Their weapons were the simple followers of Allah, brainwashed by their spiritual leaders and trained by Al Qaeda militants as fighters and suicide bombers. The extremists were dispersing these recruits across the Western world to wreak havoc by killing and maiming innocent men, women and children of all faiths and creeds, irrespective of nationality or colour.
The young jet setter had his own private agenda. He had concluded that mutual aid and cooperation with all these factions could assist him in achieving his specific objectives. In his mind, he was merely preparing the ground for his own ambitious policies. Neither Muslim nor Christian, he was an agnostic with one personal belief that he alone was the divine ruler of mankind.
Part Four The Eighth Day
As the Peugeot approached the huge metal gates of Dumas's estate, Harcourt suddenly suggested that Petra should revert to using her real name. It was possible that her alias of Louise Charrière had filtered through. Jokingly, she commented that if anyone checked on Petra Rebovka, with her past track record, she should fit in rather easily with the villains that were suspects.
Petra made no comment.
The gates were slightly ajar. A security guard stepped through the opening. He was dressed in a dark suit over a black polo shirt. He spoke briefly into his lapel microphone and immediately the gates swung open.
The man stepped forward and leaned into the car. “Il faut arrêter à la barrière avant la maison.”
They passed through the gateway, following the tree-lined driveway. Harcourt was intrigued. At night with the lanterns and up lighters between the trees, the down lighters on the villa and the glow from the pool, one's first impression was akin to entering a magical, glittering wonderland. In the daylight, everything appeared lush and green, still colourful but more harmoniously subdued. The contrast between artificial glitz and raw nature was amazing.
On reaching the barrier a short distance from the villa, she slowed and stopped the car, as instructed. Further security in a suit approached the stationary vehicle. She recognised him; he was the Canadian from the previous evening's encounter.
“Leave the keys in the ignition. A member of staff will park it for you. Bring whatever you need for the day and follow me to the cabin.” The man showed no emotion in his expression.
The two women carried their bags and walked towards the main entrance of the villa.
“He's okay,” Harcourt whispered. “He's one of us, the one we told you about. Actually, he's probably a spook from the Security Intelligence Service, so he's probably one of your lot.”
Petra was unimpressed. “Whether he's S.I.S. or not, he certainly looks as though he got out of the wrong side of bed this morning.”
“He warned Massey and me to stay away. I don't think he's too pleased that we're still about.”
An army of workers occupied the vast front lawns. It was as if whole regiments were busy erecting scaffolding and marquees in preparation for the engagement party. Petra smiled. The protocol of behaviour peculiar to building sites existed even on a remote hillside in Southern France. Work almost came to a standstill as the two glamorous women passed by.
They followed their escort through the gardens to the more secluded and quieter pool area, whereupon he pointed to an extensive log cabin that stretched along one side of the rectangular pool. A covered walkway connected the end of the cabin to the main house. Petra looked beyond the pool and found the infinity concept quite fascinating.
The Canadian stopped at the edge of the terrace. “You will find the cabin open. Enjoy your stay, but be careful what you say and where you say it.” He melted away into the surrounding greenery.
“Is he implying that the place is bugged?” Petra asked, looking warily about her.
“It appears that way. Hardly surprising, given that we are in the inner sanctum of organised crime.”
Petra smiled. “Perhaps we can have some fun with that later. Maybe we could openly discuss Massey's proclivity for muscular men in suits and suggest that he could take his pick here.”
Harcourt laughed. “So that's why I'm having no success with him.”
Once inside the cabin, they entered an open-plan lounge that incorporated a kitchen area in a galley style. The main part of the room contained several white soft leather sofas, a Nordpeis Manhatton wood burner complete with a basket of neatly hewn logs, occasional glass tables and a widescreen wall-mounted plasma television above a blu-ray DVD player.
A corridor led to a sauna beyond which were two dressing rooms each with a power shower in an adjoining wet room and separate bathrooms with WC's. At the other end of the cabin, sliding patio doors from the lounge gave access to a square open-air terrace that sported a jacuzzi.
Petra carried out a thorough inspection. “Some bloody set-up, this is. I still can't believe how perfectly that pool appears to merge with the sea. I'm impressed. Is that cool or is that cool?”
“Welcome to a millionaire's paradise.” Harcourt leaned closer and whispered. “Who said that crime doesn't pay?”
They were changing into their swimwear when Dumas appeared. A half-naked Petra quickly covered the exposed top half of her body with a towel.
He walked over, shook Harcourt's hand and looked piercingly at her companion. “You must be her new friend, yes?”
“Petra is a friend of my daughter. We met unexpectedly in Marseille.”
“Enchanté, mademoiselle.” Dumas extended his hand.
Petra offered her hand, which he gently held in his, brushing it with his lips as he bowed slightly. The towel fell away exposing one of her breasts.
He reacted reassuringly. “If you wish to spend the day topless, that is okay. It is normal here. I give you Bobo, who wait on you and help you. He also swim well. If you have need of drinks and food, he bring. He is your esclave for the day. What is the English translation of that…slav?”
“Slave?” Petra offered, guessing correctly.
He laughed. “Yes, that is it. Your personal slave. Today, I am not here. I have business to make.” He turned to Petra. “Why you choose Marseille for holiday? You look enough beautiful to charm the playground of le Midi, especially Cannes or Saint Tropez. My yacht is there now, you must join us for a voyage after it return. How long stay you here?”
Petra blushed slightly, maintaining her grip on the towel. “I depart after the weekend unfortunately.”
“So, it is short holiday?”
“It was partly business.”
“You have business here in Marseille?”
Petra was thinking quickly. So many damn questions. She had to concoct a story, improvising as best she could, but still trying to sound plausible. “My sister and I have a saddlery shop. I'm looking for new suppliers.”
Dumas looked mystified. “What is this ‘saddlery’?”
“We sell leather goods and equipment for horses and riders.”
“Ah, yes,” he said. “A saddle for a horse. You must visit the Camargue. It is famous for its horses and excellent horsemen.”
Petra wished that she had not continued the conversation. “Maybe next time, I will make a point of visiting the Camargue.”
“You must call me. I have many contacts. Perhaps tomorrow one of them is here for the celebration. You must come with Mademoiselle Harcourt. I introduce you to my friend.”
“Thank you,” Petra said, not happy with the hole that she had dug for herself.
“A demain,” Dumas said with the hint of a bow and a smile to both women. “Have a nice day, as the Americans say.” He walked down the corridor and disappeared along the walkway towards the villa.
Harcourt beamed at Petra. “Well, you certainly made an impression.”
Petra emitted a huge sigh of relief. “Phew…all those damn questions. He must have had Massey as a bloody tutor. Yet for all that, he's the epitome of charm, if you like that sort of thing. Mind you, I wouldn't trust him as far as I could throw him.”
“Are we going topless then?” Harcourt sported a red an
d black striped bikini, sunglasses and a straw hat.
Petra looked at her, shook her head in disbelief and giggled. “Let's check out this Bobo first. I don't want to be lying there sunbathing with some perverted lech leering at me.”
It was almost mid-day when they stretched out on the sun-loungers by the pool. Bobo was a coloured youth. From his physique and expression, he seemed to be a mere teenager. He spent most of the time at the far end of the cabin where he sat on a wooden bench beneath a sunshade. He read a magazine between occasionally smiling at them. Both women considered him harmless. They decided to go topless.
Petra leaned across to her companion. “This daughter of yours, my imaginary friend, does she really exist?” she asked quietly, wondering if the pool surroundings were bugged. Having made a casual inspection visually, she considered that their chosen spot seemed clear of anything that may have concealed a hidden mike.
“Oh, yes, she exists. She's also abroad at the moment.”
“It might be useful if you could tell me about her. You know, just in case someone asks me a tricky question.”
“Since you're now here on horsey business, you could say that you met through her interest in equestrian activities.”
“She rides, then?”
“She had a pony when she was younger, but once she passed her driving test, I think that she found the car more appealing…no stables to muck out, no tack to clean, et cetera.”
“How old is she now, then?”
“Similar age to you, I should think. She's twenty two.”
“Whereabouts abroad is she?”
Harcourt leaned closer. “Afghanistan. She's out there with the military.”
“Bloody hell.” Petra gasped under her breath. “She's fighting insurgents? That'll go down well here if they're supporting Al Qaeda suicide bombers.”
“She's not front-line. Let's just say that she's involved with communications.”
Petra lay back on the sun-lounger and turned her head towards Harcourt. “Let's just say that she works for a local stud farm near Manchester…keep it simple, eh?”
A roar that sounded like a low-flying aircraft suddenly shattered the peace and quiet of the pool area. The noise resonated from beyond the villa. Slowly the source of the disturbance rose above the turrets. A blue and white Eurocopter AS 350B3 Ecureuil helicopter appeared. The rhythmic drone and harsh whoosh of the rotor blades became louder as nearby trees swayed from the air turbulence. Seconds later, the craft turned and swung out of vision towards the coast.
Petra turned to Harcourt. “I've made some dramatic entrances in my time, but that was some exit!”
The remainder of the afternoon passed without incident. Between bouts of small talk, the two women alternatively swam and sunbathed. Occasionally they sent Bobo to bring drinks and nibbles that appeared as if by magic within minutes of their order. The ‘slave’ spent the remainder of his time relaxing beneath his parasol or sitting cross-legged on the concrete bunker that housed the filtration unit and heating system for the pool.
Security suits hovered periodically as they patrolled the perimeters of the property. When in vision, their gait almost slowed to a standstill as they soaked up the spectacle of the half-naked females. Petra commented that all the security cameras in their vicinity mounted on the walls of the villa had gradually re-positioned and now pointed in their direction.
“Why do you think Dumas is tolerating our presence here? He's aware that you and Massey are detectives. Do you think that he bought my story about knowing your daughter?”
“I see no reason why not. He may have known about the existence of a Louise Charrière from Roche or through his police contacts, but I cannot see how he can know that you and she are the same, unless he has a photo. I reckon he bases his hospitality on the old adage of keeping your enemies close. On the surface, he has nothing to hide from us. Our initial enquiry was regarding Roche, nothing more. As far as he's concerned, his own criminal activities are not in question, so presumably, he doesn't see us as a threat.”
Petra was puzzled. “Because you say that he is well connected with people in authority here, I cannot believe that he is unaware of the ongoing investigation by the security services.”
“But how far advanced is that investigation? Is local law enforcement privy to the bigger picture? We only have the word of a bogus security guard that something is about to surface this weekend. Surely your people could confirm that. Can you not contact them?”
“I'm supposed to be on my way to the U.K. If I contact Rob, I'll be in the proverbial shit when he finds out that I'm here with you in Marseille.”
“Just tell him that you're here helping us to conduct a local surveillance op.”
“Nor is he happy that you're here. They're concerned that you might jeopardise their ultimate game plan, whatever that is. Besides, coming here on surveillance was not my mission.”
“It was,” Harcourt argued. “It's just the location that's changed. What can they do about it? From what you have told me, your position is solid. Let's face it; in their eyes, you may be expendable. Nevertheless, they need your services more than you need their support. I'll certainly back you, if necessary.”
Petra sighed. “Massey won't support me.”
“You leave Massey to me. He's mellowed since your past involvement with him. He may have been a clinical, abrasive sod but, since he lost his partner and suffered a heart attack, he resorts to peaceful resolutions as opposed to creating conflict situations. Don't be disturbed by his attitude towards you. He's remonstrating against the system, not castigating you personally.”
“But I murdered the man who tried to kill me. Massey wanted me to serve life.”
“For which they found you guilty and sentenced you. Now you are paying your penance, possibly with your life if these people are as evil as intelligence would have us believe. I think justice is being served. To offer you the opportunity to repay your debt to society in this way is a great concept. Maybe more criminals should serve their country instead of languishing in the overcrowded prison system.”
Petra stepped towards the edge of the pool, her supple, tanned body glistening in the bright sunlight. She grinned. “As you mentioned earlier, who said crime doesn't pay?” She plunged into the warm depths of the sparkling blue water.
She emerged still smiling. “This is as good as it gets for a serial killer.” She dived once more below the surface.
Harcourt looked puzzled. What did she mean? What serial killer? Obviously, Massey had not yet related the complete Petra Rebovka saga.
Bobo waved at her from the bunker, still smiling.
8888
As Petra entered her hotel, refreshed but slightly fatigued from her excursion to the villa, she failed to notice the man in the reception area. Casually dressed, he wore shades and appeared to be engrossed in a copy of Le Monde. He folded the newspaper, placed it on a low mahogany and glass table and followed her into the lift. Petra leaned over to press button number three.
“What floor…quel étage?” she asked, without turning to face the other occupant.
“Same as you,” was the instant reply. “We need to talk.”
The lift rose. Petra's heart sank. As she looked up, her expression said it all.
Rob Smith leaned back casually against the wall of the lift. “Compared to locating terrorists in the Tora Bora cave complex, finding you in France was a cinch.” He folded his arms across his chest. “From your intensive training, you should know that phone calls, e-mails, access to internet history and CCTV images together with regular intel reports can be quite illuminating. You're supposed to be undercover.”
The lift shuddered to a halt. The doors slid open. Without replying, Petra strode down the corridor to her room. Rob followed and sprawled in an armchair by a window that overlooked the old port. Petra dropped her bag on the floor and sat on the bed facing him.
She folded her arms defensively across her body. “Well, go on then…give me a
bollocking.”
Rob grinned. “How is Monsieur Dumas?”
Petra not only expected but also wanted him to be angry to clear the air. His calm approach disturbed her. Uncharacteristically, she was uncomfortable, on tenterhooks. She sat motionless, unable to relax as she awaited the inevitable criticism of her actions. Why was he prolonging the agony? Was this merely his way of dealing with the situation or was he playing some psychological game? Despite her concern, deep within she was aware that she must respond in a similar way, show no fear, remain confident, stay in control of her emotions. Her reaction would demonstrate her ability to maintain mental strength in adversity. That much she had learned in training.
“He's fine…charming and, at the same time, inherently devious.”
“Have you found Roche and your informant, Alexis?”
Petra shook her head.
Rob stood and walked to the window, turning his back towards her. “I want you to describe in detail everything that you have observed at his villa. We have images from a drone that we diverted recently from Afghanistan. They show the general layout of the place including the helipad at the rear of the property, but we lack detail. We have two undercover operatives on site, but I'd like to hear your version, especially your impressions of security and any apparent routines.”
“You should speak with Massey and Harcourt. They spent Wednesday evening there, both inside and outside the villa. Today, we were restricted to the pool area and the log cabin. I only observed a surfeit of security cameras, but you're probably already aware of those. They must feed into some pervert's control centre…they followed our movements around the pool.”
“Serves you right for posing topless;”
“How do you know that we were topless?”
“You'd be surprised by what we know. For example, we know that there will be hundreds of guests tomorrow for his daughter's engagement party. We also know that some Al Qaeda network chiefs will be attending. We consider it to be a perfect window of opportunity.”
Eight Page 18
