Hands of the Traitor

by Christopher Wright

  The instructions warned that under some conditions pieces of aluminum and iron could give a positive reading on the gold setting. They could, and they did. He'd already found plenty of both. A loud signal raised his hopes -- until he dug out yet another strip of rusty metal. Several other ferrous objects gave positive bleeps, though the meter readings tallied with the gold sector. The Dutchman must have been a magician.

  He looked around. Someone might have seen the compound lights go off and then on. He got another signal from the detector. It hardly seemed worth digging, but he felt obliged to use the small folding spade the dealer had strongly recommended. The people who designed these stupid detectors should be made to use them on sites like this.

  He caught sight of a flash of gold about twelve inches down, just in time to stop himself plunging the folding spade into the red soil at the bottom of the hole.

  The gold glinted under the floods. Gold was an amazing metal. No matter how long it was in the ground, it always came up as fresh as the day it was put there. Carefully he lifted the slender cylinder from the soil, glad of the protection his gloves gave from the dirt. The detector had actually lived up to its claims. He ran the search head over the hole and got another signal, slightly to the left. He clawed at the soil to remove another large piece of rusty steel.

  No way was he giving up now. With the ferrous metal out of the way he swept the search head over the hole again, and got several sharp signals over an area the size of a large doormat.

  Soon he had ten small cylinders side by side on the wet grass, looking like a row of golden candles. Berlitzan oil.

  For a moment he paused, wondering how his father and his grandfather had felt when they brought these cylinders here on a night like this. Albert B. Heinman, president of Domestic Chemicals Incorporated, 1921 to 1944. He could show a moment's respect for the old bastard, the grandfather he'd never known.

  The wail was not a ghost of the departed. He leapt to his feet. The French gendarmes were coming -- or one of the emergency services. The driver of the noisy car must have been watching and had gone for help. He grabbed the gold.

  His Citroen was parked just round the corner. As he reached the security gate someone slipped across the road, caught for a moment in the floodlights, before disappearing into the reed beds.

  It looked like Rider, Matt Rider, the English PI. Hell, his father wanted him dead. The man was trouble. He raised his Glock and fired three shots in rapid succession. As the nine-millimeter rounds ripped through the reeds he turned and raced towards his car.

  In the confusion he fell, and the small cylinders flew from his gloves as he sprawled across the grass verge. Someone shouted from the reeds and the siren got closer.

  One small cylinder had gone, but the rest were within reach. He snatched them up. Nine out of ten were better than nothing. The expensive detector would have to stay. He fired two more shots towards the shouting then flung the Glock and his gloves into the reeds. If he was stopped he wanted to be clean.

  The siren was coming from the west. He would drive east.

  Chapter 18

  ONE OF THE shots missed him by less than a yard as he dove into the reeds. Matt watched the white Citroen accelerate in a shower of loose grit seconds before the gendarmes' car skidded to a halt with its wheels locked. Why so much noise? The siren had been clear for a couple of miles.

  Perhaps something good had come from the American's panic. Out there in the reeds was a small gold cylinder. It was the proof he needed to establish DCI's criminal past. He ran towards the black car as a very tall gendarme jumped out pointing a black handgun.

  "Halt!" the man shouted.

  Matt raised his open hands. He'd not expected this. The gendarme's handgun looked like the latest MR38 Special, a powerful weapon. "The American went that way!" He pointed down the road.

  The tall man kept the gun pointed in his direction. "Stay where you are, monsieur. We have a report of a shooting."

  Matt felt like screaming. Instead, he spoke slowly in the best French he could manage. "The man in the white Citroen is an American. He had a gun and he shot the guard. His name is Jason Heinman."

  The second gendarme, a short man with a cigarette hanging from his mouth, climbed slowly from the car. "Stand very still, monsieur. Alphonse is a good shot."

  With Alphonse holding the handgun, the short man walked forward and caught hold of Matt's arm, twisting it behind his back.

  Matt struggled ineffectively to break away. "Listen to me. I saw the American shoot the guard. Then he tried to shoot me."

  "An American? You saw him shoot the guard, monsieur?" The tall gendarme called Alphonse sounded skeptical.

  "Well, no, I didn't see him, but I heard the shot."

  "The shot?"

  "Yes, the shot." Matt knew his French wasn't that bad. It seemed impossible to communicate with these two men.

  "You have a gun, monsieur?" The grip on his shoulder strengthened. "Search him, Alphonse."

  "Of course I don't have a gun," Matt protested. "My girlfriend was here with me. She phoned you."

  Alphonse came forward and pulled Zoé's knife from Matt's pocket. "Look, the innocent foreigner has a weapon."

  "You're letting the murderer get away!" He knew his impatience was an invitation to the small gendarme to increase the pressure of the grip still further. He tried again to break free.

  "Do not escape, monsieur. If you run away, I will have to shoot you."

  More than likely Alphonse meant it. All foreigners were automatically guilty. He had no intention of becoming a victim of a shoot first, and ask questions later, policy. The other gendarme picked up Jason Heinman's metal detector.

  "My girlfriend is coming," Matt said. There was no mistaking the sound of the fractured exhaust.

  Zoé pulled the Mini to a halt in front of the gates. She turned the key and the engine died with a cough and a rattle. The exhaust system had not only been weakened by her earlier raccourci, it sounded as though it had broken away completely.

  Alphonse shone a flashlight into Zoé's face. "Step out of the car, mademoiselle. Please."

  Matt stayed motionless, held tightly by the small gendarme.

  "Do what he says, Zoé. They suspect us of something."

  Alphonse laughed. "We do, monsieur. We suspect you of midnight treasure hunting. This is a very expensive detector."

  His little partner joined in. "I think we have come just in time, Alphonse. Now we have to find what has happened to Henri and Pierre. They are good friends of ours. I hope you have not harmed them, mes amis."

  Zoé stood beside the Mini with the door held half open. "Where is Jason 'Einman?" she demanded.

  "He got away. The police are the same everywhere -- they won't listen." Matt turned to the gendarme holding him. "You have to set up roadblocks."

  The gendarme tossed his head. "You are a policeman?"

  "A private investigator. Yes, I used to be a policeman. If you go to our car you will find my camera under the passenger seat. I have taken photographs of the man you want."

  "Ah, a private dick with a camera. But you must leave the investigating to us, I think. Come, Alphonse, we will go into the compound and find Henri and Pierre. The Englishman will walk in front of us. The young lady will keep close to us."

  Alphonse laughed. "As close as possible."

  Matt knew there was no longer any urgency. Jason Heinman would be far away after such a waste of time, but the guard's body should convince these two men that a serious crime had been committed. Once they found the body, things would move fast.

  *

  THE HOTEL CAR park had a few spaces left, but Jason wanted to avoid someone seeing him arrive. He drove past the hotel and parked the Citroen in an unlit side street two blocks away. The dashboard clock said eleven-eighteen. There'd be a major alert on by now, with all hotel car parks being searched, and roadblocks in place.

  He had nine gold small cylinders of Berlitzan oil in his pockets. It was time to fac
e his father.

  He was reluctant to knock too hard on the bedroom door, afraid of waking the other guests. When at last his father opened it, with just enough of a gap to allow the caller to speak, he pushed his way through. His father stood in pale green silk pajamas, looking confused.

  "We have to get out of here," Jason said urgently. "The cops are coming for us."

  "Tell me what you're talking about. Slowly." His father sounded bewildered after being asleep. "Why would the cops want us?"

  "The French cops, the gendarmes. I had to kill the guard at the compound. He..."

  "Sit down, Jason." His father wiped his hands in the bed cover. "You've fouled up over something. Tell me about it -- in simple words."

  "Okay, so I killed a guard." He shrugged, and forced an embarrassed smile. "I went back to the missile site."

  "What the hell were you doing there at this time of night?"

  "I went back."

  "I know you went back. You've told me that a hundred times." His father slipped off his pajama jacket and began to put his arms into his shirt sleeves.

  "I wanted to see if there was any gold left."

  "You're a fool, boy. I told you to leave it alone."

  "It was DCI gold. If a Dutchman could find it, so could the cops -- or the army. I'm the president of DCI now, and I don't want evidence left in the ground."

  "You're still a fool." His father pulled his pants up and fumbled with the zip. His right arm made the movement difficult. "If you've killed a guard, I can't keep the cops off you. I can't risk being implicated."

  "The hell you can't." He felt angry. "If they pick me up, they'll tie you in with that murder in England."

  His father just nodded.

  "They'll stitch us both up for this." He felt his voice shaking with panic.

  "Not necessarily, Jason. Not necessarily." His father only had his socks to put on now. "Did the cops see you?"

  "No."

  "Then I suggest we pay Sophie a visit. You know where she lives?"

  "I don't know for sure."

  "You told me."

  "Okay, so I saw Rider's car outside a house near here. He was with an old woman, but I've not checked if she's called Sophie. Hell, I didn't know you were going to kill her tonight."

  "But I said..."

  "I know what you said." Jason went to the window and pulled the drapes apart. The car park was quiet. He let them fall back. "Okay, so I probably know where she lives. Great. We go and waste her now -- and the gendarmes stop looking for us? Are you crazy?"

  "You always were slow, Jason. We don't waste her; we use her. She watched that English soldier murder my father in the war. She's hardly going to be on his side."

  "Why should she remember you?"

  "She'll remember me on the bunk. Hell, Jason, it wasn't my fault. I was too scared to touch her. But I can remind her about my father getting killed with the grenade."

  Jason sneered. "Remind her? I wouldn't think she's forgotten something like that. Then what?"

  "If she's friendly we give her money. Ask her for an alibi for tonight. She can say we spent the evening with her. That will get you in the clear."

  "And if she's not friendly?"

  His father nodded.

  *

  WHEN THE gendarmes found the body of Pierre Delois on the floor of the cabin, their suspicion against Matt and Zoé intensified. Matt tried again to convince the two men that he'd been a witness to the crime, rather than the perpetrator.

  "There's a small gold cylinder in the reeds. Find it. It's too dangerous to leave lying around," he explained.

  "Gold?" snapped the small gendarme, still holding Matt by the shoulder. They had now discovered his name was Charles. "Is that what you came for, treasure hunter?" He pushed Matt into the corner of the small cabin where the body of the guard had now been covered with a large yellow waterproof coat.

  "Stop it!" Zoé's scream brought everyone to silence. "You do not want to know the truth!" She sounded furious.

  Alphonse laughed brusquely. "Is that so? Charles is going outside to look for Henri Giray. We think you have murdered him, too."

  Matt had met stubborn policemen before; even been one himself. He'd never persuade these two men to be impartial. "Can we use your radio?" He asked the question in what he hoped was a reasonable voice.

  Alphonse began to pick his teeth with a dirty matchstick. "Damn bits of chicken. You took me away from my supper." It sounded as though he considered this the greater crime.

  "Get in touch with your headquarters," insisted Zoé. "Perhaps someone there has enough sense to listen to us."

  Alphonse nodded in agreement. "I have already been in touch. We are to wait for the forensic team. Someone will listen all right. Le magistrat -- in the morning. Treasure hunting on this site is bad enough, but murder is a crime for a life sentence, mademoiselle."

  A shout broke the silence of the compound. Alphonse raised his MR38. With the handgun pointed at Matt he opened the door. "Do not move, monsieur. I think perhaps my partner Charles has found the second body."

  Charles ran towards the hut and stopped in the doorway. A slight mist had formed, and the high intensity halogen floodlights made a halo around the small gendarme. "Arrest these two," he said breathlessly.

  "A double murder?" Alphonse seemed almost excited by the prospect. Probably they didn't regularly catch criminals this easily.

  "Just the one so far. But I have found their gold -- and a Glock. Regardez!" The gendarme held up the gold small cylinder and a dull black handgun in his gloved hands.

  "Be careful!" warned Matt. "Prenez garde! That gold is dangerous."

  "Gold is dangerous, monsieur?" Big Alphonse clearly didn't believe such nonsense. "It is dangerous for murderers, perhaps, because it is evidence. It will get you the death sentence for this. Innocent men do not carry a Glock." He took the black plastic-cased handgun from Charles, using a stylo to hold it by the end of the barrel, and put it on the table. Then, holding his MR38 handgun, Alphonse shoved Matt out through the door. "Get into the car, monsieur. And you, mademoiselle. We are locking you both up for the night."

  Charles began to examine the gold cylinder as he smoked a foul smelling cigarette. "I think perhaps this is what the Dutchman found." His eyes narrowed as he considered the implications of his statement. "It was lost in the fighting, but the description is the same. A gold candle, but no one could find it. See, private policeman, we are not as stupid as you would like to believe. You have come back here and committed a murder, just to find this gold."

  "Perhaps two murders." Alphonse yawned as he picked up the handset for the radio. "We will tell headquarters to hurry up and send someone to search the site. In the meantime we will get these two murderers down to the gendarmerie."

  Charles began to twist the cap. "It is like a candle, but the end comes off."

  "Non!" Matt jerked his hand out and snatched at the gold cylinder.

  Alphonse turned his MR38 in his hand and gripped it by the barrel, hitting Matt a sharp blow on the side of the head with the butt. "Keep still, monsieur!"

  "Lache!" snapped Zoé.

  Matt lay back in the car seat. He could feel blood running from above his left ear, warm on his cool skin, but he was afraid to move his hand to wipe it. Alphonse was a sadistic psychopath. "There is a dangerous chemical inside," he explained slowly. "Do not remove the top."

  Alphonse raised his eyebrows. "So the treasure hunter is an ammunitions expert?" He laughed again. "Oh, monsieur, your head is bleeding. You must be more careful, monsieur!"

  Charles threw the butt of his cigarette out of the car window. "Perhaps the Englishman is right. Perhaps we should treat it with care."

  Matt could sense the mood changing.

  "Very well, monsieur." Charles carefully placed the small cylinder on the dashboard. It rolled forward and his hands snatched at it nervously. "Yes, perhaps it is dangerous. We will call our chief at home and he can get some expert help. We have read the confi
dential report of the incident at this site. It does make sense what you say. But you have both made a big mistake in coming here with your gun and detector."

  "You're the ones who have made the mistake." Matt said bitterly. "You should be looking for an American called Jason Heinman. He's driving a white Citroen from the Garage de Saint Somer. I've already told you, there are photos of him in my camera. It's in the car."

  "My friend knows what he is talking about," insisted Zoé. "He is a private investigator. You have made a big mistake, messieurs."

  Alphonse laughed loudly. "And you have made a bigger mistake, mademoiselle. You have been caught!"

  "Sophie Boissant!" Matt felt a sudden fear for the old woman.

  Zoé put her hand to her mouth. "I hope she listened to us and moved out."

  "Be quiet!" shouted Alphonse. "My partner is speaking to headquarters on the radio."

  "Tell them to go to the house of an old woman," said Matt. "It is most urgent."

  "I told you to be quiet, monsieur. It is almost midnight. There will be plenty of time to sort it out in the morning."

  Matt turned sideways to look at the tall gendarme who was still picking his teeth, and was probably ready to use the butt of his gun again. He had to risk getting hit a second time. "I have Sophie Boissant's address. Tell your headquarters to go to her house."

  Alphonse lifted his gun from his lap. "Be silent, monsieur. You are to wait here until our chief arrives to assess the danger."

  "And while we are waiting, they will murder an old woman!" Zoé showed how angry she was, and not for the first time.

  "And who are they?" asked Alphonse in amusement.

  "Two Americans," said Matt.

  "Ah, there are two Americans now. And are they both murderers?" Alphonse's voice was heavy with sarcasm and disbelief.

  "Let me talk to your chief on the radio," demanded Matt.

  Alphonse yawned. "There is no hurry, monsieur." He shrugged his broad shoulders and yawned again. "I assure you, nothing is going to happen to the old woman while we are waiting. Captain Lacoste says he will be here within the hour."

  Chapter 19

  JASON WATCHED his father pull the drapes aside for yet another look into the street. If he pulled at them once more he'd hit him. "Leave them alone, you stupid fool, it's nearly midnight. You might as well be flashing the light on and off as a signal. I thought we were going to see Sophie."