Midnight Plus One

Harvey said: 'I mean let's not start fighting out loud in here, hey?'

I took a deep breath and a firm hold on my common sense. 'That's right. Nobody heard it, okay? We're still just tourists.'

The waiter banged the cream jug down in front of Miss Jarman.

Harvey said casually: 'So what's the new plan?'

'We have to assume the crew talked. So they know Maganhard's ashore, probably where he's heading. They'll know you're with him-' I nodded at the girl. 'Would they know who we are?'

Maganhard said: 'I don't believe so.'

Harvey asked: 'What about the car – want to try and switch it?'

I thought about that, then shook my head. 'I don't think they'll have the car number yet. It'll take them a few hours to establish it's missing and get that on the teleprinters. We can't hire a car without showing a passport, and if we pinch one, they're likely to havethatnumber as soon as they get the Citroën's. Particularly since we'd have to dump the Citroen. No, we'll just keep on. But' – I turned to Maganhard -'you can forget any idea of being in L. tonight. We're on side roads from here on.'

'Why?'

'I don't think local cops will worry us. They'll get the news slowly, and they won't take it seriously. A village policeman won'texpect to catch an international businessman, so he won't really look. It's the Sûreté Nationalethat'll be looking for us. They're good – but they stick to the main roads. So if we keep off theroutes nationaleswe should be clear. But we'll be slow.'

Maganhard stared at the last of his coffee, then looked up at me, totally without expression. 'All right. If I can send a message some time today, I can waste another night.'

Harvey said: 'Let's go, then.'

I had enough change to cover the bill, so I left it on the table, picked up my briefcase, and we strolled out. We dropped almost naturally into pairs: Maganhard, with Harvey on his outside, then me and Miss Jarman following.

There were more cars parked in the square by now. A grey Mercedes just behind the Citroen, and a little green Renault 4L just in front. Harvey and Maganhard reached the car a couple of yards ahead of us – and kept going-. Then I saw why. I slid an arm round Miss Jarman's shoulders, smiled into her face, and said: 'Just keep walking. We're in trouble here.'

We went round the corner, and the one after that. Harvey and Maganhard were waiting for us, Maganhard tucked into a doorway.

Harvey said: 'You're jammed by those two cars, aren't you?'

'Yes. And they've both got Paris numbers.'

He nodded. 'So no accident. What now?'

'It can't be the cops: they wouldn't do it that way. So it's our business friends. They'll be waiting somewhere with a view of the cars.'

'That caféin the square.'

'That's my guess.'

Harvey stretched his fingers and then clenched them. 'Okay,' he said quietly. 'Let's go suggest they shift their cars.' He turned to Maganhard. 'I don't like leaving you alone, but we don't have a choice. You stick here and we'll pick you up. Okay, Cane?'

I stuck the briefcase in the doorway, blocked the view with my body, and slipped the Mauser under my raincoat and into my waistband. It was about as comfortable as walking around in an iron lung, but not quite as obvious.

We walked back round the first corner. Without needing to talk it over, we went past the street leading to the square, and turned at the next, to come up beside the caféwithout showing ourselves to its windows.

As we reached the square again, Harvey stopped and looked carefully around. A couple of workmen ambled out of sight past the parked cars on the other side of the square.

I looked over my shoulder into the street we'd come up. It was narrow, shadowed, and nobody seemed to be using it to go anywhere. 'You know, if I was wanting a quiet talk about borrowing some car keys, I'd take it here rather than in the café.'

Harvey moved his head in a very faint nod, and led the way.

We hadn't expected any trouble in finding them, and there wasn't any: in that crowd of market workers, the three of them stood out like crocodiles in a goldfish pond. And they were where they had to be: at a table alongside the window, near the door, with a little stack of francs beside their coffee cups so that they could dive out at any time without the waiter chasing them for payment.

Harvey looked them over and chose the leader: a fat man in his late forties, wearing last year's raincoat and yesterday's beard. Harvey leant down so that his mac hung open to shield his right hand from the rest of the café.

'Venez faire une promenade, mes enfants?'he suggested quietly.

The fat man went very still and just rolled his yellowish eyes sideways at Harvey. I moved up between the other two, giving them a confident smile and a good look at the big Mauser in my waistband. Then I faded back out of reach to keep an eye on the cafécrowd.

Nobody had noticed us yet; the waiter was out of sight and the rest were chattering busily.

Harvey said:'Marchez'

The fat man suddenly jabbed both hands against the table to shove himself clear. There was a silver flash and a thump, and his fat face twisted in silent pain. He moved his left hand slowly to comfort his right, still flat on the table edge and beginning to bleed a little.

Harvey drew back the Smith and Wesson close to his body and slowly thumbed the hammer back to full cock. The click was lost in the noise of the cafébehind us. The fat man opened his eyes and watched sombrely. Harvey turned the gun towards him and pulled the trigger. He was Still holding back the hammer, so it didn't fire; the fat man made a gulping sound.

Now anything that dislodged Harvey's thumb would fire the gun: it was about as safe as a grenade with a half-second fuse. No sane man believes he can knock aside a gun in that condition; all he believes is that he can get himself shot accidentally by making too sudden a movement.

We seemed to have been there a long time; the waiter was going to pop up and ask what we wanted – and find out. I began to sweat. But the fat man was sweating a lot harder.

Then he frowned once, just for his own self-respect, and made a very small gesture to show he was ready to get up. Harvey stood back. The five of us marched out in a close line like five trucks on a freight train.

We went round the corner and past a bend that put the square out of sight from our side of the street. Harvey halted the procession and held out his left hand:'Les clefs de la Mercedes et la Renault.'

The fat man leant against the wall and started to explain that they weren't his cars and, anyway, what the Devil- Harvey just smiled. He had the sort of face for that sort of smile. It made me think of other walls, pitted with bullet marks, and blindfolds and firing squads. Then he pulled out his gun again, and this time you could hear the click.

He got the keys, and held them up over his shoulder to me.

I moved behind him to take them. 'I'll need about a minute to get the Mercedes clear.'

'Take all the time you want.'

I reached for the keys.

So far, all I knew of our new acquaintances was that they'd set up a situation with the parked cars which could easily have resulted in a gun-battle in the middle of Tours. Which made them fairly stupid, to my mind. But stupid or not, their teamwork was good.

I never saw any signal, but the first to move was the one at the end of the line. He jumped forward, then threw himself flat in the road. As Harvey swung to cover him, the fat man launched himself off the wall, his left hand groping under his coat.

I was behind Harvey, with him blocking my line of fire, and a good chance of getting knocked over by him if the fat man hit him. I left off trying to get the Mauser into action and took a leap backwards.

The fat man hit Harvey with his right shoulder just as he pulled an automatic with his left hand. They started to fall back towards me. Harvey planted his gun neatly on the man's left shoulder and loosed the hammer.