Kite noticed the use of ‘they’, not ‘he’. BOX were clearly more interested in Luc than they had let on.
‘There was one thing,’ he said. ‘Maybe you knew, maybe you didn’t. Luc told me Ali had a fiancée in Paris before he left for Iran.’
The three men looked at one another.
‘We did not know that,’ said Strawson.
Kite was elated. He was proving his worth. ‘They split up,’ he said. ‘She married a politician in Catalonia, Catalunya, some country I’d never heard of—’
‘Jesus Christ!’ Peele jumped to his feet. ‘Didn’t we teach you anything at Alford? Catalunya is a province in north-eastern Spain. You’ll find Barcelona there if you look hard enough. Did you get a name?’
‘No, sir,’ said Kite, unwittingly imitating their classroom relationship.
‘All these women with no surnames,’ Strawson declared. He stood up and walked over to the window. ‘What are we doing about the Gameboy?’
‘I’ve got it in my room,’ Kite replied.
‘Any chance of leaving it in Luc’s office? Wandering in for a chat when he’s not there, accidentally on purpose sliding it under the bookcase?’
‘Battery will only last two days,’ said Carl.
‘Then our boy gets it out and puts new ones in,’ Strawson replied, as if Kite wasn’t there.
‘You comfortable doing that?’ Peele asked.
‘Sure.’ Kite was determined to say yes to all but the most brazenly dangerous or illegal requests. ‘And there’s the Walkman too. Might as well use that if I have it.’
‘Just keep an eye on the bodyguard.’ Strawson was staring outside at the olive trees and the whitewashed wall. ‘Don’t do anything while he’s around. He’s the one guy could fuck this up for you.’
For you, thought Kite. Not ‘us’. He knew that BOX would pack up and go home, leave him to swing if he was exposed.
‘I understand,’ he said. ‘I won’t do anything reckless.’
Peele again looked at his watch.
‘You’d better go,’ he said. ‘Remember what I told you. Make sure you’re sweating and out of breath by the time you get back.’
‘Sure.’ Kite suddenly remembered the wall. ‘Christ,’ he said. ‘Something else that’s important.’
‘What?’ said Strawson.
Kite explained that Abbas had been parked close to the wall where BOX were intending to leave a chalk mark if they wanted to contact him. Strawson told him not to worry. Abbas wouldn’t be spending more than a few hours at a time with line of sight to the wall. The signalling procedure could still go ahead.
‘What about the windows?’ Kite asked.
‘What about them?’
‘Hélène had closed my shutters when I came back from Mougins last night. If I leave a T-shirt there during the day, she might move it. You may not see it.’
Kite could tell from their reaction that this was regarded as a slightly more taxing problem. Peele nevertheless solved it almost immediately.
‘Just use the cigarettes,’ he said.
‘What do you mean?’
‘If you want to talk to us, just leave a packet of cigarettes on the wall at the bottom of the garden. If there’s a note, we’ll read and respond. We’ll check the site every hour or so. But leave the shirt as a signal anyway. Hélène may not always close the shutters.’
Strawson turned from the window. He had his hands behind his back, the left arm slightly crooked so that he was holding the wrist at an awkward angle. Kite was reminded of a painting he had seen of Napoleon surveying a battlefield. Strawson explained that another operation meant he had to leave France, but that he would be back within three days to check on progress. Kite was oddly relieved by the news, even as Carl and Peele offered him reassuring smiles. He venerated Strawson, but his presence in the safe house felt like an extra layer of pressure.
‘I’ll be fine,’ he told him. ‘Good luck with whatever it is you’re doing.’
They shook Kite’s hand and wished him well. Carl went out onto the road, gave the all-clear and Kite jogged away from the house. Within five minutes he had made a steep uphill climb and was soaked in sweat. It was time to go back to the villa. The Audi was no longer parked in the lay-by. Abbas had moved it back to the lime tree and was eating breakfast alone at a small table in the area outside the kitchen which Hélène used for hanging out the washing. To Kite’s relief, but not to his surprise, the bodyguard did not look up as he went into the house.
The dining room was laid out for breakfast. Luc was at the head of the table reading Le Monde, hair slicked back in the style of Gordon Gecko, Rosamund beside him engrossed in a paperback of Oscar and Lucinda. There were plates of ham and cheese in front of them, baskets of pain au chocolat and croissants. On a side table Hélène had left out bottles of Evian and Badoit and a jug of freshly squeezed orange juice. It needed a stir. There was a large red coffee jug on a mat in front of Luc, little bowls of jam and yoghurt and honey.
‘Good run?’ Rosamund asked, spotting Kite at the door. She was sipping her customary cup of Twining’s English Breakfast tea. ‘Feeling better?’
‘The next one will be easier,’ Kite replied. ‘Going to try to go every day.’
‘Well don’t have a heart attack, for goodness’ sake.’ She turned to Luc. ‘Darling, did you know Lockie was an elite athlete?’
‘Maybe he has someone he’s trying to impress.’
Luc’s reply was not as jovial nor as teasing as it might have been; there was a sting to it. His face was hidden behind a photograph of Francois Mitterrand on the cover of Le Monde. Kite picked up a plum and pretended to throw it at him. Rosamund
