The man walked down a narrow passage towards the rear of the building. He appeared to have a plan. Kite waited for a count of three, checked that Xavier and Luc were not behind him, then followed him along the passage.
He came to a Fire Door and pushed it open. The man was waiting for him on a patch of concrete to the left of the door. He was wearing jeans and a Goats Head Soup T-shirt. He gestured Kite into a sectioned-off area where three industrial bins were giving off a stench of rotting food. The clouds had moved away. It was searingly hot.
‘We don’t have much time, so I’ll make this quick. The name’s Carl. You OK?’
‘I’m fine,’ Kite replied.
He was a lean, undernourished man of around thirty-five. He didn’t look like the sort of Englishman who would ordinarily be reading the Financial Times on holiday in France. Kite guessed that was the point.
‘Eskandarian is arriving late this afternoon. Landing in Paris at five, catching a flight to Cannes at seven.’ Kite made a mental note of the flight times. ‘The villa was swept by MOIS early this morning. They were thorough. They didn’t find anything. Looks like the French aren’t interested in our man. Team went in straight afterwards, tried to rig some tentacles. They didn’t succeed in the way they wanted to succeed. Were disturbed by the housekeeper coming back and had to get out. Understand?’
Kite nodded although he wasn’t sure precisely what Carl was telling him. Was the operation being called off?
‘Take a look at this.’
The man produced a colour photograph from his pocket which looked as though it had been torn out of a brochure or Sunday supplement. It was a picture of a table lamp with a broad wooden base and wide burgundy shade. Kite noticed three warts on the back of Carl’s right hand.
‘All they managed to do was get the stereo into the poolhouse and this lamp into the first bedroom you come to on the first floor of the villa. It’s a small room, unlikely to be where Rosamund puts Eskandarian. If you get the chance, before the target shows up, find out where he’s going to be sleeping and try to switch the lamps. Only do this if it’s a hundred per cent safe. Make sure everyone else in the villa is downstairs, maybe outside taking a swim after the long drive. You are under strict orders not to attempt the switch after Eskandarian arrives. Is that understood?’
‘I understand,’ Kite replied. He wanted to ask if Carl had been following him all the way from London, via Lipp and Coupole and the Marais.
‘They’re sorry they didn’t get the job done. Couldn’t be helped, time window was squeezed to less than four minutes. You’re the fallback. That’s why you’re there. Just plug the lamp in and get out. Somebody catches you, you say your own light fused and you went to switch it with another one from a different room. Capeesh?’
Kite nodded. ‘Capeesh.’ He had not anticipated that there would be this much pressure so early in the operation.
‘Here.’ Carl passed him a packet of cigarettes and some Hollywood chewing gum. ‘In case anyone asks what took you so long, you were buying these.’
‘OK. Thanks.’
‘Luc make any calls on his car phone?’
Kite shook his head. He knew that BOX could access the phone line when the car was stationary, not when it was moving.
‘OK. Remember what I told you. Good luck. Go.’
Kite did as he was told, walking away from the stench of the bins, back down the passage, committing the colours and design of the lamp to memory, his heart racing in a way that no amount of training in Hampstead had prepared him for. The entire conversation with Carl had taken less than two minutes. Why had he asked about Luc using the phone?
Kite went into the gents. Xavier was coming out of one of the cubicles. He looked up and was surprised to see Kite, but they did not say anything to one another, merely grunting as they passed. Moments later Kite was back at the car, Xavier already in the passenger seat, Luc sitting impatiently at the wheel.
‘Why did you take so long?’ he snapped. Luc Bonnard was not a man who liked to be left waiting around.
‘Sorry.’ Kite put the cigarettes on the seat. ‘Bought some gum. Want any?’
‘Ollywood?’ Xavier replied in a cod French accent.
‘Oui,’ Kite replied, relief flooding through him like the first blissful rush of Ecstasy. ‘Hollywood. Tuck in. There’s plenty. How far are we from the house?’
36
They reached the villa before the others. Kite had memorised the layout of the roads surrounding the house and was confident he would have been able to guide Luc to the property even without the aid of the Michelin map Xavier passed to him on the last stretch of motorway beyond Grasse. He had seen aerial photographs of the villa, pictures of the rooms, architectural drawings of every floor, surveillance shots of the swimming pool and gardens. As Luc turned through the iron gates and proceeded along the gravelled drive, Kite had the sense of a place he already knew intimately springing into vibrant, three-dimensional life. He stepped out of the car and looked up at the house for the first time. He was surprised by the size and complexity of the building; it was even larger than he had imagined. The vast lime tree at the entrance concealed much of the southern facade
