‘And what will you give me in exchange?’
‘An honourable reputation, a happy and … prosperous retirement. I’ll keep all I know to myself.’
‘What about Anna?’
‘Anna will spend a few months in jail, a year at the very most, before rejoining you. I don’t think that sort of thing will frighten her.’ Meillant shot him a suspicious glance: does he know her? ‘The Sentier’s changing, Meillant. A lot. It’s time to go.’
Meillant looked at his watch: 7 p.m. He picked up the telephone. The director of the urban police forces. He’s left, but would you like his chief secretary? Very well, the chief secretary. Meillant speaking … He had just seen his cardiologist. Serious health problems. Very upset by the Thomas incident. Requests early retirement and would like to take some leave while waiting for the formalities to be worked out. Call tomorrow at the director’s office? Certainly, he’d be there.
‘As for Anna, it’s for her to decide. I’ll give you her reply in an hour’s time at your office.’
And Meillant left. Daquin marvelled.
*
Soleiman left the Jencovitch workroom by the back staircase while Daquin was finishing off Meillant. He felt deeply uneasy. Mustn’t think about it, that was important. Tomorrow, we’ll see. Impossible to join Daquin that evening. He went down the rue du Faubourg-Saint-Denis as far as the Boulevards. Spend the night with a girl, any girl.
10 p.m. Roissy
The warehouses were piled up with merchandise, but deserted. Dim bluish light. Romero and Marinoni, wearing packers’ overalls, both with badges perfectly in order, carrying a large toolbox. Dumont had accompanied them as far as the Turkimport packing-cases. ‘The security people do a round every hour. They’ve just done the last one. Check your watches. You’ve got to stop working before you hear them coming and hide right here, between these four cases. They won’t have their dogs tonight. Be brave. Good luck!’
It wasn’t difficult to open the cases, nor to burrow through the first layer of merchandise. It would be much more difficult to go further down. And closing them was tricky. It was no good hammering gently, the noise seemed deafening. Three cases during the first hour. The hiding-place. Romero and Marinoni were sweating. And if Dumont … The round went through. Work began again. The fourth case. The cover came off. The inner packing pushed aside. A range of firing-pins for sub-machine-guns, apparently.
Marinoni hugged Romero.
‘Shall we look further down?’
‘Not worth it. And no more cases. That’s enough.’
Closed it again. Marked it discreetly, collect all the tools and put them away. Wait in the hiding-place. Dumont would come at 2 a.m. Romero fell asleep.
29
9a.m. At the Gymnase
Soleiman emerged slowly from sleep. The girl had gone. Good. She’d left a note on the floor beside the bed: ‘Coffee on the stove to be reheated. Pull the door to behind you when you leave. See you again soon?’
He got up. A kind of hangover. Converted maid’s bedroom, rue du Faubourg-Poissonnière, quite nice. Sunshine and light through the two little windows. He reheated the coffee and drank it, stretched out naked in a patch of sunlight. It felt good. Looked at the time. Nine o’clock, he had to leave. Don’t think, let time pass. Got dressed, pulled the door to behind him. The Boulevards. A little further on, the Gymnase. Why not? A moment of warmth in the Turkish cocoon, that could help.
Soleiman pushed the café door open. All talking stopped. The Turks rose to their feet. Applause, whistling, cheerful shouts, slogans. Soleiman hesitated. News got round quickly in the Sentier. After the beating up he’d suffered a week before Soleiman had put Jencovitch in hospital and sacked the Superintendent of the 10th arrondissement. He was a hero. Everyone wanted to tap him on the shoulder, offer him a coffee or a raki. And belong to the Committee. Soleiman sat down. His head was swimming.
9 a.m. Passage du Désir
Romero was alone in the office with Daquin. Spares for weapons. Clandestine traffic. Protected at a high level.
‘We’ve got into another splendid wasp’s nest. Does your customs man know where the hardware ends up?’
‘Nothing’s very certain. Istanbul first. Then … The stuffs pretty classic. Iran perhaps, one way of getting round the international blockade? We need a specialist to tell us more about these problems.’
Daquin made two coffees which they drank in silence.
‘How can we organize that? In any case the arms traffic will elude us. There may be financial links with drugs, but they may be complicated to expose. On the other hand the link with Sener’s murder is fairly direct. Well have to pin down this man Oumourzarov. We’ll see what can be got out of them. How do you see the next move?’
‘Accidents can happen quickly. When the contents of a packing case spill out over the floor it’s hard not to know what’s inside it.’
‘When can that happen?’
‘Tomorrow if necessary, in the afternoon at the latest.’
The telephone rang.
‘Good morning, commissaire, Lespinois here. How are you?’
‘Very well, Monsieur Lespinois.’
‘I’m with Lenglet and we’re talking about the Middle East. I’m going there tonight. He tells me you’re taking a close interest in the Iranian drug scene.’
‘I am interested in it, yes. As for closely, that’s another matter …’
‘Things are changing out there. The Islamic Revolutionary Party is launching a great campaign against drugs and drug-takers. It’s rather new in the cultural profile of that country. Under the Shah, you know, people aged over sixty had the right to their free supply of opium, distributed by the State. I think it’s principally a means of liquidating those who run the traffic, mostly pro-Westerners. The Islamists will certainly take over the traffic again on their own account later. But it’s certain that the current traffickers, and their contacts overseas, won’t be there much longer. I thought this information might interest you, it’s not in circulation yet.’
‘Certainly, Monsieur Lespinois. And thank you for calling me. Best wishes to Lenglet, since he’s with you, and bon voyage.’
He hung up.
‘Congratulations, Romero. You’ve become a pawn in the struggle between the big international banks. Few people acquire that honour.’ Romero didn’t understand a word. ‘The France-Mediterranean Bank is trying to destroy the position held by the Parillaud Bank in the Middle East, a position probably due to the alliance between the bank and the traffickers in drugs and arms. What we’re doing can weaken Parillaud out there and France-Mediterranean will be very grateful to us. What can we do in all this? Let’s go back to our own affairs. I’m sending a report today to my chief and to the investigating magistrate about the links between our two strong-arm guys from the embassy and Oumourzarov. I’m asking permission to use the letters rogatory available to me for carrying out a search at the company’s headquarters and at Oumourzarov’s house. I’ll be turned down. But when the packing-case falls over we might just be able to stay on the case. By the way, when you go to supervise the falling packing-case take a press photographer with you. Here are the details of a friend of mine who helps me sometimes. The soul of discretion. Telephone him on my behalf.’
11 a.m. The Opéra district
Attali and Rimbot were starting their third day of enquiries at the restaurants. First restaurant, Le Petit Riche, rue Le Peletier. The waiters were about to finish laying the tables, the dining-room was still very dark. A waiter called the maître d’hotel, who did not invite them to sit down; his lack of goodwill was obvious. First photo, VL. Never seen her. Second photo, Kashguri. Attali did not possess Daquin’s experience yet, but he could have sworn that the man was lying when he replied that he didn’t know him.