“Our priority is clearly the Basque active service unit,” the brigadier said. “They’re the ones who constitute the threat to our ministers. The students are secondary, and I suggest the gendarmes shift their deployments accordingly. Since we don’t know the identity of the Basques, we’d better focus on the two Germans who are with them, willingly or otherwise. Have photos and descriptions of these two Germans been distributed?”
“Photos are being printed now, sir,” said Isabelle. Every gendarmerie in this and all neighboring departements, all municipal police and all train stations would have them later that evening. The British police were interviewing Teddy’s mother and had promised a verbal briefing later that day.
“Finally, you may want to bring in a media specialist,” she said. “There’s been a leak. The German police have already had one inquiry about the finding of a Baader-Meinhof militant who was supposed to be dead. They stalled it, but we could have a flood of media arriving just as the summit is supposed to start. If the news about the kidnapped archaeologist brother gets out, it’ll be even worse.”
“Very well. The minister’s press spokeswoman is traveling here with him, but I’ll arrange for someone to fly down tomorrow. Any questions?”
“Yes, sir,” said Bruno. “What are the rules of engagement? If these Basques are spotted, I mean.”
“Shoot them on sight,” said Carlos. Bruno glanced at him. The Spaniard’s face was grim; he wasn’t joking.
“This has already been agreed to at the ministerial level. We use the standard procedure on terrorist cases,” said Isabelle. “Do not shoot first unless your own or civilian lives are in danger. Use firearms in self-defense. They get one invitation to surrender. All security personnel will be briefed accordingly. Live ammunition is being issued.”
“Any other business?” asked the brigadier. “No? Then we shall meet again tomorrow morning, when we had better think about canceling or postponing or moving this summit. I don’t like any of those options, but if we fail to make progress, we may have no choice. Thank you, everybody. Bruno, stay behind, please.”
Bruno recognized that the brigadier was on parade. There was none of the affable informality of their sharing foie gras or fine scotch as at the conclusion of previous cases. And in official mode, even in civilian clothes, Brigadier Lannes could be as demanding as he was imposing. He sat impassively, hands relaxed on the table before him, waiting until all the others had left the room. Even the general of gendarmes, who nominally was the senior officer in the room, went quietly with the rest of the security committee. They were, Bruno thought, like so many chastened schoolboys, departing in silence and with sidelong glances of sympathy at Bruno as the remaining victim for the master’s wrath.
“It’s your turf,” the brigadier said when they were alone. “So you’ll have a better sense of where these bastards might be holed up than anyone else on this team.”
“There are over fifteen thousand holiday homes in this departement,” said Bruno. “We’d need at least a thousand teams of armed men to have any hope of checking them all in time. The key to this will be access. Either they have their bombs planted somewhere already, or they have to get here at the right time. I’ve drawn up a patrol and checkpoint plan for the surrounding area, as you asked. It means sealing off the chateaux in three belts, one five kilometers out, one at a single kilometer and a final cordon on the perimeter.”
“Isabelle sent me your plan, and we’re implementing it. But we need to find them and take them, not just block them. And we also want to interrogate them, if only to find out who pulled the trigger that killed Nerin.”
“They have to be hiding out somewhere. I suppose we could get each of the mairies to telephone all the registered gite owners and ask them to check on their own properties. We’ll miss those owned by foreigners, and it could be dangerous for them, but I don’t see how else we can get much of a search going.”
“We can’t have some vacation-home owner getting gunned down when he’s gone calling at our behest,” the brigadier said. “The politicians wouldn’t stand for it. They may even have taken over a farm and be holding the farmer at gunpoint.”
“Or in a cave,” said Bruno. “We’ve got enough of those.”
“I need a plan B, an alternative place for the summit. I presume you’ve thought about it. You mentioned it when we met here earlier.”
“I have a place in mind, just the other side of St. Denis. It’s a small chateau, now used as a hotel, and it’s also the headquarters of a vineyard. The security is much better-only one road and a couple of paths. The place backs onto a river so sealing it off would be a lot easier.”
“Are there decent rooms for the summit itself?”
Bruno described the Domaine that he knew well, with its imposing salon for the formal meeting and a ballroom for the press conference. There were side rooms and various bedrooms upstairs, two of them on the grand side. With hardly anybody working in the vineyard at that time of year and the vines just starting to show green, there’d be little cover for any approach. The owner, Bruno added, was an old friend who made good wine.
“Right, you can take me there now, but don’t speak of this to anyone else, not even Isabelle or Carlos. I’ll let them know what I have to when I see them for dinner tonight. You aren’t invited, I’m afraid, for operational reasons. I need to talk to those two, and you have enough on your plate drawing up a new perimeter and patrol plan for this alternative place. I want it ready for the morning meeting.”
“Yes, sir,” said Bruno, sighing inwardly. He’d hoped to invite Isabelle to dinner, to try and make up for their depressing talk of the afternoon.
The brigadier reached into his briefcase and pulled out a printed form and security pass, making Bruno sign each of them. He gave Bruno an enamel lapel badge in blue and yellow, saying it gave access to all areas and all the security forces would be briefed to recognize it. The pass identified Bruno as a member of the minister’s personal staff. It was only valid until the day after the summit.
“It gives you authority to tell generals what to do,” the brigadier said. “Don’t misuse it,” he added, seeing Bruno’s instinctive grin.
A worried-looking Isabelle was standing by the steps as they walked out and asked the brigadier if everything was in order, although Bruno thought from her glance of concern that her question was about him. He winked at her as he pinned the blue-and-yellow security badge to his lapel. Isabelle was wearing one just like it.
“I have a brief courtesy meeting, pure protocol,” said the brigadier as he strode past her, “and I’ll see you later.”
“Carlos has kindly invited me to dinner at the Vieux Logis,” she said, carefully avoiding looking at Bruno, who managed to keep his face immobile.
“Cancel it,” said the brigadier. “Or call them and make the reservation for three. I’ll meet you and Carlos at the hotel bar here at eight sharp. Come, Bruno, no time to waste.”
The Domaine was the center of St. Denis’s new wine industry, but Julien still ran the hotel. The main salon, decorated by Julien’s late wife, Mirabelle, with some well-chosen antiques, was given the brigadier’s approving nod as they walked through on the way to the office. He’d already walked briskly around the outside of the small chateau, mainly seventeenth century with some unfortunate nineteenth-century embellishments. Bruno explained their mission to Julien and inquired if there were any guests who might need to be relocated.
“There are no bookings until the weekend,” said Julien.
The brigadier told Julien what he wanted, handed over his card, a cashier’s check for five thousand euros on account and swore him to secrecy.
“I’ll need all the names and ID numbers of all members of staff e-mailed to me before eight tomorrow morning,” he said. “Now, I’d like to see your two best bedroom suites and hear about anything of historical interest. The minister likes that sort of thing.”
“This was the headquarters of Malraux in 1944 when he ran the Resistance campaign here…,” Julien began, still looking dazedly at the check in his hands.
“Excellent, just the kind of thing ministers like. Any royal mistresses?”
“No, but Napoleon slept here on his way back from the Spanish campaign.”
“Splendid, give my minister Napoleon’s room but just don’t say anything about the Spanish campaign. That wouldn’t be tactful when the summit is with the Spaniards. And now Bruno said something about your making a decent wine here in the vineyard. Perhaps I could try a glass as you show me the wine cellar, and then we’ll take a look at Napoleon’s chamber.”
