Hands of the Traitor (33 page)

"What happened to my
grandfather?"

"
All that night I nursed your grandfather.
I no longer felt angry. He was bleeding badly. When we hid in the
reeds I washed him. We kissed and I got covered in the blood of
Tommy, but I did not mind his blood on me. Of course we did not
make love together, but he was like a lover to me, Matthieu. I
cannot explain how I felt. One day, I wanted to say sorry to
Tommy," said Sophie, in tears at the memories that had been
revived. "That is why I was so pleased when Mayor Oudet gave me
your first letter."

Matt leaned forward again. "He was
sure he killed you. He found your gold cross in his
kitbag."

"My poor Tommy.
I went to get him
some food, but the Germans ordered me back to the village. I did
not dare return until the next night, and by then Tommy had gone. I
thought perhaps the Nazis had taken him."

"He managed to get back to England."
Matt wondered whether to explain that his grandfather was already
married at the time, and decided not to mention it. "He never could
remember what happened, but he knew he'd been mixed up in something
horrible."

"Your grandfather was a kind man,
Matthieu. Something came over him -- and over me. I felt so much
hatred for the two Americans that I could have killed them myself.
It is an awful thing to say, but the war affected many young people
like that. Sophie reached into her purse and withdrew the crucifix
Matt had returned to her only yesterday. "I want to give the little
gold crucifix to your lovely friend Zoé here. I know that I am now
safe for eternity, but when I look at the figure on it, I feel
unworthy to wear the symbol of my faith. I think perhaps it should
stay with you young people.

Zoé pulled out to crawl past an old
campervan that was struggling up the long hill. It was one of the
few vehicles they'd managed to overtake since starting the trek to
Geneva. "There is something dangerous inside those gold cylinders,
and the Heinmans are responsible," she said. "Matt thinks they are
trying to escape to Switzerland, and he has a plan."

"And we are going there to confront
them?" Sophie sounded almost excited.

Matt leaned forward. "If I see the
Heinmans driving, I'm going to ram their car in full view of
everyone and call the police. If they've got any of those gold
cylinders on board, I can prove our innocence and get them arrested
at the same time."

"I think perhaps Matt is joking," Zoé
explained.

Matt shook his head. "Never
more serious. That's plan A. Ken thought of it. Plan B is to get to
Geneva before the Heinmans, talk to someone called Urquet
-- and hope he's a
man with a conscience."

"I think I prefer Plan B," said Zoé,
as the campervan passed them again them on the level.

"And we all have to hope we don't get
killed," added Matt.

*

EVERY PASSING
motorist ignored
them, and Frank Heinman's anger grew stronger until he felt himself
shaking with rage. The open cylinder of Berlitzan oil was still
emitting its disgusting odor when a thin man in shorts, a yellow
cycling jersey and black helmet, brought his bike to a halt by the
side of the Volvo. He looked eager to help.

"
Vous avez eu kidnappé?
" he inquired.

"What the hell's he saying, Jason?"
shouted Frank.

"He thinks we've been
kidnapped."

"Then tell him we have." He tried to
move but his strength was exhausted.

The cyclist pulled at the cords
that held Frank to the seat. "
Ces cordons sont très raides,
" he said as he tugged at the
knots.

"Just be quick, fella." Frank felt
unable to be genial, even to his benefactor. He could still smell
the damn oil.

The man pulled at him roughly
as he struggled with the knots. Eventually he freed him, then
reached in to Jason. "
Et vous,
" he muttered.

The maniac had tied Jason's bonds too
tight. The cyclist went to a bag on his bike and returned
brandishing a small pocketknife.

Frank stood by the side of the Volvo
stretching his cramped limbs. The smell of Berlitzan oil was in the
air, even outside the Volvo. The cyclist had breathed in the fumes
and probably intended to kill Jason, not set him free.

Frank raised a finger and beckoned.
"See here, mister."

"
Quoi?
"

"Over this wall, fella. A red
automobile down there on the rocks. See?"

"
Une auto, monsieur?
"

"Look. Down there."

Frank sensed that the man resented the
way he'd been taken by the arm.

The man in the yellow jersey
pushed him away angrily. "
Ne me touchez pas, monsieur!
"

Frank snatched at the knife in the
cyclist's hand. But the man dropped it and seized him by the
jacket, trying to force him over the edge. Frank looked down the
sheer rock face. Far below he could see the wrecked Mazda. The
shrubs in the rock face might break his fall, but he'd be killed
for sure.

Frank noticed the lunatic's body lying on
the rocks, close to the twisted red bodywork. Any moment now, he'd
be there with him. The anger that welled up gave him an enormous
strength and he dropped to his knees, catching the Frenchman off
balance and tipping him forward, over the low wall, screaming into
space.

The body landed three seconds later.
Frank watched it tremble for several seconds where it lay on the
rocks, then it became still. He turned to Jason, the knife clenched
in his hand.

"No, Father! Think love!" Jason yelled
in panic.

Frank dropped to the ground by the
Volvo.

"Pass me the knife!" Jason
shouted.

Frank shook his head. "Not a chance in
hell. I'm waiting for the effects of that damn oil to wear
off."

Jason continued to struggle. "We can
beat it, Father. Don't you understand, I can direct my anger away
from here."

"And all
I
have to do is wait for the gas to
clear." Frank felt faint with fatigue. "That way I'll be
safe."

"
Damn you!
" Jason fought with his bonds. "One day
I'll make you suffer for leaving me like this!"

Chapter
26

MATT RAN
to the phone while Zoé filled
the Renault with fuel.

"Ken? How did you get on with the
police?"

Ken didn't sound exactly thrilled to
hear Matt's voice. "Have you been winding me up with your phone
calls again?" he demanded.

"What happened?"

"I made a complete fool of myself at
Trinity Green, that's what. I demanded to see the chief inspector
and thought I was about to make a good impression. I had the photo
and everything ready."

"And?"

"The man who called at the hospital
had a deep scar on his chin. A very old scar."

"So?"

"For one thing, Frank Heinman doesn't
have a mark."

"And for another?"

"The man in the photo is about thirty
years too young. Photos don't lie."

"They do if they've been
electronically retouched. Perhaps age and beauty are important to
the DCI image. What did the chief inspector say?"

"Something about you that I'm not
repeating."

Matt felt frustrated. Whatever
plan he made, there was always something he didn't expect. "Okay,
tell the police I've got some photos of ...
damn!
"

"What's up, kiddo?"

"We left the Mini at the
supermarket site when the
gendarmes
arrested us. Make sure the police contact someone
in France. They'll find my camera under the passenger seat. Tell
them to get the film developed and show the pics to the hospital
sister. See if she recognizes the old man."

"You're not expecting the cops at Trinity
Green to take any notice of me now, are you? They think I'm as daft
as you."

"And tell them to look after the car.
I'm missing it already."

"I'm not sure I should get involved
again."

"Give it a try, Ken.
Please
. I've got to go. Zoé needs some cash to pay for the
fuel."

*

THE GUSTING
wind made the front of the
Volvo tip slowly up, and then down, as it balanced precariously
across the low wall guarding the drop.

Jason watched anxiously as his father
picked up the cyclist's knife and slit the ropes that held him. He
could feel the Volvo moving again and dared not get out of the
seat. "The first thing we do," he said as he rubbed his hands
together to restore the circulation, "is save the station wagon.
Here, give me that damn knife."

His father pitched the knife over the
wall. "It's safer this way, Jason. Keep still, or the front will
drop."

"It's rear wheel drive." Jason could
see the way out. "The rear tires will grip the ground if you open
the tailgate and sit in the trunk. I'll climb through to the front
and start the engine."

"You sure you know how to select
reverse?"

"Stop bleating and make yourself
useful."

His father perched in the back, the
tailgate wide, ready for a quick exit if the station wagon tipped
forward.

With a tearing noise, the Volvo jerked
backwards and the front wheels crashed onto the lay-by. Jason
jumped from the driving seat and looked under the hood. "It's okay.
There's nothing dripping."

"There's something else to throw
over."

Jason was amused by his father's
oblique reference to the Berlitzan oil. He pretended not to
understand. "What else? You?"

"The rest of that damned oil. I know
you've got some on you."

He held up his hands in a display of
innocence. "It's all gone. The crazy loon found the last
one."

"Are you sure?" His father sounded
suspicious.

Jason patted his coat pocket. He could
feel the remaining seven cylinders side by side. "Do you think I'd
lie to you?"

*

THE ROADS
were dark long before the
rattling Renault reached Geneva. Matt was taking his turn with the
driving, keeping an anxious eye on the trail of smoke that followed
them down the
autoroute
. They would be in Switzerland soon, and the Swiss were
fussy about things like that.

The flat landscape had at long
last given way to a skyline of jagged peaks marking the start of
the Alps. Their route led them along a wide valley, with the
mountains growing higher by the minute. He decided to leave
the
autoroute
on a minor road and an hour later got through the Swiss
border without being checked, finally stopping in the city of
Geneva on a wide quay by the edge of Lac Léman.

The DCI offices were impossible to
miss, sharing a huge building that looked like a prime example of
inter-war grandeur. Along with the signboards for insurance and
other financial conglomerates, the name of Domestic Chemicals
International shone out for the passing world to see, the largest
illuminated sign around.

Out in Lac Léman Matt watched a
floodlit column of water rise high into the night sky, the breeze
scattering the top into the gloom. There must be towns and villages
somewhere along the edge of the lake, but the water looked like a
vast ocean with no lights twinkling in the distance. An unknown
blackness. For a moment he felt sheer panic at the audacity of what
they were about to do.

Matt turned his attention to the DCI
building. It appeared to be in perfect condition; doubtless an
attempt to assure the world that DCI and the other occupants were
doing very nicely thank you. The influence of Art Deco on the
angular windows and square frontage spoke of wealth. Certainly not
just of wealth gone by.

"For all we know, the Heinmans are already
here," said Matt, not very helpfully. "Let me have a few minutes to
think about this. It looks like it's plan B -- I confront Urquet
with all we know."

Zoé turned to Sophie. "It is a cold
night, madame. I will take you for a meal while Matt uses his
brain. Myself, I think perhaps he needs to come up with Plan
C."

Matt reached into his pocket. "Take my
credit card and book Sophie into a hotel, but come straight
back."

"I am hungry," complained
Zoé.

"I'm going to need you here."
He felt too tired for an argument. He'd only slept for a couple of
hours in the
gendarmerie
last night, though both he and Zoé had taken it in turns to
doze while the other took the wheel on the long drive down. "Look
for a cash point and get some Swiss cash. Get us both some food.
I'm starving, too."