“I am thinking that it is best we don’t confront them tonight, if possible,” Constanta said from the backseat. “I’m a bit tired, and I think you are as well, darling. I think it would be ideal if we discovered where they are staying and then had an early night somewhere nearby.”
“But this could be problem,” Petru interrupted. “What if they move on when we are asleep? This whole trip would be waste of time!”
“Petru, I said ideally. If it looks like they’re not hanging around, then we have to act immediately. But they probably will stay somewhere local; don’t forget, Oliver has come from a long way today … you know, that place on the coast.”
“St Malo,” Tarquin said.
“Yes, so he’s probably going to be tired himself.”
“Possible,” Petru said, unconvinced.
“Look, let’s be honest, we simply don’t know what the hell’s going to happen,” Tarquin said. “He may stay in Troyes tonight, or he may deliver the cabinet, if he still has it, and move on somewhere else. If that’s the case, then we have to jump in right then and confront them.”
“Wow! Has the dog woken up?” Constanta grinned, whilst giving his shoulder a tiny squeeze.
* * *
Back in London, Bob scrabbled for his vibrating mobile in the folds of an old blanket.
“Hi, mate, I’ve been trying to call yer!” Gus said to him gruffly.
“Sorry, mate, I had a skinful after you dropped me off, and I forgot where me phone was,” Bob said defensively. “Fell asleep on the couch till five this morning … bloody freezing.”
“Okay, but get with it, mate, we’re on the move tomorrow. I spoke with Zoltan last night and told him the bad news.”
“Oh yeah? So what did he say? Bet he was well pissed off,” Bob said, doing his belt up.
“Well, as we discussed, I weren’t going to tell him the truth, was I. That would have landed the pair of us in a right spot of bother. So listen careful, okay, in case he calls yer and asks any awkward questions.”
“Shoot, mate,” Bob said.
Gus told him what he’d said to Zoltan. That they had tried to stop Oliver leaving Dover, by shunting him off the road. That they came face to face with a pair of martial arts experts and had been out gunned, because they were gentlemen and not in the habit of hitting women.
Bob snorted.
“And what did he say to that?”
“Well, let’s say he wasn’t happy. It’s a first for me to have me arse spanked by a frigging woman! Pussy whipped! What sort of a creature was that? A bloody gorgeous bitch with a kick like a mule! I mean, where did she come from? Didn’t sound English, that’s for sure. I reckon she was one of those tough Russian bitches with balls like coconuts. Me bloody face is well bruised. I just didn’t see the cow coming, did you?”
“Mate, let it go. You didn’t see it coming, and neither did I. Don’t forget she whacked me in the goolies as well. Shit happens. We expect girls to be girls … not fucking eastern block fighting machines. Now we know, don’t we. She had the element of surprise. Next time I’ll crack her over the skull with me wrench and see how she likes that!” he said with a leer.
“Well, it wasn’t all bad,” Gus resumed. “Zoltan’s sort of excited by this whole thing and reckons Oliver is up to something big. He can smell the lolly!”
“I bet he bloody can,” Bob said with feeling.
“As long as no one in the company finds out, I don’t bloody care,” Gus said. “Let’s face it, we’d be the laughing stock of—”
He trailed off suddenly.
“Oh shit! Talk of the fucking devil; it’s him on the blower now. I’ll catch up with you later, mate,” he said, cutting Bob off.
He stumbled to his feet and stood very erect.
“Zoltan? Can you hear me?” Gus said nervously.
“Yes, just,” came the clipped reply. “I want to let you know what your instructions are. I spoke with Viktor and he came to the same conclusion as me.”
“Which is … er … what?” Gus said.
“We want you to go to Oliver’s house in Gloucestershire and do some digging. We need to find out what his game is. Look for diaries, notes, any antiques books that are lying around. We think we know, but need confirmation. Be very careful, his house is probably alarmed, and you’ll have the police round very quickly … probably have no warning. Also, he may have alerted somebody local that trouble may be coming his way, so be very vigilant. Do recon during daylight hours and make your move soon after one am. Country people go to bed early and get up early. If it looks dodgy, get out of there. Do you remember the place?”
“Er … sort of. It was a long time ago, Z, so it’s a bit hazy, to be honest,” Gus replied.
“Do you have a pen?”
“Yeah,” Gus said.
“It’s called Strupe Hall, near Marston Meysey. I’ll give you precise details shortly. Get your map out and get familiar with the area first. As I remember, the lanes are very narrow and difficult to navigate. Really check it out and remember in country you’ll be noticed much more than London. Get some parcel delivery plates on the van or you’ll stick out like wolf’s bollocks. How are you feeling … is the neck better?”
“A bit better, but still painful. I can drive okay. Can we leave it till tomorrow?”
“Yes, that’s okay, but no later. How is Bob? He came off better than you, no?”
“Yep … I took the big hit. He was lucky this time.”
“Oliver will pay, don’t have any doubts about that. But we need to act while he’s away. This window may be small,” Zoltan said firmly. “Call me if you need to discuss anything more, but I’ll send those details later.”
“Okay, Z, no problem,” Gus said, waiting for Zoltan to close off before slumping back into his easy chair.
* * *
As the first traffic sign to Troyes glided past Tarquin, alerting him to their imminent arrival, Oliver and Melvyn were enjoying a short break at the side of a country road somewhere between Le Mans and Orleans. They sat at the entrance to a farm track on one of many blankets Melvyn had stowed in the van, eating the bread and cheese bought earlier in Laval.
“God, this is bloody gorgeous!” Oliver said as he helped himself to a chunk of Brie. “I really can’t think of anywhere I’d rather be at this precise moment.”
“I’m with you there, Oliver,” Melvyn agreed as he broke open some French bread with his gnarled thumbs and covered his legs in crumbs. “But the truth is it scares me when things go too smooth … it’s like, well, like someone is setting us up for a fall.”
“That’s a bit gloomy, isn’t it, Mel?” Oliver said, looking at Melvyn with slight disapproval. “Why should we have to fall? We’ve planned this whole thing like a military campaign, and so far it’s yielded just the results you’d expect.”
“Yeah, I know what you mean … the logic of it. But all the same, it’s just something in my guts which sort of resists feeling too relaxed. I mean, it’s going great, really good, but my experience is that when your guard is down, that’s when it strikes!”
“What, for God’s sake, Mel?” Oliver said, raising his voice.
“I don’t know! I suppose I sometimes think that we’re being watched by a higher force, and it sort of lets you have a good time for a bit and then thinks, right, let’s shake things up now; they’re getting cocky.”
“Oh come on, Mel!” Oliver said mockingly. “A higher force? Surely you don’t really believe that. There is no higher force judging you! There’s just you and the world, Mel, you, your wits, and your skills to use as best you can. You’ve fought for this. You’ve paid the price in bloody hard work over the years, and no one’s going to snatch that away. Enjoy it, my friend. God knows you’ve earned it!”
“Yeah, I s’pose you’re right!” Melvyn conceded. “There’s just one thing that niggles at the back of my mind.”
“What?”
“Why the hell did we never hear any more from Zoltan?”
“Because I told him in no uncertain terms that his accusations were ludicrous! That there was no way we could be doing a forgery of that caliber. I told him he was deluded.”
“You’ve got a blooming nerve!” Melvyn snorted loudly. “He watched me at the Wallace, and like you said, he knew I was up to something. That guy’s not stupid. I just think … just think he wouldn’t have given up so easy. He doesn’t let go; he’s obstinate, he’s angry, he hates us both.”
“True! You can’t blame the man. We’ve become quite successful.”
“Exactly. He’s going through a messy divorce, and the way you talked about him was like the guy was explosive! He’d do anything to get back at you. And this is what worries me; he’s gone quiet after all those threats. But why? It just doesn’t ring true, especially when you remember that bastard of a father of his … you know, Viktor. Viktor doesn’t miss a trick and would be onto us if there was so much as a whisker of chance you were doing something big.”
“Mel, stop being so melodramatic, for pity’s sake!” Oliver said, slapping Melvyn on the shoulder. “You’re getting the jitters, that’s all. It’s understandable. We’re about to break through our boundaries. This is our biggest ever!”
“True. I’m getting soft or something,” Melvyn said with a weak smile. “Guess I’m just a worrier at heart; always waiting for something to happen.” And something will happen, my friend. It’s brewing … I can feel it in my blood.
* * *
“This doesn’t look like a medieval town to me!” Constanta said as they drove into Troyes down a long carriageway lined with dreary modern buildings and countless billboards.
“We’re in the outskirts, that’s why,” Tarquin replied. “The old town is much farther in, and I can assure you it is medieval. I’ve done a spot of reading about it, and I don’t think you’ll be disappointed.”
“Wow. I can’t wait,” she said, her eyes flickering over the passing scenery.
“You’ll like it. It’s got character and loads of history … and a McDonald’s, which I’m sure will cheer you up!”
“Oh, in this case, Mr Tarquin, she will be very happy,” Petru said, elbowing Constanta.
“Like you’re interested in history, Petru!” Constanta said, giving him a surly glance.
“Right, children,” Tarquin interrupted. “I need your full attention please, to find the train station, which in case you didn’t know is called La Gare in French.”
“La what?” Constanta said, leaning forward.
“La Gare! G. A. R. E,” he emphasized.
Gradually the real Troyes began to appear and was met with admiring exclamations from the two Romanians.
“Jesus, these buildings look old … really old,” Constanta said, gazing at a house which was leaning ominously towards its neighbour. “Why all the shutters? These people are crazy for shutters.”
“The French love shutters,” Tarquin said. “They’re part of the culture. Probably have their origins in keeping houses safe … deterring thieves,” he continued, beginning to sound like a bona fide tourist guide.
He suddenly swung the car to the right. “Got it!” he exclaimed. “See the sign there, ‘La Gare’?”
“Okay, okay … it says take a right at the end,” Constanta said with her face next to Tarquin’s shoulder.
They carried on for a further five minutes turning this way and that, and suddenly at the end of a short avenue of trees stood the “Gare de Troyes” in grand lettering.
“Voila!” Constanta said smiling. “It’s party time.”
“Is this your one word in French, Constanta,” Petru said mischievously.
“At least I have one, darling,” she replied sharply. “And it’s actually three now, I just added La Gare.”
“Quite an impressive building!” Tarquin said, driving up to the main façade of the station and gazing up at a series of high arched windows. A tricolour fluttered happily on a long white pole above a balustrade, and a big ornamental clock showed the time. It was five past three.
“There seems to be car park in front of station and also to the side … over there,” Petru said, pointing through a gap to another open area of cracked tarmac.
“Right,” Constanta said, surveying the scene and getting a feel for the layout. “This is the great Troyes station! So it’s possible he can park in either of these two places. If they go there”—she pointed to the spaces under the trees—“we’ll see them immediately, but over there in that big space it will be a bit more tricky.”
“Sure, we’ll take up position under the trees so we can see who comes in.”
“No, that’s too obvious, Tarquin. Don’t forget we have English numbers like him. I think we need to be hidden … better, just a little back from the end. We don’t want him to clock us in any possible way. Perhaps he’s not alone. We can see very well from that position, and when he arrives, Petru and me will need to get out and see where he parks and then shadow him. It’s important we see who he’s meeting, you know, that guy Fabien, so we’ll probably go into the station. You can stay here in the car and be ready to move. When we come out, get the fuck ready … we need to be right behind him. How’s your fuel, darling?”
“Fine at the moment, but we’ll fill up. Not sure how far we’re driving later.”
“Too right! This is getting interesting. What the fuck are these people doing? Why are they taking the cabinet to this place?” Constanta said, close to Tarquin’s ear so he felt the warmth of her breath. “They obviously have some plan up their sleeve which …”
“Wow, that’s a good guess!” Petru said mockingly.
“Okay. arsehole … you explain what they’re doing,” she said, glancing back sourly.
“We got to wait, that’s all,” Petru replied.
“Look, I’m hungry,” she said suddenly. “Do we need to see anything else here?”
“Perhaps check if there is a train arriving at 6.30?” Petru suggested.
“Go on then. We’ll wait here!”
He jumped out.
“Let’s check to see if this is the only entrance, Tarquin. Drive around that car park and make sure. It would be disaster if there was some exit we knew nothing about.”
They did a circuit and confirmed it was watertight. Moving back to the train entrance, Petru appeared and jumped in.
“Well?” Constanta said.
“A train arrives 6.28 from Paris, and at 6.42 train arrives from Dijon,” Petru said, looking at a small piece of paper. “And he gave me this map of the city,” he said, handing Tarquin a folded tourist map.
“Good, so the plan Oliver wrote on that notepad seems to fit, you know, his … itinererarary,” Constanta said self-consciously.
Tarquin burst out laughing.
“What’s your fucking problem?” she said, giving him a sharp look.
“Sorry … that just sounded funny, that’s all,” he said, smiling.
“Oh ha ha ha! You’re soo funny Tarquin!”
He gave Percy a few indulgent strokes.
“Shall we have some food now, Mr Tarquin?” Petru intervened, “We got some time to kill, I think.”
“Sure … I’m starving,” Constanta agreed.
They parked and went into a grand five-storey building on the corner with a red neon sign above the entrance. The restaurant was ground level, but the floors above had a series of balconies with elaborate wrought iron balustrades, giving the impression that this was once a more opulent residence. After lunch they opened up a map and huddled around it.
“This shows a ring road with eight major routes off it,” Tarquin said, gazing at the road map on his knee. “And these basically head off in every conceivable direction. If he is leaving Troyes, this will probably be the road he takes; probably, not certainly. For all we know he may be staying in some swanky hotel here, in which case we just have to stick to him like glue.”
“At least he’s in a red van,” Constanta said.
“We hope! But that’s
as long as nothing’s changed. If he’s not in a red Toyota, then we’re relying on me recognizing him, which is going to be very unlikely!”
“Tarquin, relax! You will recognize the bastard,” Constanta said with certainty.
“I don’t think he’s going to hotel, Mr Tarquin,” Petru said from the backseat. “He has cabinet in his van, and I think he wants to take it somewhere first. This is valuable thing, not to leave in street.”
“Mmmm … true,” Tarquin said thoughtfully. “That’s a good point. If he still has the cabinet on board, then he’s going to drop it somewhere first … possibly a house here in Troyes or somewhere outside. Look, we don’t have a clue what he’s up to. Let’s face it; there are countless possibilities.”
With that, he started the engine and they began their circumnavigation of the city.
* * *
Later, as Constanta and Petru stood in the station tourist office booking a hotel, Oliver and Melvyn had just joined the A5 motorway in the final leg of the journey towards Troyes. Coming to his senses after a light afternoon nap, Oliver realized it was time to take control again and navigate them through the streets to the station. Melvyn had done well, despite driving in that awkward hunched position he preferred—like a wax dummy wedged against the steering wheel.
Fabien had boarded the 4.56 train to Troyes at the Gare de l’Est in Paris and was flicking through a book on Classic Garden Houses. This was to underpin his alibi … give him some ideas so he could report back to Cecile with some authority.
As Troyes drew closer, Fabien, Oliver, and Melvyn all felt the approach of a life-changing event just over the horizon. For Oliver and Melvyn, this change was not so much of a financial nature; it was more the approach of a momentous milestone. They were venturing onto a rarified stage where their skills and expertise would be tested on a level well beyond their previous experience.
For Fabien, what approached was a defining moment in his life; he was saying good-bye to his old honest self. By the end of the day he would no longer be the innocent, principled man he had been all his life; he would be a willing accomplice in a very serious fraud. Metaphorically speaking, he was about to ride, with a mixture of excitement and intense foreboding, into the realms of criminality, on the back of a horse called Desperation.
The Freiburg Cabinet Page 18
