Liz Carlyle - 07 - The Geneva Trap (30 page)

When his daughter opened the door Edward was relieved to find her smiling, and he was pleased when she gave him a big hug. She led him into the kitchen, from where he could see Teddy playing in the garden. When Cathy started to open the back door to call the boy, he stopped her. ‘Hold on a moment. I’ve heard from Susan’s daughter – you know, Liz, the woman you met here.’ He was glad when she didn’t frown. ‘It seems René and his friends have been raided by the police down in Cahors. They found weapons and explosives at the commune.’

‘I’m not surprised.’

‘No, I’m sure you’re not. But it means they won’t be coming here and bothering you for money. From what Liz said, it sounds as if they’ll be in jail for a long time.’

Cathy nodded. ‘They’re not all bad, you know,’ she said. ‘Some of them are my friends.’

But Edward could see she was relieved. It must have been the most tremendous strain for her. He said cheerfully, ‘Why don’t I go out and see my grandson?’

When the doorbell rang Edward was still in the back garden with Teddy. Reassured that she was no longer under threat, Cathy went and opened the front door, expecting to find the postman or a delivery from Amazon. Instead a familiar bulky figure was standing on the doorstep. As the door opened he lunged at her.

It was Antoine.

‘Help—’ she started to shout, but he clamped a hand over her mouth.

As Cathy found herself pushed back from the door, Antoine hissed, ‘
Tais-toi
!’ He pressed his other hand on to the back of her neck, and pinched the tendons there until she nodded obediently. Anything to stop the pain.

He half-propelled, half-dragged her into the small sitting room, kicking the door closed behind him as they entered. ‘I will take my hand off your mouth if you promise not to scream. If you do, I will hurt you.
Compris?
’

Cathy nodded, and he took his hand from her mouth, though the other one stayed gripping the back of her neck, keeping her close to him. His breath was a nauseating mix of cigarette smoke and hamburger. She turned her face to the side and breathed in, trying to calm her nerves.

‘Now, first things first. Where is your boy?’

‘He’s not here,’ she said, keeping her eyes averted. Just then a boyish yelp came from the garden. Antoine tightened his hand on the nape of her neck. ‘Do not lie to me again. So, he is in the garden?’

Cathy nodded weakly.

‘Good, then we both know what can happen if you do not cooperate. I am here for the money. Do you have it?’

Cathy was too terrified to say no, but saying yes would be equally dangerous – she had six pounds in her purse and that was all. ‘I have to give you a cheque.’

Surprisingly, Antoine did not seem disconcerted by this. ‘I did not expect you to have ten thousand in cash. So let’s get your cheque book.’

‘It’s in my bedroom,’ she lied, thinking that might give her an opportunity to shout to her father.

‘No, it’s not,’ Antoine said firmly. ‘René told me it’s in the desk over there.’ He pointed to a corner of the room where her mother’s small bureau stood. Cathy kept the bills there, and her cheque book. René must have sniffed around during his last visit while she was making tea.

She tried again. ‘It’s not there now. I was paying bills last night.’

Antoine moved his hand upwards and suddenly gripped the loose ends of her hair. He pulled them hard and she flinched with sudden pain as her head jerked back. ‘Do you think I am a fool?’ he said angrily, then released his grip. She lowered her chin in relief, and the pain stopped.

He turned her around until she was facing him and suddenly slapped her hard across the cheek. Cathy struggled not to cry out in pain. ‘If you don’t write the cheque in the next thirty seconds,’ Antoine threatened, ‘I will do it again. And then I will fetch your boy.’

Outside Edward was doing his best to play football with Teddy. He’d bought him a junior-sized goal a month before, one with a string net so you didn’t have to chase the ball each time a goal was scored. But Teddy couldn’t decide if he wanted to be goalkeeper or striker, and finally they compromised on passing the ball back and forth. Each successful pass elicited a happy laugh from the little boy, and Edward was pleased to see him so carefree – recently Teddy had often seemed subdued, especially when relations between Edward and Cathy had been at their most tense.

It was when Teddy had kicked the ball towards the back door, and Edward had gone to retrieve it, that he heard the short sharp noise from inside. He paused, listening hard, but nothing followed. He stood there until Teddy cried impatiently, ‘Get the ball, Grandpa. Get the ball.’

‘Just a minute,’ he said, still listening hard. Nothing. In two quick bounds he climbed the steps to the kitchen door and opened it. ‘Cathy,’ he called.

There was no reply.

Could she have gone out? It didn’t seem likely – he’d only been in the garden for a few minutes with the boy. Perhaps she was talking on the phone. But then what had that noise been?

He walked through the kitchen, stopping for a second to look at the rack on the wall with its neat line of knives. Should he grab a weapon? It seemed needlessly melodramatic – Cathy was probably in the loo.

Nonetheless, he walked quietly down the corridor towards the front of the house. He didn’t call out again.

The door to the sitting room was closed. He slowly opened it. ‘Cathy?’ he said.

Then he saw her, and the stranger in the room. The man was standing behind Cathy, with one arm drawn across her throat. He was shorter than Edward, a little under six foot tall, but heavily muscled, wearing a T-shirt that showed off biceps that could only have been created by hard work in a gym.

Cathy looked at Edward with fear in her eyes.

‘Who the hell are you?’ he demanded. ‘And what are you doing to my daughter?’

Cathy tried to speak, but the man’s arm tightened on her throat and her attempt spluttered into silence.

Then the man spoke. ‘My name is not your concern. I have business with your daughter.’ His accent was French, but his English was excellent. ‘If you don’t interfere, she won’t get hurt. Neither will you or the boy.’

Edward had seen his share of trouble. He knew there was no point in cowering in front of this thug; that would only fuel his sense of physical superiority. He said, ‘How dare you? Get out of this house at once.’

‘I’d be quiet if I were you, old man.’

‘Get out,’ Edward said loudly.

Suddenly Antoine released his grip on Cathy’s throat. Pushing her aside, he stepped forward. His right hand came swinging quickly through the air – too quickly for Edward to duck. It hit him hard on the side of his mouth. He felt a tooth crack as he stumbled and fell forward, landing on his knees just short of the fireplace. Blood filled his mouth and he spat it out, staining the beige carpet. He sensed Antoine standing over him and the Frenchman said, ‘Don’t get up, or there’ll be more where that came from.’

Edward looked at the fireplace. He could see the set of fire irons – a bellows, a poker, tongs. He stayed on his knees, and heard the man turn back towards Cathy. ‘Now write the cheque, and make it out to cash. If you try and cancel it, I promise I’ll be back, and this time I’ll get your little boy.’

Cathy walked to the desk, and fumbled in the drawer. She must have hesitated for the Frenchman grew angry. ‘Write it, bitch, before I give your father a good kicking!’

Edward waited until he heard the scratching of pen on paper. He turned his head very slightly and saw that Antoine was now standing behind Cathy, watching her make out the cheque. Edward carefully reached out his hand until he could grab the poker, then in one quick movement heaved himself to his feet, blood still dripping from his mouth.

Antoine had turned around. Edward raised the poker. The Frenchman laughed. ‘Who do you think you are, old man? If you swing that thing at me you might get lucky and break a bone or two, but then, I promise you, I’ll take it off you and beat you to death.’

There was relish in his voice, and looking at his heavily muscled figure Edward realised that what he said was true. Edward himself was tall rather than heavy-set, and while thirty years ago it might have been an equal match, there wasn’t much question of who would win a fight today. But he couldn’t do nothing, not when his daughter was in danger, and little Teddy too.

He stepped forward, and raised the poker with both hands. Antoine waited with his hands ready and his legs akimbo in a karate stance. Behind him Cathy had turned and was staring at them, fear contorting her face.

Edward took another step and started to swing. As Antoine raised his arm to block the blow, Edward stopped swinging the poker. He brought it back, this time very low, and crouching down, swept it with all his strength against Antoine’s leg. There was the cracking noise of breaking bone.

‘Ahhhh!’ the Frenchman shouted, and fell to the floor, clutching his knee. Agony spread across his face as he lay writhing on the carpet, but Edward was taking no chances. He moved until he stood near Antoine’s prone head, and raised the poker again. ‘If you even try to get up I will split your head in half,’ he said, without taking his eyes off the fallen man. ‘Cathy, go out and ring 999. Tell them you have an intruder in the house, and he’s got your little boy.’ He sensed she was in shock, and said as coolly as he could, ‘Go on, girl, there’s no time to waste. Make the call, then fetch Teddy and run to the neighbour’s.’

He heard her go, but kept his eyes fixed on Antoine, who had both his hands on his injured knee and was sweating with pain. Edward took a step back; he didn’t trust the Frenchman an inch. ‘I repeat: if you so much as lift your hand, I will hit you again. But this time I’ll hit your head. Nod if you understand, or I may hit you anyway.’

Slowly Antoine’s head moved up and down.

‘Well done,’ said Edward, hoping the police wouldn’t dawdle.

They didn’t. The magic words ‘he’s got my little boy’ did the trick, and within four minutes by Edward’s watch two patrol cars screeched to a halt outside the house. Cathy had ignored the second of Edward’s orders: she sent Teddy running to Mrs Wolfson next door, but stayed behind herself. She opened the door as the police ran up the steps, and explained rapidly that the older man in the room next door was her father, and that the intruder was the heavy-set man lying on the floor.

It took a good quarter of an hour for Edward to explain things, and required a call to Special Branch and another call to a woman at MI5 in London, but at last the officer in charge got the drift. The ambulance which took the Frenchman to the hospital for treatment for his broken kneecap was accompanied by two policemen, and one of them was armed.

Chapter 51

Liz caught the first flight to Marseilles, still shaken by Edward’s phone call of the evening before. His account of the fracas when Antoine arrived unexpectedly at Cathy’s house had been chilling. He’d stressed that both Teddy and Cathy were all right, but she could read between the lines and knew he was minimising the danger they had all faced. It had clearly been a close call with Antoine, and could easily have ended in something horrendous.

René had been clever. He’d sent Antoine to Brighton three days earlier than he’d said he himself would show up there. His claim when he was arrested at Le Barbot that Antoine had gone to Marseilles had been a completely plausible red herring.

Marseilles. The place seemed to be the key to everything that had happened recently: to Cathy’s problems with the commune, to the efforts to subvert Operation Clarity; to the meetings with Sorsky; and to the Russian intelligence officer, Kubiak, who had supervised Sorsky’s expatriation and afterwards been seen in Marseilles. Liz gazed out of the window of the plane as they began to descend over the Massif Central towards the Mediterranean, and the pilot announced that in twenty minutes they would be on the ground.

It was disappointing that her interview with Park Woo-jin hadn’t provided more information. He had seemed to her, by the end, to be telling the truth, but the trouble was that he didn’t know much beyond his own story.

Bokus had rung her the previous day about the man they knew as Mr Dong. South Korean Intelligence had identified him from the photographs as a senior North Korean intelligence officer, Dong Shin-soo, which made complete sense of Park Woo-jin’s story. Searches of the flight manifests for the arrivals from Marseilles that the Singhs’ taxi firm had met indicated that he travelled on a French passport. But why he was based in Marseilles remained a mystery, and her conviction that Kubiak’s trips there were connected in some way to Park Woo-jin’s spying at the MOD was still not backed by any hard evidence. Liz knew Marseilles was a cosmopolitan port, full of immigrants from North Africa and further afield, where no doubt the answers to many mysteries could be found. But would it provide the answers she was looking for?

She caught the airport train to the centre of the city. By now it was almost eleven o’clock in the morning and the streets around the port were buzzing with activity. She had rung Martin the night before to arrange a meeting place and to tell him the news about Antoine. Now an extradition request was being sent to the British authorities.

Martin was waiting for her at the bar of a café in the old port, halfway along a cul-de-sac of small shops.