Hands of the Traitor (37 page)

Frank felt his body convulse as he
breathed in the fumes. From his pocket he produced the four
cylinders, the cap already off one. Quickly he unscrewed the other
three. His injured arm gave him no problems. It was as though the
aroma from the precious oil was having a healing effect on the
wartime wound.

"I'm getting the axe," shouted Jason.
"There's one by the emergency door. I'll kill the old
bastard!"

The open cylinders fell to the floor
and Berlitzan oil poured from each one, foaming as it ate its way
through the thin carpet. The smell in the small aircraft cabin was
overpowering. Frank coughed and put his handkerchief to his
mouth.

*

TOM GARCIA
had been copilot on the DCI
Gulfstream for eight months. The jet was twenty years old and
smelly. He'd expected something better when he took the job. They
even had to fly with one eye on the Azores as they crossed the
Atlantic, just in case ... He turned round in his seat. There was a
lot of noise coming from the passenger cabin. Shouting and
screaming.

"I'm going back." He tapped Jim
Fenhurst on the shoulder. "Sounds like they're having some sort of
fight."

The emergency axe sliced across the
doorway, narrowly missing his arm.

"Put your masks on," Jason Heinman
shouted frantically. "Breathing masks!"

Tom Garcia stared in horror as Jason
attacked his elderly father with the axe. As the blows fell, blood
spurted across the cabin. This was madness. He turned to Jim
Fenhurst and saw he'd put his oxygen mask on. The arrogant Jim
Fenhurst, the regular pilot for DCI. Thinking about Jim Fenhurst
made him resentful. He should have been given the job of senior
man.

This trip had been trouble from the
start. Jinxed. He'd known it when they got to Geneva and found he
was involved in another DCI mess. Something highly confidential.
Top secret staff movements.

Far below lay the Atlantic. They were
eighty minutes into the flight. He could hear Jim Fenhurst shouting
into the radio requesting an emergency landing -- if they could get
back to the coast of France.

"The passengers have gone berserk,"
Jim screamed. "The president's attacking everyone."

Tom Garcia watched the new DCI
president swing the gleaming blade down on Frank Heinman's handless
body. The head rolled across the floor as the aircraft banked
sharply. Blood poured across the carpet, drenching the walkway. Tom
kicked at a severed hand on the floor and noticed a large gold ring
on one of the fingers, glinting green. He put his head between his
knees to be sick.

As he raised his head, the axe
fell.

*

JASON HEINMAN
threw the axe to
the floor and grabbed the spare mask. His father had been trouble,
a man who had delivered violence -- and the old fool had deserved
to die by it.

Aziz had demanded repayment of the
loan when he could easily have waited. Jason picked up the axe
again and held the blood-soaked handle firmly as he struck. The axe
was a fitting end for Aziz. The stupid copilot was dead, his torso
lying across the walkway. The pilot sat alone in the cockpit,
flying the plane back to land. The pilot was a good man who had put
his breathing mask on. Jason tried desperately to like him. It had
worked in the Volvo, balanced on the edge of the cliff. Love your
neighbor. He was winning. The fresh air from the mask started to
clear his rage. Where was the Berlitzan oil now?

He turned in the copilot's seat and
saw the large hole being burnt by the corrosive oil, through the
carpet and through the aluminum decking. Acrid smoke rose from deep
inside the structure of the aircraft, like a crazy experiment in a
chemistry class. Suddenly the floor of the pressurized cabin
exploded downwards into space.

The executive jet twisted onto its
side. Jim Fenhurst struggled to regain control as the Gulfstream
spiraled wildly through the sky. With a combination of expertise
and strength, he got the plane onto a level flight, on a bearing
towards France.

Jason went back into the cabin and
knelt on the floor, trying to pull the ring from his father's
severed hand. The ring was tight and the blood made it slippery. He
felt too angry to care as he ripped the mask from his face and
breathed in deeply.

Berlitzan oil. It could have made him
a fortune.

Screaming with rage he returned to the
cockpit and swung the axe once more.

*

AIR TRAFFIC
control reported losing the
Domestic Chemicals Gulfstream II from their screens sixty miles
north west of Bordeaux. The water there was too deep for recovery
of the wreckage but the rescue services would go through the
formality of calling out a helicopter and two boats to search for
survivors.

Chapter
29

THE FOUR
met in the hotel bar the next
morning for a late breakfast. Matt, Zoé, Simon Urquet, and Sophie.
Sophie looked the most wide awake of the lot. After her playacting
she'd gone straight back to her hotel to sleep soundly, leaving the
others to make statements to the police.

"I imagine you'll be busy for a bit,"
said Matt, pouring Urquet a coffee. "Are there any Heinmans left to
run DCI?"

Simon Urquet stirred his cup. "There's
someone called Victor McDowell. His mother, Karen, was Albert
Heinman's secretary in the war. Albert didn't use his desk just for
work; he got Karen McDowell pregnant on top of it one evening after
work. Albert Heinman was killed in France before the baby was born,
but his wife provided for Karen and the baby generously enough. A
single lump payment made in nineteen forty-four, invested wisely,
and a small apartment in Queens. But the lawyers made sure neither
Ms. McDowell nor her son could ever touch company
money."

"But if Victor McDowell is a Heinman,
he could take over DCI," said Matt.

"Victor McDowell is sixty years old.
Officially, the Heinman line is dead." Urquet slumped back in his
chair. "But, yes, I think there could be a problem. Karen McDowell
is still alive, and Victor rang me early this morning when he saw
the news on CNN. He says his mother lodged copies of certain papers
with her lawyer in nineteen forty-four, to be opened on her death.
Let's hope it's nothing to do with the Berlitzan Project. I can't
say I took to Victor McDowell when we met last year."

"So who's in charge of DCI at the
moment?" asked Matt.

"It looks like it's me in the interim.
Milton Miller is due out of hospital soon. He's coming down here to
help me run DCI from Switzerland for the next few months. Nearly
all our manufacturing is done here, and a major pharmaceutical is
interested in buying the New York side of the business." Urquet
yawned. He'd probably spent the night at the office taking
emergency action to save the company. "Whatever happens, I'm
determined to keep DCI solvent."

Matt wondered whether to mention the
reason for Miller's accident, but felt it best to remain silent. It
was, after all, Miller's fault.

"My life has gone in a big circle,"
Sophie said, leaving her coffee untouched. "As a young woman in the
war I saw how terrible those little gold cylinders could be. And
now they were working their evil again."

Zoé put her hand on Sophie's thin
shoulder. "The Berlitzan oil is all at the bottom of the sea with
the 'Einmans."

Simon Urquet looked awkward. "It's ...
not all gone."

"Tell us," said Matt.

Urquet sighed. "It's a tricky one. You
remember how Jason Heinman dropped those cylinders in my office
last night?"

Zoé's eyes lit up at the memory. "When
I kneed him in the..."

"Yes," said Urquet. "Exactly. But he
left one of them under my desk."

"He could not see it," replied Zoé.
"The man had tears in his eyes."

Urquet winced. "I'm not surprised.
Your aim was horribly accurate. But it leaves me with a
problem."

"Destroy it," said Matt without
hesitation. "Like Sophie said, it's evil."

Simon Urquet shook his head. "It's not as
simple as that. I've checked with the French authorities, and the
police may insist you go back to France for
questioning."

"I hadn't thought about that," said
Matt.

"You're not likely to face arrest in
Switzerland, but I would strongly advise you against setting foot
in France for the next few days," said Urquet. "I've been on the
phone to Paris. The national police have taken over the
investigation. I'm sure they'll stand no nonsense from Captain
Lacoste."

"You must still destroy the oil," said
Matt. "That stuff is a secret that should have died with the
war."

Urquet sighed. "As a lawyer, I must
advise you that its existence is your best line of
defense."

"You'll think of something else," said
Matt.

Simon Urquet nodded as though to
acknowledge Matt's trust, his face wrinkling up along lines that
smiled. "Let's go and bury it some place it will stay hidden
forever."

"Any suggestions?" asked
Zoé.

"There's an old quarry near here, and
it's being filled in with mineral waste. DCI has an
involvement."

"
Venez
," said Zoé in her native French. "We can all
witness the end of it."

Urquet hesitated. "I don't have a
car," he said sheepishly.

"We have the Renault," offered Zoé.
"But it may not start after a night in the open."

"I've seen it," said Urquet. "We'll
rent something."

Sophie took hold of Matt's arm. "You
remind me so much of your grandfather, Matthieu. Would you like to
make an old lady happy?"

Matt felt his face redden. He caught
Zoé's eye and smiled, but she seemed withdrawn, as though thinking
of other things. "What do you have in mind?"

Sophie let out such a loud laugh that
Matt jumped. "We will sit together in the back seat, and you will
allow me to hold your hand. I would like that, Tommy. I hope your
pretty girlfriend will not be jealous."

"I think she'll let me do that," said
Matt. "She might even let me put my arm round you."

But Zoé's response surprised
him.

"No, Matt, you are taking me
for granted. I am
not
your girlfriend. I said I would help you, and I am glad we
did these things together. But now it is finished."

"But I was looking forward
to..."

"I like you a lot, Matt. You are a
nice person, but I have to go and see Florian. I phoned him from
the hotel this morning."

"When are you going?" He realized he
sounded stunned, and wanted Zoé to know how he felt.

"This afternoon I will catch the train
from Geneva. Florian will meet me in Lyon and take me to Clermont
Ferrand in his Mercedes. My parents are expecting me. I am sorry,
Matt, really sorry."

"I don't even have your
address."

He wanted to see her face, but she
kept it turned away.

"I need you, Zoé. Please
stay."

She shook her head. "Soon perhaps you
will understand."

Chapter
30

SIMON URQUET
arranged to get
Matt's Mini shipped back to England, although Matt had to pay for a
new exhaust. Anyway, a new exhaust was cheaper than another old
banger -- and he was becoming almost attached to that bit of
machinery from an era when not all cars were the same.

It was Ken who managed to track down the
real Fergus Hawkins in Canada, and Matt who invited him over to
England. Father Alban said he would also like to see Matt again. It
seemed the young priest was a hero in the parish for putting one
over on Lacoste, but wasn't quite so popular with his bishop. He
was thinking of moving to England to work with the homeless and
would like Matt to show him round.

Tracking down Zoé was proving difficult.
Matt even bought a CD of Ravel's music arranged for the flute and
harp, ready for their reunion. It might not be gloomy enough to
cheer Zoé up, but the music would remind them both of their trip to
France -- if he ever saw her again.

The hostel where Zoé had been staying
had packed her things away, the warden said, and there was no
forwarding address. She said she was hoping Zoé would make contact
soon. Matt told her he was hoping the same, and walked home
wondering if he should leave thoughts of Zoé alone. She could have
returned to England with him if she'd wanted to. Obviously Florian
was the greater attraction. The CD remained in its case.

The New York Times
had three
apparently unrelated items in the Friday paper. The first item was
about an angry crowd of Jews and Palestinians that sparked off
riots in Jerusalem. The initial reports from the city were
confused, but the authorities said there was no connection between
the riots and a problem with the drains in the city. The situation
was reportedly under control, although there had been several
casualties.

The second report stated that shares
in DCI had fallen heavily following the tragic deaths of the
president and his father. The paper reported a rumor that the
Heinmans had been leaving Switzerland illegally, while wanted by
the police for questioning into a series of deaths in northern
France. The French police refused to comment, but did go as far as
to say that they were no longer looking for anyone in connection
with certain incidents. Inside sources claimed that all was not
well with Domestic Chemicals International which had been borrowing
heavily. News of a DCI breakthrough in cancer care had been
premature. A cynical analyst claimed that the announcement had been
little more than a ploy to boost stock market confidence during the
company's downward slide.