Rain on the Dead (19 page)

“The committee’s been canceled. Our president doesn’t have the time for it—too deeply involved in Russia, the Ukraine, Nigeria—you name it. So I don’t know what Cazalet’s going to do—stay here in Paris anyway, go on to London, go home. Who knows?”

“Well, that’ll make our job either easier or harder, I can’t decide which,” said Sara. “What do you think, Sean?”

“That we should get a drink.” He signaled and ordered some champagne.

“Oh, and if he decides to stay,” said Duval, “I have one message for you. You know that room-service waiter that you and Ferguson ran together for years, who retired nine months ago? Henri Laval?”

“That’s right. What about him?”

“Ferguson had a word with the general manager. So Laval’s back for you all, just for this stay.”

“Well, that will please the slippery old sod,” Dillon said, and raised a glass.

Just then, the far door opened and Jake Cazalet entered. He stopped dead, then laughed. “I should have guessed I’d find the three of you here.”

They glanced at each other, then Dillon said, “Heard the news?”

It took only a moment to explain, then Jake Cazalet sighed and dropped onto a chair. “Is there any champagne left in that bottle, because if there is, I could do with it.”

Sonia rushed to pour it, handed him the glass, and he toasted them. “It’s good to see you, but I’ve got to admit I’m sorely disappointed.”

“There’s always London, sir,” Sara told him.

“Is the meeting a definite there?” he asked.

“No, it’s a maybe,” Dillon said. “But the intention is genuine. Many people wish to see it take place.”

“On the other hand, no one is suggesting you rush over there,” Duval put in. “Why not enjoy Paris?”

Cazalet brightened considerably. “Why not indeed? Since I’ve come all this way, I might as well enjoy the Ritz. And I hope you’ll all be my guests at dinner tonight!”

—

At the Ritz, Zahra and Lupu had been handled with the impeccable service that great hotels always provide. Two porters had helped them with the luggage, and they’d been whisked directly to the fifth floor instead of reception to facilitate Lupu in his wheelchair. There, a young woman from housekeeping explained about all the amenities, promising that a senior member of staff would be along shortly, then left.

Zahra was giggling like a child, moving about the room and touching things. “This is the life, isn’t it?”

“Don’t be daft,” Lupu told her. “Just get me a vermouth, a large one.”

“Don’t be so miserable,” she said. “You should be telling me to open a bottle of champagne, but if sir wants his vermouth, that’s what he gets.”

As she passed him, he slapped her bottom hard. “And keep your mouth shut for a change. Any more fancy remarks and I’ll give you a good hiding, you bitch.”

So she was in trouble and knew it from past experience. He’d obviously been drinking heavily, and she was aware of a sad despair as everything crumbled around her. She took the vermouth to him, then turned away, remembering what the Master had said to her about life depending on chance. Did we control the game or did it control us?

The doorbell sounded. She stood there, frozen for a moment, uncertain what to do, and Lupu snarled at her. “Finally, room service, I suppose, so move yourself and answer it.”

She did as she was ordered, opened the door, and got a shock when she found Henri Laval facing her. His white hair gleamed, his uniform was superb, and his smile was as false as his teeth. She stepped to one side involuntarily and he moved in.

“Madame Cornue?” he began. “I’m Henri Laval, senior room-service waiter. So sorry you’ve been kept waiting,” and then he stopped smiling, the reality of who he was talking to showing in his astonishment. “Zahra? What are you doing here?”

She found it difficult to speak. “I thought you’d retired.”

“I have, but I’ve been called back in for a special client. But what in the hell are you playing at?”

Before she could reply, Lupu said drunkenly, “Hello, you stupid bastard, still sniffing around the guests’ pockets, are you?”

Henri stepped a little closer, frowning. “Lupu, is that you? What are you doing dressed up like that?”

“And what’s it got to do with you?” Lupu suddenly produced his Walther. “Silenced version, this. I could blow your head off and nobody would be any the wiser.” He glanced at Zahra. “What do you think the Master would say if I terminated your half uncle?”

He laughed so hard that he dropped the Walther, and Zahra dodged past him to pick it up. She turned to Henri: “You’d better go while you can.”

“But what about you, you’re not safe in his company.”

“I’ll make out. Sorry, Uncle Henri, for giving you grief.”

“But what’s happening, girl, what have you got yourself into, and who’s this Master he’s mentioned?”

Lupu’s head was down as if he were sleeping. “We’ll go,” she said. “Go back down the service elevator to the parking lot. Just give me fifteen minutes and we’ll be out of here. I didn’t even unpack our case.”

“I can’t afford any trouble,” he said. “It’s important at my age. I’d never get a job again, you know what the hotel trade is like.”

“Then just give me fifteen minutes and I’m out of your life.”

“Damn you, Zahra, where’s your case, the bedroom? I’ll get it while you push him out to the service elevator, and I’ll follow on with the luggage. If we see anybody, just behave normally.”

But they didn’t see a soul, having the elevator to themselves, Zahra pushing the wheelchair out to the medical van, followed by
Henri with the suitcase. He stood there waiting as she operated the hydraulic lift, taking the wheelchair inside the van, Lupu still in it.

She turned to him. “You know, I always thought you were a bad old bastard, but you’ve been great.”

“I don’t want to know, but I wish you well,” he said. “Just do me a favor and leave Paris.”

He went back to the hotel and she drove away, stopping in a back street to call the Master. “Trouble?” he asked.

“I’m afraid so.” She had a struggle to control her sobs, but he didn’t comment, just allowed her to continue.

He was all sympathy when she’d finished. “At least you’ve managed to get out of there safely. A pity Lupu mentioned the Master in his ramblings, but that can’t be helped now. You have money in your account and your uncle will keep quiet for his own sake. You should be quite safe for a while in the barge, but I would advise you to move out of Paris soon and without Lupu.”

“I think you’re right, Master.”

“I usually am. Take care.”

He thought about it for ten minutes or so. It was a mess, particularly the reference to her connection with him. Time to be proactive. He phoned Paris again and gave an anonymous voice an order.

—

When Zahra arrived at the
Rosamund
, it was early evening, dark and raining heavily. She turned to check Lupu in his wheelchair, but he slept in a drunken stupor now, so she left him there, boarded the barge, went into the galley to look for an umbrella, and found one in a corner.

An open bottle of Lupu’s vermouth stood by the sink, and she poured some into a glass and swallowed it down, feeling somehow at the final end of things, staring out of the galley window at the rain bouncing off the medical van. She froze as a policeman wearing a heavy-weather yellow oilskin uniform and riding a motorbike emerged from the alley opposite onto the quay. He pushed the bike up on its stand, dismounted, and proceeded to examine the vehicle with the kind of police torch that looked as if it doubled as a club.

She immediately panicked but pulled herself together, ran outside, and with her umbrella raised, approached him as he examined Lupu by torchlight, who still lolled in the wheelchair.

The policeman turned to Zahra, his eyes darkened by night bifocals under the peak of his helmet, the rest of his face covered by a weather guard. His voice was polite and neutral.

“What’s the story here, madam?”

“He’s a seriously sick man who insists on drinking when he shouldn’t. He’s just sleeping it off in the chair.”

“I’d like to check that, but the door appears to be locked.”

She said, “It’s controlled by the driver and only works when the engine is on.”

“I wonder if you could show me that,” he said. “I’ll hold your umbrella.”

“Of course,” she said, handed it to him, then climbed in behind the wheel and started the engine, which tumbled into life. She leaned out, the driver’s door still ajar. “There you are, Officer, the rear door is unlocked now. It locks again when the driver’s door opens.”

“I’m very grateful, madam,” he said, and clubbed her with the
torch, a savage blow across the side of the skull. She tilted to the right without a sound; he reached over, released the brake, slammed the door, and stood back as the van moved forward to the end of the quay, knocked down the guardrail, and went straight over into the Seine.

He moved to where the rail was damaged and shone his torch down into the water, where the van lay slightly tilted, the rear showing only briefly as little waves lapped. It was enough, nobody could have survived that, and he made a quick call to the Master as he walked back to his motorbike.

“Taken care of.”

“Are you certain?” the Master said.

“As the coffin lid closing,” the man in the police uniform told him, and rode away.

—

The sudden disappearance of Zahra and Lupu was noticed by a number of the members of staff, but was at first thought to be a case of guests who couldn’t pay their bill doing a runner. But that made no sense at all, and when the hotel visited their security cameras, the game was up for Henri Laval. Normally, the police would have been called in, but the presence of Colonel Claude Duval in the hotel, because of Jake Cazalet’s presence, brought in full DGSE powers, which superseded any police investigation. Added to that, when Duval was shown some of the security film, he recognized Zahra at once and his nose twitched, for her relationship with Lupu was known to the DGSE. This was why he had Laval delivered to Cazalet’s suite and in the presence of Sara Gideon and Dillon.

“Will this be entirely legal?” Sara inquired. “What about due process and right to a lawyer and so on?”

“Sara, we of the French Secret Service believe in going in hard, and our Parliament totally supports us. I saw service in Algeria as a young man, and it had a great effect on me. To some I’m a dinosaur, but I get results, and I smell stinking fish here. I welcome you to join me as a courtesy. Former president Cazalet feels it would not be proper for him to join us and will stay in the other sitting room. I would also remind you that Laval is my prisoner and not yours.”

Dillon looked at Sara, who nodded, and he grinned at Duval. “Agreed, so let’s get on with it, you old devil.”

Duval nodded to Sonia, who had changed her waitress uniform for a black suit, and she ushered in her colleague from the airport and Henri Laval in handcuffs, who looked frightened to death.

Claude shook his head. “What the hell have you been getting up to, Monsieur Laval?”

Henri seemed bereft of speech, his head shaking, and Duval carried on. “Zahra le Ruez is a known consort of enemies of the State. We may not have Devil’s Island to offer anymore, but there are certain establishments, in Mali for instance, who could help us out with similar facilities.”

And Henri Laval broke, came apart at the seams, weeping wildly. “No, I beg you, none of this is my fault. It is only because I was invited to return to the hotel to look after the Cazalet party’s needs that I am here at all. To help junior staff under pressure, I check on the room-service needs of other suites and was shocked when Zahra opened the door of one of them to me.”

Sara cut in before Claude could speak. “Why were you shocked?”

“I have a half sister, Captain Gideon, that few people know
about. Zahra is her daughter. She was an actress and then formed a relationship with a Chechen named Aleg Lupu.”

“A petty gangster turned jihadist for AQ in Syria,” Claude said. “Recently wounded, we believe.”

“I know nothing of that, Colonel,” Laval pleaded. “Only that they were staying here under false names and that it might be for the wrong reason and I told them they must go.”

“And what happened then?” Dillon put in.

“Lupu was drunk, crazy drunk, and he pulled out a silenced pistol and threatened me with it.”

“And what happened then?” Dillon went on.

“He said a strange thing to Zahra. He asked her what she thought the Master would say if he terminated her half uncle.”

Sara laughed excitedly. “The Master—so we know exactly who we’re dealing with! What happened then, Henri?”

“He was so drunk, he lost his senses while still sitting in the wheelchair. I told her she’d have to leave, and I escorted them down in the elevator to a medical van she had waiting.”

Claude Duval said, “And where did she go?”

“I told her she should leave Paris, hopefully without Lupu, so she just drove away, to her place, I supposed.”

“Which is?”

“A barge called
Rosamund
, moored to one of those quays close to Notre Dame. She’s had it for years. It’s in the phone book.” Henri Laval looked wretchedly tired. “It’s a mess, Colonel, isn’t it?”

Claude patted his back. “I believe you’ve told the truth this time, you stupid old fool. I’ll see what I can do for you.” He nodded to Sonia and her friend. “Take him into headquarters and book him.”

Henri departed between the two young officers and Claude
moved away, talking into his mobile phone. As he finished, Jake Cazalet entered. “That’s a hell of a story. I got most of it. But tell me, Sean, what in hell was it all about? What were this Zahra and the boyfriend supposed to do?”

“That’s pretty obvious, sir,” Sara said. “I think the Master had given them instructions to shoot you.”

“And I agree,” Claude Duval said. “I’ve just given orders for a team of my people to move in on this barge of Zahra le Ruez’s. I’m going to join them there now, and if you and Sara would like to, that’s fine.” He turned to Jake. “It would be better if you stayed away.”