‘Both of them will be dead in four days.’
‘Excellent. I must warn you of one more thing. If you fail me, you put your own life in danger.’
‘Of course.’
The man acknowledged the warning without hesitation. Clearly, he saw little reason why the unsuspecting individuals depicted in the photographs should pose him even the slightest difficulty.
The men finished their drinks in silence, both appreciating the aromatic quality of a good vintage cognac. A stack of euros was left as a tip. The solemn, dark-haired man left first, exiting the building and then being sped off into the distance in his chauffeur-driven car.
The other man remained at the table for a little longer; studying the page of notes he had been given. Then he hurried off to the Metro, a dark plan beginning to form in his head.
Chapter 12
Paris, what bliss. Amanda sat in the glorious Patisserie Ladurée on the Rue Bonaparte and sipped delicately at her rose-infused tea. The decor of the tea salon was pure old world French grandeur, with rich furnishings and gold leaf everywhere. The cutlery set out on the table in front of her was sterling silver. Fanciful delight upon delight was on display before her, a dazzling array of technicolour pastries to seduce her palate. After some deliberation, Amanda chose the Rose Faubourg St Honoré, a stunning combination of multi-layered choux pastry, rose cream and pink icing that resembled a miniature pink palace.
As she looked around the salon Amanda caught a glimpse of her own reflection in a big mirror a few feet away. She couldn’t help thinking how well she fitted in with the surroundings. She had chosen to wear a delicate pale pink shift dress, coupled with pink heels and cultured pearls. She liked to think the outfit made her look demure and sophisticated.
Jeremy had gone to visit an old school friend, which had given Amanda the perfect opportunity to go shopping. Amanda had been impatient to visit the grand department stores and boutiques along the Avenue Montaigne. The plan was for Jeremy to join her a little later for a stroll through the Marais.
Her first stop had been the Galleries Lafayette. Then she had headed for the Avenue Montaigne, just off the Champs Elysées. She felt her travelling wardrobe was in desperate need of assistance from Chanel, Dior and Vuitton.
At Chanel she marvelled at the wonder of Lagerfeld. Everything in the boutique was so well executed, simply darling. She picked up a couple of delightful evening dresses, beautifully fitted and figure-enhancing. She also chose a large Chanel necklace and couldn’t resist the allure of a large quilt bag in white.
Dior was another of her favourites. Any dress bought there made her feel like she was ready to stroll down the red carpet at the Oscars or Cannes. She saw an evening dress that impressed her so much she had the attendant bring it to her in the changing room in three different colours. The black version slimmed her figure and gave her a slenderness befitting a model. The white version was fresh and luminous and seemed to light up the room as she walked. However, it was the red version that was the real knockout – a heated, flaming red, burning with sanguine sexuality. The attendant in his skin-tight black suit gasped when she stepped out of the fitting room, confirming what she already knew.
‘That’s the one, mademoiselle.’
He had the long evening dress folded lovingly and wrapped in tissue paper. Amanda had several bags by this time and when she emerged other women in the street considered her with a benign eye. A fashion-lover on a mini shopping spree – that was something they could all relate to.
Amanda glanced at her watch. Goodness! It was time she went to meet Jeremy.
Jeremy, back on home ground, could hardly wait to contact his friends and meet for drinks at one of his favourite haunts. Memories of being a child and running down the steps of Metro Cardinal Lemoine on his way to the Lycée Henri IV flooded back to him. After school had finished he could often be found playing Frisbee in the Jardins du Luxembourg or playing hide and seek in the Tuilleries with his classmates.
Jeremy had met up with his old friend Pierre – who insisted upon drinking at every opportunity possible – at a small Corsican bar just after lunchtime. How such a small man could drink so much Jeremy would never know, but Pierre was undoubtedly great company. He had dark, shortly cropped hair and permanently red cheeks that only reddened further when he was drinking.
‘Jeremy, it is so great to see you in Paris again!’
Pierre’s coarse accent reverberated around the small bar. ‘Do you have a new girlfriend yet?’ He winked and elbowed him.
‘No. I’m here with a woman, but it’s purely work.’
‘A fellow auditor, hey?’
Jeremy’s cover story was that he worked for a large international accountancy firm with offices dotted around the globe, hence his need to travel so often. Needing to pick something irrevocably dull that would deter friends from enquiring further he had plumped for an auditor. His life’s work, he maintained, was to cross continents in order to verify accounts. Little did they know what exciting escapades he embarked upon during his so- called ‘business trips’.
His head began to spin as he tried to keep up with Pierre, who had finished his fourth demi.
‘Yes, a fellow auditor. Very bright.’
‘Pretty?’
‘Not bad.’
‘You should introduce me to her if you’re not interested.’
‘Actually, she’s coming to meet us here and then we are off to the Marais. You had better be on your best behaviour!’
‘Jeremy, how could you doubt it? Aren’t I always well behaved?’
‘It’s your interpretation of “well behaved” that I worry about…’
Amanda allowed herself to be cajoled into a beer with Jeremy and Pierre, against her better judgement. Afterwards, Amanda and Jeremy strolled along the Avenue Sainte Croix de la Bretonnerie. It was joyous to meander along the winding streets, taking a look at the various boutiques along the way.
There were so many wonderful little things to marvel at. Cacao et Chocolat, for instance, was a divine little shop full to the brim with sumptuous cocoa-rich wonders – cocoa-covered almonds, tablets of mouth-watering chocolate, and, best of all, soft truffles of rich chocolate ganache lightly dusted with cocoa powder. Then there were the many delightful furniture stores offering items to adorn compact Parisian apartments. In one shop Amanda’s eye was taken by a small, black replica gun that doubled as a lighter. Jeremy thought it hilarious and urged Amanda to buy it. Once outside he could not resist lighting one of his Gauloises with it. The gun made a ‘crack’ like a pistol and a long yellow tongue of flame curled out from its barrel.
It was the most glorious weather. The sun was hot but there was a light breeze, a perfect Parisian day. They picked up a baguette and some cured ham and settled themselves in the Place des Vosges. Sensual energy filled the air as young men around them peeled off their shirts, while many of the women wore skimpy tops and skirts. There was bare flesh everywhere they looked.
Chapter 13
With possibly the best address in Paris, the Hôtel Vendôme was a truly wonderful place to be staying in whilst visiting the city. The building exuded opulence. Amanda and Jeremy’s rooms, situated on neighbouring floors, were beautifully furnished with elegant antiques. Within the First Arrondissement, it was just steps away from the Rue Faubourg Saint-Honoré and the heart of all that was chic and fashionable.
Over breakfast at the nearby Café Castiglione the next morning Amanda and Jeremy eyed the passers-by as they mused on their imminent meeting with the SVHQ representative in Paris. The streets were busy with the usual assortment of individuals who thronged Paris at this hour. Being in one of the most exclusive areas in the city, there were plenty of well-heeled people about – women in beautifully cut jackets, heels and skirts and businessmen in smart tailored suits. Among the crowds were also stylistas of various kinds. Amanda’s eye was caught by a skinny young clothes-horse clad entirely in black, with a large, shellac disk-shaped necklace around her neck
and a leopard print clutch under her left arm. She stood at the corner of the street smoking a Lucky Strike, which by the look of her emaciated figure could very well constitute all her meals for the day.
A short distance away, a group of builders were renovating the famous Goyard store, which sold luxury luggage and leather goods and was favoured by royalty. You needed deep pockets to dare go inside. Even the builders appeared chic, pausing to enjoy a breakfast of baguettes and cold meats. It made a stark contrast to the bacon and egg butties favoured by their counterparts on the opposite side of the channel.
Breakfast finished, Amanda and Jeremy made their way to their hired car. Jeremy had insisted on the best and had chosen a silver Maserati. Amanda couldn’t help thinking that the trident symbol with its elongated central prong suggested a fingers-up to anyone else on the road who might dare to challenge them in terms of speed or power.
The streets were packed as usual with cars and taxis, mostly Peugeots, Citroens and Renaults. Seeing the red light lit up next to the taxi sign on the roof of a passing vehicle Amanda was reminded that the system in Paris was the opposite to that in London. On her first visit to the City of Light she had spent twenty minutes trying to hail a taxi with a light on, only to discover that the illumination actually indicated occupancy. Eco-friendly cyclists weaved through the traffic. When they got in a vehicle’s way horns were hooted, expletives were hurled and fists were waved. The Parisians liked to express their emotions openly.
A light drizzle was falling on the windscreen, but quickly dried in the warm summer air. When the road ahead briefly cleared of traffic the Maserati, which had been purring until now, snarled as it broke free of surrounding vehicles, only to become bogged down once more as they approached the busy intersection at the Place de la Concorde, where the US Embassy and the famous Hotel de Crillion loomed over the huge square.
Amanda had received another briefing from SVHQ London and had their route planned. She was only half listening to Jeremy’s good natured loquacity as she formulated her report for the Parisian SVHQ agent that they were to rendezvous with.
The car growled as it moved slowly forwards among other traffic. Many of the surrounding vehicles peeled off in other directions, but one motorcycle, Jeremy noticed, seemed to be keeping pace with them. It was being driven in a disconcertingly aggressive fashion. The driver of the machine, which was entirely black, was dressed from head to toe in black leathers and wore a helmet with a dark tinted visor so that nothing could be seen of his face.
The bike jerked forwards till it was directly alongside them, then the figure suddenly reached into his inner jacket pocket and pulled something out. Jeremy saw at once that the objects in his hand were small metal disks with spiky projections. The figure began hurling them with great force at the Maserati’s front left-hand tyre. Without hesitation Jeremy slammed his foot down on the accelerator and aimed at a gap in the traffic ahead.
Amanda, who hadn’t realised that anything was wrong up to this point, gave a small cry as the car leapt forwards without warning.
‘Jeremy – what on earth’s happening?’
‘We’re being pursued by a motorcycle.’
He gesticulated to his left while keeping one hand on the steering wheel and his foot firmly on the accelerator, weaving between vehicles in their path. Amanda glanced over her shoulder and saw the intimidating shadow-like figure mounted on the powerful machine just a few metres behind them.
Jeremy spun the steering wheel savagely and they swerved onto the Cours La Reine. The road was relatively clear and they raced down it, with the river to their left. Their progress was rapid and perilous, but the motorcycle was still stuck to their tail. When they reached the Cours Albert 1er, the next section of the highway, Jeremy executed several dangerous manoeuvres in order to overtake vehicles in front of them and attempt to shake off their pursuer, all to no avail.
In a flash they arrived at the busy intersection at the Pont de l’Alma, where cars passed by in all directions. Jeremy kept his speed up and now the police began to take notice of what was going on, with a couple of gendarmes on motorcycles giving chase. Another police bike shot out of a side road and appeared immediately alongside their black-clad pursuer, signalling at him to pull over. Without warning the man on the black bike produced a contraption from his waistband and pressed the metal prongs against the gendarme’s arm. The policeman just had time to recognise it as a taser gun before 50,000 volts shot through his body. He immediately lost control of his motorcycle, which collided with a lamp post and burst into flames.
They now turned onto the Avenue de President Wilson. Police cars were joining the chase, lights flashing and sirens screeching. At the busy junction at the metro Iena one of the police cars managed to manoeuvre itself in front of them and swerve horizontally across the road, barring the way. With another police car immediately behind them it was impossible to stop and a collision seemed unavoidable. Amanda gasped. Unperturbed, Jeremy spun the steering wheel violently so as to place the Maserati on its side, balancing on its right front and back wheels only. Unbelievably they were then able to pass through the small gap between the kerb and the police car and speed onwards.
Their pursuer had no trouble getting through behind them, but the other police car to their rear was not so lucky. Realising he was about to crash, the driver swerved sharply to the right, hitting a traffic cone and causing the vehicle to roll sideways over and over in a series of erratic cartwheels. It continued its three hundred-and-sixty degree tumble until it struck the kerb and halted upside down. Looking in his rear window, Jeremy was relieved to see the officer starting to crawl out through the shattered windscreen.
Swerving to avoid more vans and lorries, Jeremy was now driving half on the pavement and half on the road, sending pedestrians running in all directions. The motorcycle was still there, filling the view in the rear mirror. He pressed his foot down harder on the accelerator.
‘Jeremy, the petrol gauge!’
Amanda, who until now had been clinging to the overhead handle in disbelief had spotted the flashing petrol gauge out of the corner of her eye – they were about to run out of gas! Combined with the rapidly deflating front tyre, the wheel of which was beginning to grind on the road and emit sparks, things were not looking good.
Like a hunter with his prey in site the black figure behind them continued in relentless pursuit. Amanda saw him toss the taser over his shoulder then grapple in his motorcycle trunk for something else. What he produced was a semi-automatic pistol. Bullets sang through the air, ricocheting off the body of the car. An almighty crack came from just behind Jeremy’s and Amanda’s heads as the rear windscreen was blasted into smithereens.
Jeremy worked hard at the steering wheel, making the car move wildly from side to side and make it more difficult to hit. Amanda was suitably impressed and concluded that he must have passed his advanced driving test with flying colours. Unfortunately their assailant was not to be so easily foiled. He had another trick up his sleeve. Amanda watched in horror as the man punched a button on his handlebar and two small shot out from either side of the vehicle.
Even Jeremy’s unmatched handling of the sports car could not be enough to save them. One of the rockets slammed into the back bumper with a crash and the maimed Maserati was sent hurtling through a shop window. With a huge smashing of glass the wrecked car came to a sudden halt, its smoking rear protruding on to the pavement.
They were now sitting ducks as the motorcycle quickly rounded on them. It slid to a halt as the driver slammed on the brakes. Then he reached up and removed his helmet, grinning.
Jeremy was pinned against the dashboard and unable to move but he wasn’t finished yet. As the motorcyclist dismounted and came towards them to complete the job, Jeremy depressed a hidden foot pedal and a cloud of smoky gas erupted from the exhaust. The hitman as caught full in the face. He coughed, spluttered and then collapsed unconscious in a heap on the pavement.
Amanda turned round to Jere
my and then collapsed herself. It wasn’t from the fumes, but from sheer shock and exhaustion, her vision narrowing and going black as if entering a tunnel, until there was nothing but complete darkness.
Chapter 14
The figure that entered the hospital through a side entrance took great care to make sure he was not noticed. He had been told to be quick and efficient. It was early morning, sometime around three a.m., before dawn. There was no one to be seen as he made his way to the right wing. He already knew where the girl was located. There was no need to disturb any of the very few staff who were on duty at this time of the day. It was simply a case of navigating his way through the maze of corridors and mezzanines to find her. He headed for a wide staircase and turned left.
Amanda had been brought, discreetly, to the hospital by Jeremy. She was still unconscious as a result of the impact of the crash, which had caused severe concussion. Jeremy was anxious to have Amanda thoroughly examined to ensure no other damage had been done. He guessed he should count himself lucky that they were both still alive.
The police had taken their pursuer into custody and he would presumably be interviewed at some length. SVHQ had hinted that they would also involve themselves in the interrogation. They clearly hoped to gain some useful information from the man.
Jeremy spent several hours next to Amanda's comatose figure, cursing himself over and over again. He had lost count of the number of times he had practised racing around SVHQ’s private training circuit in anticipation of taking part in a car chase on his next mission. He had even been involved in a minor chase in South America. But he had never experienced anything like this. And he had never carried a passenger that he cared so much about either.
Jeremy was making a complete nuisance of himself. He kept fussing around the French doctors and nurses. The American Hospital in Paris was one of the most exclusive private hospitals in France, and the staff did not take kindly to an unqualified member of the public telling them what to do. He had especially pestered the head ward nurse, Jacqueline.
Amanda: Tales of an international female spy Page 8
