‘I know the place,’ said Canet. ‘It’s a network of old buildings and warehouses from the twenties. It hasn’t been used in years. It’s like a rabbit warren in there.’
‘Fine,’ said Massin. He picked up his phone and issued rapid orders. Then he turned to Rocco. ‘I’m authorising you to take Desmoulins and join up with Sous-Brigadier Godard and a unit of his gendarmes mobiles. They’re already on their way to the site to assess the scene. I’d like you to give them every assistance. Men from Arras are also on their way. You know what Bouanga looks like, so you can brief everyone in case there’s any resistance. The last thing we need at this stage is one of our officers seeing a black face and shooting dead the man we’re trying to rescue.’
Monteo finally pushed himself forward. ‘I would like to be present as well, Massin. Bouanga is, after all, my responsibility.’ He pushed his chin forward and squared his shoulders.
Massin looked at Rocco. ‘Inspector?’
‘Better not. The wrong people can get shot on these operations.’ The look he gave Monteo left the man in no doubt that insisting on joining them would be a very bad idea.
‘I agree,’ said Massin. ‘Anything else?’
‘No.’ Rocco felt relieved. At last, something positive to do. He’d worked with Godard before and trusted him and his team. They were professional and skilled at their jobs. He headed for the door with Canet hard on his heels, no doubt as keen as he was to get out of the toxic atmosphere between Massin and Monteo.
‘Oh, and Inspector…’ said Massin, as Rocco turned the handle, ‘…something else Arras mentioned from events at Les Sables: an inspection of the injured officer’s firearm shows it had been discharged.’
‘So he got off a shot?’
‘It would seem so. You’d better be going. Let’s try to keep the body count down, shall we? With the Tour coming through the region shortly, a massacre nearby would cast an unfortunate shadow.’
Thirty-three
Rocco headed out to the rear car park, where he found Desmoulins waiting and ready to go. Godard’s men had just left to scout out the site near Cambrai, the blue fog of diesel from their heavy operations van clouding the air.
‘I’ve put some gear in the boot,’ said Desmoulins, grinning at the prospect of some excitement. ‘A couple of rifles and ammunition and some smoke grenades, although if we have to use those, we’ll probably be too late. Just in case Godard doesn’t have any, I mean.’
Rocco pulled a face and got behind the wheel. He didn’t much care for rifles unless it was going to be outright warfare, but it paid to be prepared. And the likelihood of Godard forgetting any tactical equipment was remote. The man lived for knowing what was where and having everything at his fingertips. If these kidnappers were indeed armed and had killed and injured police officers already, they clearly had little concern for the law and the consequences of breaking it. With Godard on the case, it was probably going to be their most costly mistake.
As he drove he brought Desmoulins up to date on events so far, including the similarities of Raballe’s murder to that of Vieira.
‘Sounds like Farek’s got himself a couple of hot-shots on the job,’ Desmoulins concluded. ‘And a woman? That’s unusual.’ He was looking at Rocco with concern. ‘Doesn’t it bother you, having pros on your tail?’
‘Well, I’m hardly pleased about the idea. But there’s not much I can do to stop them coming unless I spot them first. At least I now know what they look like.’
‘I suppose. And you say you actually spoke to both of them. That’s… that’s bizarre, like they were playing some kind of game.’
‘What’s bizarre is that they didn’t take the opportunity to finish me there and then.’
‘And Jouanne’s a professional killer? I can’t believe it. I never got to know him, just said hello in passing.’ He paused, then added, ‘I suppose it might be because of what you’ve just told me about him, but the couple of times I spoke to him I got the feeling he was enjoying a joke at everybody else’s expense, like he knew something we didn’t.’
‘You weren’t wrong. It’s precisely what he was doing.’
They drove on for a while in silence before Desmoulins spoke again. ‘Having a team around this long, though, it’s risky, isn’t it? I thought the top guns usually kept on the move, in and out again, job done and back to their hidey-holes.’
‘Usually. But Farek must be making it worth their while to extend their stay. Caspar thinks Nightingale’s an international operator, which will only increase Farek’s profile and serve as a warning to the rest that he won’t be messed with.’
To Rocco, hiring such a person was also an indication of how untouchable Farek thought himself to be now. But he knew the gangster wasn’t only motivated by arrogance; beneath the veneer would be a desperate desire to maintain face among the criminal community by being seen to settle scores with people who had dared cross him, on both sides of the law. Either way, such a high-profile strategy was taking a huge risk. Even top-rated assassins had limits when it came to the code of never talking to the police. If the killer was caught, faced with a one-way visit to the guillotine, he might decide to negotiate a lesser sentence in exchange for the name of his current employer.
They arrived near the old factory complex, which lay at the end of a weed-strewn metalled surface off the main road, and found Godard’s men and a number of other vehicles from the Arras section clustered in a group. An officer Rocco didn’t know came forward to wave them down.
Rocco showed his card and the officer nodded. ‘Thank you, Inspector. Sous-Brigadier Classens, Arras Division.’ He waved them through.
Godard approached as they climbed out of the car. ‘Here we are again,’ he said cheerfully. ‘I’ve sent a couple of men around the perimeter to scout out access points and report back. I’ll send them back once we decide to move in, just in case the kidnappers try getting away across the fields.’ He looked up at the sky. ‘It’s still light at the moment but it’s a big perimeter to keep under observation if they decide to slip out under cover of dark. Once they’re out in the field we’ll never find them.’
‘A good reason not to let them get too settled, then,’ said Rocco.
‘That’s what I was thinking. As long as we don’t scare them into harming their hostages, maybe we can play with their nerves a little.’ He eyed Rocco, who was checking his semi-automatic. ‘Is that all you’re taking? I’ve got some heavier stuff if you want it. It could get messy if they’ve got a lot of ammunition.’
‘This will do fine.’ Rocco put the gun away and studied the complex. It was an extensive and ugly collection of buildings and rusty machinery, set in an area the size of three football fields and surrounded by a three-metre-high fence. In between the buildings ran a spider’s web of what he took to be conveyors and walkways, while at ground level there were piles of unnameable detritus dotted about, some several metres high, leftovers from an attempt to break down the site ready to be carted away. Since then, the owners had abandoned the job to the mercy of the elements: what ground had once been concreted over around the buildings was now cracked and broken, with weeds pushing through in wild clumps and even small trees growing into the walls of the buildings.
‘Does anybody know what state the buildings are in?’ he asked Classens, who was standing nearby.
‘Unfortunately not. The fences and structures are supposed to be checked every couple of years to prevent intruders getting in and hurting themselves, but the owners of the site went into liquidation some years back and it’s fallen between the cracks.’
From where they were standing the fabric of the buildings looked dangerously fragile, with boards flapping beneath the corrugated roofs and holes in the cladding where sheets had been ripped away by nature or local scavengers. The surrounding fence, in a cruel twist, seemed to have withstood the ravages best, and remained rigid and impenetrable. To Rocco, as potential nightmares went, it looked the worst kind to be facing. Riddled with nooks
and crannies, a single gunman, if skilful or desperate enough, could hold off any attempt to penetrate the inside by picking off targets at leisure.
‘Is this the only way in?’ He nodded at a pair of metal-grilled gates, partially pushed open and sagging on their hinges.
‘I’m afraid so.’
He shook his head. All the men inside would need was a clear view of the road and they would be able to watch anyone trying to enter slowing down to get through the gap in the gates. If they had a rifle it would be like a duck-shoot.
‘Has there been any activity so far?’
Godard nodded. ‘One of the Arras boys was the first one here. He said he saw the Simca being driven down the back and turning into one of the buildings, and a couple of guys standing around and waving side-arms in the air like they were gangsters on a film set. It sounds like they’re anticipating trouble.’
‘Sounds like they don’t know what they’re up against,’ said Desmoulins moodily, although with a slight grin. ‘Pretty stupid driving around in a Vedette, too. Not many of them around in these parts.’
‘You’ve got that right.’
‘Inspector Rocco?’ It was Classens, who’d stepped away in response to one of his men. ‘I’ve had a message for you from the station. The man they captured is talking and they think you should hear what he has to say before we go in.’ He gestured towards a police van nearby. ‘My colleague has the radio.’
Rocco nodded, climbed into the van and took the handset from the driver. ‘Rocco.’
‘Inspector Rocco. This is Captain Hugo Batisse, Arras division. Thank you for your assistance.’ The officer’s voice was clipped, as if he were making a recording, and Rocco put it down to perhaps having an audience behind him.
‘What have you got for me, Captain?’
‘The prisoner is a Congolese national, like the others, which I think you know already. We were led to believe they were employed to kidnap the ex-minister Bouanga by his enemies in Libreville. But this man denies it. He says they were paid to take a man they later learned was named Bouanga and keep him captive until they received instructions to release him. In fact he claims to have no idea who Bouanga is, nor the woman with him. Later they would be told to release the man and would get the rest of their money and return to Paris where they came from.’
‘Does he know who paid them?’
‘Not by name. He said a white man. He’s anxious to talk, and I think he’s beginning to realise his position.’
‘Good. Can he describe the man who paid him?’
‘I asked him that already. He said young rather than old and, get this, he was wearing a blue shirt… like a cop.’
Jouanne. It had to be. Rocco could feel it in his bones.
‘How did he meet this man?’
There was a rumble of conversation, and Batisse came back. ‘He says he was contacted by a chef in Paris and told to go to a bar in Amiens where they would be met by the young man and paid half their money, the rest on their return to Paris.’
A chef – a boss or leader. Was that a gang boss?
‘Do you believe him?’
‘He sounds genuine, although he’s still intoxicated on something so it’s not easy to tell. He says he and the others have been chewing something called ncassa. It’s a leaf of some kind, but nobody here knows what it is or what it does. He says it makes people happy and brave. If waving a gun around and shooting my two officers is happy, God help us if they get brave. You’ll be going in hard, I take it, and will punish those bastards for what they did?’
Rocco’s priority was getting Bouanga and Excelsiore out safely without loss of life. Faced with trigger-happy men in the grip of some narcotic substance, the likelihood of this business ending in a happy outcome was slim. Going in hard, as Batisse put it, like a cavalry charge, wouldn’t guarantee anybody’s safety, least of all the hostages.
‘Thank you for the warning, Captain. We’re hoping to find a way of getting the hostages out to safety. Beyond that, we’ll see what develops and keep in touch.’ He cut the call before Batisse could say anything else, and passed the handset back to the driver.
As he walked over to re-join Godard and brief the men on what to expect, two of Godard’s men appeared from along the side of the complex. Their legs were covered in thistles and fragments of greenery where they had been walking through long grass.
‘There’s a section of fence down on the right-hand side,’ said the first man. ‘It’s unsighted from inside the factory behind a storage tank, so I reckon we can go through there and spread out without being seen.’
‘Nowhere else?’ said Godard.
‘No.’ The second man stepped forward. ‘I went down the other side and we met at the far end. The fence is solid all the way down and there’s no cover anywhere. Anyone trying to climb over or cut through it would be a sitting target. Near the storage tank is better.’
‘Did you see anyone?’ Rocco asked.
‘Three men, all carrying handguns, and an older man and a woman, both with their hands tied. The man looked like he was trying to protect the woman and getting a kicking in the process.’ He gestured to his colleague and added, ‘We talked about it on the way back up here and we don’t think they’ve even considered the possibility of us getting inside. They’re busy shouting and laughing like they’re having a party. It’s crazy. At least they won’t be able to shoot straight in that state.’
‘They’re crazy all right,’ said Rocco. ‘The party’s inside their heads and whatever they’ve been chewing is making them think they’re fireproof. But that makes them even more dangerous, not less.’ He looked at Godard, who was ex-military and experienced in these kinds of operations. ‘This is your speciality, so we’ll follow your lead. But let me say this to all of you: the older man and the woman are hostages. They’re Africans, like the kidnappers, so don’t mistake them for the kidnappers. The moment you find them, put them somewhere secure until we can gather up the three gunmen.’ He heard some muttering from among the Arras officers and knew what they were thinking. They wanted revenge for their dead and wounded colleagues. He decided to nip that idea in the bud. ‘You have something you want to get off your chests?’
‘Just one thing, Inspector.’ It was Classens. He was short and pugnacious, and looked ready for a fight. ‘These three are animals. Delfour, the one they killed, had three kids and the docs are saying Noel Vallet might never walk again.’
‘I know that. What’s your point?’
‘You sound as if you want us to be gentle with them after what they did.’
‘I know how you feel about them, Sous-Brigadier; they shot your colleagues. I understand that. But remember this: we’re professionals and we need to know who paid them to kidnap Bouanga. Killing them out of revenge won’t tell us who did that.’
‘The mad bastard we caught in Arras will tell us,’ said another man. He looked at his colleagues with a smirk. ‘At least he will if I get five minutes alone with him!’
Rocco waited for a ripple of laughter to subside. They were venting, he understood that. Like any soldiers about to go into battle they were nervous, but it was tinged with an anger and hate that demanded to be satisfied.
‘I’m not saying take silly risks to take a prisoner,’ he said. ‘I’m saying we need to verify the facts. I want to take down the man who paid them, because he’s just as much to blame for the death of your colleague as they are.’ He turned to Godard, anxious to get on with it instead of arguing semantics. ‘Desmoulins and I will go in through the main gate. If we cause a distraction, they’ll think it’s a frontal assault and give you a chance to find out where they’re hiding the hostages. You all right with that?’
Godard nodded with a grin. ‘I appreciate that, Lucas. Some noise will be good. Just don’t draw all the fire.’ He pulled a folded sheet of paper from his map pocket and opened it. It was a hand-drawn schematic of the factory site. He looked at the two officers who had completed the recce. ‘This is a rough ide
a of the factory layout. If you can mark the broken stretch of fence on here, we’ll have a better idea of where to go in. We can split up as we see fit once we’re inside.’ He handed over the sheet and a pen, and the first officer placed a cross against the fence two-thirds of the way down.
Godard took it back and held it so everybody could see. ‘The two men who did the recce, you know the ground, so you lead the way and stay on the outside and watch for anyone breaking out. The rest, let’s go.’
Rocco watched the men set off and gave them time to get down towards the breach in the fence, then nodded to Desmoulins. ‘You ready? We’re about to make some noise.’
Thirty-four
Before going through the gates, Rocco inspected the hinges. They were in a very poor state and pretty much held on by rust. One good tug and they’d probably fall apart. He took a length of rope from the boot of his car and tied one end to the towbar and the other to the centre of the gate.
‘You go through first and stay out of sight,’ he told Desmoulins, who was checking his rifle. ‘I’ll follow and take the gate with me. If anybody’s waiting to jump out it should test their nerves.’
‘Will do. How do you want to handle it when we’re through?’
‘The noise will distract them from Godard and the others going through the fence. We leave the car and go through the buildings on foot. If anyone’s waiting up here to catch us out, we deal with them first.’
Desmoulins jogged away and slipped through the gap in the gate, disappearing quickly on the other side behind some giant bobbins that had once held steel hawsers or coils of wire. Rocco gave it a count of thirty, then eased the Citroën carefully through the gate, which was open just wide enough to avoid scraping the sides. Once through, he let the car drift under its own momentum until he’d taken up the slack in the rope. Then he put his foot down and the heavy car surged forward.
There was the slightest tug of resistance and the gate came off its hinges, skidding along on the bottom of the frame until it toppled over and hit the ground with an enormous crash that Rocco felt vibrating through the car’s tyres. It bounced once before hitting the ground again and he slammed on the brakes and turned the wheel to avoid the gate sliding up behind him and hitting the rear of the car.
Rocco and the Nightingale Page 20
