Hands of the Traitor (29 page)

"
Excuzez moi!
" the man called across the wide clearing.
"Can either of you speak English?"

Jason shook his head. He wasn't going
back. The couple might recognize him later.

The Englishman took the route map from
the woman. "It's all right," he shouted, "I'll ask in the lorry.
There's a chap in there with a chain. He ... he seems to be in some
sort of trouble."

Jason and his father hurried out of
sight.

The woman's scream was loud enough to
make the rooks fly out from the trees. The long, piercing cries for
help ended abruptly. Jason turned to his father. "I guess we can
have the Volvo."

They waited fifteen minutes and
returned warily. Jason kicked at the motionless bodies of the
Englishman and the woman. Then he noticed that the back door of the
truck was open.

His father looked around. "How about we
find a pay phone and speak to Urquet again? He's the best corporate
lawyer in America. He'll do anything to protect
Americans."

"Especially DCI Americans," added
Jason dryly. "You've got the whole world in your damn pocket. I'm
going to the Volvo."

"Don't leave me, Jason."

Jason turned. "Watch that truck, and
be prepared to run like hell if anything so much as
moves."

A sudden gust of wind shook the oaks,
the rustle of the jagged leaves masking any sounds that might be
coming from the truck. The blue Volvo stood enticingly with the
passenger door wide. The keys were still in the ignition. Jason
turned away from the two bodies. The English driver and his
passenger had come to the end of their holiday thirty miles short
of the Channel Tunnel.

"We can't leave our bags in the truck,
Jason. They'll get us identified."

Jason noticed his father sounded tired
and strained, and for a moment he almost felt sorry for the old
fool. "I'll fetch them. You jump in the station wagon."

"Let me help. I'm ready for anything
now."

"You're not ready for that maniac.
Okay, walk slowly, and it's everyone for himself if there's anyone
still in the truck. I'm not hanging around for some geriatric to
keep up."

"Or behind the trees. He might be
behind the trees."

"Sure, he might be
anywhere."

They reached into the truck and found
their luggage in the cab covered in splinters of glass from the
shattered rear window. Without a word they lifted the tailgate of
the Volvo and placed it on top of the owner's camping gear. His
father was already in the passenger seat by the time Jason got
round to the driver's door.

"Get the hell out of here, Jason. It
sounds like the cops are coming. I can hear a siren."

Jason heard it, too. He started the
engine and revved it until it screamed. The automatic drive engaged
with a thump. His anxiety to get away made the rear wheels spin
wildly on the damp earth.

"Back off on the gas, boy!" His
father's eyes were wild.

"Leave it. I know what I'm
doing."

The wheels spun again, digging deeply
into the soft ground. Then suddenly the tires bit and the large
Volvo lurched forward.

Chapter
23

MATT WAS
fuming, although Zoé seemed
resigned to her handcuffs. She winked at him as they sat on a
massive wood and metal bench in the cool passageway of the
magistrate's court.

Lacoste said they were being
taken before the magistrate at ten o'clock to face a murder charge.
Matt didn't believe him. If they were facing a murder charge,
security would be much tighter. Lacoste was probably trying to
frighten them into making an admission in front of the magistrate.
The
gendarme
who brought them to the courthouse had handcuffed them to
the metal armrests, and sat between them looking bored.

Attaching handcuffs to the
ornamental ironwork was probably against orders, but it allowed
the
gendarme
a certain amount of freedom while keeping the prisoners
secure. It looked like a long established custom, judging by the
worn paint on the substantial metal bars. The high entrance hall
inside the Palais de Justice was painted a gentle shade of green,
making the old stone walls feel chilly. Matt sighed wearily.
Lacoste was still refusing them the use of a phone. Perhaps they
could attempt something useful -- like trying to escape.

The young priest, Father Alban,
entered the hall, almost running in his haste to join them.
"Monsieur, mademoiselle, you remember what I said to you at
the
gendarmerie?
"

"That you wouldn't help us," Matt
reminded him angrily. The man was too dim-witted to understand
something as simple as a direct hint over a key. "And I told you
not to waste your time here," he added. He glanced up at the large
clock above the stairs. Eight minutes to go.

A woman in a short black skirt
pinned a notice to a green baize board. The
gendarme
who was sitting between them
checked their handcuffs and turned to the priest.

"Keep an eye on these two for me,
Father." He walked across for a chat with the woman.

Father Alban leaned forward as soon as
they were alone. "I am getting you both out of here." His eyes were
bright with excitement.

"What do you have in mind? An escape
tunnel?"

"There is no need for sarcasm,
monsieur. First a security guard is shot, and then one of my
elderly parishioners is murdered during the night. I think that
Captain Lacoste is not looking for the people responsible. You are
a detective, monsieur, and I charge you with the duty of bringing
the criminals to justice. I hope I make myself clear. I am putting
my future with the Church on the line for you. Do not let me
down."

Matt felt exasperated. "You've left it too
late. I tried to get you to help earlier -- while we still had
time."

"I understood what you meant, monsieur,
but you did not understand my reply," the priest said quietly. "My
exact words were, 'I have to say that there is nothing I can do to
help you.' But that did not mean I would not do it. If I had
replied to your suggestion of the key, Captain Lacoste would have
heard me on his listening devices. Priests are not naïve. I have
just come from Lacoste's office, and I am glad to say he was not
there."

Father Alban reached into his jacket
pocket.

"He was not there, but his keys were on
his desk, just as you told me. That man is so careless with his
possessions. It is the large black Peugeot in the yard outside."
The young priest clutched a ring holding several keys, one of which
had a car immobilizer.

Even as Father Alban said it, Matt
felt his stomach leap. Was it worth risking further charges? Yes,
of course it was, if he wanted justice. He spoke in a whisper. "I
am sorry if I sounded rude. I am tired. Very tired." He turned to
Zoé. "We're going to walk out of here."

"And our handcuffs?" she
asked.

"Ah, yes, it is the little key on the
ring," whispered Father Alban. "I will release you."

He put what looked like a simple
suitcase key into Matt's and then into Zoé's handcuffs, and they
snapped free from their wrists.

The boyish priest nodded his
head in understandable relief. "Start towards the door and take it
easy -- very easy. I will cause a diversion. Your
gendarme
has taken a fancy
to the young woman at the notice board, so I shall admonish him for
unclean thoughts. I have never before thought of lust having a
positive side." Father Alban smiled to himself as though the joke
was a private one.

The
gendarme
was now laughing loudly with the
woman.

The double doors to the
courtyard were already open to allow air to circulate in the hall.
It was a strange sensation to know there was freedom ahead. Matt
couldn't bring himself to turn round. The
gendarme
might still be at the notice board
receiving an ear bashing from Father Alban for impure thoughts. Or
he might be drawing his handgun.

"Walk slowly, Zoé. Let's look as
though we're waiting to be called as witnesses."

The doors led into a large
courtyard used as a car park for the
gendarmes
and court officials. The sudden rise in
temperature struck Matt immediately.

But Zoé began to shiver. "Now
where?"

The courtyard had an opening
onto the street, with high metal gates that were open. A
gendarme
stood by them to
make sure no one unauthorized entered. Perhaps he didn't bother to
check who was leaving. Matt could see a large black Peugeot in the
row of cars parked against the wall of the courthouse.

He nodded to Zoé. "There's Lacoste's
car."

"We are going to
steal
it?" asked Zoé in
disbelief.

He wondered if this was a serious
question. A better question might be whether the car key fitted
Lacoste's Peugeot.

The
gendarme
at the gates was watching a woman in
a tight dress on the other side of the street. She bent down to do
something to her shoe. Father Alban would probably see this as yet
another positive side to lust, and certainly the timing was
perfect.

"Open the driver's door and slide
across," Matt whispered.

Apart from the
gendarme
at the gate, the
courtyard was deserted.

Matt slipped into the driver's
seat and put the key in the ignition. It turned, and the engine
started. He looked up. The
gendarme
was still appraising the woman.

A police car turned in through
the gates and stopped, blocking the exit. Matt guessed that if he
and Zoé stayed put, the
gendarme
on duty
probably wouldn't notice there was anyone in the
Captain's Peugeot.

"What are we waiting for?" Zoé sounded
anxious as she turned round in her seat. "Be quick, they are
closing the gates!"

The police car moved into the yard.
The closing gates called for immediate action. "We'll crash them,
like I did to get out of Tom Grieves' yard."

Someone must have raised the alarm.
They could hear shouting, and suddenly a black-suited figure on a
bicycle shot through the narrow gap. Father Alban was also making
his escape. Matt released the handbrake and hit the automatic
transmission into reverse. As he floored the accelerator, the car
shot back. There was no longer any point in stealth.

They got to the gates going backwards
at high speed. The ornamental steel gave way as the Peugeot crashed
through, the car going almost too fast for Matt to control. An
approaching van sounded its horn, a long blast of aggravation as it
snaked in the road under heavy braking.

"Look out, Matt!"

One of the gates became entangled with the
Chief's Peugeot and fastened itself to the rear of the car. Matt
selected forward drive and the gate dragged behind in a screeching
stream of orange sparks. As the speed increased it suddenly broke
free.

"What happened to the van?"

Zoé had been watching all the time and
she turned back in excitement. "The van, it has run over the gate.
It is stuck across the road, and the police cars, they cannot get
past."

Matt kept his foot flat on the
floor.

"Where are we going?" asked Zoé
anxiously.

"Not far in this." The magistrate's
court was on the edge of Saint Somer, and soon they'd be in open
countryside. "We'll stop somewhere out of sight of the main
road."

A voice on the radio made them
jump. The
gendarmes
were reporting four major events. The first was the theft
of the Captain's Peugeot within the past two minutes, being driven
by two criminals. A priest on a bicycle was also a wanted man.
There was an update on the death of a hippy traveler an hour ago,
involving an abandoned white Citroen car. The fourth major event
was a helicopter crash at the same time. The theft of the Peugeot
seemed to be receiving priority.

Matt felt his heart racing. A narrow
track led into the woods and he swung the Peugeot down it. A few
yards along, the track turned sharply right.

The radio burst into sound again. Their
description was perfect, even the color of their clothes. Lacoste
must have been making notes during the interview. The young priest
seemed to have made good his getaway on the bicycle. This news was
followed by a description of two men wanted for questioning about a
smashed white Citroen.

"
Mon dieu
, that sounds like the 'Einmans," said
Zoé.

Two police cars, sirens blaring, shot
past the end of the track. Matt started the engine and drove a
little further down, to get deeper into the trees. "We have to stop
them getting back to America. Any ideas?"