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“Has Yves dealt with that damn witness and the others yet?” Noir demanded the moment he had been escorted into the room where his lawyer waited for him and the door had been shut, with the guards outside.
Olivier grimaced. He wasn’t happy that it had fallen to him to deliver the bad news. He would have preferred it if Jean-Paul had been able to tell his cousin what had happened in Spain but that wasn’t possible. The only visitor who could speak to Noir without them being recorded was him, since their meetings were legally privileged.
“He failed,” Olivier reported, bracing himself for the inevitable explosion.
“What!” Noir surged to his feet, knocking his chair over. “What do you mean he failed?” he demanded. With an effort, he controlled his anger and lowered his voice before the guards came in to find out what was going on.
Olivier quickly recounted everything that Jean-Paul had told him, ending with the recommendation given by Dubois.
Noir was silent for several long moments as he took in what he had been told. Finally, he said, “What do you think?”
“You should do it,” Olivier said without hesitation, having had plenty of time to consider the situation and the alternatives open to Noir, who wasn’t just a client but also a friend. “Sending your own men to take care of the problem has done nothing but make it worse. I think it’s time to hire a professional and make sure things are dealt with.”
“How much is it likely to cost?”
“I have no idea. Does it really matter, though?” Olivier asked. “If you don’t deal with the maid and the others, you’re going to spend the rest of your life in a Spanish prison.” And it might not be as long a life as you expect, he thought but didn’t say.
“You’re right,” Noir agreed. When it came to keeping himself out of jail, he was prepared to do anything and spend whatever was necessary. “Have Jean-Paul make the arrangements and have him take care of Yves and whoever he has with him as well.”
**
WITH GUY, THE ONLY remaining member of the group he had taken to Barcelona, Yves left the airport and made for the taxi rank. There was a long queue of people waiting for taxis but before they could reach the end of it, they were joined by two men who steered them away from the queue.
“Mr Renault would like to talk to you,” the man on Yves’ left, who was huge in both height and muscle, said, controlling his normally loud voice with an effort, so as not to be overheard by those they passed.
“Where are we going?” Yves asked. He recognised both men and realised he was in trouble — being met by Julian and Louis could mean only one thing — and his mind raced as he considered ways to escape.
“You’ll find out when we get there,” Julian told him as he led the way to where his car was parked.
**
“WHERE ARE WE?” YVES asked when he was told to get out of the car. The journey had been circuitous, taking them through parts of Paris he was unfamiliar with, and he didn’t recognise where they had ended up beyond that they were on a construction site.
“It doesn’t matter,” Julian said, his voice booming now there was no reason for him to keep it under control.
When the four of them were out of the car, Julian led the way across the construction site to a spot where they could all see that the concrete of the foundations was still wet.
“Where’s Jean-Paul?” Yves asked, looking around. He wasn’t surprised that Jean-Paul was nowhere to be seen, but he had been hoping that things would prove to be different to how he expected. “I thought you said he wanted to talk to us.”
“Don’t be naïve,” Louis said, speaking for the first time. “You knew Mr Renault wasn’t going to be here. He’s being watched and can’t afford to be seen anywhere near anything like this.”
“You’ve screwed up, not once but twice,” Julian rumbled. “Consider yourself lucky you’ve lived this long.”
Yves was about to say something when he heard a loud gasp and saw Guy collapse to the ground, a knife in his heart. Before he could react he felt a sharp pain in his chest, and when he opened his mouth to speak he coughed up blood. Everything went black, and then he collapsed in a heap next to Guy.
For a moment, Julian looked down on the two men, watching for any sign that they might still be alive. When he was sure they were dead, he bent to retrieve his knife from Yves’ body. He wiped the blade clean on Yves’ jacket and then put the knife away before hauling the body up.
With no apparent effort, he threw Yves into the middle of the wet cement, where his body floated on the surface. Guy’s body followed Yves’, and with the help of a pole located by Louis they soon disappeared beneath the surface of the cement. In less than two minutes there was no sign that anything had happened.