by Daniel Kalla
“Ah,” Sylvie said with a wide smile. “We have a friend within—” But she didn’t get any further.
Avril pounced so quickly that Valmont did not even have time to raise his arms. In a flash, she had the ligature around his neck and tightened like a garrote. Using his bloated body as a shield from the pointed guns, Avril dragged Valmont backward by his neck. He choked out a few words that were indecipherable to Noah.
“I will kill him,” Avril said, as she reached Noah’s side. “Happily.”
“Kill him. I don’t care.” Sylvie stepped to her right and swung the gun toward Frédéric. She knelt down and languidly placed the muzzle of her weapon against his forehead. “But how do you feel about watching your son die?”
Frédéric stared up at Sylvie, defiantly.
Avril wavered a moment. Then her hands fell off Valmont’s neck, and he wriggled free of her grip. He spun to face her. Noah heard him hiss something in her ear that ended with garce, the French word for “bitch.”
“Simon, les attaches!” Sylvie repeated in the tone of an exasperated teacher.
Warily, Valmont slipped behind Avril and grabbed her by the forearms. But Avril did not struggle while the man who had betrayed her carefully reapplied the bindings to her wrists. He leaned forward and spat another few words in her ear, before shoving her away.
Avril looked down at her feet, never once looking up at Valmont as he walked around her and headed for the doorway. “I am going to make sure Viktor has the cars organized correctly,” DeGroot said, following Valmont out of the room.
Sylvie nodded. “I would like to check the street before we leave, too.” She turned and marched out of the room behind the other two.
The door slammed shut and a bolt clicked loudly into place. Avril hurried over to her son and dropped to her knees beside him. She spoke soothingly in French to him.
Duncan staggered to his feet and approached Noah and Elise. “What do you think they have in mind?” he asked them.
Noah shrugged, numb with resignation. He had a mental image of Chloe, frolicking in the gentle waves of a Mexican beach. Though he knew she would be all right with Anna and Julie, the thought that he would miss seeing her grow up stirred a ripple of despair.
Elise brought him back to the present. Her eyes clouded with determination. “That water cannot go on sale, you understand?”
Noah glanced at her with renewed affection.
“No matter what these psychopaths try, they won’t be able to sterilize the prions out of that water,” Duncan said. “Shite, can you imagine how many people could die?”
“I know.” Noah exhaled heavily. “But how can we stop it?”
“They won’t shoot us,” Elise said. “They can’t.”
“She has a point,” Duncan said. “They’ll have a spot of bother trying to explain away the simultaneous shooting of every single investigator looking into this outbreak.”
“That must be why our restraints are padded,” Elise continued. “So they will not leave any marks on our bodies after—”
Duncan nodded vehemently. “All that drivel about the roads, the cars, and the snow. They’re planning some kind of auto accident for us!”
“So they will have to walk us outside again,” Elise pointed out.
Duncan nodded. “And if they can’t shoot us, maybe we stand a chance if we run for it.”
“Might be our best shot,” Noah said, though he felt no confidence in the plan. He turned to Elise and looked deep into her eyes. “I owe you an apology.”
Her lips cracked into a trace of a smile. “Not the time for apologies,” she said.
“I am sorry, Elise.”
Avril, who had been crouching over her son, suddenly materialized behind Noah. “Turn around and face the door,” she said in a hushed tone.
Noah looked over his shoulder and saw that Avril’s face was rigid with purpose. Without asking any questions, he pivoted on the spot. Avril slipped in behind him. Noah felt tugging at his restraints.
“Keep your hands where they are after they’re loose,” she whispered.
He craned his neck and saw Avril’s unfettered hand sawing through the bindings at his wrists with what looked like a switchblade. The ligatures gave way and he could feel his hands move freely, but kept them clasped behind his back as instructed.
His heart filling with a surge of elation, he viewed her quizzically. “How?”
“Simon,” she whispered.
53
Lac Noir, France. January 21
Simon! Even before Avril had wrapped the ligature around his neck, she understood from the quick wink Valmont flashed as he approached her that he was going to help. She did not regret choking him, though. It added to the act, and gave her a brief taste of retribution. After Valmont had slipped the blade into her hand and pretended to redo her bindings, the words he spat in her ear were: “Wait for my signal!”
Invigorated with an almost alien sense of hope, Avril moved with renewed purpose. She had already freed Frédéric’s hands. After cutting through Noah’s bindings, she whispered to him, “Do nothing until Simon tells us.”
“You sure it’s not a trap?” Noah asked, rolling his shoulders but not moving his hands.
“Absolutely,” she whispered without hesitation.
Noah nodded. “What if one of the others double-checks our restraints?”
Avril had wondered the same, but she had no good answer. “Then we improvise,” she said. “Make sure none of the cut material is showing.”
Noah locked eyes with her. “Let me have the knife, Avril.”
She shook her head firmly. “This is my responsibility.”
Avril moved over to Duncan, cutting his ligatures as discreetly as possible and whispering for him to keep his hands in place. Duncan nodded, but said nothing. Then she went to Elise, the last prisoner to be untied. She had just knelt down behind the young woman when the door rattled noisily.
Breath caught in her throat, Avril flicked the knife shut and stuffed it as far up her sleeve as possible. She jumped to her feet and shot her hands behind her back. Her fingers frantically groped at the dangling material of the cut binding as the door screeched angrily against the floor.
Avril glanced over to Frédéric, who stood at her side with his hands behind his back. She showed a slight smile, trying to reassure him. His brief nod was almost undetectable, but it warmed Avril’s heart.
Sylvie strode into the room followed by Valmont and the no-neck Russian, Viktor. In his huge hand, he gripped a stack of black material that Avril took a moment to recognize as the wool hoods.
Sylvie’s gaze swept over the room, examining her prisoners. Satisfied, she turned to Viktor. “Put the hoods on,” she snapped in English.
Valmont stepped in front of Viktor, and Avril tensed. She ran a finger up her sleeve, feeling for the switchblade. However, Valmont grabbed the hoods from the other man’s hand. “I’ll do it,” he said in French.
Indifferently, Viktor looked over to Sylvie, awaiting further orders.
Valmont headed toward the prisoners. “I have to double-check the restraints, anyway,” he said. “We don’t need a repeat of the earlier fiasco with that bitch getting loose.”
Sylvie shrugged. “Hurry, then.”
Valmont reached Noah. Standing behind the doctor, Valmont yanked his shoulders so far back that Noah groaned. Nodding his satisfaction, he roughly slipped the hood over Noah’s head and then moved over to Elise.
As soon as Valmont reached Avril, he made a show of tugging roughly at her arms, until her shoulder sockets actually ached. She felt his warm breath against her ear. “A little tougher to get out of this time, isn’t it, bitch?” he growled. Then he added one hushed word: “Outside.”
The room darkened as the wool scratched over Avril’s face.
Valmont released her arms, and she heard his footsteps moving toward Frédéric. Beside her, she could hear him repeat the same procedure, right down to the hostile comment. “Your
mommy cannot help you now, Freddie,” he mocked.
Valmont trod heavily across the room toward the door. “Done,” he announced.
“All right, time to go.” Sylvie addressed the room. “I suggest you listen to our instructions. I think our history has shown how committed we are to sticking to our plan.”
Shuffling noises surrounded Avril. She felt Viktor’s meaty hands on her shoulder. Praying that no strand of her cut bindings showed between her wrists, she felt enormous relief when the oblivious giant shoved her toward the door. She took each step with care, realizing how tenuous her grip was on the switchblade tucked under her sleeve.
Increased brightness seeped through the black wool, and she knew they had stepped out of the cellar and into the hallway.
“Stairs,” Sylvie barked from somewhere ahead of her.
Avril took three more short strides and her foot tapped against the first step. She climbed the stairs with deliberate caution. Halfway up, her son bumped her from behind. She managed to regain her footing, but for a horrified moment, the knife slipped out from under her sleeve.
She desperately fumbled for it. Breathlessly, she trapped the tip of its handle between her index and middle finger and then pulled it back into her grip.
“Move it!” Sylvie called out.
“Sorry, Maman,” Frédéric mumbled.
“It will be okay, darling,” she said.
Reaching the top step, they shuffled down the hallway toward the blowing cold. They stepped through the doorway and out into the night air. Even through the hood, Avril could tell that the area where they walked was well lit.
“Stop!” Sylvie suddenly cried.
Avril obeyed. Her heart pounding, she clutched the weapon tightly in her hand. She listened intently as Sylvie spoke to her associates in a rushed low voice. “Keep the boy and his mother in the backseat of her car. Viktor, you drive. But stay on the road this time.” She switched to French for Valmont’s benefit. “Simon, you take the E.U. woman and the two doctors in her car. Martine and I will follow in the Mercedes.”
Avril’s fingers dug into the handle of the weapon. She readied to pounce, waiting for Simon to give the signal.
None came.
“Move it!” the deep Russian voice growled in English. Viktor’s hand clamped down heavily on her shoulder, and he began to shove her forward.
When, Simon? Avril wavered, trying to decide if she should catch Viktor now with a blade to his gut. Instinct told to her to wait for Valmont’s signal, so she shuffled along slowly on the snowy ground.
Her chest hit something hard but her belly did not meet resistance, and she realized that she was pressing against the roof of a car with its door open. Viktor began to push her head down toward the door. She caught the faint smell of the pine-scented deodorizer that she kept in her Peugeot.
“Simon, what are you doing?” Sylvie snapped, annoyed.
The pressure on Avril’s head gave way like a spring releasing. She heard Viktor’s feet spin on the snow.
“Get away from them, Viktor!” Valmont shouted in French.
Avril heard Viktor’s boots crunch on the snow.
“Have you completely lost your mind?” Sylvie spat.
In one motion, Avril put her hand to her head and whisked off her hood. She popped open the blade of her knife and held it out in front of her. In the shadowy glow of the house’s exterior lights, Avril took in the scene in an instant. Everyone except Valmont stood beside the three cars lined up at the end of the driveway off to the side of the Manet house.
Several feet away from his fellow conspirators, Valmont stood with his back to the door of the house. He swayed nervously from foot to foot as he pointed his gun at Sylvie and DeGroot. With arms at their sides and guns not visible, the women stood beside a black Mercedes at the head of the column of cars lined up on the driveway. Ten feet or so behind the women, Elise hovered near a scratched-up BMW sedan beside the two doctors. Noah had already pulled off his mask and was now removing Elise’s. Not understanding French, Duncan was frozen in place, still wearing his face mask. “Duncan, your hood,” Noah called to his colleague, and the Scotsman pulled it off.
At the back of the column, Avril leaned against her own car, close enough to Frédéric to hear his heavy breathing. With a quick glance over her shoulder, she saw Viktor standing nearby, very still and straight, with a hand resting perilously close to the inside of his open jacket.
“Simon, how will you pay off those gambling bets now?” Sylvie calmly asked.
“I will worry about that later,” Valmont grumbled.
“There will be no later for you,” Sylvie said. “Even if you could get out of here.”
Valmont sneered. “Your future does not look much brighter, I am afraid.”
“Simon, this is a marathon, not a sprint,” she said. “Do not give up with the finish line finally in sight.”
“I am sick of you, Sylvie.” Valmont’s shoulders sagged slightly. “You promised me all I would have to do was to be your ‘eyes and ears’ in the region. Nothing more. And then every week, it got worse. More and more blood.”
“I didn’t want any of this,” Sylvie said. “It just happened. Now we have to deal with it.”
“I have helped you kill three innocent people. If you think for one moment that I will let you murder Avril and Frédéric…” His eyes darted to Avril. “Avril, I never dreamed it would go this far. I am so sorry.”
Avril nodded. Sensing danger, she raised her knife and turned to the Russian statue on her other side. Somehow, he had backpedaled a few more steps away.
“Such nobility, all of a sudden, Simon,” Sylvie said. “But it’s too late to find your conscience. Your only hope—ours, too—is to finish what we started.”
“I am a man without hope.” Valmont chuckled miserably. Then his tone hardened into a growl. “Now get down on your knees with your hands on your heads.”
“That is so unnecessary, Simon,” DeGroot cooed as she took a step toward him. “There is an easier way for all of us.”
Valmont shook his head slowly. “You are not going to fuck your way out of this one, Martine.” Then his voice rose, and he shook his gun at them. “Now get down on the ground.”
Sylvie and DeGroot shared a quick glance.
“Now!” Valmont fired a gunshot over their heads to punctuate his point.
The two women began to kneel almost in synchrony.
Avril suddenly noticed Viktor’s hand inching toward his jacket. She took a step nearer to him and waved her knife. “Leave it!” she yelled in English.
Valmont looked over to her. “Everything okay, Avril?” he asked urgently.
“Yes,” she replied, steadying the blade in her tremulous hand without taking her eyes off the Russian.
Two gunshots erupted, and Avril whipped her head over to see Valmont stagger a step, drop to his knees, and then fall silently on his side.
Avril looked to the two women. DeGroot steadied her gun, the muzzle now pointed at Avril. “Drop the knife,” she screamed.
Avril hesitated a moment. Just as she began to relax her grip on the haft of the knife, another gunshot exploded from where Valmont lay on the ground. DeGroot clutched her shoulder and stumbled back a step.
“Martine!” Sylvie cried, as she reached for her own gun.
“Just a graze,” DeGroot called out. She swung the gun over and fired twice more at the fallen figure of Valmont.
“Go!” Noah yelled.
In the confusion, Elise darted between the BMW and Avril’s car and scurried for the darkness of the nearby trees. Duncan followed. Noah hunched low and ran toward Avril along the row of cars.
“Maman!” Frédéric shouted.
Avril’s eyes shot over to where Frédéric was wrestling nearby with Viktor. Her son had both hands clamped around the Russian’s bulging arm, as he struggled to shake the gun free. Avril was already in motion when Viktor swung his free elbow viciously. It smashed Frédéric in the face and sent hi
m reeling backward.
Avril reached Viktor before the Russian could raise the gun. In midstride, she thrust the knife’s blade straight into his windpipe, feeling resistance only when it hit bone. A whoosh sounded as the blood sprayed from his neck and splattered Avril’s face. His hands did not even reach the neck wound before he toppled backward.
Another gunshot roared, and air whistled by Avril’s ear. She ducked and looked over to see Sylvie steadying her aim. She reached down and grabbed her son’s hand. Noah appeared on the other side of him. Together, they hauled Frédéric to his feet and hurried off around the back of her car and toward the woods where Elise and Duncan had disappeared.
Shots cracked behind them.
Just as they reached the trees, Avril was hurled forward as if kicked and then felt searing pain across the back of her chest.
Avril saw stars. The world swam around her. She focused every iota of energy on staying upright, but a violent tremble overcame her legs. Her knees softened. She began to pitch forward. Just as she was about to collapse, arms wrapped around her from either side.
54
Lac Noir, France. January 21
Gasping, Avril swayed like a tree moments after the final axe blow had fallen. Arms locked behind her, Frédéric and Noah dragged her through the snow away from the gunfire and into the darkness of the woods.
The guns had quieted. Aside from the low whistle of his perforated eardrum, Noah heard nothing. The silence was more nerve-wracking than the blasts.
As they pulled Avril deeper into the tree cover, Noah desperately focused on his only previous visit to the Manets, trying to recall the property’s layout. He remembered that it was the last house on the lakefront road, and the neighboring property was on the far side of the house and a long way up the road. Way too far to drag the bleeding detective. Noah hoped that the gunfire might have precipitated a call for help, but rather than the welcome noise of sirens, the only suggestion of a police presence was Avril’s moist and labored breaths.
Noah considered making a dash for the neighboring house, but the chances of reaching it across the lit parking lot and past the two armed women seemed slim-to-non existent. He decided on an alternate course. “We have to get to the road,” Noah whispered urgently to Frédéric and Avril. “Stop a car. Double back to the neighbors. Anything.”
