“Idiot,” Jack whispered.
The door to Jack’s right was a bathroom; he soaked a towel in the sink, then wrung the cold water over René’s upturned face before dragging his knuckles over René’s sternum.
René’s eyes fluttered open. He tried to sit up. Jack pushed him back down and held the HK before his eyes. “Understand?”
“Oui.”
“What the hell were you thinking, René? Is that man downstairs dead?”
“No, of course not.”
“This was very stupid. How did you think this was going to play out?”
“Bossard would talk, and then we would know.”
“Know what?” asked Jack.
“If you and Effrem are right about Rostock.”
Jack squeezed the bridge of his nose between his index finger and thumb. “I should hand you over to the police. In fact, that’s what I’m going to do.” He pulled out his cell phone.
“You wouldn’t do that, Jack.”
“I’m doing it right now.”
“Please, don’t. Just listen. For a moment.” Jack shrugged his agreement and René said, “I wasn’t going to kill him, or his wife.”
“You beat the shit out of him and terrorized his wife.”
“He deserves it. And worse.”
“Maybe,” Jack replied. “But you’re not seeing the big picture. Right now, whether we’re right about Rostock and about what happened to you isn’t the point. Something bad is about to go down in Namibia. We have a chance — or had a chance, for all I know — to stop it. Instead, I’m back here. All because you can’t keep your shit together and act like the soldier you should be.”
René didn’t reply, but rather squeezed his eyes shut. He lifted his head and banged it against the carpet. “I want this to be over, Jack.”
“Then go back to France. I went to see your father in Paris. He wants you home. He never gave up on you, and nothing he did led to your kidnapping. It’s Rostock, René, and you know it. He tortured you, messed with your brain, got you addicted to drugs. He’s behind the Lyon attacks and the incidents in India, Canada, and Panama. And maybe others.”
“Why would he kidnap me?”
“He asked your father to support his neo-warfare plan and your father turned him down, as did many others. Rostock reasoned that getting a Marshal of France on his side would be the first domino.”
“That’s delusional,” René said. “He’s delusional.”
He’s made the leap, Jack thought. He said with a smile, “Takes one to know one.”
René smiled back. “Are you still going to call the police?”
“Are you going to stop acting like a dickhead?”
“Yes.”
“Then we’re good.”
Jack helped René to a sitting position. René sighed. He gave himself a slap on the head. “God, what have I done? Idiot! Is Bossard hurt badly?”
“I’ll look him over, but I don’t think so. Did you ask him anything?”
“No, not yet. After I started beating him, I froze. I realized that beyond getting my hands on him, I didn’t have a plan.”
“Did you speak to either of them?” René nodded. “In French or German?”
“German. Why?”
“We might be able to turn this to our advantage,” Jack replied, then spent the next few minutes explaining what he had in mind. “Is your German good enough to pull it off?”
“Ja, sicher! Much better than yours.”
“Good. Follow my lead.”
René got to his feet. Jack grabbed him by the collar and marched him down the hall into the bedroom. Jack positioned him between Bossard and his wife, then cuffed him in the head. “Los!”
In German and with some decent acting skills, Jack saw, René apologized to the Bossards. He’d overstepped his authority, had misunderstood his instructions. The people for whom they work want Jürgen Rostock, not Bossard. Millions have been spent and promises have been broken. They were supposed to get a Mumbai or an Ontario. We know you’ve been helping him. If you choose to help us instead, you’ll come to no harm. If you call the police or Rostock we will know. We will come back.
When René finished speaking, Jack jerked him by the collar and shoved him out of the room. Then Jack squared off before Bossard. The man’s one undamaged eye was wide open and he was sitting erect, alert. Their piece of theater had had its desired effect. Bossard would play along, but how thoroughly, only time would tell. At the very least they had stuck a wedge between Bossard and Rostock. Now Jack wanted to drive it home.
He walked behind Bossard’s chair and cut his hands free of the duct tape.
Jack said, “Do you speak English?”
Bossard rubbed his wrists and stared up warily. “Yes, I do.”
“Five years ago your daughter Suzette was kidnapped in Brazil, correct?”
“Yes, what—”
“And Rostock rescued her. Shortly after that you took RSG on as a client. That was no coincidence. He’s done it since. It’s a recruiting technique. Verstehst du?”
“Ich verstehe,” replied Bossard. “I understand, but I have trouble believing Jürgen would do such a thing.”
“Then you haven’t looked hard enough. You can believe me or not believe me. It changes nothing. You’re either with us or against us. Someone will be in touch. Have your answer ready.”
35
Effrem hadn’t answered his phone since René and Jack arrived at the Zurich airport for their return flight. Almost eighteen hours and no contact. Jack had a sinking feeling what that meant, and he hoped he was wrong. According to Jack’s phone, the GPS tracker on the Pilatus hadn’t moved an inch from its spot at Midgard Airstrip. If Effrem had disobeyed Jack’s orders and gone to Khorusepa Lodge to keep an eye on Möller, his silence might mean nothing. That far outside the city, cell coverage was spotty at best. Or it could mean he’d been caught and Möller was getting another chance at interrogating Effrem.
As he and René stepped onto the tarmac and headed toward the terminal, Jack dialed Effrem’s phone one more time and again got his voice mail.
“You try,” Jack told René, who dialed and then disconnected. “No joy.”
Jack’s phone beeped. It was a text from Mitch. The time stamp was from eight hours earlier. Call me.
Jack did. Mitch said immediately, “Klugmann moved. He left the Hilton.”
“How long ago?”
“I texted you as soon as it happened. When I didn’t hear back I called Effrem.”
“Where’s Klugmann now?”
“I have no idea.”
Jack had a fair idea where, which meant Effrem did as well. “Mitch, I’m going to text you an e-mail address. If you don’t hear from one of us in five days, send all the Bossard docs to that address. Can you do that?”
“Five days, no problem. Should I include an explanation or a—”
“No, they’ll figure it out. Thanks. See you.”
Jack disconnected. He recounted his conversation with Mitch to René. “Let’s get back to the hotel.”
The suite was unoccupied, but some of Effrem’s clothes were missing, as were some items from Jack’s go-bag he’d left behind: binoculars, digital camera, multi-tool, duct tape, and first-aid kit.
“Idiot,” Jack said.
“At least I’ve got company,” René replied. “What do we do?”
“We go after him. Do you have any idea where we can get some weapons?”
René had no specific ideas, but, he said, having lived and worked in Africa for years, he knew generally where and for whom to look. “Weapons dealers here use a lot of the same survival strategies,” he said. “They’re often not so frightened by the police but by rival dealers.”