As he swung the heavy door closed, Washington said, ‘Whatever!’
The Lyon services were not as busy as Monaco, but there were enough trucks to hope a ride north would be possible. Unfortunately, as it was the middle of the night, it looked like all the drivers had battened-down and were now sleeping. He saw the big illuminated M and headed for McDonalds.
After two Royales, a double portion of fries and a half litre of Coca Cola, he felt better. As he settled down in one of the comfier seats, he shook his head slightly and thought, Royale? Really? Fuckin French, what the hell’s wrong with calling it a Big Mac?
By 6am the truckers were stirring, and the various eateries were beginning to fill up. He went and bought a large black coffee and started walking around the tables. It didn’t take long to find a French driver who was heading to Paris.
The driver, who was clearly gay, seemed delighted to give the American a lift. ‘Oui monsieur, après manger, we go.’
Washington nodded. ‘Okay, thank you. I’ll just get another coffee,’ then, as he walked to the counter, said under his breath, ‘Jesus!’
In Berkshire it was almost 5am when the Jaguar drove through the big gates of Jack’s home. The sun had been up for over an hour, and so had Nicole.
‘They’re here, Nicole,’ shouted Brian, their live-in security man.
Nicole was at the door as the Jag pulled up to the front of the house. Jack climbed out and took her in his arms. ‘Hey,’ he said after kissing her, ‘why’re you up so early?’
‘Like I’m going to be asleep when you get home.’ She turned to the group of men by the car. ‘And guests. Most wives get gifts when their man comes home. I get guests.’
‘Sorry, babe,’ said Jack, unconvincingly.
She smiled and moved to hug Mathew, ‘Hello, darling. Lovely to see you again.’
‘You too, Nikki. Gorgeous as ever.’
‘And this is Bogdan.’ She hugged him, then kissed his cheek. ‘Welcome to our home. I’ve heard so much about you.’
The big Russian, clearly smitten by her charm, lapsed straight into their native tongue. For several moments their exchange continued, speaking so fast it was difficult for Jack, or Mathew, to keep up. Finally, with a laugh, she linked her arm through Bogdan’s, and said, ‘Right. There’s breakfast for everyone in the dining room,’ then, turning to Mathew’s driver, continued, ‘you too, young man.’
As they all entered the large hallway, Mathew put his arm round his brother’s shoulder and said, ‘Looks like the big guy has fallen for your wife, Jack.’
The driver, bringing up the rear, said under his breath, ‘Don’t blame him.’
Chapter Forty Seven
The journey from Lyon to Paris took a never ending, 6 hours. The gay driver, talked incessantly, in fractured Franglais, about absolutely nothing. Washington had thought the man may have tried to hit on him but it was clear, the only reason he wanted anyone along, was to listen to his continuous and vacuous chat. It was after midday when the still-chattering driver, dropped Washington near to one of Paris’s outer Metro stations.
Rick Washington knew Paris well. He’d been stationed here for two years in the early part of his CIA career. Many of the shadow-world contacts he’d recruited recently, were once adversaries. Now they were assets, to be used as-and-when he needed them.
His plan was to enter the UK covertly, by one of two ways. Use the ‘illegals route’ and join the hundreds of people waiting at Calais to jump a truck to Dover or, solicit the assistance of a less scrupulous boat owner and sail across the Channel.
Getting on a truck undetected was easy at the Port of Calais, but there was the chance he could be discovered on the UK side. A good option if there was no other. But, as he was carrying weapons, not to mention a shit-load of cash, a boat was the smart way to go.
He had no contacts on the coast and wandering around Calais asking to be taken to England on the Q/T was far too risky. He would stay in Paris tonight and find the support he needed to get across the water and do the job in Berkshire.
He took the Metro, from Melun station in the suburbs, north to Place Pigale in Montmartre. He hadn’t showered or changed his clothes for almost 48 hours, so he checked in to a small hotel in the Rue Pomery, on the edge of Pigale’s red light district. He paid in cash which, in any other respectable establishment, would have seemed a little suspicious, but here in Pigale cash was always king.
The room was small, but surprisingly clean, with fresh bedding and towels. There was a small safe, which he was sure was anything but, so he eased the big heavy wardrobe from the wall and hid almost all his money, and the Glock, in the back carcass. He put a couple of hundred euros in the safe, to satisfy any would-be thief.
After showering, he placed a chair against the door and balanced the small table light on the seat, a crude, but effective warning should anyone try to sneak in. With the Smith & Wesson in one hand and the switch-blade in the other, he lay down and quickly fell asleep.
Chapter Forty Eight
After breakfast, Mathew, Jack and Bogdan, went out to the patio and spent the next hour and a half going over the events of the last few days. Every detail was considered and scrutinized to ensure the meeting with the DG would be as smooth as possible and any questions would be answered in full.
Almost all the ransom money had been recovered, and that had been the primary goal of the Government. The apprehension, although certainly desired, of the perpetrators was secondary.
Maggie, their housekeeper, came out and said, ‘Excuse me, Mr Jack,’ and laid a tray with coffee and tea on the table. ‘Miss Nicole said you would be needing this.’
‘Yes, indeed. Thanks, Maggie.’
Mathew looked at his watch, almost 8am. ‘We need to be heading into the city soon.’
As he poured himself some tea, Jack said, ‘Okay. Let’s have this, then Bogdan and I can get showered and changed.’
From the conservatory, Nicole saw the meeting was ending and went out to join them. ‘So, what are you boys up to next?’
‘Need to go into London, darling,’ said Jack.
She feigned a stern look, placed one hand defiantly on her hip, and said, ‘And when might you be home, Mr Castle?’
Jack stood up and put his arms around her. ‘Definitely home today, boss.’
With a huge grin, Bogdan said, ‘But you are the Boss, boss?’
Jack turned to the big man and laughed. ‘Not in this house.’
The drive from East Monkton into London was reasonably quick, as Mathew had arranged for a police outrider to precede them, which was definitely an advantage once into the busy city streets. They arrived at the Vauxhall Cross building a little before 10:30. Lunch with the Director General was at noon. Matt, Bogdan and Jack took the lift to the executive floor. As they entered Mathew’s outer office, his PA, Victoria, stood and said, ‘Good morning, sir. Good morning, gentlemen.’
‘Hello again, Victoria,’ said Jack, ‘how are you?’
‘Fine, sir. Thank you.’
As he opened the inner office door, Mathew said, ‘This is, Mr Bogdan Markov, Vic.’
‘Dobroe utro, ser. Kak dela,’ she said, in perfect Russian.
Bogdan smiled and returned the formal greeting.
She turned to her boss. ‘May I bring you anything, sir?’
‘Guys?’ said Mathew.
Both shook their heads as they followed him inside.