Crossfire (30 page)

The men had their luggage with them, and they headed for Charles de Gaulle airport. There Omega’s Dassault Falcon 900C waited to take them to the island.

During the flight, the mercenary boss updated his men on what had happened since he and Karl parted during the shooting. He knew he could trust them. They were amongst his best men and had been with him since the inception of his organization.

* * * *

Chapter Twenty-One

A few hours later, the plane taxied to the end of the runway at La Montagne. Stefan looked through the window to see two Jeeps driving to meet the Falcon. Even from that distance, he could distinguish Karl and Kris, their copper hair streaming in the breeze.

As he descended the steps to the hot apron in front of the massive airport hangar, Karl and Kris were there to meet them. He hugged his cousins, seeing the relief in their eyes at his safe return. He was happy to see them too, feeling he needed the anchor of familiar faces in the emotional turmoil that tormented him.

Karl and Kris were handsome replicas of each other, with piercing green eyes and straight copper hair that hung to their shoulders. Both were tanned and lean, and around six feet tall. They even dressed alike, a habit from childhood, but that was where the resemblance ended.

While Kris seemed relaxed and easygoing, his twin’s features were hard and uncompromising, his eyes without emotion. Karl was a trained killer, and bowed to just one authority, Stefan. The other mercenaries on the island both respected and feared him, and were secretly glad to have him on their side.

The drive back to the securely enclosed housing compound took a few minutes over a dirt road. When they reached headquarters, Stefan found that the members of his small community had gathered to welcome him. He felt he was truly home as he surveyed the sixty-plus hard-faced men in fatigues. The men stood at attention in neat military ranks, and formed a sharp contrast to the colorfully attired wives who stood to one side.

As their leader disembarked from the Jeep, Karl gave an order, and as one, the soldiers snapped out sharp salutes. Stefan saluted in response, and ordered them to stand at ease. He spoke earnestly, thanking the men and their wives for the warm welcome.

After he had dismissed the men, many of the senior men remained, coming forward to shake his hand, welcoming him back, relief in their eyes. Despite their profession, these men felt intense loyalty towards their leader. He had earned that loyalty and respect during many missions and on many battlefields.

When Karl had brought back with him news of their leader’s absence at the rendezvous point, a funeral atmosphere had reigned on La Montagne. Since the news of his recovery, everyone had been eagerly awaiting his return. The four chefs had been cooking and baking since morning, preparing a feast fit for a king, and the celebrations would start at sunset.

~ . ~

A little later, the three of them settled in Stefan’s office with a cold beer. Karl told Stefan what they had uncovered so far. They had traced the terrorists to a farmhouse near the border of France and Spain, on the French side.

Bruno, the computer expert, had tapped into a French satellite and obtained photos. One clearly showed a member of Ahmed Rashid’s revolutionary movement, confirming that they had the right target.

Stefan noticed several outbuildings, more than one would expect of a normal farm. It strengthened his suspicion that the farm served as a training centre for the Algerian terrorists. He studied the photos intently before turning to Karl. “Do we have any idea how many people are on the premises?”

“We’ve been observing them via satellite for several days now, and we have two men stationed nearby, keeping watch. They have confirmed that Rashid is present. They report that there are around fifty three men on the premises, including Rashid and his lieutenants.”

“What do the French say?”

“They will turn a blind eye to anything that happens there, as long as not a trace remains. I told them about your history with Rashid, and his organizations’ role in the death of Jean-Michel Deschamps. They’ve given us free rein to do what we want, so long as the conflict doesn’t spill over to the Spanish side of the border.”

For a second it looked as if his cousin disapproved, and Karl added, “They will keep all this confidential. She’ll never know.”

Stefan stared at Karl for a long moment before he said, “She has a name.”

“I meant to say, Marcelle will never know,” Karl said, avoiding his cousin’s gaze.

“So they want the place leveled, and no one left alive.” Stefan sat back in his chair. “It will be my pleasure. Do we still have those incendiary bombs we confiscated last year?”

“No, you can’t do that,” Kris interrupted forcefully. “The use of Napalm is outlawed, you know that.”

Stefan bristled. “And I suppose the terrorists we captured it from didn’t know that? I’m going to wipe Rashid and his men from the face of the earth, and let their death serve as a warning to others. That man is a monster. During the past few weeks, I’ve seen firsthand the damage he has done, and my only regret is that I can only kill him once. The use of Napalm sends a clear message to these bastards that we’re playing by their rules now, and they’re going to lose.”

“Was it that bad?” Karl probed gently.

“You couldn’t even begin to imagine,” he said, closing his eyes for a moment. And he had made it worse, he accused himself, but he could never tell his cousins. “I’m not prepared to lose a single man to take this bastard down, so this is what we do. We take thirty men and all three gunships. We drop the men off about two kilometers from the camp, and they hike in and surround the camp. This is just to make sure no one escapes. At 03:00, the gunships attack. We drop the bombs and gun down any survivors.” Stefan flashed a chilling smile. “I want them to die in their beds. I don’t want to give them the opportunity to die like soldiers. They’re going to discover what it feels like to burn in hell.”

Karl nodded. “When shall we leave?”

“Tomorrow evening at 22.00. That puts us there in plenty of time, and allows the men manning the perimeter to get into position by 03:00. Kris, we’ll need you to hold the fort while we’re away. You can take care of things in my absence.”

“Sure,” Kris replied, “but I’ll want to give you a full medical before you leave.”

“Well, let’s get it over with,” he said, pulling a face. “Then we can take part in the festivities. Karl, you had better warn the men that I don’t want anyone hung over tomorrow.”

~ . ~

Kris performed a thorough medical on his cousin, reminding him how lucky he was to have escaped death. Stefan told him how Marcelle had saved his life. Kris could only shake his head, leaving him feeling guilty about what he had done to the woman who had given his life back to him.

“I take it you two got to know each other quite well,” the doctor commented. He saw a shadow passing over his cousin’s handsome features. “What’s wrong?”

Stefan wanted to tell him, but somehow couldn’t bring himself to admit his shame. Kris had studied psychology, and could give him some answers, but the guilt was too new, the pain too raw to confide, even to Kris.

He shrugged as he said with forced casualness, “It’s nothing. I miss Marcelle, that’s all.”

This was half-true. He already missed her, feeling as if a part of him were absent somewhere. At the same time, he was afraid of her presence, knowing it would only serve to remind him of his repulsive crime.

“Crept under your skin, did she?” Kris said, motioning him to get dressed.

“I guess you could say that,” he admitted as he pulled on his shirt.

Kris scrutinized him intently, hearing the pain in his voice. Something had happened, but Stefan wasn’t telling. Perhaps coming face to face with one of his failures had hit him harder than he would admit. It would come out eventually.

“Come, we have a party for the returning hero,” he said, punching Stefan playfully on the arm.

His cousin didn’t respond with a return punch. Instead, he said, “Kris, Marcelle might phone here while I’m away. Will you please tell her I’m in good health, and that I’ll be in touch?”

“Sure, I’ll keep the home fires burning, don’t worry.”

* * * *

Chapter Twenty-Two

As the bus covered the last few kilometers to the complex, Marcelle stared out of the window, immersed in thought.

The weekend had been a disaster, and she had failed to perform well in any of the three races. She had abandoned the first race after only a few laps, complaining of cramps in her legs to cover herself, hoping nobody would suspect anything.

The next day she managed to win a few primes before losing concentration on a dangerous corner, and crashing. She hadn’t been badly hurt, but couldn’t motivate herself to remount her bike. She had remained sitting on the pavement, her head in her arms.

Doc Louis had suspected something was wrong, but she couldn’t bring herself to tell him what had happened. He wouldn’t understand, and would condemn Stefan.

On the third day, she didn’t even start the race. She was grateful to Louis, who had backed up her complaint that her injuries from the previous day bothered her.

Now they were nearly home. The other members of the team were subdued, wondering what had happened to their captain. Christelle Le Corre and Isabelle Bernard had each managed to place in two of the races. They were good sprinters, though they paled in comparison to Marcelle. The team had been relying on their captain to bring in the wins, and she was sorry she had been unable to fulfill her obligations.

All she wanted now was to get home, where she could lick her wounds in private. Stefan would be waiting. The thought produced mixed feelings. To her shame, she craved his presence, like an addict who has been away from her stash for too long. Her cells cried out for his warmth, his security. But her mind was the enemy, the logical thought process that would deny her what she needed. What had happened to the mercenary on Thursday morning? Did he have a split personality, a kind of evil twin? She found it hard to reconcile the man she had come to know with the monster who had raped her, who had hurt her so much, who clearly hated her.

She remembered the things Stefan had told her about his past, the death of his parents and his part in avenging their deaths. Could that have caused a personality disturbance? She believed it was more likely that the torture he had suffered over an extended length of time had caused a fracture in his mind. He must have been in immense pain, if the scars were any indication. Who knows what he had to do to cope? He had told her that he didn’t even remember his men rescuing him. Had that other part of his consciousness been in control at the time of the rescue? If any of her suppositions were true, would she ever be safe?

Her heart tried to convince her that he would never hurt her again as he had on the morning of her departure. The horror in his eyes had been too real, his pain too deep, his tears unfeigned. Her heart believed they could put the incident behind them. Stefan had said he loved her, but would that be enough?

But her mind told her she would be sitting on a ticking time bomb. If this happened once, it could happen again. She would have to make sure she didn’t provoke him. Would that be any kind of life after the magic she’d had with Jean-Michel? Was she prepared to settle for an abusive relationship?

Her heart argued that she and Stefan were soul mates. They understood each other. He would heal the pain that Jean-Michel’s passing had left, and they would have a future together.

Marcelle had not come to a decision by the time the bus pulled up at the complex. She decided that she was in no condition to make important choices. She would listen to what he had to say, but would hold off on any decisions until she’s had some decent rest, and could think clearly. Secretly her heart hoped that a remorseful Stefan would sweep her off her feet.

~ . ~

The elevator doors opened onto an empty living room, and Marcelle experienced a pang of disappointment. Perhaps he was upstairs in the gym, or at the pool. She searched the apartment, calling his name. Only silence greeted her. She went up to the pool, but found no sign of the mercenary.

In despair, she picked up the phone and called the guards, asking them if her brother had left. The guards informed her that he had left only a few hours after she had. A car containing three men had picked him up at the gate.

“Did he say when he would be back?”

“No Madame, he just said goodbye, and got into the car. I couldn’t help noticing that the men had a certain look about them, having served in the military myself.”

She thanked the guard, and put down the phone.

Stefan had left, some of his men picking him up at the gate. How had they arrived so fast? The island was surely some distance away. Had he planned this? Why hadn’t he told her he wanted to leave? Was he just an unscrupulous mercenary, who answered to no one? Had the sensitive man she had come to know, been just an act to keep her happy until he had recovered sufficiently to leave?

Her mind was in a flat spin. Stefan had left, without even leaving a note. He had disappeared as suddenly as he had appeared in her life, re-entering the dark world in which he made his living. Marcelle could feel her world tumbling down around her as she curled up on the couch in the living room. Stefan had just used her. He had never loved her.