by Geoff Wolak
‘Well, hopefully you’ll not come in for any criticism, or the French public will be asking why you managed to do what their entire police force failed to do so far.’
‘There is that, yes. Double check my transport to Lyon, please, for dawn.’
‘On it now.’
Call cut, it rang straight away. ‘Wilco.’
‘It’s Max, where the fuck are you?’
‘Ah ... we got a lead and so had to fly off and try and follow-up on the lead. We’re in France.’
‘France! I flew over France down to fucking Western Sahara! And they won’t let me on this base.’
‘I’ll call them now. Look, photograph the SAS, the base, but hang onto the photos for now unless you want to run a story along the lines of the SAS hunting down the poisoners in West Africa.’
‘Well, could do, yes. What are you up to?’
‘You must not ... say yet, understand!’
‘OK, keep your panties on. So why you in France?’
‘The Algerians have half a tonne of a new deadly poison not seen before, and they’re hoping to drop it in the water supply in Paris or some French city.’
‘Bloody ... hell. There’d be panic!’
‘Which is why you’ll keep it quiet, and I mean it, not even a chat to your editor yet. If this leaks we’re all in the shit.’
‘I get the exclusive afterwards?’
‘Of course, you’re our man.’
‘Should I get to France?’
‘Sure, just don’t drink the fucking water. Head for Paris, you might be there when the panic starts. Keep some bottled water in your hotel room.’
‘Jesus, this is serious stuff.’
‘Yes, so keep it under wraps for now.’
I made sure that the lads each had a warm shower, and that they got extra sandwiches, and as we settled down we were disturbed by French Echo arriving, all in uniform, DGSE with them. We explained the early departure to much moaning, and I told them to get a wash and to bed at 10pm. A few were in with us, the remainder downstairs.
I asked the DGSE man about the GIGN.
‘There are four small teams in Paris, helicopters ready. They protect Paris.’
‘Do you have a team to deal with the chemicals?’
‘Yes, they are sat next to helicopters, south of Paris.’
‘Have a team of them move to Lyon tomorrow, just in case.’
‘Will not be easy, the government is worried about Paris,’ he said with a scowl.
‘Try and get them,’ I insisted. ‘Paris may not be the target.’
I got a call from SIS as I slipped into a warm and cosy bed, and our ride would be taking off at 5.45am. I asked for an alarm call at 5am, and lay back.
At 4am I was awake, the room dark and quiet. I dressed quietly, not disturbing anyone, Rizzo snoring quietly. After using the toilet I had a quick wash under my arms with leftover shampoo, and tip-toed out to find a cold morning, and a military police jeep, two armed men eyeing me warily.
‘Speak any English?’
They shook heads.
‘Coffee?’
They pointed at a building with lights on, and I wandered over, doing up my collar. Inside I found one of the DGSE men sat alone behind a clever laptop computer. He nodded at me and forced a weak smile before I helped myself to coffee and cake.
I sat with him. ‘Anything new?’
‘Much information from Corsica, the family of Sedan all questioned, some places for apartments and houses in Paris. They are being raided now by GIGN.’
‘If they raid the right house ... the GIGN will all be killed, the chemical released,’ I firmly emphasised.
The man shrugged. ‘Paris wants action.’
I took out my phone and dialled SIS, being closely observed.
‘Duty Officer.’
‘It’s Wilco in France. Send a note from me to Head of Operations, DGSE France. Message reads: any forceful raid on a house or apartment with Sedan inside will see him release the chemical, the GIGN killed, police outside all killed, neighbours killed. Stealth, and the use of snipers is required, or jobs will be lost and careers ended.’
‘You want that last part in there?’
‘Yes. Send it right now.’
‘Early morning kick in the balls, eh.’
Phone away, the tired DGSE man said, ‘You can say this ... I would be shot, hanged, then sent to Elba!’
‘Elba? Ah, where Napoleon was held. They say it’s a nice island.’
‘No so much the beer and girls, eh.’
‘Were there any calls made from the payphone in Corsica?’
He studied his screen with a squint. ‘Moment, I did see ... something. Here, a call to Brittany, a pay phone. Rennes, a Moroccan cafe.’
‘Some hired help, but a long way from Paris. If it was him.’
Cake and coffee inside me, I walked back through the chill dawn air, a nod at the security. I lay down fully clothed, thinking, and at 4.50am I checked my watch, soon kicking beds, the lights turned on, the lads cursing, Liban cursing - but in French. ‘Get up, get a hot shower, get moving!’ I shouted.
Downstairs, I put the lights on and banged a table top. ‘Wakey, wakey, job to do.’
I left behind many a rude French word aimed my way. At the security jeep I said, ‘Coffee, soldier, many.’
They got the idea and drove off, back ten minutes later with two large green urns of piping hot coffee, one for us upstairs, just the one plastic cup, a bag of sugar. Coffee and sugar in the cup, lots of sugar, I attended each man – some still in bed, each getting a mouthful as I nudged them to get ready. I opened the windows to let the cold air in.
Clothes on, water bottles finished off, the coffee finished, I checked the men over, most now in boots, jeans, combat jackets over shirts – holsters on, t-shit underneath. It would have to do, but we looked like a bunch of trouble-makers, sure to be stopped by the police on a road if it was not for our escorts.
Downstairs I found French Echo almost ready, but all in uniform, webbing and rifles to hand. This was their country, so I was not too bothered by how the local French population would react to seeing them.
Buses arrived, a miracle of French efficiency, and both Echo teams boarded for the short trip to the apron, down and out next to our plane – now covered in frost and sparkling. Rocko put a smiley face into the wing frost.
A room was opened, coffee available, heaters on, everyone stuffed inside for ten minutes before ground crew arrived, soon the pilots. Three aircraft were checked over, engines started, a long process over thirty minutes till we were called forwards, seats reclaimed.
‘This is the way to go to work,’ Rocko approved as he reclaimed a plush seat.
Door closed by the co-pilot, chocks seen to be removed, and we edged slowly forwards whilst turning left, picking up speed, jeeps with orange flashing lights leading us. The jeeps pulled up and halted as we joined the taxiway, endless lines of blue and green lights stretching out. Power on, and we tore down the runway and off, a sharp right turn.
A short hour later we descended into a military airfield east of Lyon, a smooth touchdown, and taxied around to a sea of flashing blue lights. Halted - chocks placed by men in orange vests and with orange ear defenders, the door was finally opened, a chill wind greeting me as I stepped down.
To Moran I said, ‘Get the crates from the hold, webbing and weapons for the four snipers only.’
French Echo taxied towards us and halted, the third plane touching down. With French Echo boarding a bus, and looking like they were about to start a war, we waited for the DGSE.
The head men strode towards me. ‘What is your plan?’
It was a very odd thing to hear stood on the tarmac of a French military base, in France, surrounded by French soldiers and French officials.
‘We go to where a phone was used, look around, maybe we get lucky - as in Corsica.’
He nodded his approval before we all boarded coaches, soon heading out the gate in conv
oy, a long forty minute ride into the suburbs of Lyon as commuters headed to work around us.
Arriving at the street in question, I led Echo down from the coach, residents peering from windows, people on the sidewalk gawking at all the activity and the flashing blue lights.
‘There are three hotels nearby, so maybe they stayed in one,’ I told the head of the DGSE team as French Echo started to frighten women and children. I pointed. ‘This one is closest, so we start there.’
As a group we walked towards it, a four-storey dated building with a cafe on the ground level. Up the steps, through the door and those in the lobby froze at the sight of us. I placed my photocopy of Sedan down on the front desk, tapped the brass bell – causing a puzzled and annoyed frown at it from the smartly dressed old man stood right behind it - and asked Henri to translate.
‘I speak English,’ the man offered. ‘And please don’t hit the damn bell.’
‘This man was here? A few days ago?’
The man had a look at the picture. ‘Yes, with six others, four rooms.’
Three Arabs in suits stepped out of the breakfast room, my pistol drawn as screams rose up, soon ten pistols aimed at the men.
In Arabic, I said, ‘Where are you from?’
‘Algeria,’ they responded, hands raised.
I showed them the image of Sedan. ‘You know him?’
‘He was here two days ago, an Algerian – we knew his accent, but he was rude and ignored us, would not talk to us.’
‘Apologies, but you are all now being held as witnesses.’ I turned to the DGSE. ‘Hold them as witnesses!’
The unfortunate Algerians, in the wrong hotel at the wrong time, were cuffed and led away.
I returned to the man that was assisting me, and he appeared to be the manager. Now a shocked and disturbed manager. ‘Those six men, did they have heavy bags?’
‘Yes, big and heavy.’
‘They had explosives in them,’ I lied.
‘What!’ The colour left his face.
‘Evacuate the hotel! Now! You stay.’ I turned to the DGSE. ‘Get the police from outside to evacuate this hotel, room by room, close the streets nearby, and get a chemicals team down from Paris!’
Panicked orders were shouted, hotel residents mortified.
I stepped outside into the cold, through the pandemonium, flashing blue lights everywhere. ‘French Echo, inside, search every room, start at the top and work down, evacuate the hotel! Move it!’
They ran in single file, Valmect rifles held, and up the stairs, uniformed police with them, the inconvenienced hotel guests shoved out into the cold.
Back inside, I approached the manager as he stood looking pale and terrified. ‘Did they make any calls from the rooms?’
‘Moment.’ He checked his computer, a sheet printed off and handed over by a terrified lady.
I studied it with Henri. ‘Those are Algerian numbers,’ I noted. ‘One is local,’ Henri pointed out.
I handed the sheet to the manager. ‘Call that number, say it is this hotel, call waiting, in French.’
‘I know that number.’ He pointed over my head. ‘The Chinese restaurant, a street over, many if our guests go there. Our staff Christmas party was there a few days ago.’ He shrugged and made a face. ‘Good food.’
‘They order take-out, no,’ Liban said with a sigh.
I put a finger to the time: 11.25am. ‘Not at 11am in the morning they don’t. What day is it today?’
‘Monday.’
I faced the manager. ‘Do people book tables at this place?’
‘Only for group bookings, you cannot reserve a table, but it is never busy. Now it is closed till after New Year.’
‘Closed ... since when?’
‘A few days I think.’
‘One me!’ I called, and ran through the doors, rudely nudging aside guests. Outside I collected the rest of British Echo, and I ran across the road and down a side street, police following us.
‘There!’ Henri shouted, a Chinese restaurant with a red facia, the only one. We ran at it. Inside I saw a man and woman cleaning, the lights off, the CLOSED sign up on the glass door. Pistol out, I put three rounds through the glass, shattering it as I ran in.
The woman looked terrified and stopped cleaning a bar top, a man stood to one side. I slapped down the image of Sedan. ‘You know him?’
I could tell by her reaction that she did, but she shook her head. I reached across and grabbed her arm, pistol down, and took hold of a finger, bending it back and breaking it to a loud shrill scream. ‘What do you know? You will go to prison for the rest of your life!’
Henri shouted the translation, sobs coming, a head shaken, so I broke a second finger to shrill cries.
Liban shot out a row of bottles, and shouted at the lady as I broke a third finger.
‘In back of shop. Boxes,’ she screamed between the tears.
I lifted her clean over the bar, dropped on her face with a thud, and dragged her to the rear, Henri kicking her male companion in the balls. Through plastic half-doors covered in Chinese writing I led her, soon to a store room. She pointed at a large box on a trolley, a strong plastic box.
I froze. ‘Shit.’
Henri shot me a terrified look, Liban swallowing.
I shook the lady like a rag doll. ‘What were you to do with the box?’
‘We take to Paris tomorrow.’
‘Why tomorrow?’ I asked.
‘Christmas,’ Henri noted.
‘Everybody out!’ I shouted, shoving the lady through the plastic. ‘Everybody outside.’
Pistol away, I handed her to a uniformed officer, the Chinese man being dragged out – and kicked some.
Outside, I found the DGSE running to me. ‘Chemicals inside, in the storeroom. Evacuate this area, five hundred yards! Get the special chemical unit from Paris! And fast!’
They got onto their phones, the street full of armed men and officers, my snipers at the ready. I led my team back towards the hotel, wanting to be away from the poison.
Henri said, ‘They ask someone to take the poison to Paris, someone not an Arab, then they have it inside Paris.’
I nodded as we walked, the chill wind on our faces, and we found Hunt and the head DGSE man outside the hotel. ‘Poison is in a Chinese restaurant, the people there paid to drive it into Paris.’
‘A good ploy,’ the DGSE man noted. ‘We look for Arabs.’
‘Is it all the poison?’ Hunt asked.
‘No,’ I told him. ‘From the description I got in Morocco, maybe a third or less.’
‘They made a call from their room, so not the smartest bunch,’ Hunt noted.
‘They’re not trained spies,’ I emphasized. ‘But they are starting to think, a good idea with the Chinese. And who would trace a call to a Chinese restaurant?’
‘We’re only a day or so behind them,’ Hunt noted. ‘So where to next?’
‘We wait to see what the intel says, what the Chinese say about the drop-off point.’ I held up a finger, turned, and saw the Chinese being led into a van. I ran to it, shoved the police away, and sat next to the crying woman. ‘You talk, we make a deal, you don’t get hanged. Understand?’
She nodded as she sobbed.
‘Where was the drop off?’
‘Written down, in cash till, blue paper. Christmas day, 4pm. Garage. We leave van.’
‘What van?’
‘In street.’
‘Where are the keys?’
‘In cash till.’
‘Good, thanks Bitch.’ I back fisted her as I left, the uniformed police stood at the doors shocked by my action, but I was cold and pissed off. I strode across to the DGSE stood with Hunt. ‘Find a serving Chinese police officer, man and woman, and have a team inside the Chinese van - drive it to Paris tomorrow. Address is on blue paper in the till, keys in the till.’
Several of DGSE ran back to the restaurant as the head man made a call.
‘Set a trap,’ Moran noted. ‘Tracker on t
he van?’
‘Or just grab the pick-up guy and torture the bastard,’ I suggested before I led British Echo back into the hotel. Getting the room numbers that the Algerians had stayed in, plus keys, I sent up the lads to search - carefully, the snipers to stay in the lobby for now as frightened guests continued to stream down the stairs and out of the hotel.
I called Tinker and gave him an update, followed by David Finch. With all the hotel guests now gone, I sat in the now-empty cafe and helped myself to coffee and cake, Hunt joining me as we sat.
Ten minutes later David Finch was back on. He began, ‘French are happy you found the chemicals, whilst utterly mortified that we now know that Paris is the target and that more chemicals are out there. And it’s Christmas Eve!’
‘They made use of Christmas to slip into Paris, a good tactic.’
‘Paris will be quiet Christmas day, but there are some large gatherings, and shopping on Boxing Day will be manic. French are thinking of three-day curfew, shops closed, but it would cause panic. They’re going to issue a bomb threat warning today, all police leave cancelled, army on standby near Paris.’
‘We have a lead on a place in Rennes, so might try that. No point us going to Paris till we have a solid lead, GIGN are there.’
‘I saw the note you sent, and now they’re very worried about shooting at Sedan. They got the message loud and clear thanks to your subtle tone.’
I smiled. ‘They needed a reality check.’
Off the phone, I faced Hunt. ‘If those chemicals in the Chinese restaurant are a part of the consignment, then ... maybe they have the same idea with other people – get them to drive it in. We could be looking at two or three other groups to drive vans in, none of them Arabs.’
‘Needle in a haystack,’ he said with a sigh.
‘We have one needle, and that’s Rennes. If we get a driver, then ... less chemical out there.’
‘We go there, leave Paris till last,’ he said with a shrug.
Henri and Liban came and sat, coffee grabbed.
‘Hotel is now empty,’ Henri noted.
Rizzo walked in. ‘Checked them rooms. Luggage from the new arrivals, fuck all else, no bombs or nothing.’
I waved in the DGSE head man when I saw him in the lobby. ‘We’ll go to Rennes, follow a lead, leave Paris to the GIGN.’
