by Zoe Sharp
It was strange to be in the midst of a city and have no traffic noise. Even the immediate airspace was quiet. When the broken canopy of a petrol station flapped in the rising wind, it was sudden enough to make me whirl, bring the SIG up. The canopy rattled again harmlessly and we passed on, dust clouds eddying through the gaps and crevices.
The only place to gain a decent vantage point was the row of buildings facing the jewellery store, none of which were in a particularly good state.
Marcus studied the structural damage with a professional eye and eventually led us into the end unit through a rear service door. The store was another one that had sold designer clothing and the sight of the fallen manikins inside the gloomy interior gave it a surreal air. There was the relentless drip of a cracked water pipe somewhere, too, so the ground floor was an inch or so deep in water. I just hoped the power was definitely off as we paddled through it.
A cast iron spiral staircase gave access to the upper storey. The whole thing had become detached from the building around it and now leaned at a slightly drunken angle. It trembled beneath our feet as we climbed.
Upstairs there was a crack in the outer wall so bad I could see daylight through it. The interior had been home to more display racks and fitting rooms. The racks were tumbled to the floorboards and every mirror in the place was cracked or lying in splinters. Looked like somebody was in for a shit-load of bad luck.
Marcus and I tiptoed our way across the glass to the empty window frames and peered out. Below us we had a good view of the street. Off to our far right the Bell was settled on the same landing site Riley had used previously.
The Aussie pilot himself was sitting on the ground, ankles and wrists secured with duct tape. His bound hands were pressing a bloody rag to the side of his head. I guessed from that he hadn’t given in gracefully to being hijacked.
The man we suspected was Enzo Lefevre stood a little distance away. In his uninjured hand he was holding the huge Ruger revolver I’d last seen next to Riley’s seat in the Bell. Alongside him was Hope, her skinny frame hunched as if expecting a blow. Of Lemon there was no sign.
“Too far for a clear shot,” Marcus murmured, regret in his tone.
“Especially in this wind.”
“Call her back to you,” Lefevre was saying to Hope. He extended the arm holding the Ruger and thumbed back the hammer with a click I could imagine even if I couldn’t hear it. “Call her back or you won’t ever see your dog again.”
“Fuck. You,” Hope said clearly and raising her voice she yelled, “Lemon, STAY!”
“God dammit, Hope,” Marcus said under his breath. “For once in your life do as you’re told, girl.”
“If she doesn’t start playing along we’re going to have to do something fast,” I murmured. “If Lefevre can’t get what he wants from her, she’s no use to him.”
“She’s still a valuable hostage.”
“At the moment she’s just a pain in the arse. He won’t let her back into the helo with the dog - asking for trouble in a confined space - and you know she won’t leave Lemon behind without a fight.”
Marcus flicked worried eyes to me but said nothing.
Below us the thief still had the gun aimed at Hope, although the Ruger weighed the best part of three pounds and his arm was starting to waver.
“Why are you being so stubborn about this, hmm? All I want is for this remarkable dog I’ve heard so much about to locate a bag for me. A small bag I had with me when I was trapped by the earthquake. Then you can go free - you have my word.”
“What about Riley?”
“I need Monsieur Riley to take me out of here. After that I will release him, also.”
Riley laughed and ended up coughing fit to burst a lung. “He’s lying, sweetheart. Soon as he gets what he wants we’re as good as dead.”
Even so, we could see the indecision on the girl’s face.
“Do it,” Marcus willed her through his teeth. “Give him what he wants. Buy us some time, create a distraction.”
“The building’s not safe,” Hope said at last, tears in her voice. “The gap they made between the cars to drag you out is caved in. What if there’s another aftershock and the rest of it comes down on Lem?”
“The decision is up to you, of course,” Lefevre said with an almost courtly bow, “but you may not like the alternative.”
“What’s that?”
Lefevre shifted his aim downwards and to the side, away from Hope.
“That I shoot your friend here through his left leg.”
Riley grinned widely at him.
“Not a good idea, mate. Not unless you’ve got a couple of hundred hours’ rotary wing experience under your belt. ‘Cos there’s no way I can balance the controls for the tail rotor on the old bus without two good feet.”
Lefevre thought for a moment, then gave as much of a shrug as his injured arm would allow and shifted his aim back to Hope.
“I am nothing if not flexible in my plans. Call the dog or I will shoot you through your left leg, mademoiselle. And I can assure you that it will be very painful.”
“Another bad idea, mate,” Riley said, although there was an edge to his voice that hadn’t been there previously. “Look at her. She wouldn’t weigh a hundred pounds if you filled her pockets with rocks. That hand cannon is a three-fifty-seven Magnum. You’ll blow her bloody leg off and she’ll be dead before the dog finishes scratching its arse.”
Lefevre let out an annoyed huff of breath and let the big revolver drop to his side. Then he transferred it into his other hand, holding it delicately as if he didn’t trust his injured arm to take the weight.
“Ah well, I had hoped we could be … civilised about this,” he said, and backhanded Hope across the face.
The force of the blow had the girl stumbling back. She lost her balance, falling heavily. Riley shouted and swore and struggled against his restraints. Beside me, Joe Marcus surged up. I grabbed his arm, dug fingers and thumb into the pressure points on the inside of his wrist and twisted hard.
“For God’s sake stay down,” I hissed. “That won’t help any of us - least of all Hope.”
I nearly recoiled at the way his eyes loathed me at that moment but he subsided without speaking. I relaxed my grip and he roughly shrugged my hand away.
Hope did not get up at once, just lay sprawled on the uneven ground as though stunned. She pushed herself up to a sitting position very slowly, head hanging. When she finally lifted it, there was blood staining her upper lip and her eyes were drenched.
“I assure you this gives me no pleasure,” Lefevre told her, “but it causes me no anguish either. I will keep doing it until you give me what I want.”
“Go ahead!” Hope threw at him, her voice breaking. “You can’t do any worse than what’s been done to me already.”
“Jesus Christ mate, she’s just a kid!” Riley yelped, still struggling without result. “Hope, do what he wants sweetheart. Please. Don’t put yourself through this.”
“Riley knows, doesn’t he?” I said close to Marcus’s ear. “He knows about Hope - that she’s only sixteen.”
“Of course he knows.” Marcus couldn’t tear his eyes away from the scene unfolding below, but there was pain in etched on his face, and the kind of promise in his eyes that sees men die very unpleasant deaths. “We all know. Did you think we wouldn’t?”
I glanced back outside. Hope was still on the ground, gathering herself. Lefevre had made no further moves toward her.
“Including Kyle Stephens?”
I heard his teeth grit together. “Yes.”
“Then what the fuck were you thinking, letting her stay?”
“Making a mistake.” And for once the contempt in his voice was not solely directed at me.
I rose to a crouch and handed the SIG across. He took it automatically before he realised what I had in mind.
“What the - ?”
“He’ll only take it away from me,” I said, dumping my spare magazin
es in his hand too. “And he might decide that a forty-cal round is more survivable than three-fifty-seven. Just do me a favour - when you get the chance to shoot him, don’t miss.”
Forty-one
I walked into the street from the far end, keeping my hands in plain view. The dust swirled around my legs as I went, like some tumbleweed-blown town in the Old West. In the back of my mind I almost heard the jingle of spurs on my heels.
Lefevre saw me coming a long way back. He yanked Hope to her feet and steadied her in front of him, checking Riley’s position at his back so nobody had a clear shot behind either.
No flies on you, sunshine.
“That’s close enough, if you please,” he called when I was maybe fifty feet away. “What do you want?”
“To negotiate.”
He smiled. “With what?”
“Word from Hope’s boss.”
“And where is Monsieur Marcus - lurking somewhere nearby no doubt?”
“We split up to search. He went northeast,” I lied, gesturing vaguely. “Could be anywhere by now.”
“Let’s see the gun.”
I shook my head. “I’m not carrying.”
“You will not be insulted if I ask you to prove it?”
I lifted my shirt up, baring my midriff, and turned a slow circle so he could see I had nothing tucked into my belt.
“Ankle holster?”
I leaned down and pulled up the bottoms of my cargoes.
“Never liked ‘em,” I said. “They play hell with my back.”
“Sleeves, too, if you please.”
I unbuttoned my shirt cuffs and rolled up both sleeves with the exaggerated movements of a stage magician showing there were no rabbits or white doves hidden there. I even removed the cotton scarf from around my neck and twitched both sides toward him like a matador tempting a bull.
“OK - talk. What does Monsieur Marcus have to say?”
“The gist of it is, let his people go or be hunted to the ends of the earth.”
He pursed his lips. “And in return for this?”
“We give you what you want.”
I heard Hope gasp but didn’t take my eyes off Lefevre. He grimaced.
“You cannot give me what I really want.”
“You have my sympathies,” I said blandly. “Just out of curiosity, what was Gabrielle Dubois’s real name?”
He looked momentarily startled then shook his head. “Better for both of us if you never find out.”
“Did you really buy that ruby for her, or simply take it after Rojas was dead?”
And did she find it appropriate to be given a blood-red stone?
That brought a twisted smile to his lips. “Once a thief, always a thief,” he said. “But our engagement was real. This was supposed to be our last job.”
“For her, it was.”
The smile vanished and he gave Hope a shove in the back that made her stagger. “Now, if you would be so kind - call the dog in.”
Hope’s eyes were pleading. “Charlie - “
“Please, Hope. Do as Joe asks.”
And whatever you’re planning Joe, you better do it soon …
Hope cast me a final despairing glance, circled her forefinger and thumb, stuck them between her lips and blew sharply, letting out a piercing whistle.
Almost at once there came the scrabble of booteed feet and the yellow Labrador retriever appeared over a mound of fallen bricks. She was wagging her tail and looking inordinately pleased with herself.
With another careful glance behind him, Lefevre leaned to the side and picked up a discarded paper bag. I realised it was the one he’d been carrying when he left the hospital. So he hadn’t kept hold of his clothes for sentimental reasons, then. He’d kept them for scent.
That made me feel a little better, knowing that it wasn’t a spur of the moment decision born of opportunity that had led him to hijack the Bell. He’d probably been planning this ever since he discovered the dog’s tracking abilities.
Yeah, Fox, and who told him about that?
I pushed that insidious thought aside and tried not to look around me for any sign of Marcus’s approach. Lefevre was too canny not to spot it.
Lemon trotted right up to her handler and sat down so close in front of her she could prop her muzzle on the girl’s thighs. Hope cradled the dog’s head with both hands and looked about to cry again.
“Good girl, Lem,” she said, her voice cracking. “Who’s my best girl then?”
I studied the thin frame and wondered how I’d ever believed she might be twenty. Hell, she didn’t even look sixteen.
Lefevre had put the paper sack down near her and now he nudged it with a foot. He had swapped the Ruger back into his good hand, I saw, just in case Hope got any ideas.
“No more delays, mademoiselle. If the dog is of no use to me …” He let his voice trail away with another expressive shrug.
Hope shot him a look of pure venom and dragged the bag of clothing closer. She thrust it under Lemon’s nose. The dog obligingly shoved her face inside until only her ears overlapped the top edge and made loud snuffling noises while Hope murmured words of praise to her.
“That’s it, Lem. Now find it!”
Lemon almost quivered with excitement as she began to circle, moving outward until she neared the crushed cars where Wilson and his team had cut their way through during the rescue. Was it really only a couple of days ago?
Lefevre’s attention was on the dog. I risked a quick glance around me. No sign of Marcus. I tried to catch Riley’s eye but he seemed as anguished as Hope.
Lemon nosed around the blocked gap for a moment or so, then apparently lost interest. She feathered away further up the street, head down and tail up.
“What is she doing?” Lefevre demanded. “Call her back.”
“She’s doing her job,” I snapped. “Let her get on with it.”
Hope gave me a look of grateful surprise and when Lemon paused to check back, she called encouragement in a stronger voice than before.
Lemon disappeared from view. With her eyes fixed on that spot Hope asked in a brittle voice, “How much do you know?”
“Some. Most of it, probably. Hope’s your older sister isn’t she? And because she’s mentally handicapped and cared for by your parents, you knew she was never going to leave home, get a job, or apply for a driving licence, or a passport, so you did it for her.”
“It was my fault,” Hope said. “A stupid dare when we were kids. I was only eight - didn’t know any better. She always was afraid of heights. Sometimes … sometimes I think it would have been better if she’d died. Instead, Mum and Dad were left with a constant reminder of what they’d lost. Of what I’d done. I guess I don’t blame them for taking it out on me.”
“So you ran away.”
She nodded. “Stuck it for a couple of years, but in the end you can only take the back of someone’s hand so often before you’ve had enough.” She glanced at Lefevre with hatred. He either ignored it or didn’t hear. “I lived rough, learned to get by.”
“Picking pockets.”
“Better than the alternative. I was lucky. Met someone who taught me. Got caught a few times, taken back home, but they couldn’t make me stay.”
“And then you found Lemon.”
For the first time she smiled. “Saw someone chuck a box in the canal. Though it might be something I could sell so I fished it out. Turned out to be pups, the sick bastard. Lem was the only survivor.”
The unwanted girl and the unwanted dog. Perfect companions. Hope’s face suddenly crumpled and she scrubbed away tears, meeting my eyes for the first time with a fierce promise. “If anything happens to her because of this, Charlie, I swear I’ll bloody kill you …”
Forty-two
A further ten minutes went past in windswept silence before Lefevre glanced again at Hope and said, “I begin to think the abilities of your dog have been somewhat overplayed.”
“She’s working it,” Hope said, her
whole body tense. “Give her time.”
“Time is a luxury I do not have. Perhaps you need some encouragement to persuade her to work a little faster.” Lefevre lifted the Ruger and swung it in my direction. “Your friend here, for instance, I do not need.”
Hope looked at me briefly and I knew she already regretted telling me so much. She sneered. “Shoot her then. She’s done nothing but poke her nose in since she got here.”
For a moment I saw Lefevre’s knuckles tighten around the grip of the big revolver. I braced myself automatically, waiting for the shot. If I was lucky I wouldn’t know much about it.
And then, muffled by layers of stone and concrete and brick, came the distinct sound of a dog barking.
Lefevre smiled. “Saved by the dog.” He lowered his arm. “Although I think it was perhaps a bluff on your part, mademoiselle.”
I glanced at Hope’s set face. I wouldn’t be so sure about that if I were you.
Hope shrugged and ignored him, just took a few steps forward and yelled, “FETCH, Lem! Bring it, girl.”
A few more agonising minutes dragged past until there was a flurry of movement from further along the row of storefronts and Lemon emerged from a tiny hole. Her golden fur was filthy with dirt and mortar dust, and there was a patch of what looked like oil staining her flank.
But clutched in that soft retriever’s mouth was a grubby canvas satchel.
“Good girl, Lem!”
The dog brought the find straight to Hope, head high to avoid bumping it on the uneven ground, and relinquished it directly into her hands.
I heard Lefevre mutter, “My God,” with wonder in his voice. “That’s it. She actually found it.”
And a voice behind us a voiced called out, “Did you ever have any doubts?”
We all of us turned almost as one unit. Across on the other side of the street, Commander Peck stood just far enough back to cover the group of us with a HK53 compact assault rifle. How ironic that I’d been wishing for one earlier.
Standing alongside him was the Scottish copper Wilson, and Joe Marcus. For a second I could not think of a good reason for Marcus to be there that didn’t have bad connotations for all of us. Me especially.
