headed east into the mountains, maybe four years previously, and had not been seen since — though a veteran Legionnaire Colonel thought he had heard that the family had settled near Cauterets.
And now their staff car was winding its way through the spectacular range of mountains that divided France from Spain. They took no driver: Savary himself was at the wheel.
Things had moved forward in the month since first they discussed the operation in Saudi Arabia. But now the pressure was on, directly from the President of France. Their mission was simple: find Col. Jacques Gamoudi. Savary was beginning to wish he had never suggested the man’s name in the first place. Not only were they lost, but it was growing dark, they had no hotel reservation, and, generally speaking, they had no idea where they were going.
Cauterets had seemed a reasonable plan. They had run southwest from Toulouse for more than 100 miles into ever higher ground. Now they were driving through steep passes south of Soulom, climbing all the while, up past rugged, treeless peaks.
“This road ends at Cauterets,” said the General helpfully.
“So does the world, I shouldn’t be surprised,” replied Savary, faintly irritably, as he stared ahead at the darkening mountains. “God knows how we’ll ever find this character.”
“Oh, let’s not be negative,” said the General. “I doubt there are that many mountain guides in the area. And they’ll all know one another.”
“You’d need to be a mountain guide to live up here,” said Savary, who was a Parisian to the tips of his well- polished loafers.
“Shouldn’t be surprised if the whole population were mountain guides.”
General Jobert chuckled. Twenty minutes later, now in the pitch dark, they ran past a sign that said, at last, CAUTERETS. And there before them was the brightly lit resort town with its cheerful hotels, bars, and restaurants.
They drove on down Route 920 and swung into the Place Marechal Foch. Right ahead of them were the lights of the Hotel-Restaurant Cesar. Simultaneously, both men exclaimed, more or less word-perfect, “This’ll do for us.”
Anxious to disembark after the long journey, they heaved their bags out of the car and found their way to reception, where they booked a couple of rooms and a table for two in the hotel’s surprisingly crowded dining room.
Twenty minutes later, a few minutes before ten o’clock, they were dining in the best restaurant in Cauterets, with crisp white tablecloths and napkins and an excellent selection of regional wines.
Savary chose a Chateau de Rousse from the historic Jurancon district, southwest of the town of Pau, which was located about thirty-five miles to the north of Cauterets. The General looked at the label, which mentioned Pau, and he wondered if that might be their next stop — since Jacques Gamoudi had completed his specialist parachute training for the Foreign Legion right there in Pau before embarking for peacekeeping duties in Beirut.
Between courses, Savary tried an elementary check of the phone book, but there was no Jacques Gamoudi. There was no Gamoudi whatsoever. If Le Chasseur was living up there in the mountains, he was probably using another name.
“You know, I’ve never asked you, Michel, but what was Colonel Gamoudi actually doing for the Special Forces after he left the Foreign Legion?”
“Well, he had a glowing service report,” said the General. “And he quickly made the First Marine Parachute Regiment. He was recommended for a commission, which is a considerably more difficult task than a similar rank in the Foreign Legion. So he went to the French Military Academy at St. Cyr.
“From there he went to the Central African Republic, and made Major at an incredibly young age. He commanded his squadron in a highly dangerous long-term reconnaissance operation. That led to the successful evacuation of 3,000 French civilians and a crushing defeat of that particularly vicious rebel movement, the FACA.
“They decorated him again, and then he was invited to join the Secret Service, which he did. In June 1999 he masterminded the rescue of the U.S. Ambassador from the Congo. The French Special Ops team went with the diplomat to the Gabon, but Colonel Gamoudi stayed behind and directed the remaining French troops, the ones who had done the fighting.
“He earned his nickname in the murky world of North African politics, where regional conflict was rife and rebellions frequent. He was always in the thick of it, frequently commanding ex — French and Legionnaire officers who were fighting as mercenaries, and protecting French oil interests, and private French companies with involvement in the diamond industry. They say he was even involved in a truly daring plot to assassinate the President of Cote d’Ivoire five years ago.” The General hesitated briefly, before adding, “Jacques Gamoudi always seemed particularly at home in a Muslim environment. And I’m telling you, one way and another, he was one hell of a soldier.”
“I imagine it can take its toll, a life like that,” said Savary. “In that god-awful climate. Always watching your back, always concerned for those who rely on you…”
“No doubt,” said the General. “I understand many people were most surprised when he turned his back on the army. But he was, apparently, disenchanted. And wanted nothing more to do with it.”
“It’s often that way with very brave men,” mused Savary, sipping his Chateau de Rousse. “They seem to wake up one morning and wonder why they are doing so much more than everyone else, for the same basic salary. He might be a hard man to turn around. Unless we have a lot of money.”
“We do have a lot of money. And I assure you, the President and his royal cohort from the Saudi desert will not hesitate to spend it, if we believe this is the right man to take Riyadh.” The General put three photographs on the table. “Take another good look at these, Gaston, because I think he might even deny who he is when we find him.”
“
By now it was a little after 11 P.M. And as they left the dining room, the General asked the headwaiter if he had heard of a man named Jacques Gamoudi. Col. Jacques Gamoudi. He was greeted with the blankest of Gallic looks. So the General showed him the photographs, but the response was the same. It was a pattern that would be repeated with the concierge, the receptionist, and indeed the hotel’s owner. No one had ever met Le Chasseur.
The following morning was bright and warm. Under cloudless skies they made their way up to the cable cars that linked Cauterets to the Cirque du Lys, a skier’s paradise with its twenty-three runs covering twenty-five miles of fast downhill slopes. Not in June of course. But the cable car loading station was a regular starting point for mountain guides, and a gathering place for walkers and climbers from all over Europe.
For two hours, Savary and the General stood beneath the great peaks, mingling with the guides, asking the question, showing the photographs, watching for the slightest sign of deceit or secrecy. But there was none. Le Chasseur had surely vanished, if indeed the Legionnaire in Castelnaudaray had been correct. By lunchtime the two searchers were pretty certain the Legionnaire had been mistaken.
There were just a few hikers gathering now, and they appeared not to have a guide who would walk with them. At least not an adult one. There was a boy, of about fourteen, showing them a map, but that was all.
It was virtually a last-ditch effort, but as the hikers moved off, Savary walked over to the boy who was still folding up his map. His ten-euro tip was still in his hand.
Savary wished him
“Monsieur who?” said Savary.
“Hooks. He’s a mountain guide, lives over in a tiny little place called Heas, right up in the mountains, far above Gedre. That’s him. Definitely. The man in your picture.”
“Do you know his first name?”
“No, no. He’s Monsieur Hooks. No one calls him by his first name.”
“Has he lived there a long time?”
“Not too long. But I remember when he came. I was ten, and I was in Monsieur Lamont’s class. I used to live over at Gedre, and my school went on a few expeditions to the mountains around the Cirque de Troumouse. Monsieur Hooks was always our guide. He takes all the school parties up there.”
