Let them do what they have to do, Ben said. Maybe theyll find something.
He very much doubted they would. More likely, the guys in black body armour would strut about feeling pumped up and hungry for Muslim extremists to gun down, then theyd eventually get bored and go home to their shoot-em-up video games.
He asked, Is Vidal still there?
Overseeing his troops like hes General Patton. Theres something else, Ben. Tuesday paused, sounding uncomfortable. Im really sorry. I had no choice.
What?
They demanded access to the armoury, and I had to let them in. They took the lot. Stripped it totally bare.
What do you mean, took the lot?
Every last scrap, down to the empty spare magazines. They even took the slings and bipods for the rifles. Said it was a precaution in accordance with the new anti-terror legislation. So if I tried to stand in their way, that pretty much made me a terrorist myself. They loaded everything into an armoured van and gave me a slip of paper that says its being kept in secure storage at a government facility until further notice. Which basically means were out of business for the foreseeable future. Im sorry, Ben. If you want to fire me now, Id understand.
What?
They demanded access to the armoury, and I had to let them in. They took the lot. Stripped it totally bare.
What do you mean, took the lot?
Every last scrap, down to the empty spare magazines. They even took the slings and bipods for the rifles. Said it was a precaution in accordance with the new anti-terror legislation. So if I tried to stand in their way, that pretty much made me a terrorist myself. They loaded everything into an armoured van and gave me a slip of paper that says its being kept in secure storage at a government facility until further notice. Which basically means were out of business for the foreseeable future. Im sorry, Ben. If you want to fire me now, Id understand.
No, Tuesday. You did the right thing and I wouldnt blame you for a minute, and neither will Jeff. Listen, do me a favour. Middle drawer of Jeffs desk there in the office. Theres a tatty address book. Look under M and give me his mothers number in Australia.
Got it, Tuesday said after a moment, and Ben scribbled the number down on the back of his Gauloises packet. Then he remembered the other call he was going to have to make, a prospect that felt like a cold knife going into his belly. Now look under C.
Chantal, Tuesday said with a groan. God, Id forgotten all about her. The poor woman. Hold on. Yeah, theres a mobile number. He read it out. You want me to?
Ill do it, Ben said grimly. Thanks, Tuesday. Ill keep you posted when I know anything. He ended the call. Then took a deep breath and made the first of the two other calls he was dreading. As the dial tone was pulsing in his ear he tried desperately to formulate what he had to say. A womans voice answered at the fourth ring, ten thousand miles away.
May I speak to Mrs Lynne Dekker?
Speaking. Who is this?
Mrs Dekker, you dont know me. My names Ben Hope. I work with Jeff.
It was one of the worst calls hed ever had to make. But the next one, to Chantal Mercier, was even harder. First the same stunned silence, then the same cry of anguish, the same gulping sobs. Then, to make Ben even more miserable, followed the rage, the recriminations, the bitter accusations. Chantal was certain that it was as a result of all the awful and dangerous things they did at Le Val that Jeff was hurt. Ben tried to placate her, but could think of little to say.
When it was over, he put the phone away and went back to the slightly lesser ordeal of waiting. He wasnt counting the minutes. He was counting the seconds.
About nine thousand more of them had ticked by in his head, and the hands on the wall clock in the waiting room had left midday far behind, by the time a door swung open and a figure in a blue doctors overall appeared, spotted him and started walking briskly over. Ben stood up on jelly legs, his heart rate suddenly doubled. He stopped breathing.
Here it comes, he thought.
Chapter 5
Dr Lacombe was a she, with a mop of streaky blond hair that would probably have reached down past her waist if it hadnt been scraped back from her face and heaped and plaited into an elaborate French braid. She was probably around thirty-five but looked older, with shadows under her eyes as if shed been up all night and was ready to drop from stress and exhaustion. Ben could picture how she must have looked just a minute earlier, in a surgical mask and apron and latex gloves, with even more of Jeffs blood spattered on her than he had.
Sandrine Lacombe, head surgeon, she said, offering a hand, and Ben could tell from her tone that the news couldnt be entirely bad. Relief flooded through him like warm honey pouring through his veins. He started breathing again.
The doctors grip was firm and dry. She had a clipped, efficient manner that Ben liked instantly as she started briefing him quickly on the situation.
It wasnt as bad as it could have been, but it could have been a lot better. Jeff had lost a tremendous amount of blood, necessitating an emergency transfusion the moment hed been brought in. Meanwhile the path of the bullet, narrowly missing his heart, had caused massive tissue damage and internal bleeding in the chest cavity and collapsed a lung. Theyd almost lost him twice during the three-hour operation. Now moved to the intensive care unit, he seemed to have stabilised. Holding on, but still deep in the woods.
Weve done all we can, Dr Lacombe sighed. I managed to sew up and reinflate the ruptured lung. As for the rest of the damage, now only time will tell if hes going to pull through.
Thank you, was all Ben could reply.
Dr Lacombe puffed her cheeks and gave a little shrug as if to say, dont thank me too soon. The next twelve hours will be difficult, she warned. Theres a high risk of complications. Frankly, given the extent of the trauma I would give him little more than a sixty per cent chance of surviving this. He wouldnt have made it even this far, if someone hadnt prevented him from bleeding to death at the scene. Her weary but sharp blue eyes flicked up and down, taking in Bens bloodied appearance. I take it that someone was you, Monsieur?
Hope. Ben Hope.
A flicker of surprise in her eyes, that she wasnt speaking to a Frenchman. Ben spoke the language without any trace of accent. She went on, It was also you who provided the patients blood group. Thank you for that. If we hadnt known in time, theres little chance he would still be with us now. It appears you have some medical training?
British Special Forces, a long time ago. They teach you a few basics to keep your people going when theyve been shot, burned or blown up.
She nodded pensively. I thought you looked militaire. Anyway, youve helped to save his life for the moment, and with any luck he may live to thank you for it. Well do everything we can from here. But please dont get your hopes up.
I appreciate your directness, Doctor. Thats exactly what I need.
May I ask what is your relation to the patient?
Friend and business partner.
This business, its in Basse-Normandie?
Weve been based here for a number of years. Ben left out what she didnt need to know: that hed spent a good portion of that time flitting from place to place and getting himself into trouble all over the world, and could speak a variety of languages as well as French. Jeff was Mr Stay-at-Home by comparison.
I see. What about his family has Monsieur Dekker any relatives?
A mother who emigrated to Australia. And a fiancée a little closer, in Saint-Acaire. Theyve already both been notified. His mothers got a long way to travel to the nearest big airport, but Id imagine shell be on her way soon.
Itll be a while before Ill allow him to have any visitors. Dr Lacombe paused. What about you? You have a contact number?
Im not going anywhere. Any changes in his condition, Ill be right here.
Just in case, she said, handing him a card, this is my personal cell number, if you need to talk. I dont give this out to everyone, you understand?
I appreciate your help, Doctor.
She paused again, fixed him with those sharp eyes, as blue as topaz, and said, You know I have to report this, dont you? A gunshot wound of this kind
She paused again, fixed him with those sharp eyes, as blue as topaz, and said, You know I have to report this, dont you? A gunshot wound of this kind
I understand, Ben said, but the police already know all about it. Some of them were already there just after it happened. Im afraid more of them will be landing on your hospital pretty soon, looking for me.
She shook her head. What did happen?
He was shot.
I can see that. I mean, what happened?
We were cutting up a fallen tree. Talking about this and that. Hed just told me that he was getting married. It was a happy time. We had no idea that someone was watching us. Someone hidden, quite a distance away, with a rifle. Then they fired. One shot, one hit. You know the rest.
I dont understand.
Neither do I, Ben said. Not yet.
Does your friend have, I dont know, enemies?
Looks that way, Ben said. One with a rifle, and who knows how to use it. Sniper-style, probably set up on a bipod and fitted with a scope. Judging by the ballistics, the guns something around a thirty-calibre, like a .270 or a .308. Maybe fitted with a silencer too, which could explain why I heard nothing over the noise of the chainsaw. Those are the only clues I have so far, for what theyre worth.
I dont know anything about guns, except what they can do to people, Dr Lacombe said with a faraway look and a slight shiver, as if she was visualising a whole back-catalogue of horrors shed personally witnessed in the course of her surgical career. And I dont like them.
I dont much like them either, Ben said. Except when theyre used for good.
How can a tool of violence and death be used for good?
When its deployed against the person who spilled first blood, Ben said.
Youre talking about justice. Thats a job for the police.
When they can find the guy. If they can find him.
Are you saying you intend to find him?
Im saying I intend to make this right.
She looked at him. This is not a war, Monsieur Hope.
Tell that to your patient, Ben said.
When he recovers, she said. If he recovers.
Hes tough as an old boot, Ben said. Hes been hurt before and pulled through.
As badly as this? Then I hope for your friends sake that hes as fortunate this time.
Ben felt suddenly weary and dizzy, as if all his energy had drained out through his feet. He glanced around him for something to lean on. No, he admitted quietly. Not as badly as this.