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

‘This is monstrous,’ Henri said. ‘Even without my presidential pardon, I’m a French citizen and cannot legally be extradited without a legal hearing. I demand to see my lawyer.’

‘That’s where you are mistaken,’ Isabelle said, her voice flat. ‘You’re not a French citizen. You arrived in this country on false papers and have sought to disguise your true identity ever since. You are not a French citizen and never have been. Your claim to French nationality is void and you are thus not entitled to the legal rights that pertain to that status.’

With a roar of outrage Henri seemed to explode into action, rising to his feet and advancing as if he wanted to slam his forehead down onto Isabelle’s face. Bruno was faster. He caught Henri’s arm as he advanced, then swivelled to use the leverage to force him backward, where Henri tripped headlong over Bruno’s outstretched leg. He landed with a massive thud as his back and shoulders hit the floor, but Bruno kept a tight grip on his arm to prevent Henri’s head from slamming into the ground.

J-J put more cuffs, plastic this time, around Henri’s ankles and with the sound of a roaring engine and the squeal of brakes, the mobiles van arrived in the courtyard. Isabelle was already at the door to let them in. Four stayed outside by their van, each facing a different direction, their weapons at the ready. Through the window Bruno saw one of them gesturing to Henri’s son, who had appeared in the door of the chai, to go back inside. Two more gendarmes came into the living room and pointed their automatic rifles at the figure on the floor.

Isabelle turned to the Canadian legal attaché. ‘Monsieur Delaurier, the prisoner is now yours. The military aircraft is waiting for you and the prisoner in the military zone of Mérignac airport, ready for the flight to Montreal. I am instructed to offer you all facilities for the transfer of your prisoner to the aircraft. And since the presidential pardon was obtained under false pretences, I hereby confiscate it.’

‘What about his family?’ Bruno asked. ‘They should be informed. At least one of them is here. The son is in the chai.’

‘J-J, perhaps you would inform young Monsieur Bazaine that his father is being legally extradited to Canada to face serious charges,’ Isabelle said. She bent down to the floor and picked up the parchment scroll, replaced it in her briefcase, closed the locks, and turned to the mobiles.

‘Messieurs, please secure the prisoner inside your van for the ride to Mérignac. And Chef de Police Courrèges, please accompany the mobiles and ensure the security of the prisoner on the way to the airport. We will see you at the entrance to the military zone.’

Once Henri had been placed inside the van and cuffed to the rings set into the floor of all such vehicles, she said quietly, ‘And Bruno, you know we like justice to be seen to be done. J-J has made sure that you’ll see some old friends at Mérignac.’

The trip took ninety minutes and was uneventful, the heavy-duty air conditioning inside the van compensating for the heat of the day outside. Bruno assumed the heavily armoured mobiles would be in danger of heat exhaustion without it. Henri lay on the floor, glaring at Bruno throughout the trip, even though Bruno, recalling that he’d been a volunteer pompier, had placed a cushion under his head to spare him the bumps.

Although now best known as a civilian airport serving some five million passengers a year, Mérignac had also been a military airbase since 1917. Bruno was interested to see the military section, since he knew that in 1940 it was from this airfield that Charles de Gaulle flew to Britain to continue the fight for France against the Nazi occupation. As Base Aérienne 106 it is today home to Air Force Support Command, housing some three thousand civilian and military personnel, a parachute commando group and an air transport squadron. Bruno could see a French military Airbus 330 waiting on the apron as they stopped at the entrance gate to be checked by a guard and waved inside. Troops in camouflage gear with kitbags beside them waited in rows to board.

‘We’re able to use a routine flight taking French troops to northern Quebec for exercises with our Canadian allies,’ said Isabelle, coming to the door of the van once the mobiles had descended and formed a loose cordon. Bruno undid the cuffs that attached Henri to the floor and helped him out. Isabelle saluted a waiting air force officer who escorted them all into the administration building and then into a waiting room where Sabine, in gendarme uniform, was waiting, arm in arm with Tante-Do. The older woman looked as if she had arrived directly from a session at her own beauty parlour, her make-up immaculate and her hair perfectly coiffed.

‘Merde, not you again,’ snapped Henri, with a sneering glance at Tante-Do and then rolling his eyes.

‘Yes, me again, Henri,’ she replied, her voice brittle. The knuckles of her hand tightened as she gripped Sabine’s hand. ‘So perhaps you can admit you recognize me this time? Well, I may not be pleased to see you, but I am delighted to see justice done, however long after the event.’

Tante-Do raised her head defiantly and stared coldly at Henri and then repeated, ‘Justice.’

The air force officer coughed, then signed a formal receipt for Henri and gave it to Isabelle. Two military policemen at once applied a separate set of handcuffs to Henri’s wrists and a much looser set to his ankles. Each took one of his arms and frogmarched him outside to the waiting plane. All the soldiers on the apron turned to stare as he was bundled up the aircraft steps, followed by the Canadian diplomat.

Tante-Do burst into tears, tucked herself into Sabine’s embrace, her shoulders heaving. Her voice was muffled but Bruno heard something that sounded as if she was