by Lucy Wadham
*
Stuart walked along the side of the road. He rubbed his shoulder, which had been bruised in the fall. Around the next bend he would be in sight of the village. To his right the forest climbed steeply; to his left was a drop to the valley. He looked for access into the forest, but the rock face was a wall covered in wire mesh to protect the road. He crossed over to the other side and looked down. The trees straggled thinly out of the dark. It was too steep; he would have to stay on the road. He gave thanks that there was no moon.
The village was up ahead. He could see the call box and Alice���s shape inside it. He thought he could see from the tilt of her head that she was holding the phone. The sight of her so far from reach made him anxious. If Karim had not called, it meant either that he was unable to or that he had decided not to co-operate. Perhaps Santini had given him some signal during the conversation. The reassuring constancy of his hatred of Santini settled him.
He spoke into the radio: ���Come in, G��rard. Still nothing? Over.���
���Nothing, Stuart. Over.���
���Okay. I���m calling Mesguish. We���re moving. Tell Santini he screwed up. Remind him. If anything happens to the child, he dives. Over.���
He looked at Alice, perfectly vulnerable in the glass box. She had picked up the phone. They had to move now; they would not get a second chance.
���Come in, Mesguish,��� he said. ���Move now. Do you copy? Move now. Put the dogs in front. Over.���
While Mesguish was making the appropriate response, his voice charged with excitement, Stuart saw Alice turn and step out of the call box. He gripped his radio until his fist hurt. He watched her walk over to the car and climb in. She moved off immediately. It was at least ten minutes��� walk to the village from here. Mesguish was still talking.
���Call,��� Stuart whispered. ���Call, Alice.��� The car disappeared. He stood in the dark and closed his eyes. ���Alice,��� he said again.
The radio went quiet. Stuart heard an engine not far off.
���Come in, Paul. I���m standing by the road five hundred metres before the village. Is that you I can hear? Where are you? Over.���
���We���re coming very slowly. It���s hard to see. It���s dark as hell.���
���I can see you. Slow right down. I���m fifty metres ahead of you. Pick me up. Over.���
Paul���s car stopped. Joachim climbed smartly out of the passenger seat and greeted him with a pat on the arm. Stuart ushered him into the back, closed the door quietly behind him, then climbed into the front. Paul���s car smelled of women���s perfume and stale fags. The pump-action shotgun, the weapon Paul always chose, lay across his knee.
���Just stop here a moment until we get her call,��� Stuart told him.
Paul leaned forward, resting his elbows on the steering wheel, and rubbed his eyes. Driving with no lights on a mountain road was tiring.
���Stuart?��� The radio cut out.
���Hold the button down,��� Stuart urged.
���Can you hear me, Stuart?���
���I can hear. Go ahead. Over.���
���He wouldn���t let me talk to him.��� Her voice was high pitched. ���I thought they���d let me hear him.���
He waited. But there was silence.
���Alice, come in. Tell me what he told you to do. Try and remember his words. Over.���
���He said to go up to the Col du Palomba Rossa. He said drive through the village and take the only road out. He said it���s twenty minutes away. It���s marked with a blue sign. Just next to the sign there���s a lay-by. He told me to put the bag down in the centre of the lay-by; he said dead centre, then drive back down the way I came.���
Paul was unfolding a map.
���Wait there, Alice. Paul���s driving me into the village.���
The radio hissed.
���No! Stuart. They���ll see you. You can���t. They were watching me.���
Stuart counted three seconds.
���How do you know they could see you? Over.���
���He told me. He said, ���I���m watching you.������
���Alice, listen to me. They���ve gone to get Sam. We must give them time. Now sit there and start counting. No one���s going to see me. You just count and I���ll be there before you get to two hundred. Do you understand? Over.���
���Yes.���
He could hear the tears in her voice.
���I���m coming. Just count.���
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Karim walked along the ridge. Without Garetta ahead of him and without the moon, he moved more slowly than the night before. He advanced, feeling the cliff wall with his fingers, listening to Denis, who was a few paces behind, talking continually to the child. Karim felt like he was in a dream; the unfamiliarity of Denis���s tone made it worse.
He thought of home, of his hanging wardrobe with all his clothes, arranged according to colour, starting with black from the left, moving through the greys, then white, then red, then orange. He would not wear any other colours. Nadia wanted to move in; maybe he would let her, on a trial basis. He had only been up here for one night but it seemed like months since he had seen home, his car, Nadia. He would surprise her ��� crawl into her bed and fuck her, gently, from behind ��� and she wouldn���t know whether she was awake or dreaming. If she tried to turn and talk to him he would cover her mouth with his hand and hold her still and whisper in her ear. He imagined her back arching and her arse moving; then he remembered he didn���t have his key.
���Hey, Denis. You���ll have to let me into Nadia���s flat.���
He turned and saw that Denis had disappeared.
���Hey, Denis!���
���I���m here.���
In the grey darkness, Karim could just make him out ��� Denis and the bundle in his arms.
���Get a fucking move on.���
When Denis had caught up Karim said, ���You���ve got to let me into Nadia���s flat. I want to surprise her.���
Denis was panting and Karim could smell cough lozenges on his breath.
���All right?��� Karim said.
Denis nodded. Karim looked down at the kid, still curled in a ball in Denis���s arms. Its face was buried in Denis���s filthy jacket.
���Poor kid,��� Karim said. ���You must stink. Let���s go.���
���Where are we going?��� Denis asked, his voice normal again.
���To meet Santini. We go to Cortizzio and we call him from there. Now listen: when we get off this ridge we head for the woods and hide until Garetta has passed. Then we head down to the village as quick as we can. Right?���
Denis nodded and Karim had the sudden impression that Denis dragged him down. It was not a good thing to spend too much time with an idiot. When this was over he���d cut Denis loose.
When they reached the end of the ridge Karim stopped to take a gorse needle from his socks. His trainers were damp and ruined. The thought of having to buy more trainers brought a flash of anxiety: he was giving up three million francs. He had three million francs within reach. He could buy a villa with a crescent-shaped pool in The Hesperides compound and he would be set up for life. But then he would lose Santini and without Santini he would get nowhere. He stood up and walked on, bringing to mind Nadia���s swaying arse to banish the thought of the money.
When they came in sight of the woods below them, Denis asked for a rest.
���You can rest in the woods,��� Karim told him. He looked at the woods, a black cloud stretching out b
elow him, the last band before real life, he thought. He kept on walking down the narrow track. He could hear Denis was tired. ���Pick your feet up, you���ll fall.���
Suddenly Denis stopped.
���Listen.���
Karim had already heard, but the nature of the sound only revealed itself to his consciousness now, as he watched the two shadows emerge from the forest, moving towards them up the hill, not fast but smooth and unrelenting.
���Dogs,��� Denis said. Karim saw the fear in Denis���s face and adrenaline rushed into his body. ���No, no,��� he heard. ���Don���t run!���
But Karim did run. He ran back up the path, moving so quickly it felt as if he was being pulled up the hill. He had seen a tree, a tall tree, on a bend in the path. It was not far. If he could reach it he would be safe. But he could not see the tree and the path steepened, his trainers began to slip in the mud and he was using his hands too, clawing at the path, looking for the tree. He was still scrambling up the path but he had stopped breathing, for everything had suddenly gone quiet. Then up ahead he saw the tree and he breathed again, and at that moment he heard men���s voices and now behind him, instead of barking, was the sound of dogs panting closer, but the tree was closer still and he reached up for its branches that stretched out over the path and he heard a sound, not like an animal sound but human, like a man with water in his throat, drowning, and he knew where they���d get him and he put his hand there and thought, I can lose a hand for stealing, but it was too late and he felt the fur against his fingers and a hot pain between his legs and everything flooded with red darkness.
Chapter Forty
They were on the road up to the ridge called Palomba Rossa. Stuart sat crouched again in the front of Alice���s car. She was driving with her head forward, too close to the steering wheel. Stuart did not like it up here. He never had. Here, the sky and the wind took over. The crude wind moved the dark pines and the bracken. It was like the end of the world. Compared to this place the maquis was a scented garden.
In winter the road they were on was often closed because of heavy snowfall and the few villages beyond were cut off. It was a dead end, running out in an abandoned farm in the village of Castri. The map showed a forest track as the only way out. Stuart guessed that his man had either a four-wheel drive or a trial bike.
���What can you see?��� he asked her.
���There���s an open drop to my left and on the right there���s forest. Pine trees. We���re coming to another hairpin bend.���
It was the last one before the ridge.
���Good. You can drop me off there. On the turn.��� She nodded, keeping her eyes on the road. ���Take the bag and put it on the seat beside you.��� She had slowed right down. She reached into the back and tried to lift the bag. ���That���s all right,��� he said. ���Stop the car a moment. Stop and put it in the front.��� His heart was beating too fast. She stopped and put the bag on the passenger seat. ���I���ll be right behind you,��� he said. ���Watching over you. You just leave the bag and drive away.���
���Stuart?���
���Yes?���
But she just stared at him. There was the pity again. He smiled at her.
���I���ll be watching you,��� he said.
As he climbed out of the car he thought he heard her say something, but she had slammed the door and when he straightened up and turned she was already round the corner and out of sight.
He followed the steep road after her, but she had gone, and he ducked into the forest, which was now to his left. He moved quickly through the thin pines, keeping close to the road where the slope was gentler. For once there was not a breath of wind and he could hear the water dripping from the trees. He was trying to think what Alice had said to him, to decipher the words in retrospect, but he was left with nothing but the sound of her voice. Up ahead there was a fire-break like a grand avenue, leading straight down the hill to the lay-by. His man could park in the trees and get a clear view, unseen. When he came in sight of her tail lights through the trees, he spoke into his radio: ���Fabrice. Come in. Where are you?���
���I���m coming up behind you, Stuart. I���ve just passed a sign to the Palomba Rossa. Over.���
���You���re a kilometre and a half away. Stop there. Park so you can cut off the road if necessary. In case he goes out that way. I���m going to wait at the lay-by. When I see him I���ll signal you. Then I���m switching off.���
���Okay, Stuart. We���re here. Over.���
He could see most of the lay-by now. Alice had parked. He called Paul, who was making his way on foot with the two young cops.
���I���ll signal when he shows, then I���m cutting out,��� he said.
���We���re down below. I just caught sight of her lights. It���s not far but it���s steep,��� Paul said.
Stuart took his gun from its holster and watched Alice walk into the middle of the lay-by. She stopped a moment, holding the bag, and looked about her.
���Not there,��� Stuart whispered. ���Nearer me.��� But she obeyed the instructions she had been given and set it down, dead centre, in front of the fire-break.
As he watched her walk back to the car he began to feel very cold. He watched her car back and turn gracefully out of the lay-by and he felt as though all the heat were leaving his body. As he listened to her change gear he knew he had made some great mistake.
He stood with his hand on his gun, watching the bag. He gripped his gun and held his eyes wide open in the dark. He could hear owls calling each other in the forest behind him. The lay-by was like a silver lake. He felt the shock of recognition, as though the lay-by ahead of him, the thick darkness around him, this loneliness and sense of readiness were all he was. Everything he felt now was everything he had ever been.
He heard the sound of a bike sawing through the night and received it calmly like some signal he���d been waiting for. He called Fabrice, then Paul, and told them that an individual on a powerful trials bike was approaching along the fire-break, that they were to stand by, he was cutting out. He switched off his radio and took his gun from its holster.
The bike moved down the gentle slope. When he hit the lay-by the rider stood up a moment on the foot-rests and Stuart saw he was tall. He was wearing black leathers and a black helmet with a visor. He stood astride his bike and looked about him. The bag was a few metres away. He drove slowly up to it and stopped on the other side of the bag, facing Stuart. He put his left foot on the ground and Stuart saw he was in neutral. He kicked the bag with the toe of his boot. It would feel too soft. Get off the bike, Stuart thought. But the rider kicked the bag again. You want to check. You know you do. Get off the bike. Stuart counted four to five paces between them. But he was not going to get off. Stuart saw him let go with his left hand and pause for an instant. When he reached down Stuart was already out of the forest. By the time he had straightened up Stuart had thrown all his weight at him, hitting him in the chest with his shoulder, heard the grunt as the wind was knocked out of him and heard him swear, clearly enough in spite of the visor to know that he was an islander. The bike was on top of him with the motor still making its ugly hacking sound. The man was on his side, flailing like a big black insect. Stuart stood over him and, using both hands, each shaking in perfect synchronicity, pointed his gun at him.
���Take off your helmet,��� he said.
Stuart could hear an engine and he recognised the sound of Fabrice���s van. The thought of Fabrice with his red glasses, the one man he did not need at this point, reminded him that his man would try for his gun and then there it was, conjured from beneath him, from his right boot, of course. And as he looked down at the man���s weapon p
ointed steadily at his chest, Stuart thought: he���s taking my pulse and even though I have the positional advantage, he can feel my hesitation and he knows now that I���ve never shot anyone in my life and never will. Then there was the strange muted ping of the silenced bullet and the impact high up in his thigh, and to his astonishment he fell back and he heard Paul���s shout and, as his head hit the ground, he wanted to laugh, because he knew that one way or another Santini had probably won his bet.
Epilogue
A gentle wind was blowing in Massaccio, warm and dry and unhealthy. It came across the sea from the desert and left an invisible coating of sand that clung to the back of the throat, dried out the nasal passages and caused a barely perceptible frosting of the windscreen of Santini���s Saab. He ran his finger along the glass, then raised it to his tongue and tasted the salt.
The trial was in its third day and Santini was enjoying himself. There were police barricades forming a solid chain around the Palais de Justice. He walked towards them, kicking out his feet slightly with each step, like the actor Lino Ventura, whom he believed he resembled. A bus stopped just in front of him as he prepared to cross the street and a large group of teenagers began to pour forth, noisy and oblivious and overladen. Coco scanned the girls��� faces, each one uglier than the next. He thought of his beautiful Nathalie, then, stepping into the road, pushed her out of his mind.
A gendarme checking IDs looked mechanically at the twenty-five-year-old photo in his driving licence that bore no resemblance to him and opened the barricade to let him through. As he walked up the steps of the Palais he could feel a dusting of Sahara sand beneath his feet. His shoes were of the softest Italian leather and he wore them without socks, even in winter, because he disliked the feeling of elastic against his skin.
Things had been going his way. The case had taken a year and a half to come to court because Christine Lasserre had decided to put Mickey and Garetta in the same file. It meant they could not close the case until an exhaustive search had been made for the Scatti brothers who, to their credit, had still not been found. This had given Coco plenty of time to convey his position to Karim and Denis in prison.
