At first he couldn’t see anything. The pepper spray had done its job well. But after a few minutes of furious blinking, his vision began to clear and he looked to see who his assailant was. He was genuinely shocked. They must have told him that I was killed in Afghanistan. I didn’t let him recover,
‘Jesus Christ Noah. What the fuck are you doing?’
‘What am I doing? I couldn’t exactly call and make an appointment, could I?’
‘I thought you were...’
‘...dead?’
‘Yes.’
‘Sorry to disappoint you. I survived.’
‘And Mullah Hanafi?’
‘The guy in the helicopter with me?’
‘Yea.’
‘He made it too.’
‘God damn it!’
‘Never mind Hanafi,’ I said to him. ‘Why the bloody hell did you take me prisoner? I did exactly as you asked.’
‘Did you?’ He looked at me carefully. ‘You telling me, you didn’t tell Piet we might try to kidnap Awan?’
‘Why the hell would I do that?’
‘You didn’t answer the question.’
‘No I did not. You could have just asked.’
‘The people at Virginia Beach were pissed. They thought you’d sold them down the river. They wanted to ask you some questions. How did Piet know they were coming?’
‘He didn’t. Didn’t need to. Do you have any idea how many sensors and cameras he’s got around that place? For fuck sake, you’re supposed to be the CIA, you’re supposed to know everything.’
He shrugged, ‘Don’t believe everything you see in the movies.’
‘Anyway,’ I continued, ‘I’m not interested in your problems with the Taliban. What have you done with Martina?’
‘Christ, is that what this is really about? We let her go a week ago, as soon as we heard the helicopter was shot down. We thought you were dead for Christ sake. Why would we hold her?’
I hadn’t thought of that. ‘Where is she?’
‘At home, I guess. How the fuck should I know?’
‘Home?’ It was my turn to be off guard.
‘Yes. Home, at her parents, or at the bar. I don’t know.’
I never imagined that I would come back and find Martina serving drinks at U Černého Vola. ‘What did you tell her about me?’
‘What do you think we told her?’
‘Shit. She thinks I’m dead?’
He nodded. ‘Now will you take this Goddamn tape off me?’
I know I should have kept him trussed up, taken him to the bar to verify the story. But somehow I knew that he was telling the truth. I cut him loose.
‘So what are you going to do now?’ he asked.
I hadn’t thought that far and he could see it written on my face.
‘You don’t have a plan do you?’
I shook my head, started making one. ‘I don’t know. Go and get Martina, find Denis, live happily ever after.’
‘Find Denis’?’
‘I haven’t been able to get hold of him. But Bill told me he went to stay with his sister somewhere.’
‘Roquebillière.’
‘What?’
‘Roquebillière, in the south of France. That’s where he is. We had him under observation until last week.’
‘Do you have her number?’
Bob pulled out his mobile, made a call, scribbled down a name and number, handed it to me.
‘Do you mind?’
Bill shook his head. I dialled the number. A Frenchwoman answered.
‘Hallo?’ It’s difficult to tell much from a couple of syllables, but there was tension in the voice, like a rubber band that has been stretched almost to its limit.
‘Bonjour. Êtes-vous Nadia? La sœur de Denis Savin?’
‘Oui.’ Guarded.
I had only just learned of her existence, so I thought it unlikely that she knew of mine. I began explaining in French,‘It’s Noah Stark. I’m a friend of Denis…’
‘Noah! Thank God.’
‘Hello?’ I was taken aback, surprised that my name seemed familiar to her.
‘I’m at my wits end. I don’t know what to do. Denis was here until three days ago. He left for Prague, but I haven’t heard from him. I tried calling but his phone is switched off. I think something has happened to him…’She began to cry softly.
‘Prague? Why did he go to Prague?’
‘He received a phone call three days ago. The caller said that you were in an accident and that Denis should go to Prague immediately. You were in an accident?’
‘No.’
There was a long silence. I tried to sound cheerful, ‘It’s okay. I said. Try not to worry. I’m sure he’s fine. But just in case, I am coming there.’I looked at my watch.‘I’ll be there tomorrow.’
‘Merci. Merci Beaucoup.’
‘What’s going on?’ Bill asked.
‘I don’t know. But something might have happened to Denis.’
‘Do you want us to….?’
‘No. Thank you. Who else knew he was there?’ Bob didn’t miss the implication.
‘Bill, your partner… No one else.’
‘You didn’t share his location with your friends in Tel Aviv?’
Bob blanched. ‘No.’
‘Do you think Bill...?’ I couldn’t bring myself to complete the sentence.
‘It’s possible. But we’ve been keeping tabs on him too. He’s not given any sign...’
And suddenly it all seemed clear. Our pursuers had always seemed to be one step ahead: the Swiss police waiting for the plane, the gunmen attacking us as soon as we had recovered the osmium, the attacks in Prague and South Africa. They always seemed know my every move. ‘I’ll fucking kill him.’
‘Whoa boy. Let’s not all go off half-cocked. Take it slowly. I also have an interest in finding out if he’s involved. But I suggest you find Denis first.’
‘I’ll need some help, money for a start. And a...’
‘…passport?’
‘Yes.’
‘Your Pavel Kalik passport came back a few days ago. I’ll organise a credit card and some money.
I knew that I had to get to Roquebillière as soon as possible, get to the bottom of what had happened to Denis. But I needed to see Martina first. It was a bad idea: I knew I wouldn’t be able to talk to her, even let her see me, that even being near her was putting her at risk. It didn’t stop me. I had to see her; it was a compulsion stronger than will.
Bob dropped me off outside the Hotel Jeleni Dvur in the Castle district, not far from U Černého Vola. He knew what I was doing, didn’t say anything, just raised an eyebrow to show his disapproval. It was a short walk from there to the bar. There was nowhere near the bar where I could remain inconspicuous, so I continued down towards the Pohořelec tram stop to look for a good vantage point. I felt very exposed, half expected Martina to suddenly appear, bump into me. If she did I’d be in a world of trouble; she didn’t.
I found a vantage point opposite the tram stop. A small restaurant in the Savoy Hotel had windows overlooking the street. I sat down, waited. I had no idea what shift Martina was on, or even if she was working that day. But I waited anyway.
Every time a tram arrived, my heart beat faster, my chest tightened; the stress gripped me until the last person alighted and the tram pulled away. In between trams I struggled to tear my eyes away from the window to acknowledge the waiter, order food, eat. But I wasn’t looking out the window when she finally appeared. I didn’t have to look to know she was there.
And when I did look out she was only meters away, at the kerb, waiting for a car to pass before crossing the road to the tram station. I wanted to jump up, dash outside, shout her name, run to her. I didn’t. I sat there, watched her sit down, wait for the tram. She looked sad. I found her sorrow strangely satisfying, felt pleased that she was mourning me. She looked up, stared at my window. I knew she couldn’t see me, but it was as if she could. She stood purposefully, as if she might co
me to investigate. But the tram arrived and she was gone.
I sat there for a few minutes, staring at the bench where she had been sitting. Tears stung my eyes; I brushed them away.
Chapter 59
Re-armed with my passport, a credit card, a CIA Blackberry and ten thousand euros in cash, I took an Air France flight to Nice the following morning. At the car rental I splashed out for an Audi Q7. I wanted the four-wheel drive and the extra weight in case I came across any bad guys. Anyway, the CIA was paying.
The road to Roquebillière followed the Var River up an increasingly steep valley with mountains either side covered in a thickening blanket of white. Closer to my destination snow and ice began to grease the road; I was glad that I had chosen the big Audi.
I went straight to the Bar Hotel des Sports, where, according to Bob, Denis’ sister worked. It wasn’t difficult to find. Roquebillière isn’t exactly a thriving metropolis. I parked opposite and went straight to the bar, ordered a Kronenbourg. I was the only one there. I savoured the beer for a moment before asking the disinterested bar lady in French,‘Is Nadia Savin on duty?’ After twenty years I was fluent enough to inflect a regional accent; I didn’t want them thinking I was someone from Paris come to find their Nadia.
The woman looked at me poker-faced,‘Qui? ’
‘ Nadia Savin, sœur de Denis? ’
‘You are a friend of Denis?’ still no admission.
‘Oui. We were in the Legion together.’ It was a gamble. In some places Legionnaires are not exactly popular. They tend to get a bit overenthusiastic.
The woman’s face didn’t change; but there was a definite softening in her eyes.‘Vous êtes Noah? Why didn’t you say ? She is upstairs. I will call her.’ And she left me alone in the bar.
It occurred to me that, although Denis had mentioned his sister once or twice over the years, I had no idea what she looked like. When she entered the bar, I knew why. She was a stunner. Not young, in her forties perhaps, but drop-dead gorgeous. If I was Denis, I wouldn’t have introduced her to my Legion mates either.
She walked straight across to me, held out her hand, ‘Noah, thank you so much for coming.’ I I was struck dumb. I took her hand, shook it.
She saw my confusion, ‘Denis spoke about you all the time. You’re in all the photographs. It’s as if I’ve known you for years.’
I could only imagine what Denis had told her. I think I might have blushed... ‘Tell me what happened.’
Her brow furrowed, ‘He left for Prague four days ago…on Friday. His phone is still off. Nobody has heard from him.’
‘When did he get hear that I’d been in a crash?’
‘That morning. He left immediately.’
‘Did he fly?’
‘No. By car. He always drives. His life is in that car.’
I put down the beer: unfinished. ‘Do you have a road map?’
Nadia shook her head; I fetched mine from the Audi. While the bar lady went to fetch me a plate of Coq au Vin, Nadia and I sat down at a table near the window, bent over the map.
‘Which way would he go?’
She traced a route that followed a winding path through the Alpes- Maritimes to the Mediterranean, just east of Monaco. The route continued along the Italian coast as far as Genoa, then north past Milan and on through Switzerland and Germany. It was over a thousand kilometres of mission impossible. Driving through five countries looking for a crashed Land Cruiser was not an option.
‘Has anything unusual happened recently?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘People in town that don’t belong here, anyone asking after Denis, more police on the streets, anything?’ Roquebillière couldn’t have more than two thousand inhabitants. I was hoping that anything unusual would stick out like balls on a ballerina.
‘Oui. There were some men, Corsicans, in town for a few days. They stayed at Madame Aubert’s on Rue Saint-Julien.’
‘When did they leave?’ I asked.
‘I don’t remember.’ Nadia replied. She hesitated for a moment. ‘But I haven’t seen them since Denis left.’ The implication couldn’t have been clearer.
I used Bob’s Blackberry to send him an email, asked him to check if Denis had crossed any of the borders. I knew it would take time for him to check with the various authorities, so didn’t wait for his reply.
‘I’m going to take a drive up the road. Do you want to come with me?’
‘Where are you going?’ She seemed sceptical.
‘As far as the border. I want to see if I can find anything.’
Nadia shrugged ‘why not?’ and went to fetch her coat.
Outside it had started to snow. Individual flakes swirled about; some settled on my coat, quickly melted. We drove back down to road towards Nice. We had gone only about three kilometres when Nadia had me turn left. The road climbed immediately, snaked up the side of the valley through La Bollène-Vésubie, clung to the mountainside, wound towards Col de Turini. We reached the col after half an hour of tortuous curves. The snow began falling heavily, covering the road, causing the tyres to slip now and then.
It didn’t look good. The terrain was very steep, covered in forest and largely uninhabited. Only a low stone wall protected the careless from disaster. Here and there gaps in the wall confirmed the danger. The descent was even steeper, the road convulsively coiling back and forth on itself as it plunged to Sospel in the valley below. We had been driving for almost two hours by the time we reached Sospel. There didn’t seem to be any point in continuing as the valley was densely populated from there on and it was hard to imagine someone disappearing there.
It was already late by the time we turned around and headed back towards Roquebillière. The pass was in shadow already, the snow fell relentlessly. The big Audi coped well with the icy road. I took it easy, slowing every time there was a gap in the wall, looked closer, tried to see if anything had passed through the gap recently. It was pointless. As we descended towards La Bollène-Vésubie the wipers were struggling to clear the windshield; I could barely see the road.
When we arrived back at the hotel we dashed inside out of the elements. Nadia checked me in and gave me the keys of a room on the first floor.
After I had settled in, I met her downstairs at the restaurant. While we were ordering, the reply from Bob came through. According to the border police, Denis had never left France. We ate in silence each lost in our own thoughts.
Before I went to bed I made a list of the things I might need the following day: boots, gloves, winter gear, ropes, harness, karabiners, descendeur... it went on for two pages. I didn’t know how much I would find in Roquebillière, or which of it I would really need. I didn’t want to take any chances.
Chapter 60
Nadia went with me to buy the gear. At first I thought that she hadn’t understood what I wanted. The shop she took me to had lawnmowers and gardening equipment in the window. But inside I found that the owner was a keen mountaineer and had devoted one corner to climbing equipment. I found everything that I needed, paid with the credit card, lugged it all outside to the Audi.
The sky was completely clear, but there was a thick layer of fresh snow on the ground. Not good for a mountain rescue. We had to find him first.
We returned to the pass to resume the search. The roads in the towns had been cleared, but outside town there were still deep drifts of snow across the road in places and the Audi worked hard to maintain traction.
Beyond La Bollène-Vésubie I slowed to a walking pace, kept the window open despite the temperature, scanned the trees lining the road for clues. It wasn’t long before I spotted something. On an uncharacteristically straight stretch just outside town there was a gap in the retaining wall. But it wasn’t only the gap that caught my eye. A three-strand wire fence behind the wall was broken too; and the tree behind that had a big gouge on the right side of the trunk. It looked reasonably fresh. I stopped the car and got out.
‘Can you see something?’ Nadia asked.<
br />
‘Maybe. It looks like something went off the road here recently.’
There wasn’t much road shoulder. I had to be careful when going around to the passenger side. The ground dropped away steeply only a metre away from where I stood. I peered over the void. There wasn’t much to see. Despite the almost vertical slope, fir trees, weighed down with the previous night’s snow, clung tenaciously to the face; they looked like they might lose their grip at any moment.
Nadia opened her door to get out, looked down, thought better of it. I began to assemble the climbing gear. While I was donning the harness, clipping on the, descendeur, karabiners and ascendeurs, checking the rope, I was thinking of how best to get down to Denis, if he was there. There weren’t any ideal places to tie the rope. My options were the car or a tree. The car didn’t appeal despite its bulk. I could just imagine someone smashing into the back of it while I was dangling on the other end of the rope. I’d see it appear above me, follow me down to the bottom and then it would land on top of me. It wasn’t a good picture. I decided on a tree – three trees to be exact. I figured that if they all gave way I was probably buggered anyway. I secured the rope in such a way that should one tree give way, the others would act as back up. Nadia watched from the car, her face more anxious by the minute.
When my belay was secure I slipped the rope through a descendeur, clipped it to my harness. I smiled at Nadia with more confidence than I was feeling, gingerly took up the slack on the rope, eased myself over the edge. With abseiling, getting over the edge is normally the worst part. Once you are over with all your weight on the rope the feeling of security returns and you can get on with it. That’s the way it’s supposed to work. It didn’t. There were too many trees. I couldn’t see where I was going for a start; and there always seemed to be a branch, heavy with snow, scraping over some part of my body. I descended, painfully, slowly, trying to spot broken branches or gashes in the trees where whatever had gone over the edge had left its mark. Despite my best efforts to prevent it, snow had worked its way down the collar of my jacket. It was melting and running down my back; and I still couldn’t see any sign of a Land Cruiser below me.
Elements of Risk: A Noah Stark Thriller Page 29
