‘Telephone call for you, Monsieur Maxted. A Senhor Ribeiro. Will you speak to him? He says the matter is urgent.’
Max swallowed his spoonful of porridge and stood up. ‘Take me to the phone.’
‘Baltazar?’
‘Yes, Max. It is I. Baltazar Ribeiro. I am sorry to be calling you so early.’
‘Never mind. I’m an early riser.’
‘I rise early also. I sleep badly, probably because I do not take enough exercise.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that. But—’
‘I generally take a little walk as soon as it is light. To give me an appetite for breakfast.’
Max’s lunch with Ribeiro had not left him with the impression that the Brazilian’s appetite was ever likely to be deficient, but he did not dwell on the point. ‘Really? Well, I—’
‘As soon as I left the hotel he appeared in front of me. He must have been waiting for me. Perhaps I mentioned to him my habit of an early walk.’
‘Who was waiting for you?’
‘Walter Ennis. Of the American delegation.’
‘Ennis?’
‘Yes. It was him. We know each other from the confiscated-shipping committee. But that is of no importance. You know him also, I think.’
‘Yes. We met yesterday.’
‘He would not say what happened between you. But something bad, I assume. He looked worried and … not himself. He had not shaved. His clothes were creased.’
‘What did he want?’
‘Someone he could trust – and you could trust also – to pass a message to you from him.’
‘What was the message, Baltazar?’
‘He wants to meet you. This morning. He said he wants to tell you the truth. Before it is too late. His words, Max. Before it is too late.’
‘I’ll meet him. Where and when?’
‘Notre-Dame, ten o’clock. Sit in the nave and wait. Go alone. If you are not alone, he will not show himself.’
‘He doesn’t need to worry about that. I’ll be alone.’
‘Max, I—’
‘It’s all right, Baltazar. There’s nothing for you to be concerned about. There’s no danger, I assure you. We’ll just talk. That’s all.’
‘But—’
‘Thanks so much for letting me know. Goodbye.’ Max put the telephone down and glanced at the clock on the wall behind the reception desk, then strode towards the stairs.
APPLEBY WAS OUT of the office when Max called in at the Majestic. Cursing his luck and unable to spare the time to wait, Max headed for Etoile Métro station and his appointment at Notre-Dame.
When he crossed the bridge to the Ile de la Cité that cold, grey, sleety morning, he looked ahead at the white-flecked flank of the Préfecture de Police and wondered what sort of night Corinne had passed in her cell. He feared she did not believe he could accomplish anything on her behalf. But he was going to. One chink in his enemy’s armour was all he needed. And Walter Ennis might be it.
Indigent ex-servicemen and assorted beggars were thick on the ground outside Notre-Dame, hoping for a coin or two from worshippers going in or out. Max ignored them, knowing that if he gave to one he would be expected to give to all. They looked at him with their gaunt, weary faces and he felt sorry for them. But he could not take their woes on to his shoulders. He hardened his heart and pressed on.
The interior of the cathedral was bone-numbingly chill. Max’s breath frosted in the still air. The light was thin and sallow, the windows all plain glass, the stained glass having been removed for safe-keeping during the war. A few people were lighting candles, a few others praying quietly. The vast nave was filled with echoes of shuffling feet and whispering voices.
Max settled in a pew about halfway along the nave and waited. He glanced up at the high, vaulted ceiling and ahead towards the distant altar. It was possible to believe, in such a setting, that all human concerns were petty and insignificant. But Max instinctively rejected the notion. The war had not led him to reject God. But nor had God come to his aid, as far as he was aware. Flying a fragile plane into combat above the battlefields of Flanders had made him trust his own judgement and no one else’s, not even the Almighty’s.
Minutes ticked slowly by. Max looked at his watch. Ennis was late, assuming, of course, he had any intention of showing up at all. A cigarette would have been a welcome distraction, but he could hardly smoke in a cathedral. Max picked up the prayer-book from the shelf in front of him, then put it down again.
‘You came, then.’ Ennis’s voice was suddenly close to Max’s ear. Half-turning, he saw the American’s bulky figure in the pew behind him. ‘Don’t look round.’ Ennis leant forward, as if to pray, resting his elbows on the back of Max’s pew. ‘Do you think we’re safe here, Max?’ he whispered. ‘Do you think the people we’re dealing with recognize the concept of sanctuary?’
‘You tell me, Walter,’ Max whispered back. ‘You know them better than I do.’
‘I wish to God I didn’t.’
‘You could have refused to take Lemmer’s money, I imagine.’
‘If only it had been so simple. Lemmer doesn’t generally resort to anything as crude as bribery.’
‘Call it what you like. You’ve betrayed your country.’
Ennis sighed heavily. ‘That I have.’
‘And you betrayed my father as well.’
‘No. I swear to God I didn’t. I suspected Henry was Travis’s client, true enough, but I didn’t tell Lemmer that.’
‘What did you tell him?’
‘As little as I needed to. I warned him Travis was trying to sell information concerning his whereabouts. I had to. If he’d learnt I knew that and not warned him …’
‘Your neck would be on the line? Well, it’s there now anyway, isn’t it? You’re a wanted man, Walter. That’s where your treachery’s got you.’
‘You think I don’t know that? You think I don’t regret every single damn thing I’ve ever done for Fritz Lemmer?’
‘I don’t know. Maybe you do. Maybe you don’t. But you did those things. And as far as I can see no one forced you to.’
‘You’ve no idea what you’re talking about. Once Lemmer has you, he has you for keeps. You can’t refuse to do what he tells you to do. That’s suicide.’
‘You won’t tell me where he’s hiding, then?’
‘I don’t know where he’s hiding. He wouldn’t trust me anywhere near as far as that. I don’t think you understand what it’s like to be one of his creatures. I’ve only met him once, in Berlin, before the war. He operates through intermediaries. I don’t even know how many intermediaries there are between him and me.’
‘We can start with the one you were speaking to on the telephone from your room at the Crillon.’
‘We’ll start with what I want you to do for me. I’m risking my life just by being here.’
‘Why should I do anything for you, Walter?’
‘Because you want to nail the people who killed your father and I can help you do that. But I need guarantees of my safety. It’s a question of trust, Max. Or the lack of it. I’ve no way of knowing who’s one of Lemmer’s men and who isn’t.’
‘I’m not one of his men.’
‘Exactly. What about Appleby?’
‘Nor is he.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Of course I’m sure. The idea’s absurd.’
‘It’s not so absurd. But I think you’re right. Appleby’s on the level. He’s one of very few I feel sure about. So, let’s talk to him. I’ll give you the names of the people who may have killed Henry, in return for safe passage out of Europe and a new identity to go with it. Think you can arrange that?’
If feather-bedding Ennis was what it took to find Lemmer, Max was confident Appleby would agree to it. ‘Yes, I think I can.’
‘Nothing less will do.’
‘Then nothing less will be supplied.’
‘It needs to happen soon. Every day I stay in Paris is one too many.’
&
nbsp; ‘Come with me now. Why delay? You don’t have to tell Appleby anything if he rejects your terms.’
‘You obviously have no idea how his outfit operates. You get his agreement and meet me back here in four hours. That should give you enough time. Then I’ll tell you how we’re going to manage things. OK?’
‘OK.’
‘I’m leaving now. Stay here for five minutes before you leave yourself. Understood?’
‘Understood.’
‘I’ll see you later.’
Max nodded a final acknowledgement. The pew-back sprang slightly as Ennis pushed himself upright. Then he was gone in a tattoo of heavy, hurrying footsteps.
Max had no intention of staying where he was for the five minutes Ennis had stipulated. He risked a backward glance after less than one and saw Ennis hurrying out through the door Max had entered by. It was his cue to stand up and go after him.
He was most of the way to the door when it was opened by someone else who was leaving. At that moment, there was a sharp crack of noise from outside, a burst of flapping wings as disturbed pigeons took flight, then a cry of alarm. Max knew at once the noise had been a rifle report. He started running.
The old man who had opened the door was frozen to the spot, staring straight ahead. Max brushed past him and rushed out into the daylight.
The beggars and passers-by had scattered. A figure lay motionless about twenty yards ahead of him on the flagstoned square in front of the cathedral. It was Ennis. He was sprawled on his back and a pool of blood was spreading beneath his head. As Max ran forward, he saw that one side of his skull had been completely blasted away. He was dead. But where was his killer?
Max reached the body and stopped. He looked down at the gaping wound. It was a livid hole gouged in Ennis’s brain: an instantaneously fatal, expertly aimed shot. Where had it been fired from? From beyond the square, certainly, but where was the vantage point? The only elevated position in that direction was the Préfecture de Police. Max glanced towards it.
The multi-windowed frontage of the building met his gaze. He ran his eye up and across it. Then a movement up on the roof seized his attention. A figure was lying half in and half out of an open dormer window on the mansard level, with his rifle supported by a stand on the narrow parapet in front of him.
It was only in that instant that Max realized the peril he was in. He lunged to his left even as he heard the crack and whine of the second shot. The bullet struck the flagstone where he had just been standing. But now he was running, hard and fast, towards the trees bordering the Seine.
He felt the shot hit him before he heard it, a jolting impact in his left side. There was no immediate pain and the certainty that another shot would follow carried him in a burst of energy to the shelter of the plinth supporting Charlemagne’s statue, halfway to the riverside wall.
The shot came, as he had anticipated, ripping through the air beyond the statue. He was safe where he was, but for how long? If the gunman came after him, or had an accomplice, he was finished. And he did not know how serious his wound was. There was a sensation of heat now where the bullet had hit him. He could feel blood seeping out beneath his shirt.
Then he saw the barge chugging upriver and knew it was his only chance to escape the gunman’s arc of fire. He broke cover and ran towards the bridge connecting the island with the Left Bank.
The barge was passing slowly beneath the bridge as he reached the railings, its cargo covered with a tarpaulin. A bullet pinged off the railings as he clambered over them, then he was plunging towards the barge, wondering, almost neutrally, if he would make it to the vessel or fall wide and find himself in the river.
He supposed, as far as he was able, that it did not really matter much.
MAX WAS NOT destined to escape the Ile de la Cité after all. When he next became aware of his surroundings, it was early evening and he was in bed in a river-facing room of the Hôtel Dieu, the hospital that flanked the very square where Ennis had been murdered and he had narrowly avoided the same fate.
A nurse fetched a doctor, who, in stuttering English, informed him that he had knocked himself out jumping on to the barge, but the bullet that had struck him earlier had considerately steered clear of any vital organs in its passage through his body. ‘You are young and ’ealthy, monsieur. If there is infection, you should be able to fight it. The bullet went close to, ah, your spleen, which concerns me. But … we will see … non?’
Max felt too weak to seek clarification. There was a policeman guarding the door to his room, but the fact that he had been shot at from the préfecture hardly made this reassuring. Soon enough, though, he had more visitors: Appleby, in the company of Commissioner Zamaron and a junior officer delegated to take notes.
Zamaron expressed incredulity when Max gave his account of what had happened. Max said nothing about Lemmer, suspecting Appleby would prefer him to keep silent on the real reason for his meeting with Ennis. He said Ennis had admitted to involvement in Sir Henry’s murder and agreed to volunteer the details to Appleby in return for safe passage out of Paris. It was the truth, but not the whole truth.
A rifleman operating from the roof of the préfecture was too much for Zamaron to swallow, however. ‘Impossible,’ he said several times. But Max knew there were dozens of witnesses to the direction of the shots. The impossible was something Zamaron was going to have to accustom himself to. He was non-committal when Max suggested the incident proved Corinne innocent of Spataro’s murder. ‘I will consider the evidence carefully,’ was all he would say. ‘It is for the magistrate to decide.’
Eventually, Zamaron and his junior left, but Appleby remained. He drew up a chair beside the bed and plonked himself down in it. ‘You didn’t take long to get yourself shot, I must say,’ he remarked. ‘There are those who are going to remind me they predicted employing an amateur would end like this.’
‘Nothing’s ended,’ Max objected. ‘I’ll soon be on my feet again.’
‘And back in the cross-hairs of whoever killed Ennis. I’m not sure you’re safe on the streets, Max.’
‘Ennis was offering us Lemmer in exchange for the safe conduct I told Zamaron about. I reckoned bringing him in was worth a few risks.’
Appleby sighed. ‘The likelihood is Ennis thought he was setting you up to be killed, little realizing he was a target as well. As for firing at you from the préfecture, I imagine the choice of location was designed to warn Zamaron he’d be wise not to ask too many questions. The place is more like a railway station than a police station, anyway. There are always too many people milling about for anyone to keep track of. Impossible it certainly wasn’t.’
‘I’m not going to give up. In fact, I reckon this shows I’m making progress.’
‘Towards an early grave, certainly. It’s an unwelcome development, Max, and not just because it nearly cost you your life. Ennis was a senior member of the American delegation. He was very publicly murdered. The press will want to know what’s going on. I’m going to try to keep your name out of it, but it won’t be easy. It may not even be possible, though, as you see, I had Zamaron fix you up with your own room to give you as much privacy as possible. I can’t afford to have my department’s involvement widely known. There are the Americans themselves to be considered as well. Carver will certainly want to question you. I’ll hold him off as long as I can. He mustn’t discover we’re after Lemmer. You understand?’
‘Don’t worry. I can handle Carver. I’ll give him the same story I gave Zamaron. Meanwhile, there’s a member of the British delegation I need you to check up on.’
‘Brigham?’
‘Yes. How did you know?’
‘Twentyman told me. He’s waiting outside, anxious to reassure himself you’re not going to die. I’ll send him in when I leave. I’ll find out the registration number of Brigham’s car, but even if it is HX 4344 that won’t give me any justification to do more than ask him a few gentle questions.’
‘For God’s sake, Appleby, it’s o
bviously significant. Brigham’s up to something. He tried to talk me into leaving Paris.’
‘Perhaps he was concerned for your welfare. With good reason, as it turns out. I’ll look into it, all right? But Brigham’s well-connected. He’s said to have the ear of the Foreign Secretary. I have to tread carefully.’
‘Well, I don’t have to.’
‘No. And I’m sure you won’t, once you’re up and about. You can try and persuade me to give you his address then. Meanwhile, you need to rest. I’m putting one of my men on your door. Just to make sure the police do their job. Incidentally, Carver tells me Ireton’s done a disappearing act.’
‘Apparently so.’
‘He obviously doesn’t think Paris is a healthy place to be these days. And by the look of you he’s right.’
‘I intend to make it unhealthy for Lemmer.’ Max paused, then asked, ‘Can you get me a gun, Appleby?’
Appleby’s eyebrows twitched in surprise. ‘It’s not what most people in hospital ask for.’
‘I want it for when I leave. Which will be sooner than the doctor recommends, if I have my way.’
‘As you no doubt will.’
‘The gun?’
Appleby chewed his unlit pipe and contemplated the request for a moment. Then he said, ‘It could only be for self-defence. But then … I suppose you may have need of quite a bit of that.’
‘It seems so.’
Appleby nodded. ‘I’ll see what I can do.’
Sam had brought food and a few toiletries, for which Max was grateful, though whatever the doctor had prescribed to dull the pain of his wound had dulled his appetite as well. He was almost as pleased to see Sam as Sam was to see him, though he hid it rather better.
‘Mr Appleby said you got off lightly in the circumstances, sir.’
‘He must have a curious definition of “getting off lightly”.’
‘I told him about Mr Brigham.’
‘I know. He mentioned it.’
The Ways of the World Page 24
