But of course these men didn’t know Dave, and after all, they were about to put their lives at risk to rescue him. It was true, too, that Dave had behaved recklessly.
‘Let me tell you about Dave Armstrong,’ she said. And as she talked, she tried to give a picture of the Dave she knew so well – recounting his enthusiasm for the job, his honesty and bravery, the key roles he’d played in operations when they had worked together in counter terrorism. Gradually, she sensed the mood of her audience changing.
‘It is the case,’ she said finally, ‘that on this occasion Dave Armstrong acted impetuously, even recklessly. He made the wrong decision. There were reasons, perhaps, for his misjudgement: an affair of the heart had gone wrong, which had upset him terribly. It was wrong – and uncharacteristic – for this most professional of men to let personal reasons interfere with his professional conduct. But I want you to know nonetheless that he is a brave and good man, and whatever he did was with the motive of serving his country and preventing harm to others. I assure you, you need not fear that he will be cooperating with his captors.’
She sat down, and to her surprise a small ripple of applause came from the commandos. ‘Merci, mademoiselle,’ said Laval. ‘That is both well said, and most reassuring.’
Another commando from the group around Laval raised his hand. He said to Seurat, ‘It can be chaotic in the confusion of an assault. If it turns out that there are more people in the house than we expect, will you be on hand to help identification?’
‘Yes,’ said Seurat. ‘Though only Milraud is known personally to me.’
Liz spoke up. ‘I can identify these targets, and of course the hostage, too.’
‘You are landing as well?’ asked the commando with unfeigned astonishment.
‘Naturally,’ said Liz simply. ‘But don’t worry – I won’t get in the way.’
The briefing concluded, Liz and Seurat withdrew, leaving the three teams to discuss the final details. As they went downstairs to the lounge Seurat said, ‘I have to say they were a little sceptical at first. But what you said about Dave changed all that. And they are most impressed that you’re coming with us. They had assumed you’d stay here or wait offshore in the frigate.’
‘I am sorry to shatter their preconceptions,’ she said a little tartly.
Seurat looked embarrassed, and she immediately regretted her sharpness. He said, ‘I’m afraid this type of Frenchman is rather… traditional… Is that the word?’
‘Yes, though unreconstructed would also do. But don’t worry,’ Liz said, and she was smiling now, ‘we have plenty of them on our side of La Manche as well.’
51
They were running out of food. There was nothing fresh left –no vegetables, no bread or milk, just a few tins. Milraud reckoned they could hold out for another day and then they’d have to get supplies from somewhere. The only source of food on the island lay on the shelves of the Casino mini-market in Porquerolles village three kilometres away.
That was where he had intended to get provisions, when he’d planned all this before they’d set off from County Down. Planned, he thought ironically. That was the trouble: nothing had been properly planned; it had all just been a panic reaction.
He supposed it might still be safe to send Gonzales over to the village, but it was a risk, and in more ways than one – Gonzales, with his strong Spanish accent and his tendency to pull a gun at the slightest provocation was hardly unnoticeable. There was also always the chance that, stupid Spaniard though he seemed, Gonzales might simply get on the ferry with a oneway ticket, and never come back. That is, if he managed to get away. Milraud guessed that Gonzales’s description would have been as widely circulated in France as his own – and Piggott’s.
As he thought of Seurat’s visit to Annette he became increasingly certain that time was running out. He was beginning to feel like an animal in a forest as a fire closed in from all sides. He had an intuitive sense that his former colleagues were circling ever closer, getting ready to move in for the kill.
Food was not the only problem. James – Milraud simply couldn’t get used to the new name ‘Seamus’ – was growing increasingly volatile. He seemed a man very near the end of his rope. The night before he had lost his temper when his laptop computer had frozen, and he’d hurled it across the room. God knows if it was still working. Piggott was showing more and more signs of impatience; the man couldn’t seem to sit still, and three or four times a day he walked down the cliffside path to check that the dinghy, buried beneath bushes, was still there.
More worrying still, he was ignoring Milraud’s advice not to use his mobile phone. Every few hours he enquired if there was any reply from the contacts Milraud said he had emailed with the offer to sell Dave. If something didn’t happen soon, Milraud feared he would snap, and that could mean very bad news for Willis in the cellar. And possibly for Milraud himself.
There was no sign of a response from the contacts because Milraud had not actually sent any emails. His original idea instead had been to convince James that Annette was to be the intermediary with the purchasers. Then somehow she would get Willis off the island and Milraud would find a way of following her, leaving James and the Spaniard to fend for themselves. He and Annette would then lie low until the situation calmed down.
That had been his plan, but for it to work he needed Annette’s calm brain to work out the details. And for that he needed to see her. But this was out of the question now, as the email he had received from Annette this morning made clear: I think it best to postpone my visit for a while. Too crowded, even at this time of year. She was under surveillance and had been unable to shake it off.
Which meant there was now only one way out.
It took Milraud ten minutes to compose the email. He sat on a cane chair at the old pine table in the sitting room, keeping several windows open on his screen as he typed – ready to switch over at a click of his mouse if anyone came in and tried to look over his shoulder. But Gonzales was in his bedroom, smoking cigarettes and listening to tapes of Spanish pop music, while Piggott was pacing the porch outside. Each time his steps stopped, Milraud waited nervously. Finally he finished, and hit the Send button.
Greetings Martin
I have in my possession something of value to you and your colleagues across the channel. I can deliver this package and those responsible for taking it, and I will do so and help to bring the perpetrators to justice on one condition.
I need assurance that I have official immunity from prosecution from both the French and British authorities.
I have kept the package unharmed but may not be able to do so much longer.
I await your response. Time is running out.
52
‘The wind’s getting up,’ said Liz. She was watching the yachts in the marina through the window of the restaurant where they were having an early supper. ‘It won’t stop us going, will it?’ she enquired anxiously.
‘It’s the mistral. It comes and goes at this time of the year. But don’t worry,’ said Martin Seurat with a smile. ‘It would take a hurricane force ten to stop Laval and his colleagues. It may mean they’ll change the plan and load the rigid inflatables onto a frigate rather than sailing them out from the base. But that’ll be a lot more comfortable, I can tell you. Have you ever been in one of those inflatables? They’re not pleasant, especially if the sea is rough.’