Hands of the Traitor (31 page)

"Speak in English, not French," he
reminded her. "And whatever they say, don't take no for an
answer."

Zoé smiled. "The determined
English pharmacist
-- that is me." She raised a finger as the phone was
answered. "'Ello, I have to contact Monsieur F. B. 'Einman urgently
... Yes, I know he is not with you, but I have an important message
for him. Put me through to a private secretary
immediately."

She breathed out heavily and waited
for the secretary to answer.

"'Ello," said Zoé, raising her voice so it
sounded confident. "This is the pharmacist of Monsieur F. B.
'Einman in London. There has been a serious problem with Monsieur
'Einman's medication ... Yes, it could be extremely serious in view
of his age. I have to contact him immediately. He told me he was
going to Geneva with the company president. ... Yes, that is what
he said. So I thought ... Excuse me, but surely you are not taking
responsibility for ... You are right, you cannot possibly make
medical decisions like that. If Monsieur 'Einman becomes seriously
ill because you ... Ah yes, that is good."

Zoé caught Matt's eye, but she was so
taken up in acting the part that she didn't even smile. "How soon
until he arrives? ... It is most important I know exactly when you
will be contacting Monsieur 'Einman about his medicine ... Who?
Monsieur Urquet? Yes, of course you must tell Monsieur Urquet about
it. I do not think you realize the implications of a
delay."

Matt listened in astonishment. He
guessed she'd do the job well, but Zoé was so involved in playing
the part that she seemed to have actually become the pharmacist.
She knew when to snap at the secretary with exactly the right
amount of impatience.

Zoé stopped talking and there seemed
to be silence at the other end. Then she started speaking again.
"All right, if you are sure he will be with you this evening I will
send a fax ... No, no problem now, thank you ... Yes, and you have
a nice day, too."

Matt clenched both fists and laughed
out loud. "You were brilliant, Zoé. You hardly sounded French." He
took the phone and punched in a few random numbers. "I don't want
to make it too easy for Lacoste to find out who we've been phoning.
Now, tell me about it."

"The American secretary in Geneva, she
believed it all," said Zoé, smiling at last. She gave a little
giggle to relieve the tension. "There is someone called Simon
Urquet working at the Geneva office. He is, I think, the most
senior man there, but he is only visiting from New York. The
secretary spoke to him and he told her to get me to send a fax
ready for the 'Einmans."

Matt nodded. "Sounds like father and
son are expected."

"And now?"

"We don't bother messing about with a fax.
We concentrate on getting there first -- and hope Urquet is a man
with a conscience."

Zoé frowned. "Why did you say I hardly
sounded French? I was speaking English."

"You sounded very efficient." Matt
decided to change the subject. He'd not mentioned Zoé's heavy
French accent before, and had no intention of starting now. "Tell
me, were all the cars museum pieces?" He kicked the front tire of
the large Renault.

"This was
his best," said Zoé. "In a car
like this you will discover just how big this country is. You
English come over here with your little road maps and think you can
get from one side of France to the other in two or three
hours."

"I know how big France is," Matt said.
"I only hope this fossil holds together for the journey. It's got a
local department registration, so we're probably breaking the law
by taking it out of the area."

"Are you going to thank me for the
Renault or not?" demanded Zoé. "I went to a lot of trouble to get
it for you."

Sophie Boissant sat in the back of the
old car with a perplexed look on her face. "We are going
somewhere?" she inquired politely.

Matt opened the rear door and took
hold of her arm. "Come on, Sophie, we have to climb under the
blankets and hide."

Zoé turned round from the driving
seat. "All the way to Geneva," she added.

Sophie coughed politely and tapped Zoé on
the shoulder. "Excuse me for saying so, mademoiselle, but I think
it would be a mistake for me to be covered over with the young man
for the next few hours -- pleasant though it would be. If I sit
with you in the front I will make the car less suspicious. Whatever
is happening around here, two women on their own are not going to
be stopped."

"That's good," said Matt. He let
Sophie into the front then stood in the track listening for police
sirens. There had been nothing for the past few minutes.

"Tell me, Zoé," he could hear Sophie
saying, "you like Matthieu. But I think the two of you are not
lovebirds."

Matt stayed where he was.

"Lovebirds? Of course not," he
overheard Zoé answer.

"You like Matthieu very much, I think.
But there is a problem, which is why you hold back."

"I already have someone. In Clermont
Ferrand. I am helping Matt, and that is all."

"No, Zoé, that is not all. You
are in a dilemma over two men,
n'est ce pas?
You know you have to make a big
decision in your life."

"What sort of big
decision?"

"Only one man is right for
you,
ma
chère
.
Sometimes it is hard to turn a man away, but you must do it if you
have serious doubts."

Matt stood still, hardly believing
what he was hearing; but Zoé said nothing more. He got slowly into
the back seat and had to slam the door four times before it
latched. Probably Zoé didn't know he'd overheard her exchange with
Sophie. He'd say nothing, but he'd remember the sting that came in
those words.

Lovebirds? Of course
not!
If Zoé
had doubts, which man would she turn away?

"All right, Zoé, step on
it."

"You worry too much." She shook
her head sadly and adjusted the yellow headscarf. "Always in the
hurry. We will wait here until the
gendarmes
have stopped rushing about in their little
cars. They will soon tire of their game and go into town to bother
the motorists going too fast."

"Going too fast is something they'll
never stop this car for," said Matt with a long sigh, trying to
make light of the realization that he had misread Zoé's interest in
him. "We have to get to Geneva today or we'll be too
late."

"Then we must go on the
autoroute
," said Zoé. "But that, I think, is where the
gendarmes
will be looking for
us."

Mat sat with the blanket round his
shoulders, ready to dive for cover if necessary. "They'll not stop
every car, it would cause too big a hold-up. I can lie under the
blanket every time we come to a toll. I've got some cash, so we
won't need to use my card." Perhaps Zoé hadn't said much to Sophie
because she wanted to keep their friendship secret. Perhaps she ...
Perhaps she really did want Florian.

Sophie chatted away in the front like
a thing wound up as they set off. Matt wished she'd drop off to
sleep. Most old people dropped off to sleep in the car. Sophie
didn't seem old though. She was as sharp as they came.

The next few hours were
critical. Unless they could get to DCI in Geneva before the
Heinmans flew back to America, escaping from the
gendarmes
was a pointless
move. There was no way they could go into hiding for the rest of
their lives. Even a long prison sentence was preferable to a life
on the run. The guillotine probably hadn't been used for
ages.

"Here is the
autoroute
." Zoé changed down a gear for the roundabout and made a
complete mess of it. The clutch was weak and the gearbox grated in
protest at the sudden movement. "Oops, the brother of Philippe will
not like it if I wreck his lovely car."

The sign ahead pointed to the
A26, the
autoroute
that would lead them eventually to the A1 -- the main route
to Paris and the south. Matt studied a torn map of
autoroute
service areas he'd
found on the back seat of the Renault. Beyond Paris the A26 was
called the
Autoroute de Soleil
, the gateway to the south. The
gendarmes
could be waiting at
the top of the slip road if they joined it here.

"Did you say wreck his car?" queried
Matt. "The gearbox is about the only thing that's not already
wrecked. Go round again then off onto the N43. We'll stay on minor
roads until we're closer to Paris."

"Good thinking," Zoé said anxiously.
"I can see a police car at the top. Get back under your
blanket."

Chapter
24

JASON HAD
been driving for half an hour,
still trying to come to adjust to a British Volvo with the wheel on
the wrong side.

"I'm stopping," he announced suddenly.
"I want to check if the tailgate is properly shut. We can ditch
this junk at the same time." He turned to glance at the food boxes
and camping gear covered unevenly with red and green tartan
rugs.

His father sounded as though he was
still in a panic. "Get back on the highway, boy, we're not ditching
anything. Those French cops will never know what happened back
there if we take the evidence with us."

Jason wasn't going to admit it aloud,
but his father was thinking well for an old man. Soon they'd be on
wider highways and able to blend in with other vehicles. He checked
the mirror and glanced at the instrument panel for the first
time.

"The tight-fisted sod has let the tank
nearly run dry," he protested. "I expect gas is cheaper back in
England. We'll have to stop at the first gas station we
see."

His father unfolded the French route
map the woman had been using and held it on his lap. "There's more
than one way to Geneva. I can see a freeway round Paris, but we
have to go on pikes to get there. We won't risk it. They'll have
French cops at the toll booths."

Jason laughed. "They'll not be looking
for a Volvo."

"They'll be looking for someone with a
damn fool beard and a gray pony tail."

Jason felt riled and he pulled his
baseball cap lower over his eyes. "This is a proper Heinman beard."
He needn't say any more. Those few words made the point.

"Gas station coming up. You'd better
stop." His father's response sounded equally curt.

"Use cash; don't use your card,"
warned Jason. "I'm going to phone Urquet and let him know we've
been delayed."

While his father filled the tank,
Jason went to the payphone and rang Hammid Aziz. He had two gold
cylinders for the arms trader, which left six to take back to the
States for analysis. Aziz sounded pleased and agreed to meet at
Geneva airport in the evening. Things were going well at
last.

He then rang Simon Urquet at the
Geneva office and explained that they were running late but still
wanted to leave for America as soon as possible. Urquet said the
Gulfstream would be in Switzerland by six.

With the tank full, his father studied
the map again. "There's a good route that misses Paris. We go on
minor highways to a place called Reims, then get on the A26. There
won't be police checks that far out. We'll not be in Geneva till
late, that's for sure. It's about as far as driving from New York
to Detroit."

"Just don't go making any mis..."
Jason stopped in mid word as his father fell forward, his face
crashing into the route map spread open on his lap.

In the back of the car the lunatic
with the chains grinned, the rugs draped over his shoulders. In his
hands he held a length of chain. The dark links glistened with
blood.

"
Mes amis,
" the drug crazed barbarian yelled through
stained, yellow teeth. "
Vous etes mes amis!
" And he shrieked with
laughter.

*

SADIQUE WAS
enjoying himself. There had
been just one good fix left in Jean Paul's truck and it made him
drowsy. The big car made a good hiding place. The light had hurt
his eyes, but the rugs helped make the place dark. The ride was
soothing, the hum of the engine comforting. He pulled the rugs back
and looked at the trees silhouetted against the blue of the
sky.

People who could give him this much
pleasure must be good friends. As he sat up he saw the back of the
old man's head. The chain was a good friend, too. The two good
friends must meet.

He was surprised to see the blood. It
had only been a playful blow, so why did his new friend fall
forward? He shouted in excitement. "My friends. You are my
friends!" Then he laughed in delight. These two men were nice. He
would tie them up and they could all have fun. He would enjoy it
when they started to scream.

"Stop the car," he ordered.

Why did these friends have trouble in
understanding what he said?