Click, click.
Shit, they were early.
“Are they both foxtrot?”
Click, click.
“Are they dressed the same as yesterday?”
Nothing.
“Are they carrying a bag?”
Click, click.
Then he came on the net. “Romeo One has the same bag. It’s full. They’re both wearing jeans.” The net went dead momentarily. “That’s approaching the archway.”
I stayed put, smiled some more, and sat on the stone step. “N can take, N can take. L, where are you?”
“Nearly at the station, nearly there.” His voice merged with the passing traffic.
“H still has Romeo One and Two, at the archway…Wait…wait, that’s now crossing the road, toward me. They’re staying on this side of the wall.”
The radio went dead as I started down the stairs again into the square and right toward the archway. If they had a camera in the Renault, I bet it had been snapping away big-time.
Chapter 45
I got to the arch and waited for information. It wasn’t long before Hubba-Hubba came back on the air. “That’s Romeo One and Two in the parking lot, following the wall and unsighted to me.”
I went through the archway, turned left, and could see their backs immediately among the lines of vehicles.
“N has Romeo One, Romeo Two foxtrot. Halfway along the old wall, generally toward the train station. L, acknowledge.”
An out-of-breath Lotfi did just that. “L has the trigger on the station.”
“Roger that, L. Romeo One, black leather jacket on jeans, carrying the bag. Romeo Two, brown suede jacket on jeans. L, acknowledge.”
Click, click.
“That’s both Romeos now temporary unsighted.”
I moved to the right as I passed Hubba-Hubba’s blacked-out windows, trying to get a better view now they were hidden by some buses.
“Both Romeos still temporary unsighted, still generally toward the train station.”
There was nowhere else for them to go just now, unless they could walk through walls. Hubba-Hubba would be crawling his way under the pool-playing dogs now and moving out of the parking lot so there would be no delay when he needed to go mobile. He had better do it right. The van could see him from up there.
They appeared on the other side of the buses.
“Stand by, stand by. N has both Romeos approaching the end of the wall. No one acknowledge.”
I started to cut in left, toward the wall now, so I’d be more or less behind them when they hit the end of it, with freedom to go in any direction. Romeo One was clearly nervous.
I hit the pressle. “That’s at the end of the wall and still straight, generally toward the station. Approaching the first option left — they are aware. No one acknowledge.”
I was now behind them by about thirty yards as they passed boat supply and insurance shops before stopping at the intersection to let a vehicle out. “That’s held option left, still intending straight, toward the station.”
They continued on over once the vehicle had passed. “That’s now foxtrot still straight.”
Getting to the intersection myself, I overheard a voice that could have been Michael Gaine’s as a crew-cut thirty-something with a black nylon Docklands bomber jacket gabbed on his cell phone. “I don’t fucking care. What’s the matter wiv you, you deaf or somefink?” Farther down the junction a Brit-plated truck with pallets of goods was being unloaded for Geoffrey’s of London, a shop that seemed to supply baked beans and plastic cheese to the huge numbers of Brits who worked on the boats.
I got back on the net. “That’s Romeo One and Romeo Two still foxtrot, approaching the main before the station. L, can you at the main?”
The last leg of the route was uphill and they would be unsighted to me for far too long once they crossed the main street as it was higher, dead ground to me.
He could. “L has, L has. Romeo One. Romeo Two. At the main, they’re crossing, approaching the station.”
The Romeos were unsighted to me now as I moved uphill and the traffic screamed past in both directions above me. The station was on the other side of the main street. In front of it was a bay for taxis and a small parking lot.
“That’s H now complete. N, acknowledge.”
Click, click.
Lotfi kept up the commentary. “That’s approaching the station.”
I got to the main drag and also watched them while I waited for the green crossing signal and Lotfi kept talking on the net. “That’s both Romeos complete the station, unsighted to L.”
The green signal flashed, the bleeps cried out, and the traffic stopped reluctantly. I babbled and smiled as if I’d just heard a joke on the phone. “Roger that. N will take. H, go now, mate, go now. H, acknowledge.” I got a double-click and hoped I’d done the right thing by taking a chance and sending him straight on to Nice. This surveillance stuff wasn’t a science, and decisions had to be made on what you knew at the time. All I knew was that the traffic was horrendous and the train would get there far quicker than any road vehicle, and I needed someone else there to back me. If I’d made a mistake and they were going for Cannes, or anywhere else for that matter, Lotfi had better be able to fly in that Focus of his and keep up with the train.
The old station had undergone quite a renovation within the last couple of years. It had retained its original shape, but the inside looked very modern and clean, with glass everywhere, glass walls, glass counters, plate-glass doors. As I went in, the Romeos weren’t to the left by the ticket machines, or to the right where there was a small café and newsstand.
Four kids were smoking around one of the tables, listening to dance music on their radio. I could see a section of both of the platforms and the two tracks between. Time in recce is seldom wasted: I knew the platform nearest me would be going toward Cannes. What I was hoping was that both of the Romeos were going down into the tunnel to the left, and would emerge on the far-side platform, which would mean they were off to Nice.
I got on the radio as I checked the timetables. “That’s the Romeos on the platforms. L, can you see them?”
“L’s foxtrot.”
I waited in the cover of the station listening to an NRG Radio jingle booming out from the café area.
Lotfi came on the net. “Stand by, stand by. L has the two Romeos on the far platform. They’re static the tunnel exit. N, acknowledge.”
Click, click.
The framed and Plexiglas-covered timetable on the wall said the next train for Nice was at nine-twenty-seven, stopping at Gare Riquier, just seven hundred yards or so from the target shop on Boulevard Jean XIII. Maybe I’d made the right choice in sending Hubba-Hubba there, after all.
I waited near the timetable and listened to the high-caffeine breakfast show blaring from the radio. I didn’t want to move anywhere else now, because if I crossed the concourse toward the café the two Romeos would be able to see me.
Posters carried pictures of happy families going on trains and really enjoying themselves, all with unnaturally perfect teeth. I studied them for a couple of minutes before Lotfi came back on. “Stand by, stand by. Train’s approaching, no change on the Romeos. I’m going complete. N, acknowledge.”
Click, click.
The train entered the station from the direction of Cannes. The dirty blue and silver train cars squeaked to a halt. I ran out onto the platform, turned left, and headed for the tunnel. Through the grimy glass of the cars I followed the two Romeos’ dark faces as they waited to step aboard with the dozen or so others alongside them.
I raced down the steps and along the dimly lit tunnel, passing the people who’d just gotten off the train. It looked perfectly natural in this environment: who didn’t run to catch a train?