“Let’s get what we came for,” Simon replied. “You can have happy hour at the station.”
The hideout’s furnishings were nicer than he’d expected. There were carpets over wood floors, an old, flouncy sofa in the living area, a flat-screen TV plugged into a generator, and a few chairs and tables, staples of any second-hand furniture store. Coluzzi asked if he might open the door to the terrace. Simon said, “No.”
“Where’s the letter?” demanded Nikki.
“Why in such a hurry?” Coluzzi asked.
“We want to make sure you get a good night’s sleep,” said Simon. “Jails are such peaceful places.” He had the machine gun in firing position. Coluzzi wasn’t going without a fight.
“In the bedroom.” Coluzzi turned and took a few paces to the rear of the shelter. “I’ve got a safe under my bed. I need to roll the carpet back.”
“I’ll give you a hand,” said Simon.
“That would be nice.”
Coluzzi stepped into a cramped room with low ceilings, no windows, a single bed pushed up against the wall. Simon handed Nikki the machine gun, and she set it down against the wall outside the room, quick to return to her alert position, gun raised, held with both hands.
Coluzzi got onto his knees and rolled back a tattered burgundy carpet. Simon kneeled next to him, peeling back the opposite corner. There was a door cut into the floorboards and a silver pull ring to one side.
“Easy,” said Simon.
“Of course.” Coluzzi gave the ring a yank and the door came free. He raised it slowly until it stood upright. “Hold it open. It tends to drop on my head.”
Coluzzi bent lower to open the safe. “Funny, isn’t it? We went to all that trouble to steal half a million euros, knocking off jewelry stores, banks, the big trucks. Cops shooting at us, running like hell, driving like hell. I found a goddamned letter and it’s worth ten million.”
“Is that what they’re offering?”
“Cash. On its way.” He looked over his shoulder, hoping.
“That wasn’t the original deal, though, was it?” said Simon.
“So you are working for him?”
“Open the safe, Tino.”
Coluzzi returned his attention to the safe. “You know, it really isn’t so difficult killing a man face-to-face,” he said. “I didn’t have a choice with you. Take you face-to-face and you would’ve killed me. I’m not stupid. I knew you’d come after me the moment I got put in Les Baums. It was survival, really. I couldn’t have you telling everyone in the yard that I was a snitch. That would have been the end. Goodbye, Tino. That makes me smart, not a coward. Otherwise, it doesn’t bother me. Looking a man in the eye and killing him.” Coluzzi raised his head to look at Simon. “I didn’t have a problem with the priest.”
“Who?”
“Your buddy from the hole. Deschutes.”
“He died from cancer.”
“Really? That what you think?” Coluzzi smirked. “He was sick when they let him out of the hole, but he wasn’t dead. Of course, you were back on the outside by then. You wouldn’t have known.”
“Paul Deschutes died from cancer three months after I was released. I asked about him.”
“Last I checked prisons aren’t as honest as they might be, reporting these kinds of things.”
“You’re lying. The monsignor never got out of solitary.”
“Maybe I have him mixed up with someone else. Tall man, long hair he refused to cut. Spooky blue eyes. Oh…and he had great skill in martial arts even in his condition. He would teach some of the younger guys.”
Simon felt his pulse racing. He’d never questioned how the monsignor had died. “You didn’t?”
“I couldn’t let him hang around the yard knowing he’d spent all that time with you. The way I see it, I just shortened his suffering.”
Simon saw the taunting in his eyes, the casual cruelty. He didn’t know if Coluzzi was telling the truth. Maybe. Maybe not. It didn’t matter. Simon had spent years getting as far away as possible from him and those like him. He refused to go back.
“Open the safe,” said Simon quietly, without rancor.
Coluzzi waited for a more heated reaction, and when none came he lowered his head and turned the dial a last time. Of course, it was the same combination as the other safe. He opened the door. There at the bottom was a buff-colored envelope.
“Here,” he said. “Have a look.”
Concerned, Nikki came closer. Simon said everything was all right. He studied the envelope, then opened it and read the note inside.
“What does it say?” Nikki asked.
“It’s not what it says, it’s who said it.” Simon slipped the note back inside the envelope and prepared to hand it to Nikki.
He did not see Coluzzi dip back into the safe. He noted only a flash of motion from the corner of his eye. Then Coluzzi was raising his hand. Simon glimpsed a small silver canister. He shut his eyes tightly as Coluzzi shot the pepper spray into his face. The pain was immediate and devastating. Simon dropped the letter, his hands reflexively moving to his eyes. At the same time, Coluzzi kicked the door closed, then jumped to his feet and locked it.
“Simon!” Nikki pounded the door.
“Shoot him!” Simon fell to his side, the spray searing his eyes, burning, burning. He blinked and the pain worsened. He could see nothing.
“Lay down,” shouted Nikki.
A moment passed and she fired three bullets into the lock. The door burst open. She was at his side. “Are you all right?”
“Where is he?”
“He’s gone. There was a side door.”
“Get him. I’ll be okay.”
Chapter 65
Those are gunshots.”
Neill lay on his belly on a rock overlooking Coluzzi’s hideout. Next to him, also in a prone position, Makepeace looked through the high-powered scope of a sniper’s rifle.
“See anything?” Neill asked.
“Everyone’s inside the house.”
Neill stifled an expletive, his patience at an end. He didn’t know how much longer he could stand back and watch from a distance. He’d followed Riske and the French policewoman to Coluzzi’s house in Aubagne, losing sight of him time and again to maintain his cover. It had been the hardest decision in his life not to enter and end things there. He’d counted on Riske’s calm, his maturity and devotion to doing his job properly. Ambassador Shea had said of him: “All I know about Riske is that you can count on him to do the right thing. He’s got himself a backbone.”
Neill had learned that all too well these past twenty-four hours.
“Sir, I’ve got something. It’s our man.”
“Riske?”
“No, the other one.”
Just then, Coluzzi appeared among the rocks on the far side of the well-hidden structure. He ran awkwardly up the steepest section of the incline, stumbling, clawing at the ground. He wasn’t terribly fast. Every few steps, he slowed to look over his shoulder.
A moment later, the female police officer emerged from the house, running after him. Even from this distance, he could see she was holding a pistol. She stopped after a few steps, took careful aim, and fired. The bullet sent up a spray of rock inches from Coluzzi, causing him to veer in another direction.
“Damn her,” said Neill.
“What is it, sir?”
Neill watched the woman scramble up the hillside, nimbler than Coluzzi. She was gaining ground quickly. In no time, she’d have Coluzzi within range.
“I’ve got a clear shot,” said Makepeace. “I can take him whenever you like.”
Coluzzi crested the bluff. Now on flatter land, he was able to run more easily. The distance between them lengthened. The woman stopped and raised her gun.
“Shoot her, not him.”
Makepeace took his eye from the scope. “Excuse me?”
“Do as I say.”
Makepeace turned the rifle away from Tino Coluzzi, toward the woman. He laid his finger on the trigger, barely caressing the smooth metal crescent, and placed her in his sights. He drew a breath, feeling his heart slow, his vision sharpen.