I Kill (64 page)

He noticed a movement from above and instinctively raised his head. There was a group of people standing at the edge of the road, leaning on the guard-rail in front of a line of cars.
Pierrot’s cries must have attracted their attention or else, more probably, a group of tourists had happened to stop just then to admire the view and had watched the nerve-racking rescue.
Jean-Loup turned his head and looked up. He, too, saw the people and the cars parked forty yards above him. His shoulders slumped slightly as if an invisible weight had suddenly fallen on him.

Frank stood up and, leaning on the tree trunk, slowly went back the way he had come. He bid farewell to the lifeless tree with the gratitude due to a true friend who has helped in a difficult
moment. His fingers felt the touch of the live branches on the bushes he clutched as he placed his feet on the firm surface of the horizontal world.

Jean-Loup and Pierrot were before him, watching him. He saw the green flash in Jean-Loup’s eyes. Frank was exhausted and knew that he didn’t stand a chance of winning a fight, not in
this weakened state, and definitely not after what he had seen Jean-Loup do to Mosse. Jean-Loup must have sensed his thoughts. He smiled, a smile that was suddenly weary. Frank could only imagine
what lay behind that simple movement of his facial muscles: a life divided by continuous motion from light to darkness, from warmth to cold, from lucidity to delirium in the perpetual dilemma of
being
someone
or
no one.
Jean-Loup’s smile faded. He spoke with the familiar voice that had enchanted so many radio listeners, radiating tranquillity and well-being.

‘Don’t worry, Agent Ottobre. It’s all right. I know the words “The End” when I see them.’

Frank bent over and picked up his phone. As he dialled Morelli’s number, he thought about the absurdity of the situation. There he was, unarmed, completely at the mercy of a man who could
easily destroy him with one hand tied behind his back, and he was able to remain alive only because Jean-Loup had decided not to kill him.

Morelli’s brusque voice leapt from the phone. ‘Hello?’

In exchange, Frank offered his own exhausted voice and the good news. ‘Claude, it’s Frank.’

‘What is it? What happened?’

His few words cost him enormous effort. ‘Get a car to Jean-Loup’s house right away. I’ve got him.’

He didn’t listen to the sergeant’s astonished response. He didn’t see Pierrot bend his head and cling to his friend’s body more tightly, as a reaction to those last
words. All he saw as he lowered the phone was Jean-Loup’s hand slowly opening and dropping the bloody knife to the ground.

The Sûreté Publique de Monaco car veered right and turned at incredible speed on to the highway to Nice airport. Frank had told Xavier that it was a matter of life
or death, and the agent was interpreting his words to the letter. Even above the wail of the siren, he could hear the tyres screeching on the asphalt. They reached a roundabout where there were
roadworks under way. Frank knew that although they were in a police car they were still not exempt from the laws of physics. He feared that this time, despite Xavier’s talent, the car might
not hold the road and they’d plunge into the Var river below. But his favourite racing driver stunned him again. With a sharp turn of the wheel, Xavier swerved and narrowly avoided
disaster.

Morelli was in the front beside the driver. Frank saw his body relax when he realized they would make it. They drove straight ahead for a short stretch and Xavier began to slow down. He turned
off the siren when they pulled on to the access road of Terminal 2 and followed a sign indicating the unloading zone for passengers and luggage. Cars were only allowed a brief stop, a ritual known
as Kiss and Fly. Frank smiled to himself. He doubted that Parker would kiss him before he left.

They stopped in a reserved access area halfway down on the left. It was protected by a barricade and two guards from the Côte d’Azur airport. Seeing the police markings, they raised
the barricade and let them through. A few minutes later, the car pulled up in front of the international departures terminal.

Morelli turned sharply to the driver. ‘If you do that on the way back, the next vehicle you’ll be operating will be a lawn mower. Landscape gardeners love to hire former
cops.’

‘Don’t worry, champ, his bark is worse than his bite.’ Frank smiled and leaned over from the backseat to put his hand on Xavier’s shoulder.

Frank’s mobile phone rang inside his jacket pocket. He could guess who it was. The ring was so insistent that he was surprised the phone wasn’t hot.

‘Hello?’

‘Frank? It’s Froben. Where are you?’

‘Outside the airport. I’m getting out of the car now.’

‘Thank the lord.’ The inspector sounded genuinely relieved. ‘This guy’s about to explode. He’ll probably declare war against France single-handedly in a matter of
minutes. You wouldn’t believe the stories I had to make up to keep him calm.’

‘I believe it. But I assure you, it wasn’t a whim. It’s the biggest favour anyone’s ever done for me in my life.’

‘Okay, Americano. My phone’s getting wet with tears. Cut the sentimentality and get your arse over here. You’ve got to take this hot potato off my hands. I’m coming to
meet you.’

Frank opened the car door. Morelli’s voice stopped him just as his foot hit the pavement. ‘Should we wait?’

‘No, you go. I’ll make my own way back somehow.’

Frank was about to walk away but then changed his mind. Even in such a hurry, he had to express his gratitude. ‘Uh, Claude?’

‘Yeah?’

‘Thank you, really. Both of you.’

‘For what? Go on. They’re waiting for you.’

Before he got out, Frank glanced knowingly at Xavier. ‘I’ll bet €1,000 against one of Roncaille’s calling cards that you can get back faster than you got here.’

He closed the door on Morelli’s protests. But as he heard the car race off, he smiled.

Jean-Loup’s capture and the end of the nightmare had created a sort of holiday cheer among the police of the Sûreté Publique. All the deaths in the criminal’s path had
kept things solemn, but seeing him arrive at headquarters in handcuffs had been like finding a special present under the Christmas tree. And anyone who regretted that Nicolas Hulot was not there to
share that moment kept it to himself. The fact that the arrest was due solely to Frank’s stroke of genius and that it had been carried out by him alone raised the general level of admiration
for him and even created esteem where it hadn’t existed. He had smiled when smiles were required, shaken hands when they were offered along with congratulations, and had taken part in a joy
that he could not completely share. He hadn’t wanted to be the only guy not smiling in the group photo. But he kept doing something that was becoming a ritual that day. He kept looking at his
watch. And he had requested a car to get him to the airport as quickly as possible. And young Xavier hadn’t let him down.

He hurried towards the glass doors, which opened obligingly at his arrival. Froben’s familiar face greeted him as soon as he entered the departure lounge. The inspector snorted
theatrically and mimed someone wiping sweat off his brow with one hand.

‘You have no idea what a great pleasure it is to see you, Agent Ottobre.’

‘I have a really good idea, don’t you worry,’ Frank answered in the same joking tone. They were both being perfectly sincere.

‘I was clutching at straws to find some way to convince him that no official intervention was necessary. I could barely manage to keep him from calling the President of the United States.
I’m sure you can imagine. They missed their flight, but the next one to the States leaves in just under an hour. And I guarantee that General Parker won’t be kept off it.’

‘Everything you say about Parker is true. And believe me, I could tell you a few more things about him.’

As they spoke, they walked rapidly to the area of the airport where Froben had parked the Parkers. They reached the security check. The inspector showed his badge to the agents at the metal
detectors, and a uniformed officer pointed to a side entrance that would bypass the line of passengers waiting to have their hand luggage checked. They turned left to go to the gates.

‘Now you must tell me something, Frank. How’s the other business going? Am I wrong, or is there news?’

‘You mean No One?’

‘Who else?’

‘We got him,’ said Frank in a neutral voice.

‘When?’ The inspector looked at him, astonished.

‘About an hour ago. He’s in jail.’

‘That’s how you tell me? Just like that?’

Frank turned to look at Froben. He waved vaguely in the air. ‘It’s over, Christophe. End of story.’ He couldn’t say anything more because they had reached the reserved
room, guarded by a policeman.

Frank stopped outside the door that obscured General Nathan Parker, Helena and Stuart from his view. One of them was a burdensome part of his present; the other two were his future. He stood
staring at the door as if it were transparent and he could see what those on the other side were doing. Froben put a hand on his shoulder. ‘Want any help, Frank?’

There was a protective note in the inspector’s voice. Froben’s delicate sensitivity contrasted sharply with his lumberjack’s appearance.

‘No, thanks. You’ve given me more than I could have hoped for. Now I have to fend for myself.’

The room was one of the many anonymous, comfortable VIP lounges scattered throughout all airports for business-class passengers. Armchairs and leather sofas, walls painted pastel colours, plush
carpeting, a small cafeteria to one side, and reproductions of Van Gogh and Matisse paintings on the walls alongside a few travel posters framed in satinized steel. There was a sense of
impermanence that one generally finds in that kind of room, with all those arrivals and departures breaking the false illusion of comfort.

Helena was sitting on a sofa leafing through a magazine. Stuart was beside her playing his Game Boy. The low coffee table in front of them had a couple of plastic cups and a soda can on its
glass surface.

General Parker was standing on the other side of the room, his back to the door. He was staring at a reproduction of a crucifixion by Dalí hanging on the wall, his hands crossed behind
his back. He turned his head as he heard the door open, looking momentarily puzzled at Frank as if he were searching for a name and a place to connect to the face.

Helena raised her head from the page and her face lit up when she saw him. Frank thanked heaven that the light of that gaze was meant for him, but he had no time to enjoy her smile.
Parker’s rage exploded instantly. In two steps he positioned himself between them, with hatred hotter than fire blazing on his face.

‘I should have known that you were the cause of all this,’ he spluttered. ‘This is the last mistake you’ll ever make. I’ve already told you once, and now I’m
confirming it.
You’re finished.
You’re so stupid, you thought I was bluffing. As soon as I’m back in the States, I’ll make sure there’s nothing left of you.
I’ll—’

Frank stared fixedly at the red face of the man before him. There was a storm inside him crashing against the shore, shaking the wooden pier. But when Frank interrupted the general, his voice
was so calm that it aggravated his adversary even more.

‘I’d calm down if I were you, general. At your age, the heart is an organ that needs to be treated with care. You wouldn’t want to risk a heart attack and rid me of your
presence so easily.’

The look that passed over the old soldier’s face was one of a thousand flags waving, each moved by the winds of war. Frank saw with pleasure that, along with hatred, fury and disbelief,
there was a shadow of doubt behind those blazing blue eyes. He might have begun to wonder where Frank found the nerve to speak to him that way. It was just an instant, and then Parker’s gaze
was again filled with utter disdain. He imitated Frank and calmed his voice as well. The corners of his mouth lifted in a self-satisfied smile.

‘I’m sorry to disappoint you, young man. Unfortunately for you, my heart is solid as a rock. You, apparently, are having useless palpitations. And that’s another mistake. My
daughter—’

Frank interrupted him again, which was not something to which General Nathan Parker was accustomed.

‘As far as your daughter and grandson are concerned –’ Frank paused a moment at the word
grandson,
lowering his voice so that the boy could not hear. Stuart was sitting
on the sofa with his hands in his lap, watching the scene in wonder. His electronic toy, completely ignored, continued on its own:
beep, beep, beep.

‘As far as your daughter and grandson are concerned, I would advise you to let them go visit the duty-free shop. It might be better if we keep the things we have to say to each other to
ourselves.’

‘We have absolutely nothing to say to each other, Agent Ottobre. And my daughter and grandson don’t need to go to any goddamn duty-free shop. You’re the one who should walk out
that door and get out of our lives for good. We’re getting on a plane to the United States. Let me repeat—’

‘General, perhaps you’ve forgotten that all your blustering won’t pay off in the long run. Sooner or later, someone will have the right cards to call. And win. I don’t
give a damn about you. If I saw you on fire I wouldn’t even bother pissing in your pocket. If you want me to say what I have to say in front of them, I will. But be aware that you won’t
be able to turn back. So if you want to take that risk . . .’

Frank’s voice was so low that Helena could barely hear him. She wondered what he had just said to her father to silence him that way. Frank looked at her and nodded slightly. Helena stood
up and took her son by the hand.

‘Come on, Stuart. Let’s go for a walk. There are lots of things to see outside.’ The boy followed her obediently. He lived in the Parker house, like his mother. He was used to
receiving orders. And orders were meant to be obeyed. The two of them walked over to the door, the carpet muffling their footsteps. The only sound was that of the door closing behind them.