The Hit List (22 page)

Mitaining several changes of clothes, all of them rictly conforming to the dictates of Paris weekend ion. There was no question of his pretending to be ench - merely of blending in, of looking icmorably prosperous. In truth, he thought, as he jjwsed his heavy coffee-cup and looked at his reflection the cafe window, he had rarely felt more fortable.

i He and Andreas had travelled together on the arostar. Sitting in the first-class compartment with adreas's laptop computer on the table between them, had looked like a couple of well-off businessmen ^veiling to a weekend seminar. The train was jwded, and they had discussed neither the hit nor department's business as a whole. Instead they linisced about old times and Slater asked Andreas if �had a girlfriend.

^ Andreas looked uncomfortable, and then self Slnsciously admitted that he had been 'seeing' -- as he

: it - Debbie. pSlater absorbed this information. 'Do you know her

ie?'

I'f'Debbie's her real name. I don't know the other, id I've never asked.'

;< 'No envelopes around? No name on her flat?' fk'Nope.'

\. 'What about Eve? What do you know about her?' |/Nothmg. Why, are you harbouring ambitions in It direction, by any chance?' I'Slater pictured the wry smile, the sea-grey eyes and

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the feminine curves that no amount of nondescript dressing could quite disguise. 'I'm not stupid,' he said.

'And what exactly does that mean?'

'It means that we've got to work together. Plus she's not my type. Plus she certainly doesn't fancy me. She's probably got some guy who works in the city and thinks she's got a job in PR. They probably go on holiday together in ... where's that place all the Sloanes go?'

'Tuscany,' said Andreas morosely.

'That's right. Fucking Tuscany. And they probably go to that restaurant, what's it called?'

'River Cafe.'

'Right. River Fucking Cafe. And they probably go to the opera together, and shooting in Scotland with people called Piers and Annabel.'

'Well, look at us,' said Andreas. 'We're not doing so badly. We're going shooting in Paris with people called Terry and Chris.'

Slater ordered a second cup of the cafe's high-voltage coffee. The morning sunshine was lifting the moisture from the streets and pavements, patching them with paler grey. A faint haze still hung over the Bois de Boulogne.

He had been chosen as the trigger-man, Andreas had told him, because of his known expertise in CQB -- close-quarter battle. Fanon-Khayat would almost certainly have his bodyguards around, and one way and another they would have to be dealt with.

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Slater doubted the truth of this flattering analysis. I'They were sending him in because it was bloody Idangerous, and as the newest member of the team he Was the most expendable. He hoped he'd get the |i^eapon he had asked for - a silenced Sig Sauer P239G. Leon had been given the job of arming the team. In twenties, according to Andreas, the Mauritian had ent five years as a Foreign Legion paratrooper and a icr three in a French jail for acting as a driver in an tied robbery. Since that time he had made a point of etaining his contacts in the Paris underworld. All well, he would be providing the team with a principal and a back-up weapon when they RVed at lie Hotel Grand Exelmans at 9.30. Under other circumstances the Cadre would have [niggled their own weapons into France with them, had told them that she had considered driving in. Given that Firewall was a sealed operation, uwever, and an operation to which elements of the ich security forces might well be hostile, the very it risk of detection had been thought too great. : advantage of a local weapon was that it might well ase things, especially if it had been used before for linal purposes. On the grounds that they were ch cheaper than 'clean' firearms, Leon would be ively soliciting such weapons.

. Regretfully savouring the last of his morning's Ititude, Slater climbed to his feet and placed sixty tics in the saucer holding the bill. The pavements : no longer empty - the sixteenth arrondissement's

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the feminine curves that no amount of nondescript dressing could quite disguise. 'I'm not stupid,' he said.

'And what exactly does that mean?'

'It means that we've got to work together. Plus she's not my type. Plus she certainly doesn't fancy me. She's probably got some guy who works in the city and thinks she's got a job in PR. They probably go on holiday together in ... where's that place all the Sloanes go?'

'Tuscany,' said Andreas morosely.

'That's right. Fucking Tuscany. And they probably go to that restaurant, what's it called?'

'River Cafe.'

'Right. River Fucking Cafe. And they probably go to the opera 'together, and shooting in Scodand with people called Piers and Annabel.'

'Well, look at us,' said Andreas. 'We're not doing so badly. We're going shooting in Paris with people called Terry and Chris.'

Slater ordered a second cup of the cafe's high-voltage coffee. The morning sunshine was lifting the moisture from the streets and pavements, patching them with paler grey. A faint haze still hung over the Bois de Boulogne.

He had been chosen as the trigger-man, Andreas had told him, because of his known expertise in CQB - close-quarter battle. Fanon-Khayat would almost certainly have his bodyguards around, and one way and another they would have to be dealt with.

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Chris Ryan

ei doubted the truth of this flattering analysis, were sending him in because it was bloody 3us, and as the newest member of the team he ; the most expendable. He hoped he'd get the an he had asked for - a silenced Sig Sauer P239G. mi had been given the job of arming the team. In ities, according to Andreas, the Mauritian had i five years as a Foreign Legion paratrooper and a ; three in a French jail for acting as a driver in an [ robbery. Since that time he had made a point of his contacts in the Paris underworld. All well, he would be providing the team with a and a back-up weapon when they RVed at jtel Grand Exelmans at 9.30. er other circumstances the Cadre would have Jed their own weapons into France with them, told them that she had considered driving iin. Given that Firewall was a sealed operation, er, and an operation to which elements of the security forces might well be hostile, the very risk of detection had been thought too great, itage of a local weapon was that it might well : things, especially if it had been used before for purposes. On the grounds that they were cheaper than 'clean' firearms, Leon would be

soliciting such weapons, ^gretfully savouring the last of his morning's Slater climbed to his feet and placed sixty in the saucer holding the bill. The pavements ino longer empty -- the sixteenth arrondissement's

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dog-walkers seemed to have mobilised en masse, and large Citroens and Peugeots were hissing past on the Boulevard Montmorency.

Slater found the other two in the dining room. Eve had hired a Peugeot 406 the day before in case a quick getaway was needed, and she and Andreas had just returned from a practice drive around the Bois de Boulogne.

'Are you hungry?' she asked Slater hesitantly.

'Starving,' he answered truthfully. He always ate well before an operation. The nerves would kick in soon, but for the time being he was content to fill his stomach.

After breakfast, they packed their bags, took the lift down to the underground car-park, and locked them in the boot of the car. They were booked into the Montmorency for the coming night, but were taking no chances - if something went wrong they might be unable to return.

In order to get the feel of the Peugeot, Slater took the car out of the park, tooled around the local streets for ten minutes, and then ran the other two south to the Rue Molitor. The car was a dream and the journey short -- Slater had memorised the route from a Paris Eclair guide-book the night before.

They parked in front of the hotel. Chris was in the lobby. Shaking hands with each of them as if this were a meeting of old friends, she led them to the lift. On the third floor she gave a light double knock at a door half-way along the corridor. 'Terry's room gives the

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sight-line on the apartment,' she explained. |Ve had all three made up already. We aren't g interrupted by any chambermaids.' an and Terry were in their shirtsleeves, corned the rest of the team with quick smiles, was a good size, with tall net-curta lows, but felt crowded with all six of thei

t�

f$>id you get a car?' Eve asked Terry all liately.

nodded. 'Silver Mercedes Cabriolet. I've g ; side of the hotel.'

yd. We're the Peugeot you can see down th< it. Are you ready to go through the rest of

the queen-size bed lay a combination-1 se and six covert-fit Motorola transmitters vets.

e've tested it,' said Terry. 'It all seems to b< ; order. And we've gpt the briefcase-Ned as! jpFhe combination is 1471 and it's a button-p lie system -- none of that old wheel-spinni want to give it a go?'

handed the aluminium briefcase to Slater, w in the code. The case sprung open -- em] ; for its foam lining.

reached beneath the bed and pulled oui duffel-bag. From this he withdrew seve jr-looking bubble-wrapped objects which 1 on the bed. 'One Sig Sauer P239G plus silenc

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one Clock 17, two boxes nine-millimetre ammunition,' he announced. 'Both weapons almost certainly known to the police.'

Slater unwrapped the handguns and checked their actions. Both appeared to be in good working order. He attached the silencer to the Sig Sauer, then loaded the magazine and snapped it home.

'That's great,' he told Leon. 'Thanks.'

'No problem, man.'

The feel and smell of the weapons started Slater's heart pounding and he stood there motionless for a moment. He was aware, at the edges of his vision, of Eve and Chris watching him. The nerves would stay with him now - right up to the moment when he pressed the bell of Fanon-Khayat's apartment.

'Have you got a bathroom I can use?' he asked quietly.

Leon smiled and handed him a room-key.

When he returned, Chris called him to the window. 'The big gateway opposite,' she said, 'leads into a courtyard. You click open the gate by pressing that button on its right. There's no combination because it's right on the street and people are going in and out of the courtyard all day.'

Slater nodded. Even dressed by Yves St Laurent, he thought, she looked dowdy to the point of invisibility.

'Fanon-Khayat's instructions, as you know, are that the Firm's representative should enter the courtyard at midday and take the left-hand entrance. There you'll 1 find a lift marked Ascenseur B - which you take to thej

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floor. Make sure you end up on the right floor se they number them differently from us. Our 1 floor is their first floor, and so on.' ;r nodded again. 'Into the courtyard, left-hand ce, Ascenseur B, number four floor rather than j-style fourth floor. Do we know if the yard's monitored by CCTV?' , but we have to assume that it is. If it was ; you could hold an umbrella in front of you, but ; at the sky I wouldn't say there's much chance j. A basic disguise like a wig and a fake moustache [ do it as far as the CCTV is concerned, but then aok like a freak in the street and you'd certainly dembered by anyone else in the courtyard or the |y thoughts are that you should wear a hat and ses -- it's just about bright enough -- and that I're crossing the courtyard you should appear iting a cigarette. If you keep your head down ir hands in front of your face you should prove able on the CCTV tape.' She pointed to the ; table. 'Would you like to just try these?' 1C were two hats -- a trilby and a conservative in dark brown straw -- and three pairs of The straw hat and a pair of gold-framed, lensed glasses made the most difference, and in Ction with the clothes lent him a subtly lean appearence. Later, he would learn from ; Chris had been sent on a theatrical makeup sthetics course. Disguise was one of her

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'That's good,' agreed Eve. 'It knocks out his most distinctive feature, which is those pale blue AngloSaxon eyes. I'd like to darken the skin tone a few shades too.'

'Hey!' said Leon. 'Why not just send me?'

They all laughed, and Chris handed Slater a tube of cosmetic cream. 'Face, neck, ears, chest, hands and forearms please. There should be enough in there.'

In the bathroom Slater stripped to the waist and rubbed in the cream as directed. 'Careful round the hair-line,' Chris called out.

The cream was greasy, and had a cloying, perfumed smell. Looking in the- mirror as he rubbed it into his forehead, Slater saw that Eve was watching him through the open door. When he caught her eye she did not look away but continued to watch him with something that might have been amusement, might have been concern, might have been pure professional interest.

When he had finished, his appearance seemed unchanged. His blue Lanvin shirt felt tacky on his body.

'It takes an hour or so to take effect,' said Chris. 'But it should just make that difference. Your hair's perfect - half-way between dark blond and brown. Ask ten people what colour it is and they'll all come up with different answers.'

She pulled her cardigan-sleeves an inch or two up her arms and examined Slater critically.

'Two more accessories. Gloves, close-fitting,

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icr, for inside the apartment. And I've got you a belt. Something I had at home.'

placed the gloves with the weapons and the linium briefcase, and stared doubtfully down at the it. It was heavy, of plain brown leather and with a creet silver buckle. Half-way along its length, on the jde, a narrow pocket had been let into the leather I from this Chris drew a flat, dagger-shaped sliver of sparent plastic compound. The knife was ightless and no more than five inches long, but its ie and point were sharp. 'Something you had at home?' said Slater, running i finger up a razor-toothed serrated edge. t 'It'll do the business,' said Chris. 'Punch through el if necessary. And it won't show up on any iner.'