Sikorsky land seventy-five yards away. LaurentGroup was written in blue on the side. Armed men poured from the vehicle, a half dozen or so. They began moving towards the chateau carefully. Then the aircraft disgorged a trio of men in orange jackets carrying backpacks: doctors or EMTs or some other sort of emergency personnel. Lastly, three men in suits crouched low as they ducked under the rotor’s wash. One carried a notebook of some sort, another hefted two large briefcases, and a third, who was much older, wore his suit coat across his back like a cape.
Like a Frenchman.
Court lost interest in the activity and went back to enjoying the beautiful sky. A minute later, or maybe it was ten, a rifleman stood over him, but he seemed to be more interested in Lloyd’s body lying alongside. The Frenchman shouted into a radio.
Shortly thereafter, the three men in suits appeared. Court raised himself up to his elbows as they approached.
The older man with the coat for a cape was unfamiliar to Gentry, but Court figured from his bearing and his dominion over the other two that this could be none other than Marc Laurent.
“Monsieur Gentry, I presume?”
Court said nothing. The little man with the notepad on Laurent’s right stepped forward and kicked him with an expensive-looking shoe. Court did not feel the blow; his entire body had gone numb. “When Monsieur Laurent asks you a question, you answer!”
“It’s okay, Pierre. He’s unwell.” Laurent looked around him at the bodies and broken glass and smoke billowing from the roof of the chateau. “Pierre? Make a note. We’ll need to move the board of directors’ Christmas retreat this year. I don’t believe we will have the property cleaned up in time.”
“Mr. Gentry. I see young Mr. Lloyd there. He appears to be about as useful as ever. Would you happen to know where I could find Herr Riegel?”
Court spoke softly, sleepily. “Lloyd killed him. He killed Lloyd. There was some interdepartmental rivalry in your corporation shortly before you arrived.”
“I see.” Laurent shrugged, as if his people died all the time, and it was of no special concern to him.
“I knew nothing of what was going on here,” said Laurent, and Gentry did not respond. The statement was made in the way a man of power says something manifestly untrue. He had no concern whether the Gray Man believed him or not, only that it was put out there, as if to fulfill legal obligations.
Implausible deniability.
The next words from Laurent’s mouth surprised Court. “I am in need of a man.” He looked around at the bright morning. “It’s a problem, you see. A fellow with whom I’ve had a long-standing business relationship has outlived his usefulness. And if that wasn’t bad enough, he’s in possession of information that might prove embarrassing to myself and my pursuits. Allowing him to continue on in his present course of action would serve no one’s interests.”
Marc Laurent seemed almost bored. He looked at the fresh manicure of his fingernails. “And, as it happens, I understand you are the man to see about such problems. Might you be available?”
Court was up on his elbows in the wet grass. He turned his head to the left and to the right and took a moment to regard Lloyd’s body.
Gentry said, “I am kind of in the middle of something at the moment.”
Laurent waved his hand dismissively. “Oh, I can see to that.”
“That would be good,” Court replied with extreme understatement.
“And as I understand it, you might just have a personal interest in the demise of former president, and now regular citizen, Julius Abubaker. Rumor is you eliminated his brother, and now the former president is arranging attempts on your life.”
Court blinked twice before answering. “I’ve heard that rumor, as well, Mr. Laurent.”
Laurent nodded. “Abubaker has made certain claims about me. All lies, of course. I run a business based on integrity and impeccable core values of honesty.”
Gentry’s facial expression did not change. “No doubt.”
“Still, sometimes sensational claims can take on a life of their own, raise unnecessary concerns, invite uncomfortable scrutiny. I’d like to avoid that if possible.”
“So you want me to kill him.”
Laurent nodded. “I’d pay handsomely for your services.”
Court hesitated. “I just see one little problem with your proposal.”
The Frenchman’s eyebrows rose. “And what would that be?”
“I am bleeding to death.”
Laurent chuckled, snapped his fingers, and the three men in orange jackets appeared with a stretcher.
“No problem, young man,” said Laurent as Court dropped from his elbows and passed out. He relived the conversation in a dream, and thought it later to be one of the oddest and most fanciful dreams he’d ever had.
EPILOGUE
There were only four days left until the Christmas break, and Mummy had told the girls they could wait until after the new year to return to school. Kate had taken Mummy up on the offer, but Claire declined. Routine is important for a child; she wanted to get back into the swing of things.
Maybe it would help her forget.
She would love to forget Daddy’s funeral, the chateau in France, the noise and the fear and the guns and the blood. She would love to forget leaving Mr. Jim behind. Grandpa Donald had promised her that Jim had gotten away, but she did not believe a thing Grandpa Donald told her anymore.
She knew that Jim, like Daddy, was dead.
She entered Hyde Park. She always cut through on her way to school, walked purposefully east on North Carriage Drive, turned down a footpath that led over to North Row, and then shortly to her school on North Audrey Street. Her mummy wanted to walk her to school, but Claire had said no. She wanted everything to be the same as when Daddy was around. She’d walk herself to school, walk herself home.
A man sat on a bench by the footpath. She paid him no attention until he called her name as she passed.
“Hello, Claire.”
She stopped in her tracks and turned to face Jim. Her knees weakened from shock, and she dropped her schoolbooks to the footpath.
“I didn’t mean to scare you. Your granddad told me you did not believe that I was okay. I just wanted to come and show you that I’m fine.”
She hugged him, her mind not quite accepting that he was there.
“You . . . you were awfully hurt. Are you feeling better?” she asked in a sob of joy.
“I’m all better.” He stood and smiled and took a few steps up the pavement and then back to her. “See, I don’t even need you to help me walk anymore.”
Claire laughed and hugged him again. Tears filled her eyes. “You must come to the house straightaway. Mummy would so love to see you. She doesn’t even remember you being there in France.”
Jim shook his head. “I’m sorry. I have to go. I only have a few minutes.”
She frowned. “Are you still working for my Grandpa?”
Jim looked off into the distance. “I am working for someone else right now. Maybe Don and I will patch things up someday.”
“Jim?” she sat down on the bench, and he followed her lead. “The people who killed my father. You killed them, right?”
“They won’t hurt anyone else, Claire. I promise.”
“That’s not what I asked. Did you kill them?”
“Many people died. Good and bad. But that is all over now. That’s all I can really tell you. I can’t help you make sense of it all. Maybe someone else can. I hope so. But not me. I’m sorry.”
