by Ponzo, Gary
I cursed the impulse that had made me confess my sins to him. All our troubles, it seemed, stemmed from me either saying too much or not enough. The next time I saw him I swore I would say everything I had to—everything I should have said a long time ago—even if it was the last time I got the chance.
If I ever saw him again.
I pulled out my phone intending to call Parker for a progress report on that front, but the noise inside the Eurocopter’s cabin made it impractical. Reluctantly, I slid the phone back into my pocket, noting Wilson’s eyes on me as I did so. I wasn’t sure if the look he gave me was sympathy or cynicism.
The police obviously had priority landing rights and were able to set down closer to the main entrance in the spot usually reserved for air ambulances. As soon as we were on the ground and the engines began to spin down I patted the pilot on the shoulder by way of thanks and jumped out, snagging the first person I saw in medical garb.
Fortunately, Dr Bertrand made enough of an impression on everyone she dealt with that the doctor I collared was able to point me in the right direction. I knew I must be close when I spotted Joe Marcus leaning against a wall giving him a view of the lobby area. He was sipping a large coffee and gave me a slight nod of greeting when I walked in.
“What happened to the old infantry motto of ‘leave no man behind’?” I asked.
The look he gave me was a sour one. “You expected us to wait around for you when we had casualties to transport?”
That wasn’t what I’d been referring to and I was pretty sure he knew it, but arguing the point would not have got me far. I glanced about the lobby although I already knew he was alone.
“Where’s Hope?”
He took another sip of coffee and swallowed before answering. “With Riley in the Bell. They don’t allow rescue dogs in here.”
Any question about why they’d left me behind would have sounded like a complaining child, so I restricted myself to pointing out mildly, “I can’t protect her if you whisk her away from me the moment I’m not looking.”
“Then maybe you should have been looking.”
“Yeah, well, that’s a bit difficult from a hole in the ground.”
He raised an eyebrow as if I’d just answered my own question. “You’re either a bodyguard or you’re one of the team, Charlie. Can’t be both.”
“So you didn’t consider Kyle Stephens one of the team either?”
Again he treated me to his best Marine Corps hard stare. It was getting harder to feign indifference to it.
“No, I believe it was Stephens who made that decision.”
Before I could query that statement, the lift doors opened across the other side of the lobby and a man in a wheelchair emerged, being pushed by one of the nursing staff.
I recognised the man right away even in his street clothes. Santiago Rojas was pale and clammy under the artificial strip lights, his jacket hanging awkwardly around the cast on his arm. Half his head was still wrapped in dressings and he looked as though the short ride down from his bed had already exhausted him. Balanced on his lap was a paper bag which I assumed contained his old clothing. They’d had to cut most of it off him so there can’t have been much worth keeping.
Marcus spotted Rojas too and he levered away from the wall, dropping his empty cup into a cylinder bin while he waited for the pair to reach us. I wondered briefly if anything was better than staying to answer my questions.
“Señor Rojas,” he said. “You leaving already?”
Rojas managed the majority of a smile. “All I do is lie down for most of the day and there are many others who need a bed here more than I. If my house still stands I can rest there as easily.”
“He is not fit to go home,” the nurse said stoutly. “Please, if you are his friends, convince him to stay another few days at least. His head injury—”
“I am OK,” Rojas said, reaching back to pat her hand with his uninjured one. “Please, do not worry.”
The nurse’s pager went off. She checked it and relinquished her hold on the wheelchair with reluctance.
“Do not worry,” Rojas said again. “Go. I have called for a car. It will be here soon. And thank you.”
She flashed him a smile and hurried back to the lift, her shoes squeaking on the tiled floor.
“If you’re going to be at home alone you might want to consider hiring someone to look after you,” I said.
He frowned. “I am sure I do not need a personal nurse.”
“Not a nurse,” I said. “I meant someone to ensure your safety—a bodyguard.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Santiago Rojas glanced quickly between the two of us.
“A bodyguard?” he repeated. “But why?”
“We believe the man who robbed you may return,” Marcus said after a short pause. He gave the jeweller the shortened version of our trip back to the street of boutique stores and of the unknown sniper. “It could have been a random looter, but you may not want to take chances.”
Rojas nodded carefully. “I–I cannot believe all this trouble over so small a prize. If my delivery had not been delayed …” He gave a lopsided shrug.
Behind him the lift doors binged and opened again. This time it was Dr Bertrand who strode into the lobby. Joe Marcus excused himself at once and went to meet her. I noticed they moved out of earshot before they began speaking in low tones.
“Who is the lady?” Rojas asked.
“Dr Bertrand. She’s the one who treated you at the scene.”
“Ahh, then I must thank her also before I leave.”
“I’m sure she’ll appreciate that,” I said, mentally crossing my fingers.
“Did you find out any more about the beautiful young lady with the ruby ring?” he asked then. “Dubois, I think you said her name was.”
I shook my head. “It turns out Gabrielle Dubois was not her real name. She and her partner, Enzo Lefévre, were jewel thieves wanted by Interpol,” I said. “Looks like there may have been more than one plan in the works to rob you.”
“No! I cannot believe it. They seemed so … ordinary. And so much in love. Do you know … what was her real name?”
“That we don’t know—yet. We have someone working on it.”
Marcus and Dr Bertrand finished their conversation and came over. To my surprise she offered the injured man a smile that was at least polite if not exactly effusive.
“Hola Señor Rojas. ¿Cómo se siente?” she rattled off in Spanish.
Rojas looked momentarily stunned, then he stumbled into speech. “M–mucho mejor, gracias. Gracias a su pericia. Sin usted …”
My own Spanish had improved working for Parker, to the point where I could work out she’d asked how he was feeling and he’d told her he was much better, thanks to her expertise, because without her …
She paused as if to consider and then nodded her agreement with his evaluation.
A harried-looking woman in a white coat appeared from a doorway and hovered where she could catch Dr Bertrand’s attention.
“If you will excuse me, I ’ave a patient to attend to.” To Marcus she added a curt, “I will not be long. Wait ’ere.” And then swept out without waiting for a response from either man
Rojas subsided into his wheelchair looking a little overwhelmed by the encounter.
“She is a force of nature, is she not?”
Marcus’s mouth twitched up at one corner. “That she is.”
“I would very much like, if it is possible, to say thank you also to Hope and the dog who found me. Is she here?”
“They’re outside,” Marcus said. “You’ll see R&R’s helo sitting out on the parking lot. She’s there with the pilot who brought you in.” His eyes flicked to me. “I’m sure Charlie will be happy to take you.”
“Excellent,” Rojas said. “But I do not want to be any trouble?”
I wondered what Dr Bertrand intended to discuss with Joe Marcus that was so urgent, and too private to have me around. I hid my i
rritation behind a smile and gripped the handles of the wheelchair. “No trouble.”
But almost as soon as we got outside, my cellphone rang insistently in my pocket. I halted to fish it out and check in the incoming number. Parker.
“I’m very sorry,” I said to Rojas. “It’s my boss and I really need to speak with him. Are you OK for a few minutes?” The wheelchair was not one the occupant could propel themselves.
“Do not worry. I think I see the helicopter Mr Marcus talked of—the parking lot is just behind those tents over there, yes? And I am sure if I become lost then I can ask the way. Please, I think I can manage to go to meet my rescuers on my feet, if you would not mind returning this?” He tapped the arms of the wheelchair.
The phone continued to ring. “Of course,” I said, already stabbing my thumb on the receive button. “Thank you. If you’re sure?”
He smiled. “It is no trouble,” he said and hoisted himself slowly out of his seat using his unplastered arm. I watched him walk away, hesitantly at first and then with increasing confidence when he didn’t end up falling flat on his face, carrying his bag of rags. Perhaps he wanted them as a memento of his close call.
“Hi boss,” I said into the phone. “What’s up?”
“You with someone? Can you talk?”
“I was seeing off Santiago Rojas, the guy we pulled out of the rubble of the jewellery store a few days ago. He’s just discharged himself from hospital to free up a bed.”
“Nice guy,” Parker said. “He checks out clean, you’ll be glad to know. No criminal record, no shady deals. He worked for a diamond merchant in São Paulo for years before family pressure made him leave to set up his own store over there.”
I steered the wheelchair with one hand, turning it in an awkward circle and pushing it back through the glass doors into the lobby area. Joe Marcus, despite Dr Bertrand’s order, was nowhere to be seen.
“Family pressure?”
“Yeah, the family are all devout Catholics. They didn’t approve of his lifestyle, shall we say.”
“He does seem to be a bit of a flirt.”
Parker laughed. “Yeah, but you’re not quite his type, Charlie.”
I frowned, thinking of Rojas’s manner, those sensual hands, his admission of the affair with Commander Peck’s wife, and his reaction to Dr Bertrand’s icy beauty.
“I don’t get you.”
“Well, they didn’t approve of the fact he was gay, of course,” he said, losing the smile in his voice now. “You mean you couldn’t tell?”
“Not a flicker. Quite the opposite in fact. Are you sure he’s not bisexual?”
“Not according to the information we have. Otherwise he would have given in and married one of the procession of eligible young ladies his parents kept presenting him with, just to make them happy. By all accounts he was a dutiful son.”
“I don’t like this,” I said. “Something’s not right here. Look, Parker, can I call you back—?”
“There’s just one other thing before you go,” he said quickly.
“Can it wait?”
“No, I don’t believe it can. It’s about Hope, and you need to hear it.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Joe Marcus reappeared just as I finished my call with Parker, putting away his own cellphone.
“Looks like we got that woman and her baby just out in time,” he said. “I’ve just gotten word the whole of that apartment building collapsed about ten minutes ago.”
I thought of Wilson’s warning that they’d wanted to leave me in the cellar during the last aftershock and didn’t respond.
To be honest, I was still reeling from the information Parker had given me.
“Joe, we need to talk.”
“Oh?”
“Yes. About Hope—”
Behind us, the lift doors pinged and slid back, and Dr Bertrand came out at her usual speed. Perhaps she had been a greyhound in a previous life.
“I ’ave done what I can for them,” she announced. “I must get back to work. There is much still to do.”
Marcus started to fall into step with her but I moved in front of the pair of them.
“No,” I said. “Nobody’s going anywhere until I get some answers.”
The two exchanged a glance and I didn’t miss the way Marcus edged sideways a little to widen the gap between them, making two targets harder to watch.
“Is this about the Frenchman?” Dr Bertrand asked.
“What Frenchman?”
I’d opened my mouth to ask the same question only to find Marcus had beaten me to it.
Dr Bertrand looked irritated by our lack of understanding. “The man in the wheelchair of course.”
“Rojas? But he’s South American—from Brazil.”
She shook her head, utterly devoid of doubt. “But when I spoke to ’im in Spanish and ’e answered, ’e speaks Spanish with a French accent. Couldn’t you ’ear it?”
Marcus saw the wheelchair where I’d left it just inside the doors.
“Where is he?”
Where you sent him. “On his way to see Hope and Lemon.”
“You left her alone with him?”
“No, I didn’t,” I said. “Parker called and I never got that far. If she’s at the Bell, Riley will be with them.”
I saw by the way Marcus’s jaw tightened that he was regretting directing Rojas to Hope as I much as I was for not ignoring that phone call from Parker and accompanying Rojas all the way.
We started to run, out of the lobby of the hospital and through the maze of temporary structures and tents toward the open area where there were half a dozen helicopters from various aid agencies and rescue organisations were parked up.
I stopped, let Marcus come past me. He’d been in the helo when it landed so he surely knew where they’d left it. But when he stopped too, staring about him, I realised we were in serious shit.
“Where are they?” Dr Bertrand demanded, catching us up without appearing significantly out of breath.
“Gone. Dammit!”
“Gone?” For the first time the doctor’s voice cracked with stress. “’Ow can they ’ave gone? And where?”
“It’s a helo, Alex. They could have gone just about anywhere.” He pulled out his radio and tried hailing Riley. There was no response.
“Tell him you’ve got a pickup for him,” I said. “Make it casual.”
Marcus gave me a dubious look but did as ordered.
“Sorry mate, I’m a bit held up at the moment.” Riley’s voice over the background noise of the Bell’s engines sounded as laidback as ever. Only his choice of words gave anything away. “I’ll get back to you when I’m free.”
“Soon as you can then,” Marcus said and clicked off. “‘Held up’? Oh yeah, they’re being held up all right.”
“By Señor Rojas? What does ’e want with them?”
I shook my head. “It’s not Rojas.” That got their attention, although Joe Marcus was halfway to the same conclusion anyway. “I think the man we’ve accepted as Santiago Rojas is actually the French jewel thief, Enzo Lefévre.”
“But Commander Peck, ’e identified the body in the morgue as Lefévre.” She sounded outraged at the inferred slight to her professional reputation, as if someone had deliberately set out to blot her near-perfect record.
“The guy had no face, so maybe Peck assumed,” Marcus corrected her, “based on his proximity to the body of the woman, Dubois. Without other means of ID—like the personal items that were stolen—we had no reason to think otherwise.”
“And now?”
“You said yourself that he speaks Spanish with a French accent—”
“Circumstantial,” she dismissed. “’E could ’ave ’ad a French nanny as a child.”
“Rojas came over from Brazil because his religious family were putting pressure on him over his homosexuality,” I said. “Yet he told us he’d had an affair with Peck’s wife.”
Marcus nodded. “And Peck backed him up.”
His eyes met mine. “Now why would he do that, hmm?”
I hit redial on my phone without breaking his gaze. When the call was answered I said briefly, “Parker, how quickly can you send me over a picture of Santiago Rojas?”
There were no superfluous questions, just the sound of computer keys in the background. “OK, it’s on its way to your cell. Need anything else?”
“No—thanks. I’ll call you.”
A few moments later my phone bleeped to signal an incoming picture message. The jpeg image unfurled down the screen with agonising slowness. When it had finished downloading I handed the phone to Marcus.
“Not the same guy,” he said flatly.
Dr Bertrand said nothing, but her lips had tightened into a compressed line and her face was white.
“’Ow do we find them?”
“We call the police,” I said.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Wilson asked no questions when I told him simply that someone had grabbed the R&R’s helo and taken hostages. We caught up with him, newly stitched and with his left arm in a sling, already aboard the police Eurocopter on the pad near the hospital entrance, with the engines fired up.
As the three of us ducked under the main rotor and would have run toward it, Joe Marcus grabbed Dr Bertrand’s arm.
“Alex, you should stay here.”
“No!” she said. “She is as much my responsibility as yours, Joe.”
He shrugged and let go without further argument. We reached the Eurocopter and scrambled into the rear.
The pilot finessed the Eurocopter into the air and asked, “Which way?” over his shoulder.
Wilson twisted toward us carefully from the co-pilot’s seat. “Any ideas where they’re headed?”
“If he’s any sense then I’d guess the nearest border,” Joe Marcus said.
“And if he’s no sense, eh?”
“For the moment, let’s just get up there and see what we can see.”
The pilot shrugged and powered upwards. The Eurocopter was newer than the Bell and faster by probably forty-five knots, but unless we knew where to chase that advantage was negated.
