Diamondhead (57 page)

Read Diamondhead Online

Authors: Patrick Robinson

Tags: #Suspense, #Fiction, #Political, #Thrillers, #Weapons industry, #War & Military, #Assassination, #Iraq War; 2003-

“Which of course he has,” said Varonne. “Show him in.”
 
One minute later the reporter and the detective faced each other across the desk. “Monsieur Varonne,” said Étienne, “this morning two murders were committed in Brittany, and I believe the police are deliberately withholding this information. I am here to ask you why.”
 
“Look, Étienne, we’ve known each other a while now, and as far as I know, neither of us has done the other one bit of harm.”
 
“I agree.”
 
“So, before we continue, I would like to get the ground rules straight. This is not my case, but I will tell you what I know, if the entire conversation is to be on the record. If, however, you want my help, my advice, and my guidance, there are certain matters that cannot be attributed. And certain matters that you must keep to yourself, for the moment. You may find the first course of action the easiest.”
 
“No, Monsieur Varonne. I would appreciate your guidance, and I will accept some of what you say is off the record.”
 

D’accord.
I will not allow a tape recorder, but you may take accurate notes. However, when I say put down that pen, you will put it down, and then just listen.”
 
“I agree. Before we start I already have the names and addresses of the two deceased, Marcel and Raymond. I would like to ask if the police have any idea who perpetrated the crime.”
 
“Yes, we do. Late last night the coast guard received a signal from the British that a fishing boat out of Brixham was on the run in the Channel driven by a large black-bearded foreigner who had apparently thrown the crew overboard.”
 
“All of them!”
 
“There were only two. Anyway, the coast guard chased this fishing boat, a sixty-five-foot dragger named
Eagle,
inshore, and put out an alert that it was plainly going to land in Val André. However, in the morning mist they lost the
Eagle,
but the man did come ashore sometime after 6:00 A.M. At 9:00 A.M. the bodies of the two men were found on the beach. And at 11:00 A.M. the proprietor of the local garage confirmed he had sold a vehicle for cash to a big man with long black hair and a black beard, the precise description of the hijacker we got from the Brits.”
 
“Was there any identification on the car registration documents?”
 
“Yes. He was, or seemed to be, Gunther Marc Roche, a Swiss national with a Swiss driver’s license, of 18 rue de Basle, Geneva. All those details turned out to be false. But the French police have launched a nationwide search for the car he purchased from Laporte. So far it has not been located.”
 
“So, basically, we have a murder hunt for a foreign national who murdered a couple of guys at this vacation town on the ocean?”
 
“Not quite. And now you may put down your pen. Because what I am going to tell you is only a tip-off. You must establish the facts from another source.”
 
Étienne put down his pen and sat back.
 
“The two men who were murdered,” said the detective inspector, “were the private bodyguards of Monsieur Henri Foche.”
 
The reporter’s eyebrows shot skyward. “Non!” he said, an electric bolt of excitement lancing through his entire body.
 
“Oui!” said the detective. “Both men worked for him full-time and had done so for several years. The late Marcel was a true confidant of our Gaullist leader.”
 
Monsieur Varonne paused and looked down at his desk. Then he looked up and said, “But, Étienne, there is something else. A few days ago we were given a tip-off there was a threat against Monsieur Foche’s life, and it may emanate from England. The coincidence of this renegade ship-stealing maniac from the UK, landing in Val André, and being met by Foche’s guards is too much.”
 
Étienne weighed the difference between a huge front-page story, maybe the biggest he had ever written, and the alternative of a story on page 7, a minor murder and a modest headline. “Are you forbidding me to use it?” he asked.
 
Varonne replied, “Absolutely not. But I have tipped you the truth, and you must find a way to establish it from another source. My advice would be to try Detective Inspector Paul Ravel in Saint-Malo, and then Henri Foche himself.”
 
“I’m still not sure why you are so jumpy about it,” said Étienne. “The murders are public. Their employment details surely cannot be kept secret for long. I can’t see the fuss.”
 
“And that is essentially why I sit in this chair and you have to run around writing silly stories,” said Varonne. “Now pay attention. We have a killer on the loose somewhere in France. He has committed two murders today, and may commit more. But his target may be the next president of France, and we do not wish to make it any easier for him than it already is.”
 
“How do you mean?”
 
“First, we do not wish to alert him that we are on his trail. We don’t want him to know we are aware he’s after Foche. We want him to be confident. That way he’ll make a mistake. But things cannot be kept under wraps. And when you found out something was going on, then you had to be told the truth.”
 
Étienne stood up and thanked the inspector. But before he went he asked one last question. “Sir, what was the cause of death?”
 
“I was told he broke both their necks. But so far as I am concerned, that is unconfirmed. Try the police mortuary up the road. The pathologist is in there now.”
 
“Thank you, Monsieur Varonne. Thank you very much.”
 
By eight Étienne had spoken to Paul Ravel, who was not prepared to tell a lie, however badly the police wanted the matter kept under wraps. And while he did not offer much, he did confirm the facts. Étienne then called Henri Foche at home, and the politician also confirmed that Marcel and Raymond did indeed work for him and had for several years. Yes, he did understand there had been a threat to his life. But no, he had not detailed his men to go to Val André. However, his men always worked very closely with the police department, and he imagined there had been some cooperation when the hijacker’s landing place was established.
 
Henri Foche had no intention of upsetting
Le Monde,
and Étienne rang off happy that he had parted on good terms with the next president of France. He now had sufficient information to write a very polished front-page splash for his newspaper. He called the night editor at eight thirty, and filed immediately. His story read:
Millionaire Henri Foche, the Gaullist front-runner for the presidency of France, was in shock last night after learning that his two personal bodyguards and close friends had been savagely murdered on a Brittany beach early yesterday morning.
 
The dead men are Marcel Joffre and Raymond Dunant, both in their early thirties and residents of Brittany’s capital city, Rennes. Police believe death was caused in both cases by an expert in unarmed combat who broke their necks. Marcel also had been blinded in both eyes, and Raymond’s right arm was snapped in half at the elbow.
 
At the time of death the men were armed with heavy-duty service revolvers, though neither gun had been fired. Detective Inspector Paul Ravel of the Saint-Malo Police Department assumed command of the case this morning, following a visit to the scene of the crime by the chief of the Brittany force, Pierre Savary, himself a close friend of Monsieur Foche.
 
The bodies were discovered by two young boys who were attracted by Raymond’s handgun, which was lying on the sand. One of them fired it and blew out a neighbor’s bedroom window. “We were lucky he didn’t kill someone,” observed Detective Inspector Ravel.
 
At first police suspected a terrorist involvement, since Monsieur Foche is a director of an international arms manufacturer in the field of guided missiles. He is known to have Middle Eastern business connections. But by lunchtime no Islamic extremist organization had claimed credit for the murders.
 
As the afternoon wore on, a tale of much deeper intrigue became apparent. In the past two weeks, an elaborate plot by a foreign power to assassinate Monsieur Foche has been bubbling below the surface. Police and private bodyguards have been placed on high alert to deal with it.
 
All signs pointed to the threat emanating from Great Britain, though it was not thought the British were in any way involved. Someone, however, intended to launch an attempt on his life, and the source, police say, came from London.
 
Nothing definite emerged until last night when the British put out an SOS for a stolen fishing trawler, from which the crew had been hurled overboard. The description of the man who perpetrated this crime fitted that of the suspect in the double slaying at Val André beach. Tall, Caucasian, powerful, black curly hair, thick black beard. He is believed to be of Swiss origin. The trawler is still missing.
 
 
 
Étienne did as he was instructed and left out all references to the car and the police manhunt in progress. But essentially he was out in front with the story, with the press pack on both sides of the English Channel trying to catch up.
Le Monde
led their first edition with the scoop.
 
All day a stratospheric level of gossip was winging its way across France from the residents of Val André. By nine that night even the notoriously sluggish newsrooms of the television stations were on the case. The state-owned France 2 led their 10:00 P.M. bulletin with “The Mysterious Events on Val André Beach.” As a general rule, when television news broadcasts use the word “mysterious,” it means they have only the remotest idea what they are talking about, and no one is very anxious to help them out.
 
A growling
Le Monde,
in search of the truth
,
might strike fear into the heart of the steeliest French policeman, whereas television news has an ephemeral quality that can be fobbed off—
I’m sorry, there is a government inquiry pending on that. We can say nothing at this time. . . .
 
Nonetheless, France 2 somehow got a few facts into gear and offered the public an interview with the lady in Val André whose bedroom window had been shattered by the gun-wielding young Vincent Dupres, aged eleven. The lady confirmed there were two men lying on the beach. In her opinion they were dead, but she had no idea how or why.
 
Detective Inspector Paul Ravel told the television reporters almost nothing except that there were circumstances that laid themselves open to the gravest suspicions. Yes, a helicopter from Rennes Police Department had flown up to Val André. No, he could not reveal the names of the dead men until next of kin had been informed. Yes, the police were hunting for the killer, but had not yet located him.
 
When the first editions of
Le Monde
came up in a few hours, the France 2 news editor threatened to fire about seven people.
 
Thus, the cat peeped out of the bag at around 10:15, but it did not leap out, red in tooth and claw, until the small hours. And of course the small hours in France are not the small hours in the USA.
 
It was only 8:30 P.M. when the newsroom of Fox Television in New York picked up the developing story in France—and the part that grabbed them was the revelation that someone was planning to assassinate the Gaullist leader, Henri Foche, who was certain to become the next president of France. That was terrific. And it got better. The double murder of Foche’s personal bodyguards on the beach at Val André. The black-bearded killer, on the run, after hijacking the fishing boat. The near certainty that this was the man who was coming after Foche. Is that a massive story or what?
 
Oh la la! Holy shit! BREAKING NEWS! BREAKING NEWS!
The Fox foreign editor would gladly have kissed far-away Étienne Brix, whose byline adorned the
Le Monde
lead.

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