The Coldest Case, Martin Walker [famous ebook reader txt] 📗

broadly, dressed in swimming shorts with a big towel around his neck. He dived in, making a massive splash that showered Bruno with water all over again, surfaced and blew like a grampus. ‘I heard on the grapevine that this Rosenholz dossier business is nearly settled,’ he said. ‘About time, too.’

Bruno knew that Jack and General Lannes were old colleagues, and that although he was officially retired, Jack still worked as a consultant on strategic risks for some private clients. His access to old friends in British, French and American intelligence made him a usefully deniable go-between for them all. Isabelle had once described him to Bruno as a wise and trusted old owl.

‘Glad to hear it,’ said Bruno. ‘I hope you’ll say that to Jacqueline before she drops any more bombs on Le Monde’s op-ed pages.’

‘On reflection, I’m rather glad she aired the issue the way she did,’ Jack replied. ‘It focused a few minds, reminded people that they shouldn’t believe everything they might read in the files of an enemy agency. Just think what damage could be done by leaking fake KGB files saying that this British statesman or that American politician had all along been in the pay of the Russians. Lies can get halfway around the world before truth gets its boots on.’

He ducked beneath the water and then began breast-stroking a stately circuit of the pool. Bruno’s mobile vibrated, and once again it was Isabelle.

‘Can you meet me with J-J at Bergerac airport tomorrow?’ she asked. ‘I’m on the morning flight from Paris, getting in just after nine.’

‘Of course,’ he replied. ‘It will be good to see you. Can you stay long?’

‘That rather depends on how things develop overnight,’ she said. ‘I can’t explain now. Maybe tomorrow. By the way, we came across an interesting coincidence. If you have a copy of that law book by the People’s Pierre, there’s an acknowledgement to his dear friend and colleague, Maître Vautan.’

‘Can you say what brings you down here, business or pleasure?’

‘Somebody has to deliver to Henri Bazaine the presidential pardon that he demanded and I volunteered. But it may become more complicated. We’ll know tomorrow. And make sure you come armed.’

26

It was a surprise the next morning to see Isabelle emerge first from the aircraft, wearing her uniform as a commissaire of police and carrying a briefcase emblazoned with the RF of la République Française. He had never seen her in official dress before. When they first met she had been a detective in plain clothes, working for J-J. Then she had been promoted to the staff of the Interior Minister, then to EuroJust in The Hague, the European Union’s judicial coordination unit. In all of those jobs she wore civilian clothes, as she did with her most recent promotion to run France’s coordination team with allies and EU partners on counter-terrorism. Bruno knew this had brought her a new rank, but to see her in uniform was a surprise. It must mean she was on a seriously official mission. He was glad that he’d decided to leave Balzac back at Pamela’s riding school.

She was followed by a man in plain clothes carrying two overnight cases whom Bruno did not recognize. She introduced him as a diplomatic colleague without any further explanation, and then J-J embraced her in a bear hug, saying, ‘The uniform becomes you, Isabelle. Still, however high your reach in rank, to me you’ll always be my favourite young detective.’

She extricated herself from J-J’s embrace, gave him a smacking kiss on the cheek and did the same for Bruno before leading the way to the waiting vehicles, saying to her companion, ‘This old rascal is like a papa to me – he taught me everything I know about police work when I was based down here. And this is my old friend Bruno, chief of police of the Vézère valley, with whom I share a very special dog.’

‘The catapult man,’ said Isabelle’s companion, in a French-Canadian accent. ‘I recognize him from the TV news on the forest fire.’

‘You see, Bruno? You’re famous,’ she said, as J-J’s driver opened the door for her.

‘We’ll talk later,’ Isabelle added quietly to Bruno. ‘If you could go in the second car with the mobiles. We’re heading to Henri’s vineyard.’

The second car was a van almost filled with heavily armed gendarmes mobiles, the elite paramilitary unit who must have come in from Bordeaux. The chef d’escadron greeted Bruno with a salute and a handshake, then grinned and asked if he’d brought his catapult with him. The troops inside laughed, amiably enough, and made space for him in one of the three rows inside.

The commander climbed into the front passenger seat, turned to face his troops and said, ‘This is Chef de Police Bruno Courrèges and if you haven’t noticed it, you men, this guy wasn’t always a cop. He’s wearing the ribbon of a Croix de Guerre and they don’t hand those out with the rations. I checked him out and he won it in Sarajevo for pulling wounded troops out of a burning armoured car when the Serbs were shelling the airport. You may also have seen him on TV yesterday, using a medieval war machine to put out a forest fire. We’re glad to have you with us, sir.’

‘Have you been briefed on the mission?’ Bruno asked, to cover his embarrassment as they followed J-J’s car down the N21 and then turned off to the right on the road to the main Bergerac vineyards.

‘Standing by and providing a security escort, as required by the commissaire. That’s all. Anything more you can tell me?’

Bruno shook his head. ‘I know no more than you do. Beyond having powers to arrest someone, I’m not sure what I’m doing here.’

‘Welcome to the mushroom club,’ called out a gendarme from the back.

‘Mushroom club?’ asked Bruno. ‘What’s that?’

‘Kept in the dark and fed on bullshit,’ came the answering roar of half a dozen voices, speaking as one.

Bruno nodded, laughing.