The Hostage (23 page)

Bill was afraid he had made Stratton’s dreaded hit list. He grabbed his stuff and hurried to the door. But he stopped in his tracks. Something about the scenario did not add up. He forced himself to consider the facts calmly.Things may not be quite as they appeared and an overreaction could be disastrous.

To begin with, it was possible that it was a coincidence and Stratton was on holiday or on a completely unrelated job. Bill quickly threw out that notion as ridiculous. Stratton had been looking up the street, towards the café, partly concealed around a corner. It had to be assumed he was trying to get a look at the café and therefore Henri without being seen. If Stratton knew Bill was in the hotel he would not have exposed himself. Stratton was far too good an operative for that. Bill knew him by reputation only, although of course he had seen him several times on his visits to the detachment. Bill felt confident enough of Stratton’s professionalism to conclude that if Stratton wasn’t watching the hotel then no one was. Stratton was watching Henri in the café, which would support the supposition that he was not alone and part of a surveillance team. Bill contemplated the possibility that they did not know he was the person meeting Henri. If they were suspicious of him he would have been placed under surveillance and followed from London and they would be watching the hotel. The fact that it was Stratton down in the street supported this conclusion: they would never have sent anyone Bill would recognise. If they did not know Bill was meeting Henri then they did not know who was. But did they know there was a spy in MI5 who reported to Henri, a French spy? And did they know Henri was reporting to the Real IRA? That was a leap to assume, but nonetheless it should be considered.

Bill went through the points again to make sure there weren’t any gaping holes in his logic. He was satisfied. Now he had to consider what his next move should be. Obviously he had to get away and back to London, but he could not leave the hotel and risk bumping into Stratton. Stratton was out front, but there was no rear exit to the hotel. The back opened out into a courtyard in the centre of the block and the exit from the courtyard was Rue Cambon, virtually smack opposite the café. Bill then considered Henri. He should contact him somehow.That might help both of them. Henri would leave the café and draw the team away from the area. It would also give Henri an opportunity to escape the country and avoid a nasty interrogation that might produce a description of Bill.

Bill checked to see if Henri was still seated outside the café. He was. Bill searched the desk drawers and found the telephone directory. He glanced through the window to check the spelling of the name on the front of the café and then found the number. He felt for his cell-phone in his pocket and stopped. That would be stupid. He couldn’t use the phone in the room either. Any landline phone in Europe could be traced to another. But he knew how to use a phone and chill the trace. There was always a risk, but the present situation made it acceptable. He went to his door, listened a moment, then opened it to check the landing was clear. He stepped into the corridor, pulled the door behind him without closing it, and went to the stairs that spiralled for several floors in both directions. Someone left a room above, closed a door and walked across the corridor and into another room. Bill quickly and quietly moved down the carpeted steps to the floor below and paused again. Beyond an arch was the reception. Against the wall on Bill’s side of the arch was a public payphone. Bill moved to it, staying tight around the corner out of sight of the receptionist who was sitting in a chair with his head at counter level reading a magazine. Bill lifted the receiver, placed a coin in the slot and dialled the number.

It rang for a moment, then a man’s voice answered.

‘Bonjour, monsieur,’
Bill said. His French was slow but workable.
‘Je voudrais parler avec l’homme qui est assis devant votre café. C’est très important, s’il vous plaît.’

The voice asked him to wait a moment. If the call was traced it would be impossible to say who could have made it, as long as Bill remained unseen, that is. At the worst all they would have was a description. Unless they knew they were looking for Bill it would do them no good.

‘Come on, for fuck’s sake,’ Bill mumbled, willing Henri to get off his arse and go to the phone.

‘Oui
?
’
came Henri’s voice.

‘It’s me. We can’t meet,’ Bill said, and then before Henri had a chance to say anything or hang up, Bill continued urgently, ‘Listen to me carefully. You are being watched at this very moment by British military intelligence. Do you understand?’ Bill could imagine Henri’s shock as he digested this information, with all its horrendous implications. If he had a family, he didn’t any more. If he had a house, it was gone, as were all his possessions. If he wanted to escape he could never contact a friend, lover or family member ever again without running the risk of capture or even assassination. In one sudden bolt out of the blue, life, as he knew it, was over.

Henri did not answer but Bill knew he was still on the end of the phone. He could hear him breathing.

‘Henri? Do you understand me?’

‘I understand,’ he said, sounding quite calm.

‘One of them is standing on the first corner as you turn right out of the café on your side of the road. He is six feet tall, early thirties, strong build, wearing a camel-coloured coat and dark trousers. Do you understand?’

‘Yes . . . And you?’

‘I don’t know yet,’ Bill said.

‘Good luck to you,’ Henri said after a pause.

‘And you too.’

The phone went dead. Bill replaced the receiver and carefully checked the receptionist was still in his seat. He then hurried back up the stairs, into his room where he closed the door. He went to the window and looked down on to the café. Henri walked out and stopped on the pavement. He calmly buttoned up his coat, turned to his right and walked down the street.

Stratton, around the corner, was unaware that Henri had left the café. His cell-phone vibrated and he answered it. It was Brent warning him from inside the bookshop that Henri was foxtrot towards him and in fact approaching at that very moment. Stratton instinctively turned his back to the corner and kept the phone to his ear as if innocently pausing in the street to have a conversation. Hank had no idea what was going on and was looking around at the variety of architecture that surrounded him. Henri arrived at the corner and stopped, as if deciding which way to go. He casually glanced over at the man on the phone with his back to him, who matched the description Bill had given him. His eyes then flicked to the man beyond him who was looking up with apparent interest at the tops of the buildings across the street. Henri turned his back on them, crossed the road and headed away.

Stratton turned to see Henri walking away. He hit a key on his phone. ‘He’s towards the Place de la Concorde. Did you see him with anyone?’

Brent quickly explained about the waiter and that he had not seen anyone else, although he could not see inside the café from his location. Brent’s immediate concern was what Stratton wanted him to do next.

‘Standby,’ Stratton said and paused to think. Several questions presented themselves: what did the waiter want? Had Henri suspected he was being followed and cancelled the meeting? Was the stop at the café another anti-surveillance move? Could he now be on his way to the actual rendezvous?

Stratton focused on Henri. If the Frenchman suspected he was being followed they had blown it anyway. If not, Stratton wanted to house him. The solution was a straightforward one at that point. ‘He’s heading west on Mondovi, which will bring him out on Rivoli, north-east corner of Place de la Concorde. Cover it,’ he said to Brent on the phone then disconnected. If Henri gave the slightest hint he knew he was being followed Stratton would pull off. Henri would walk them around all day otherwise.

‘Hank,’ he said and Hank gave him his full attention. Stratton indicated the only man walking away up the street across the junction. ‘That’s him,’ he said.

‘Henri?’ Hank asked, surprised.

‘Follow him. Stay well back. The road turns left at the end and leads to Rivoli, the main street. He can’t go anywhere else except inside a building. If he enters a building, carry on past and memorise the location. Don’t be obvious. Act natural. Wait for me on Rivoli. Got it?’

‘Got it,’ Hank said, a ripple of excitement passing through him.

‘If for some reason I or no one else hooks up with you on Rivoli we’ll meet back at the café where we had breakfast. You remember where that is?’

‘Yes.’

‘Go,’ Stratton said, and Hank set off.

‘You’re just a tourist,’ Stratton added as Hank headed across the junction to put himself on the opposite sidewalk to Henri.

Hank gave a thumbs-up without looking back, his eyes focused on Henri.

Stratton watched them both for a moment. Henri was halfway to the corner.

Stratton then set off along Cambon towards the café. As he walked he punched a number key on his cell-phone.

‘Brent. Hank has him on Mondovi. Call Clemens. He should be somewhere on the Place de la Concorde. Henri should be on Rivoli in less than a minute.’

Bill had seen the man with Stratton head off after Henri and then watched Stratton walk directly below his window and enter the café. A few seconds later Stratton stepped out and continued on towards Rivoli. Stratton was probably checking on the faces in the café in case they ever came up again and was now off to join the pack following Henri. Bill picked up his coat and bag and left the room.

 

Hank kept as far back from Henri as he dared; he was concerned about getting caught by one of his double-backs. This street, unlike all of the others they had been along so far, was practically deserted, probably because, except for a restaurant on the outside bend of the corner, it was purely residential. Hank was the only other person in the street and Henri would see him if he stopped and turned around. Hank decided if that happened he would simply keep on going and head into the restaurant.

Just as Hank set firm his contingency plan, Henri crossed the road and headed directly for the restaurant. Hank slowed down, quickly formulating a new plan if Henri went inside. Henri stopped outside and faced the menu in the window, his back to Hank.

Hank stopped. He didn’t want to pass Henri if he could avoid it. He had just a few seconds to think. He was outside an apartment block with a glass door that led into a lobby. Hank stepped into the doorway. If Henri doubled back, Hank would head into the lobby and up a flight of stairs he could see until Henri passed.

Henri appeared to read the menu for a moment before continuing on towards Rue de Rivoli.

Hank waited until Henri had passed out of sight beyond the corner before leaving the doorway; he walked up to the restaurant as if to inspect it himself while casually looking down the street. Henri was halfway to Rue de Rivoli. Hank set off after him.

Henri raised something to his ear as he walked. It was a cellular phone.

 

Stratton turned the corner of Rue Cambon on to Rivoli, passed the bookshop Brent had been inside, and made his way west under the ornate stone arches that covered the pavement on this stretch of road. It was densely populated with shoppers and tourists, who milled sluggishly, in tune with the heavy traffic that crammed the wide, four-lane Rivoli. He headed on towards Rue de Mondovi, where Henri was expected to exit from any moment, but there was a press of bodies filling the distance to that junction.

 

Hank watched Henri reach the end of Mondovi and enter the multitudes on Rivoli as if passing through a wall like a ghost. Hank speeded up and stopped at the edge of the crowd. He scanned in all directions for a sign of Henri but there was none. Directly ahead of him, the other side of the broad sidewalk, he caught a glimpse of a subway entrance and steps dropping below street level. He looked around once more, this time hoping to see one of the team, again without luck. Stratton had told him to wait at the end of the street but Hank wondered if he knew about the subway. If Henri had gone down into it and no one had seen him Hank would be expected to check. There was nothing to lose and everything to gain. If Henri wasn’t there he would come back and wait as planned.