’re coming.”
Deladier merely nodded. Then he asked, “What are you going to do, Marcel?”
Hurtubise regarded his colleague with a shark’s flat eyes. “I’m going for a walk.”