He turned and stared at her. 'Repeat that.'
'My husband is going to announce his candidacy for President of Quebec.'
Villon shook his head in exasperation. 'I can't believe he'd do it. That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard. Why? There's no rhyme or reason for such a stupid decision.'
'I think it stems from anger.'
'He hates me that much?'
She lowered her eyes. 'I think he suspects something between us. Perhaps even knows. He may be out for revenge.'
'Not Charles. He's not given to childish reactions.'
'I was always so careful. He must have had me followed. How else could he have caught on?'
Villon tilted his head back and laughed. 'Because I as good as told him.'
'You didn't!' she gasped.
'To hell with that fastidious little toad. Let him stew in righteous self-pity for all I care. There's no way the sniffling bastard can win the election. Charles Sarveux has few friends in the Parti quebecois. The mainstream of support belongs to me.'
The ferry dock was only a hundred meters away when a man got out of the fifth car behind Villon's Mercedes sedan and joined the passengers returning to the parking deck after lining the railings to enjoy the view.
Through the rear window he could see two profiles in conversation, muffled voices seeping from the rolled-up windows.
Casually he moved alongside the Mercedes, pulled open the rear door as if he owned the car, and slipped into the back seat.
'Madame Sarveux, Monsieur Villon, good evening.'
Confusion swept Danielle's and Villon's faces, replaced with disbelieving shock, then fear when they saw the.44 magnum revolver held in a rocklike hand, slowly wavering from one head to the other and back again.
Villon had genuine reason for his astonishment.
He felt as though he was staring in a mirror.
The man in the rear seat was his exact double, a twin, a clone. He could see every detail of the face from the spotlights on the landing dock that shone through the windshield.
Danielle let out a low moan that would have worked its way into a hysterical scream if the gun barrel hadn't whipped across her cheek.
The blood sprang from the gash in her otherwise flawless skin and she sucked in her breath at the instant agony.
'I have no qualms about striking a woman, so please spare yourself any senseless resistance.' The voice was a precise imitation of Villon's.
'Who are you?' Villon demanded. 'What do you want?'
'I'm flattered -the original cannot tell the fake.' The voice took on a new inflection, one that Villon recognized in a horror stricken flash. 'I'm Foss Gly, and I intend to kill you both.'
A light drizzle began to fall and Villon turned on the windshield wipers. The gun muzzle was pressed into the nape of his neck, the pressure never easing since they left the ferryboat.
Danielle sat beside him, holding a blood-soaked handkerchief to her face. Every few minutes she made little strange noises in her throat. She looked like a woman lost in a nightmare, a woman numbed by terror.
All questions and pleas had been met by icy silence. Gly opened his mouth only to issue driving directions. They were rolling through a rural area now, marked by the lights of an occasional farmhouse. Villon had no recourse but to do as he was told. He could only hope and wait for an opportunity to act, to somehow gain the attention of a passing motorist, or with luck, a cruising policeman.
'Slow down,' Gly ordered. 'A dirt road is coming up on your left. Take it.'
With a sinking dread, Villon turned off the highway. The road had been recently graded, and it appeared well traveled by heavy construction equipment.
'I thought you were dead,' Villon said, trying for a response. Gly did not answer.
'That British intelligence agent Brian Shaw said you crashed a stolen boat into the side of a Japanese cargo ship.'
'Did he tell you my body was never found?' At last he had Gly in a talking mood. That was a start.
'Yes, there was an explosion…...'
'Tied down the helm, set the throttles to FULL and jumped clear five miles before the collision. With all the traffic on the St. Lawrence, I figured it was only a question of time before the boat struck another vessel.'
'Why are you made up to look like me?'
'Isn't it obvious? After you're dead, I'm going to take your place. I, and not you, will be the new President of Quebec.'
Five seconds passed before the staggering disclosure penetrated Villon's mind. 'In God's name, that's madness!'
'Madness? Not really. Smart brains, I'd call it.'
'You'll never get away with such a crazy scheme.'
'Ah, but I already have.' Gly's tone was calm, conversational. 'How do you think I walked through Jules Guerrier's front door, past his bodyguard up to his room and murdered him? I've sat at your desk, met most of your friends, discussed political differences with Charles Sarveux, made an appearance on the floor of the House of Commons. Why, hell, I've even slept with your wife and with your mistress up there on the front seat.
Villon was dazed. 'Not true…... not true…... not my wife.'
'Yes, Henri, it's all true. I can even describe her anatomy, beginning with…...'
'No!' Villon cried. He slammed on the brakes and snapped the steering wheel to the right.
The fates turned their backs on Villon. The tires failed to grip the damp earth, and the violent reaction he expected, he hoped for, never happened. There was no savage body-snapping motion from centrifugal force. Instead, the car slid slowly around in lazy circles.
Keeping his balance, his aim only slightly diverted, Gly pulled the trigger.
The.44 magnum shell shattered Villon's collarbone and passed through the windshield.
A scream poured from Danielle's mouth, and then died away into terror-choked sobbing.
The car gradually came to a gentle stop in the wet grass beside the road. Villon's hands jerked from the steering wheel. He threw his head against the backrest of the seat, tightly gripped the gaping wound and clenched his teeth in pain.
Gly stepped outside and pulled open the driver's door. He roughly shoved Villon toward Danielle and climbed in.
'I'll take it from here,' he snarled. He crammed the gun barrel into Villon's side under the armpit. 'Don't get cute again.'
To Danielle it looked as if half of Villon's upper shoulder had been blown away. She turned and vomited on the door panel.
Gly made a U-turn and returned to the road. In half a mile a huge yellow-painted earthmover appeared in the headlights. Beside it was an excavated ditch ten feet deep and fifteen feet across. A high mound of earth was piled up along the opposite side. As Gly drove along the edge, Danielle could make out a large concrete pipe that stretched along the bottom of the ditch.
They passed a silent row of trucks and earth moving equipment. The engineer's office, a battered old converted house trailer, sat dark and empty. The construction crew had gone home for the night.
Gly pulled up at a place where the new drainage line was being covered over. He braked, judging the angle of the incline down to the roof of the pipe. Then he gunned the engine and drove the Mercedes into the ditch.
The front bumper struck the circular concrete and sprayed sparks. The rear end slewed around until the car came to rest on its side, the headlights on a slight angle upward.
Gly took two pairs of handcuffs from his coat pocket. He clamped one to the steering column and Villon's left hand. He repeated the process on Danielle with the other set.
'What are you doing?' Danielle asked in a hoarse whisper.
He paused to stare at her. The raven hair was messed and the beautiful features were marred by the bloody tears. The eyes were those of a doe paralyzed with fright.
