The Blood Promise: A Hugo Marston Novel (33 page)

“How can you tell?”

“Well, after the revolution in France the new regime conducted an exhaustive census. Actually they got the idea from us Brits, basing it on the one in 1086 ordered by William the Conqueror.”

“Which produced the
Domesday Book
.”

“Right, same idea. Interestingly, it was much less well organized, to the point where the same towns and villages got recorded twice within months of each other. Most of the information was the same, of course, but if people moved about in that time, well, it was essentially recorded. That’s what happened here.”

“And those records were kept?”

“It’s so weird how Americans think two hundred years ago is a long time. I mean, we have the
Domesday Book
from a thousand years ago, so yes, those records were kept.”

Hugo smiled. “Thanks for the lecture.”

“Welcome. Anyway, the ones that moved out were a husband, wife, and their son. They moved to Marseille and filled out the right forms which got put in a box for a hundred years, then got put onto microfiche, and finally scanned into a computer sometime in the modern age. And for the record, whoever made that family tree that you sent me had figured it out, I’m guessing. So many records are digitized now that if you have the right access, you can trace people quite well, even that long ago and especially when they move countries.”

“Wait, you’re telling me the Bassin family left their house for Marseille, and then moved abroad?”

“That, my Yank friend, is interesting part number two.”

The moment he got off the phone with Merlyn, he called Tom, leaving a hasty message when his friend didn’t pick up. “Where are you? I need some help. Listen, find Senator Lake and stick with him. I don’t care if he throws a fit or not, just keep eyes on him. And call me when you get this.”

He then tried Lieutenant Lerens, who answered immediately. “Hugo, I was about to call. Where are you?”

“Heading to the embassy. Did you get something on Alexie Tourville?”

“Yes. We tried pinging her phone after getting the number from her brother, but had no luck. However, one of our junior detectives was going through the papers we collected from her apartment and found bills for a second cell phone. You’ll never guess who she’s been in contact with?”

“I’m ahead of you on that one,” Hugo said. “Senator Lake.”

“Yes, how did you know?”

“It’s a long story, but we need to find both of them as soon as possible.”

“Well, Lake left yesterday evening. He flew to London so he could get on the
Queen Mary II
.”

“He’s taking the boat back to America?”

“Yep. Doesn’t like flying, apparently. I spoke to Ambassador Taylor, he said Lake had talked about the romance of a transatlantic crossing. Mysterious and romantic, he said. He’s a strange man, your senator.”

“He’s graduated from strange, I’m afraid. But his leaving is not good news.”

“Why not?”

“Long story. You were saying that Alexie Tourville has a second phone.”

“Oh, right. We got the number from the bill and we’re pinging it. As we speak, quite literally. I wanted to make sure you were available in case we got a hit.” She paused. “And here we go . . . hold on, I think it’s the tech people.” She went quiet for a full minute, then came back. “Still with me?”

“I am.”

“Good. We’re on the way to the embassy to pick you up. She’s heading south. We should be able to catch up with her before she gets too far, but we need to hurry.”

“I’ll wait outside. Just open the door and I’ll jump in.”

Tom called back as Hugo stood on the Place de la Concorde, waiting for Lieutenant Lerens.

“The
Queen Mary
, eh? Nice,” said Tom.

“Can you get someone on board, security, to check on him?”

“Probably. What are you afraid of?”

“I just want to make sure he’s safe.” Hugo waved an arm as a procession of three white police cars, lights flashing but sirens quiet for now, split the traffic and headed toward the sidewalk where he stood. “And Tom, if you can wave your magic wand and get yourself on board, do it.”

“I’m not following.”

“And I’m not going to be any less subtle. Nice day for a boat ride, Tom. Take a hint.” He hung up as the passenger door of the middle car opened. He slid in and the three cars immediately took off again.

“Ready for a chase?” Lerens asked.

“Always.”

Lerens nodded and picked up the handset for her radio. She spoke to the cars in front and behind, using a number code Hugo didn’t recognize. In unison, the sirens began to wail and the growing rush-hour traffic slowed and parted in front of them, promising a fast-track exit from Paris.

“Do you know how far she is?” Hugo asked as they swept alongside the river, the magnificent cathedral of Notre Dame looming to their right.

“Not far. She made a stop just a few minutes ago in the Thirteenth, was there a while. We’re keeping tabs with a police chopper. If she gets too far south we’ll use local cops, too, just have them stay a couple of miles back. The chopper is high enough she won’t see or hear it, and the pilot has been told to report in every five minutes with her location.”

“Do we know why she stopped?”

“Underground garage, so no, but we have officers headed there to see what they can find. She’s been back on the road about ten minutes.”

The lead car turned right on the short Pont d’Austerlitz, taking them south toward the main arteries that led out of Paris and toward the road known as the
autoroute du soleil
, which so many Parisians used to begin their vacations, the highway of the sun that ran down to Lyons and connected it with the sprawling and industrial port city of Marseilles. The highway that now carried Alexie Tourville out of the city and, Hugo assumed, to some place of perceived safety. Given her demonstrated ruthlessness and undoubted resourcefulness, he knew that losing her was not an option.

The radio came alive and they listened to the exchange.

“Air One.” The pilot, Hugo assumed.

“Go ahead, Air One.” The dispatcher, a woman’s brusque and efficient voice. She’d be charged with coordinating the converging forces and making sure information was shared.

“Subject continuing south on the A6,” the pilot said, “just past the split with the A10. Maintaining coverage, will report again in five minutes unless a change of course.”

The dispatcher repeated the information then signed off.

“How far back are we?” Hugo asked.

“It’s twenty minutes or so to where she is now.”

“What is she driving?” Hugo asked.

“She has a black VW Golf. It’s a 1998 but it’s a GTI, so it’ll be quick if we have to chase.”

“Do you have a plan for when we catch up to her?”

“No, Hugo, I’m making this shit up as I go along and I’ve simply no idea how to stop a bad guy in a moving car.”

Hugo held up a hand in surrender, or apology. “I wasn’t questioning, I was asking.”

Lerens took a deep breath. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to snap at you. As you might guess, this is about as high profile as it gets—Alexandra Tourville is a cop killer, maybe a serial murderer, and on the run. I have a lot of eyes on me and a fair few of them wouldn’t weep if I screwed up.”

“No need to apologize. Looks to me like you’re doing everything right so far.”

“Thanks. And to answer your question, once we get close I’m going to have local units shut down the road behind her to give us some space, then the three of us will do the stop. I’d considered having some more units line up in front but if she sees them she might run. I’m going for the element of surprise, but we’ll have local police mobilized in case she doesn’t stop. Suggestions?”

“Nope. Sounds like a good plan.”

They feel silent as the radio hissed again.

“Air One.”

“Go ahead, Air One.”

“Subject is stopping for fuel. I don’t have a visual, there’s a roof over the pumps but I’ll see when she leaves.”

After the dispatcher had confirmed the message, Lerens said: “That’ll get us pretty close to her. We’ll give it five more minutes then turn lights and sirens off.”

A minute later the pilot came back on, urgency in his voice. “Air One.”

“Go ahead,” the dispatcher said.

“Something happened down there, I can’t tell what. She just took off from the pumps and a couple of people ran from the main building to where she’d been. If I had to guess, I’d say she drove off without paying.”

“
Merde
.” Lerens picked up her handset. “Thanks Air One. Which direction did she go?”

“Back on the autoroute, same direction, south.”

“Got it. Dispatch, please notify local law enforcement not to engage if someone calls police.” She dropped the handset in her lap and pulled a map from the side pocket of the car. “Here, see if this is any use.”

Hugo studied the map, though the one on his phone would have been as useful and probably more up to date. “Fuel stops are all marked, I see the one she was at.” He looked out of the window and saw a sign for the east–west A86, then checked the map again. “We’re getting close to the split, might want to kill the sights and sounds.”

“‘Sights and sounds,’” Lerens smiled. “I like that.” She hit two buttons on a panel beside the rearview mirror and in seconds the cars in front and behind followed suit. They remained, however, at a steady ninety miles-per-hour. She picked up the radio again. “Dispatch, please contact the rolling block, have them move onto the highway. I want to pass them any minute and when I do, they need to be ready.”

“Will do.”

Lerens swore, tapping the brakes as the forward car suddenly slowed, then honked at a camper that was in the fast lane and shouldn’t have been. It eased over and the trio sped up.

“There,” said Hugo, pointing forward. Four police cars were entering the highway, nose-to-tail on the hard shoulder and doing no more than twenty miles an hour.

“Perfect,” Lerens said, picking up the handset: “Lerens here. We’re passing the road block, have them take up position.”

Hugo turned and saw the cars move into the slow lane, then fan slowly across the highway. They’d maintain a sped of fifty or so, their roof lights alerting the traffic speeding up on them, then after five minutes they’d slow everyone down to a crawl, and then a stop, creating a safe zone between the public and her team as they pulled over Alexie Tourville. That, at least, was the theory.

The police car in front of them moved to the center lane, letting Lerens take the lead before moving in behind.

“A black Golf GTI,” Lerens said—to herself, it seemed. Trucks dotted the road in front of them, blocking much of their view and she leaned forward as if by doing so she could see past them.

“You drive, I’ll watch for it,” Hugo said.

“Not a chance.”

They sped past a double-decker coach in the center lane and almost missed the Golf. Hugo spotted it as it disappeared behind the smoked glass and shining body of the huge passenger vehicle.

“There, let the coach get ahead, she’s in the slow lane.”

Lerens tapped the brakes and used the speeding behemoth as cover. She picked up the radio handset, her message for the drivers behind them, but heard by the entire team.

“Visual confirmation of the suspect. She’s in the slow lane. I’ll get right behind her, Cabret stay to my left, Sorelle use the shoulder in case she dumps and runs.”

They drifted out from behind the coach like fighter planes, swinging across the road to position themselves behind the enemy. They cheated left a little, ignoring the white lines of the road to cover it more fully and making sure the car with two wheels on the shoulder wasn’t too close to the retaining wall. Lerens clenched her jaw in concentration, one hand on the wheel and the other on the radio, ready to give the order. Hugo squinted as he saw movement in the black car that was thirty yards ahead.

“Looks like two people inside,” he said.

Lerens grunted acknowledgment, then glanced at her wingmen. She held down the call button and said, “Two suspects in the target vehicle. We’re going now.”

She dropped the handset and pressed a button on the overhead panel, the car’s siren beginning its insistent wail, joined immediately by those either side.