heat came up the bank towards them. Then the remains of the truck sank from sight.
There was no sign of the driver.
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
‘Not far off now,’ said Calloway, who had been watching signposts. He had a flair for navigating which Tasker lacked, and had only needed to glance at the map once more to know where he was on the twisting and narrow country roads leading towards the village of Poissonsles-Marais.
Little had been said since they had changed course, although Biggs had kept up a regular muttering about going the wrong way and wasting valuable time. Tasker had said nothing in reply, too absorbed in staring out of the window at the unfolding panorama of brown fields rolling by.
They had met virtually no traffic save for the occasional van or tractor and one or two cyclists, the latter hunched over their handlebars, faces pinched and grey against the cold air. The route Calloway had chosen had kept them clear of villages, passing only one or two ramshackle farms, and a cafe with a giant Pernod advert painted on the side wall.
‘How far?’ The words seemed to stir Tasker from his thoughts. He lifted the sawn-off and took out the two spent cartridges, replacing them with the fresh ones. He snapped it shut.
From behind him came a click of metal as Biggs also checked his gun.
‘About two miles.’
‘This is a waste of time,’ the former soldier muttered, slapping a hand on the back of the seat for emphasis. ‘What the hell are we doing out here? We’d be in Calais by now if we’d kept going north.’
‘We’re here because I said so,’ Tasker growled. ‘It’s part of the job, that’s all.’
‘Yeah — and a proper bleedin’ lash-up that was. My mate’s dead, thanks for asking, and we’re stuck in the middle of bleedin’ nowhere. My mother could’ve organised things better than this. Friggin’ amateurs.’ He clicked the cylinder back into place and turned to watch the road behind them.
There was silence for a while as they rumbled gently along a stretch of uneven tarmac. Then a vehicle appeared coming the other way.
A police car.
Tasker said calmly, ‘Keep going. Don’t even eyeball them, you hear?’
The two cars passed each other, and the three Englishmen caught a glimpse of two men in uniform, eyeing the DS with interest.
Tasker turned and looked back. The police car was slowing with a flash of its brake lights. They were turning back. ‘Put your foot down,’ he said quietly. ‘Get us a good lead.’
Calloway nodded and the car leapt forward. They drove in silence for a mile, each alone in their thoughts. Then Tasker said, ‘Stop the car.’
Calloway glanced at him. ‘You what? They’ll be on us in a minute.’
‘I said, stop the bloody car. Now!’ To emphasise his point, Tasker dropped the stock of the sawn-off into the crook of his elbow so that the barrels were nudging Calloway’s ribcage.
Calloway did as he was told, applying the brakes firmly but smoothly. Any sudden movement right now would cost him his life. He coasted to a halt. They were near an expanse of woodland, the trees spiky and rimed with frost. A gathering of crows circled around the uppermost branches, disturbed by the car’s arrival, while below them, some cows in a field looked up, breathing out clouds of vapour at this sudden intrusion.
Tasker said without looking round, ‘Biggs. Get round to the back and rip off the number plate. Somebody will have reported it and we need to keep ’em guessing.’
Biggs eyed the gun in Tasker’s hands, then shrugged and climbed out.
‘Right, go,’ said Tasker quietly, and lifted the barrels of the sawn-off. ‘Nice and quick, now.’
Calloway had no choice. He nodded and stamped on the accelerator. The car fishtailed slightly on the greasy surface, then they were away, leaving Biggs standing at the side of the road, his mouth open in shock.
‘What was that for?’ said Calloway.
‘Because he annoyed me. And he called us amateurs.’ He sniffed and lowered the gun to the floor between his knees. ‘And he’ll slow down that cop car. Now get me close to this bloody village before they catch up with us.’
CHAPTER FIFTY
It didn’t take long for the cavalcade of patrol cars, emergency crews, support vehicles and other interested parties to arrive, summoned by the bodyguards in the DS.
Rocco and Claude waited on the bridge, immune to the cold, hands in plain sight as the first cars skidded to a stop and officers jumped out, guns drawn; it would have been too disturbingly ironic to have had a zealous patrol cop, anxious to make a name for himself, start blazing away without asking questions as soon as he saw two men at the site of an attack on the president.
Some looked surprised to see Rocco, men who had heard about his suspension. They either avoided his gaze or muttered between themselves about what he was doing here. Most nodded with familiarity or called a greeting, and went to investigate the crash site.
Among the vehicles were two blue vans with Godard and his Gardes Mobiles, who quickly put up roadblocks to keep unwanted gawkers at bay and isolate the scene from the press. A car carrying Commissaire Perronnet, Captain Canet and Dr Rizzotti arrived and parked on the far side of the bridge. Both officers nodded at Rocco without comment before walking by and studying the scene of the truck’s descent into the pond.
Rizzotti stopped alongside Rocco and Claude, and took one look over the edge before shaking his head. He eyed Rocco for a moment, then gave him a covert wink before suggesting loudly that someone call a rescue truck with heavy lifting gear.
Then Commissaire Massin appeared.
The senior officer uncurled himself from the rear of Perronnet’s car with an air of reluctance. He viewed the area for a moment, adjusting his cap with care, then walked along the road onto the bridge, his shoes clicking with parade ground precision. He nodded at Rocco and Claude, then went to view the scene for himself, before returning accompanied by Canet and Perronnet.
As he did so, Detective Desmoulins arrived in a patrol car and jogged across the bridge. He was grinning widely.
‘You were right all along, Lucas,’ he said loudly, while still several metres away. His words carried clearly in the thin air, drawing the attention of the uniformed officers and support crews securing the scene. All conversation ceased. ‘They hit the Credit Agricole in Bethune; four Englishmen in a DS, armed with shotguns and pistols. Three went in and one stayed with the car.’ He stopped in front of Rocco and looked around, enjoying the audience. ‘Unfortunately, someone else had the same idea. They ran slap bang into another crew and there was a gunfight. I just heard it over the radio. Sounds like it was a rerun of the Valentine’s Day Massacre.’
Massin was the first to speak. ‘What are you talking about?’ He clearly hadn’t heard the news.
‘The English gang who smashed up the cafe? Lucas said they were here to do a job, and he was right; they came back to rob the bank in Bethune. Three got away but one was killed. One of the second gang was killed and one wounded. I’d already warned the Bethune office as Lucas suggested, but they were a bit reluctant to believe me, especially…’ he paused, then added innocently, ‘as they’d heard about his suspension.’
Massin said nothing for a moment, the skin around his eyes going tight. Then he said, ‘What else? Was anything stolen?’
‘No. That was the joke. There was a last-minute change to the schedule. The bank said the main bulk of money was delivered a day early at the request of the tyre factory. Something about shutting the lines down for a maintenance check, so they paid the workers yesterday instead.’
‘Who were the other crew?’ Rocco asked.
