A hideous grin spread across his face. 'I'm fixing it so you and your lover can spend eternity together.'
'No reason to murder her,' Villon groaned through the agony. 'For God'ssake, let her go free.'
'Sorry,' said Gly callously. 'She's part of the bargain.'
'What bargain?'
There was no answer. Gly slammed the door and began climbing up the sloping embankment. He rapidly reached the top and disappeared into the darkness. A few minutes later they heard the sound of a heavy diesel engine knocking to life.
The engine began to strain as though it was working under a heavy load. The throaty roar of the exhaust drew closer and then a huge silver scoop crept out over the rim of the ditch. Suddenly it tilted downward and three-and-a-half cubic yards of dirt rained down around the roof of the Mercedes. Danielle let out a pitiful cry.
'Oh, Mary, mother of Jesus…... he's going to bury us alive oh, no, please no!'
Gly coldly ignored the pitiful plea and shifted the front-end loader into reverse, angling the bucket for the next bite of earth. He knew the position of every lever, their use and how to activate them. For two nights he had practiced, filling sections of the ditch so expertly that the dirt-moving crew had never noticed that an extra twenty feet of the open pipeline had been filled for them between work shifts.
Danielle fought frantically to break the chain on her handcuffs. The flesh around her wrists was quickly chafed into bloody shreds.
'Henri!' Her cry had become a gagging whimper now. 'Don't let me die, not like this.'
Villon did not seem to hear. The end would come sooner for him. He knew he was only a few seconds away from bleeding to death.
'Odd,' he whispered. 'Odd that the last man to die for Quebec liberty is me. Who would have ever thought.' His voice faded away.
The car was almost completely covered. The only parts that still showed were a portion of the shattered windshield, the three-cornered star emblem on the hood and one headlight.
A figure moved to the edge of the embankment and stood in the light. It was not Foss Gly, but another man. He looked down: his face was frozen in deep sorrow, and tears glistened on his cheeks.
For a brief instant, Danielle stared at him in horror. Her color turned ghastly. She placed her free hand against the glass in a pleading gesture. Then slowly, her eyes mirrored an understanding look, and her mouth formed the words 'Forgive me'.
The bucket was tipped again, the dirt fell and all sight of the car was blotted out.
At last the ditch was filled to ground level, and the exhaust of the front-end loader died into the night.
Only then did a saddened Charles Sarveux turn and walk away.
The airfield at Lac St. Joseph, deep in the hills northeast of Quebec City, was one of several belonging to the Royal Canadian Air Force that had been shut down because of budget cuts. Its two-mile runway was off limits to commercial aircraft, but was still used by the military for training and emergency landings.
Henri Villon's plane stood in front of a weathered metal hangar. A fuel truck was parked beside it and two men in raincoats were making a preflight check. Inside, in an office bare of furniture except for a rusting metal workbench, Charles Sarveux and Commissioner Finn stood in silence and watched the proceedings through a dirty window. The earlier drizzle had turned into a driving rain that leaked through the roof of the hangar in a dozen places.
Foss Gly was stretched out comfortably on a blanket. His hands were clasped behind his head and he was oblivious to the water that splashed beside him on the cement floor. There was an air of smugness about him, of complacency almost, as he gazed up at the metal-beamed ceiling. The Villon disguise was gone and he was himself again. Outside, the pilot jumped from the wing to the ground and dog-trotted to the hangar. He poked his head in the office door.
'Ready when you are,' he announced.
Gly came to a sitting position. 'What did you find?'
'Nothing. We inspected every system, every square inch, even the quality of the gas and oil. Nobody's tampered with it. It's clean.'
'Okay, start up the engines.'
The pilot nodded and ducked back into the rain.
'Well, gentlemen,' said Gly, 'I guess I'll be on my way.'
Sarveux silently nodded to Commissioner Finn. The Mountie set two large suitcases on the workbench and opened them.
'Thirty million well-worn Canadian dollars,' said Finn, his face deadpan.
Gly pulled a jeweler's eyepiece from his pocket and began studying a random sampling of bills. After nearly ten minutes he re pocketed the eyepiece and closed the suitcases.
'You weren't joking when you said 'well-worn.' Most of these bills are so wallet-battered you can hardly read the denominations.'
As per your instructions,' Finn said testily. 'It was no simple matter scraping up that much used currency on such short notice. I think you'll find them all negotiable.'
Gly walked over to Sarveux and held out his hand. 'Nice doing business with you, Prime Minister.'
Sarveux rebuffed Gly's gesture. 'I'm only happy we caught onto your imposter scheme in time.'
Gly shrugged and withdrew his empty hand. 'Who's to say? I might have made a damned good President, better maybe than Villon.'
'Pure luck on my part that you didn't,' said Sarveux. 'If Commissioner Finn hadn't known Henri's exact whereabouts when you brazenly walked into my office, you might never have been apprehended. As it is, my sad regret is that I can't have your neck stretched on the gallows.'
'A good reason why I keep records for insurance,' Gly said contemptuously. 'A chronological journal of my actions on behalf of the Free Quebec Society, tape recordings of my conversations with Villon, videotapes of your wife in wild postures with your minister of internal affairs. The stuff major scandals are made of. I'd say that's a fair exchange for my life.'
'When will I get them?' Sarveux demanded.
'I'll send you directions to their hiding place after I'm safely out of your reach.'
'What assurances do I have? How can I trust you not to keep blackmailing me?' Gly grinned fiendishly. 'None, none at all.'
'You're filth,' Sarveux hissed angrily. 'The excretion of the earth.
'Are you any better?' Gly snapped back. 'You stood mute in all your sanctity and watched while I wasted your political rival and your cheating wife. And then you had the gall to pay for the job with government funds. You stink even worse than I do, Sarveux. The best of the bargain was yours. So save your insults and sermons for the mirror.'
Sarveux trembled, the rage seething inside him. 'I think you better get out get out of Canada.'
'Gladly.'
Sarveux got a mental hold on himself. 'Goodbye, Mr. Gly, perhaps we'll meet in hell.'
'We already have,' grunted Gly.
He snapped the suitcases shut, carried them outside and entered the airplane. As the pilot taxied to the end of the runway, he relaxed in the main cabin and poured himself a drink.
Not bad, he thought, thirty million bucks and a jet airplane. Nothing like making an exit in style.
The phone on the bar buzzed and he picked it up. It was the pilot.
'We're ready for takeoff. Would you care to give me flight instructions now?'
'Head due south for the United States. Stay low to avoid radar. A hundred miles over the border, come to cruising altitude and set a course for Montserrat.'
'Never heard of it.'
'One of the Leeward Islands in the Lesser Antilles, southeast of Puerto Rico. Wake me when we get there.'
'Sweet dreams, boss.'
Gly slumped in his seat, not bothering to fasten the safety belt. At that moment he felt immortal. He grinned to himself as he gazed through the cabin window at The two figures silhouetted against the lights of the hangar.
