Presumed Dead (29 page)

‘You’ve got nearly an hour,’ the commander
replied coolly, ‘just evacuate it if you’re worried.’

‘If the pilot is already dead, can’t you
shoot the aircraft down?’ Batard asked hopefully.

‘Not unless it’s absolutely necessary,’ the
commander said, ‘it would cause a hell of a stink, French fighters shooting
down a British registered aircraft. Now look, I’m sure you’ve got plenty of
time to get those people down from there. The sooner you get on with it, the better.’

‘All right,’ Batard said reluctantly, ‘but
if there are still people up there at 16:45, I’m going to insist you shoot it
down.’

‘Fair enough,’ the commander conceded,
‘I’ll keep the escorts in place and wait for your call.’

Batard said goodbye, slammed his fingers
down on the cradle to clear the line, then dialed the number for the cable-car
station at the foot of L’Aiguille du Midi in Chamonix.

.

Back up in Lewes, Hubbard was pacing the
incident room. ‘I reckon it’s a trick,’ he was saying to Butcher.

‘You think he’s faking it?’

‘Yes. I reckon as soon as he saw those
fighters he pretended to be unconscious so they couldn’t force him down. I’ll
bet you as soon as he gets into the mountains he’ll dive off up a valley
somewhere he can’t be followed and land.’

‘But why would he do that?’ Butcher asked.
‘He knows he’d be caught sooner or later.’

‘Maybe so, but I think he’s got unfinished
business with his wife. I’m convinced he’s a killer, and now he knows we’re on
to him, he’s got nothing to lose. Didn’t you see the look on his face when we
told him she was still alive? I think he’s completely lost it, and he’s got
nothing on his mind now but finishing her off before we get him.’

‘Hadn’t we better warn her?’ Butcher asked.

‘Better than that, we’ll warn the local
police. They can protect her, and if Webley shows up they can nick him.’ With
that, Hubbard pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and scrolled through his
recent calls. ‘Here it is,’ he said, pushing the button to redial Batard’s
number.

Batard had just finished speaking with the
director of the STMB, the company that runs the Aiguille du Midi cable cars.
He’d managed to convey the urgency of the situation and the director had
promised an immediate evacuation. When his telephone rang again, he snatched it
from its cradle.

‘Batard,’ he barked.

‘Chief Inspector Hubbard here,’ Hubbard
said.

‘I am sorry Monsieur, I can not talk now, I
am dealing with an emergency.’

‘The aircraft that is heading your way?’
Hubbard asked.

‘How did you know?’

‘That aircraft belongs to Sir Ross Webley,
I believe he is on his way to harm his wife.’

Batard was flabbergasted. ‘I knew it was a
British aircraft, but I had no idea it was him!’ he said. ‘I was told the pilot
was dead!’

‘I don’t believe that,’ Hubbard replied
urgently. ‘I think he’s faking, and at the last minute, he’ll land somewhere
near Chamonix and go after his wife.’

Batard thought of Alice being harmed again
by her husband and his blood boiled. ‘Do not worry Monsieur, if he comes
anywhere near Madame Webley, I will shoot him personally.’

‘No need for that, Batard,’ Hubbard said,
surprised by his vehemence, ‘just arrest him if you wouldn’t mind. He’s got a
number of charges to answer here including manslaughter, murder and attempted
murder.’

‘It will be done, you can rely on me,’
Batard assured him. ‘Now I must get on. Goodbye Monsieur.’ Batard hung up then
grabbed his cap and headed out of the door.

.

Up in the cable car station on the summit
of L’Aiguille du Midi, all hell had broken loose. The duty manager had made an
announcement over the public address system in three languages asking everyone
to make their way calmly to the disembarkation point for emergency evacuation.
Mention of the word emergency had sparked panic. Women screamed, children cried
and there was a crush of bodies as hundreds of people desperately tried to
squeeze down the narrow staircase that led to the departure station.

As the next empty cable-car edged into the
station, the crowd surged forward, piling into the gondola until it was impossible
to slide the doors closed. Using a loud hailer and physically manhandling
people out of the way, the station staff managed to drive the crowd back behind
a barrier so that the doors could be closed and the cable-car could depart.

While they were waiting for the next
gondola to arrive, the station manager reassured everyone that there was no
need for panic, and that if everyone remained calm, they would all get down
safely. That worked until the next car arrived…

.

Alice and Philippe had finished a long,
leisurely lunch at about half past three, and had then moved onto the rooftop
terrace outside the huge glass restaurant to sit on loungers in the sun, enjoy
a glass of wine and admire the view. The restaurant had closed and they’d been
out there for an hour, both nearly asleep, lulled by the warm sun and the wine
when Batard rushed up to them.

‘I am sorry to bother you Madame,’ he said,
‘but I must speak with you urgently.’

Alice shot upright in her lounger,
adrenaline pumping through her body, making her insides feel cold and watery.
‘What’s happened?’ she asked desperately. Philippe sat up more slowly to
listen.

 ‘It is your husband, Madame,’ Batard said
apologetically. ‘He is in his aircraft heading this way. The Air Force say he
is unconscious and will crash into L’Aiguille du Midi just before five o’clock,
but Monsieur Hubbard at Scotland Yard fears he is on his way here to harm you.
He has asked me to ensure your protection.’

Alice was dumfounded. She just couldn’t get
her mind around what she was being told. ‘Ross? On his way here? I thought he’d
been arrested!’

‘It seems he escaped Madame, and now he is
coming here.’

‘Oh my God!’ Alice cried, burying her face
in her hands, ‘he’s going to try to kill me again.’

‘Not while I’m here,’ Philippe said, putting
his hand on her arm.

‘Thank you Monsieur,’ Batard said, turning
to Philippe. ‘I have a lot to do. Can I rely on you to look after Madame?’

‘Of course Captain,’ Philippe said. ‘I will
not leave her side.’

‘I have already alerted the regular
gendarmerie,’ Batard said, ‘if he tries to land near here, they will arrest
him, do not worry.’

As Batard gave a small bow and rushed away,
Philippe put his arm around Alice’s shoulder and said, ‘Don’t worry, he won’t
get anywhere near you.’

‘You know why he’s doing this,’ she sobbed.
‘He knows I killed Alex. I’m the only one apart from him who could have opened
the gun safe. He’s coming here to make sure I don’t get away with it.’

.

Batard drove across town as fast as he
could to the cable-car station at the foot of L’Aiguille du Midi. He marched
into the control room where the director was watching the television monitors.
On the screens were images of men, women and children pushing and shoving,
trying to get into a cable-car gondola while staff wearing their distinctive
blue and purple ski jackets, fought to keep order. Finally, the doors of the
car slid shut and Batard was relieved to see just one operator left in the
small control booth.

Batard looked at his watch. The time was
16:45 exactly. Turning to the director, he asked, ‘How long will it take to get
that car down?’

‘Time to the mid-station is eight minutes,’
he replied. ‘As soon as they pull in there, they’ll be safe.

Batard breathed a sigh of relief. ‘What
about that man who’s left up there,’ he asked. ‘What’s he going to do?’

‘Henri? Oh he’ll be all right. He
volunteered to stay behind to operate the machinery. As soon as the car is
down, he’ll go through the service tunnel to the south side of the peak. He’ll
be safe there.’

‘Good,’ Batard sighed. ‘Thank you for your
help. I’ll leave it up to you to inspect your cables for damage after the
crash… if there is one.’

Driving back across town, he was amazed by
the number of people that were on the streets. Word had obviously got out about
the approaching aircraft because there were hundreds of people staring and
pointing up towards the snow covered Aiguille du Midi. By the time he reached
the town center, the streets were gridlocked as people left their cars in the
road and got out to watch the drama unfold. Eventually, unable to move any
further, Batard abandoned his car and joined the crowd.

.

Up on the hotel roof, Alice and Philippe
stood anxiously, alternately scanning the sky and looking down at their
watches. Suddenly, the sound of jet aircraft filled the valley, and as they
looked up they saw two fighters peel away to the left and right, leaving a
solitary civil aircraft flying directly towards the mountain peak.

The noise of the jets faded as they
disappeared into the distance, to be replaced by the steady drone of the Golden
Eagle’s engines, crossing the valley overhead towards inevitable destruction.
As they watched though, the Cessna abruptly veered away from the mountainside
and started a long, curving descent away from them.

‘He’s trying to find somewhere to land!’
Alice cried.

They kept watching the Cessna as it
descended, expecting it to drop out of sight at any moment, but then, it turned
again, and came screaming back towards the town losing more height until it was
barely above the rooftops.

For the second time in three days, events
slipped into slow motion for Alice. She was suddenly enveloped in a strange
calm. From her vantage point, high above the town, she stood mesmerized,
staring down onto the Cessna as it hurtled towards the center of the hotel,
four floors below her feet.

Then, right at the last possible moment, as
if Ross had spotted her on the rooftop, the Golden Eagle pitched up abruptly
and headed directly towards her.

Now, looking straight into the cockpit,
straight into her husband’s manic eyes, Alice knew her life was over. I was a
fool to think I could ever find happiness after what I did to Alex, she
thought, sadly. This is my punishment. This is what I deserve.

Dropping to her knees, she bowed her head
and waited for the executioner’s blow.

The blow, when it came though, was from
behind. With an anguished cry, Philippe launched himself at her and forced them
both down behind the low parapet wall, shielding her with his body as one of
the thrashing propellers passed within inches of his head.

A split second later the deserted
restaurant erupted into a billion glistening shards as the Cessna ploughed
through the glass structure before slithering off the roof and exploding in a
huge fireball on the empty tennis courts behind the hotel.

Alice and Philippe lay perfectly still for
what seemed like an age as broken glass showered over them. When it finally
stopped, Philippe eased himself up and helped Alice to sit. Blood poured down
her face and into her eyes from a gash on her forehead.

With the sirens of the approaching rescue
vehicles building to a deafening crescendo, and black, acrid smoke billowing
around them, Philippe comforted her and carefully stemmed the stream of blood
with his folded handkerchief, tying it in place with the thin fabric belt from
her dress. With the dressing in place and the bleeding under control, he helped
her to her feet.

Alice, smudged with soot, her hair tangled
and matted with blood, stared wide-eyed at the wreckage of the restaurant and
the flames leaping high into the air from behind the hotel. Bursting into
tears, she flung herself against Philippe and clung to him like a terrified
child.

‘It is okay,’ he said gently, holding her
close. ‘It’s over now, you’re safe.’

Years later, Alice would still sometimes
wake in the middle of the night, smothered by fear. The blast of the shotgun
ringing in her ears. The muzzle flash stinging her eyes to tears. When it
happened, he would take her in his arms and run his fingers over the scar on
her forehead and through her short hair, kissing her gently, soothingly, while
she clung to him fiercely.

Some nights when this wasn’t enough, she
would slip from his arms and wander around the beautiful home they had built
when they settled in Chamonix, switching on lights and running her hands over
their possessions, just to make sure it was all real. Then she would creep into
the children’s rooms.

Charles, tall and strong now, doing well at
the local college. Her two precious little girls, ‘blond and beautiful like
their mother,’ Philippe always said, sleeping soundly. She knew that when the
morning sun came and the nightmares receded, she would walk them along the
riverside path to the nursery school in the park, then carry on to their
father’s office in town, where she worked part-time.

Once the thoughts of normality had finally
filtered reality from nightmare, she would tiptoe back to bed and find comfort
in his arms again.

On the nights when she still couldn’t
sleep, he would get up and make hot chocolate. When it was ready, they would
sit out on the terrace, wrapped in bathrobes, cold hands clutching warm mugs,
watching the dawn steal over their beloved mountains.

Then they would talk…

The End