Hands of the Traitor (24 page)

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 face 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."