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 per
ched 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."
"And the PIN for your card?"
"Eight four five two. It's too late now to worry about being traced. This is the end of the line."
"Any more orders?"
"Yes, take that ridiculous headscarf off."
Zoé reached up and touched her head. "I did not realize I still had it on. I must look terrible."
"You do."
Zoé ripped the yellow headscarf off and threw it into a waste bin on the railings. "Satisfied?" she asked, but she seemed to be sharing the absurdity of the situation in spite of keeping a straight face.
Matt stood by the railings on the quay when Zoé and Sophie had gone, listening to the water lapping in a regular beat against the stone wall far below. For a time his mind stayed a blank, and he could only blame it on fatigue. He glanced at his watch, and then it hit him. There were different times zones around the world. Plan C. He knew exactly what to do.
Twenty minutes later, Zoé returned with a large paper bag from a fast food chain. "Sophie is fixed up for the night, and I have managed to buy us some food," she said, sounding pleased with her enterprise.
"Thanks." Matt took the bag, pulled out a burger in a bun and bit into it.
"And you have decided what plan to use?" Zoé asked.
"One of us needs to speak to Urquet."
"I could be the pharmacist again."
That didn't sound like a good idea. "Urquet told you to send a fax, but we didn't. So someone here may have contacted Frank Heinman's real pharmacist to see what it was all about. Last Christmas Eve, I put on an American accent and phoned Ken. Said I was a prosperous Texan who wanted him to fly to Miami. He was dead keen to go -- until I explained he had to rescue someone kidnapped by a ruthless drugs baron."
"And he believed you?"
Matt laughed at the memory. "Ken's always claimed he knew it was a wind-up. He said he just went along with it."
"And what use is an American accent in Switzerland?"
"I'll say I'm in the DCI New York office, and I have to speak to one of the Heinmans urgently."
Zoé had opted for a salad in a plastic pack. She pulled it open with her teeth. "How will it help?" She didn't seem impressed.
Matt took another bite from his burger. A few days ago Zoé would never have used her teeth like this in front of him. The reserve in their relationship must be breaking down. "It's only late afternoon in New York."
"So?"
"You can see people in most of the offices here, so I reckon some of the staff have to work late to keep in touch with New York. That means there'll be a switchboard operator on duty. The operator won't think it odd to be getting a call from America. I'll ask to speak to the president."
"And if he is already here?"
"I put the phone down and we go and see the police. Maybe they'll be alerted by now."
"And if the 'Einmans have not arrived?"
"I'll get put through to Urquet and tell him everything. If he doesn't want to listen, he won't know we're here in Geneva, so it might still be possible to go for Plan A and ram the Heinmans' car." He wiped his chin. "I needed that. Can you see a phone?"
Zoé pointed across the quay. "Over there, but you will need a card. There is a bar down the road. Perhaps they sell them. I will drive and ask."
Matt looked at the Renault. "It might be quicker to walk. No, only joking. Take the car." He already felt better from a few bites of food. He stood on the quay overlooking the black water of the lake while Zoé drove down the road in a haze of smoke.
The phone cubicle looked cramped. He picked up the handset when Zoé returned with a phone card. The ring was answered quickly, and he tried the American voice that had once fooled Ken.
"Is that DCI Geneva? Listen, girl, this is the New York office. We have an emergency. It's imperative that I speak to the president immediately. Be as quick as you can.... Yes, I understand. Listen, girl, I don't want any time wasted. Just put me through to Urquet."
In spite of the tension, Matt smiled. He'd learnt a thing or two from Zoé. He could imagine some poor woman in the building becoming increasingly flustered.
"He's there, girl, so don't go giving me any security flannel. Just put me through -- assuming Urquet's not gone early."
Matt breathed in deeply and slowly. The fresh air spilling off the mountains seemed like a breath of heaven. The suspense was like hell. A sudden change of plan came to him. Matt didn't even have time to think it through. Plan D. He'd be the Heinman's driver.
He heard a male voice on the line. "Mr. Urquet?" he asked. "What was that fool of a switchboard girl playing at? ... New York? Did she think I was in New York? ... I'm driving the president and his father down to you. We've had a slight hold-up on the autoroute and they've stopped of
f for a meal ... Sure, they've already discussed it with me, Mr. Urquet ... No, I can't say I'm too keen on it either. Well, no, but it's not exactly my problem. I'm only the driver ... The DCI Gulfstream from New York? Remind me about it. They're meeting...? Yes, I remember now, at the DCI building ... Okay, Mr. Urquet, see you soon."
He replaced the phone and reached out to hug Zoé. "We've hit the jackpot, girl. Urquet is expecting the Heinmans sometime soon, but he's not at all happy about what's going on. A DCI jet has just arrived at Geneva airport. It's part of some scheme Urquet's hatched up, and I'm supposed to know all about it."
"What scheme?" She let the hug continue.
"I haven't a clue." He still felt elated by his success on the phone. "I wonder if this is the right time to get the police involved. What do you think?"
"The police were bad for us in France."
"You're right," agreed Matt. "If we go to the local police they'll detain us, while they check with the Pas-de-Calais. While we're protesting our innocence, the Heinmans could be back in America on their private jet." He pointed to the phone booth. "I'll call the airport and find out when the plane is leaving."
Zoé gripped hold of his arm. "Look, I can see a big Volvo estate. No, it has English plates, and it is going round the back. Maybe I should go to the hotel and check on Sophie while you are phoning. She is very tired after the journey."
"Sophie!" He knew what to do now. Ken would call it thinking on the hoof, but this one was going to work. He was probably onto plan X by now. "Quick, get Sophie here. That woman tells a convincing story. She can tell Urquet everything she knows -- before the Heinmans arrive."
*
"YOU DIDN'T tell me how much of a mess you're both in." Simon Urquet stared at the young president and his father with what he hoped was an undisguised look of distaste.
The new president seemed aware of the hostile attitude. "I pay you to deal with DCI business, Urquet, and this is DCI business. I just hope you've not been wasting our time."
"The DCI Gulfstream is already at the airport, Jason." Urquet glanced across at the ex-president and wondered if he could cause a division between father and son. "And that's what I told your driver on the phone not many minutes ago, Frank."