x
Etienne climbed the dimly lit stairway of the tenement block to his apartment. He unlocked the door and slipped inside, checked that his kids were sleeping, then went quietly into his bedroom and began to undress.
Amelie reached out and switched on the bedside light. "Do you know what time it is?" she demanded angrily. "How long is this nonsense going on for?"
"Hush, Amelie," Etienne tried to quieten her. "You'll wake up the kids.
Amelie propped herself up in bed so she could face him. "The kids," she shouted, losing her temper. "What do you care about the kids? You never see them."
"If you wake them up Pascal will be too tired for school."
"So what if he's tired, at least he still has a daddy! If I don't try to stop you, next week or the weak after that he'll have no father at all. Etienne," she pleaded with him, "you've given up your job to risk your life, your family, everything, for this one crazy gamble. It can't be just the money---what does Dragov offer you that makes it worth more than me and the kids?"
Etienne climbed into bed. She turned away but he reached out, put his arm around her, and pulled her rigid, protesting body towards his.
"Nothing's worth more to me than you and the kids," he said. "And you know it. But each day at the garage I was just a drone. I changed people's spark plugs, I changed their oil. I didn't even have to be a good mechanic, they've got machines that can tune engines now. I brought money home but that was all, there was nothing for myself. Now the risk I face brings a unique excitement---I feel like a man again. My talent is vital to the success or failure of the plan: everything depends on me. Amelie, when I could no longer drive a racing car I lost more than my hand. This way, if only for a short time, let me feel important to myself again."
He felt her softening and continued talking, holding her tightly to him.
"With the money I earn from this we can buy our freedom---no more tenement flats."
"Can we go home?" Amelie asked. "I miss France more and more now." She sighed. "I miss the wines and the narrow streets, the Eiffel Tower, the Arc de Triumph. And the people, all our people, I miss them most of all."
"Amelie," Etienne said hopelessly, "whatever happens, I can't go back, I hate too much."
"But why?" Amelie protested. "We live among good Catholics here. The Mexicans are our friends, they've helped us, they've been kind to us."
"I have no desire to go back to Europe. There's nothing there for me but old wounds and bitter memories. France, Europe—they hold no place in my heart anymore. The bloodshed, the betrayal—it's all too much to bear. No, I won't open old wounds by going back. Instead, I've set my sights on a new horizon: New Orleans. It's a city rich in culture and history, with a French-speaking community that I hope will welcome us with open arms. I believe we can build a new life there, away from the shadows of our past. And if I can find success in this vibrant city, it will benefit us all. Perhaps I can finally give us the stability and security we deserve, far away from the turmoil of our former lives."
It was hard for Amelie to surrender completely to his enthusiasm."
"You said that when you wanted to come here," she pointed out dubiously.
"This time it's going to be different," Etienne told her. He was kissing her neck and behind her ears to arouse her. She let him pull her towards him until her body pressed against his.
"Oh, Etienne," she whispered. "I get so frightened. When you're not here I feel so helpless. I'm far from home and things I know, I don't know what I'd do if anything happened to you. The kids and I need you so much. Please be careful for us."
"There's no danger," Etienne whispered, reassuring her. "I promise, there's no danger."
He remembered sadly the girl he'd married, so rounded and beautiful and bursting with the joys of life. Now she was a worn, tired woman pining for the sunlight of her homeland. She lay within his arms, so thin that when he felt for her flesh he touched only bone. Etienne felt guilty at what he had done to her. His plans for Harborville had not worked out but they could try again and this time, with the extra money, they'd make it. He kissed her on the lips, his mouth pressing urgently on hers. She turned her body to face him, clinging desperately to him, and whispered, "Sometimes I am a very selfish woman, but I love you, Amelie, I love you."506Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡTTb0pVdGzn
506Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡv6qNG8XYbn
506Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡdMpQsfkXFl
506Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡxvCNskAgIM
506Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡnBRGTempcM
506Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡkzeY89PFcj
"A word with you before I go, sir," the nurse said to Dragov at the end of the next early morning training session.
Their footsteps echoed as they walked across the warehouse to his car.
"The men are pulling together well as a team, sir," he went on. "I'm pleased with them, but I've got trouble brewing with Flynn. I don't know if you've spotted it yet but I've enough experience to know that he's going to pull something on me soon."
"I haven't noticed anything, Manuel, but I'll keep my eyes open," Dragov answered.
"Thank you, sir, he could be a dangerous bastard if he snuck up on you." Manuel opened the door. "Flynn. I've seen him before, but where...? Ah, that's it. Flynn's riled up because he remembers me from somewhere. Perhaps we crossed paths during my espionage days, part of some assignment or another. Has Flynn done any prison time in Ulster or Britain? There's something about him that tells me he's seen the inside of a cell more than once."
Dragov shrugged. "I employed him on a recommendation for this operation, other than that I know very little about him."
Manuel drove out of the warehouse to return to make his rounds at Pescadero and Dragov went back to his men.
"Alright," he said, beating his arms across his chest to keep his circulation moving. "Now we're going to practice switching the bodies in the van again."
The van was already on its side. In a far corner of the warehouse, behind a screen of sacking, Etienne was spray-painting the CHiP colors onto the Monaco sedan.
"Is it ready yet?" Dragov shouted.
'No," Etienne yelled back, angered by the added pressure. "Tomorrow. Use the Crown Victoria, I haven't started on that one yes."
Dragov signaled to Flynn to drive the Crown Victoria into position.
"Michael," he called, "on this run-through take the stopwatch. We'll try the new way. Ferdnand, when the Crown Victoria stops you make for the driver's side and jam it. Colin, you and I open the back. Flynn, as the door opens we'll pull the medical orderly out first and you take care of him. If he's already unconscious, drug him with morphine to see that he stays that way. If he's not unconscious, then knock him out but see that his concussion seems to have been caused by the accident."
"How much morphine do I give him?" Flynn asked.
"The orderly will have to remain unconscious for at least four hours. I'm told 1 c.c. will do it---don't give him any more or you'll kill him."
"I don't care," Flynn said callously.
"I do---this operation relies on brains and skill, not brawn. I want no deaths if I can help it."
Dragov took up his position in the Crown Victoria with the others. "Shout out the seconds," he called to Michael. "Here comes the crash----the unmarked van is over. Go!"
The Crown Victoria roared out from its supposedly sheltered position on the side road and stopped by the stricken van. Everyone leaped out and raced to their positions. Ferdnand was first.
"In position," he yelled; the others's shouts followed a few seconds later.
"Eighteen seconds," Michael called.
"Good," Dragov said. "Now phase two. Go!"
Ferdnand jammed shut the upturned van's driver's side, slapped the panel, then raised his hand to show Michael that it was done. He raced back to the Crown Victoria to lift out the substitute body, represented by a bundle of sacks. He was a big man, capable, with the aid of the device he had rigged, of carrying a corpse and a stretcher on his own. Dragov had placed little explosive charges on the top and bottom of the ambulance doors where the rods locked into the roof and floor. He pulled back around the side of the vehicle, unraveling a fuse wire, and connected the circuit to the detonator caps.
"Doors open," Dragov yelled.
"Fourteen seconds," Michael called.
The two men dived into the back of the van, grabbing the orderly the split second after the doors opened, and pulling him out. They unclipped the stretcher which would be carrying Mischa Barton from its supports. Ms. Barton would have been well strapped in and should have suffered little or no harm from the accident. Dragov and Colin lifted out the stretcher and gave it to Ferdnand who carried it back, past the first Crown Victoria, to where the second Crown Victoria would have been parked unseen in the shelter of some trees. The two men lifted the "corpse" to take the place of Mischa Barton and placed the oxygen mask over its face.
"Forty-seven seconds," Michael shouted.
Dragov jumped down from the ambulance. "We have to do better than that," he said.
Zoltan shrugged. "It's tough working with the stretcher in the van when it's on its side."
"It'll be tougher when there's some weight on it," Dragov warned. "We'll have to allow for that. Ferdnand, don't forget, as soon as you get Ms. Barton to the second Crown Victoria you must inject the antidote to the PulmoStop. We'll try again. This time we need a psychiatric orderly. We'll practice getting him out of the back when he's unconscious and again when he's shaken, but still with some fight in him. If he's in that state, we have to let him see our uniforms----he has to think we're friends, at least for the first few seconds. Michael, you are the psychiatric orderly, Zoltan can take over with the stopwatch."
Michael climbed into the back of the van.
"Right," Dragov said. "I want this run-through to be as realistic as possible."
The assault on the ambulance went smoothly but as Michael was pulled out Flynn was waiting for him. He kneed Michael in the groin and punched him in the solar plexus, not hard enough to fell him but enough to hurt and wind him. The others laughed, expecting that Michael would know how to protect himself, but the last time Michael had fought anyone in earnest was back in his boyhood. They ran through again and this time Flynn chopped Michael in the kidneys. Again there was laughter as Michael spun around: it relieved the tension and Flynn was too quick with his punches for them to see that it was anything other than horseplay. But Michael knew from the Irishman's face that he was relishing more and more the pain and humiliation he was inflicting on him.
"Michael, listen to me," Dragov began, his voice low and commanding, "you're too limp. To play the role of a psychiatric orderly convincingly, you've got to put up a fight. Develop a mean disposition for when we take you out. Make it difficult for us, so we'll believe you're truly a threat. Remember, the more convincing you are, the smoother the exercise will go. Can I count on you to do that?"
"It's practice, you got that?" Michael warned Flynn before he climbed back into the van.
Flynn didn't reply, he just nodded. Michael already felt a gulf dividing himself from the others: for a long time, he had been a stranger to physical violence. Intellectually he could understand that, but his masculinity wouldn't admit weakness. This time Flynn threw off all pretense. Again he kneed Michael in the groin. As Michael clutched at himself Flynn stepped smartly around him and chopped him in the kidneys, then drove his knuckles into his spine. None of the blows were very heavy but they were administered with such speed and precision that they brought agonizing pain. Michael pitched forward, cutting his cheek and his nose on the concrete floor.
"Alright, you bastard," Michael shouted, spitting out the blood that was running from his nose into his mouth as he struggled to get up off the floor. His only thought now was to land one punch, just one good punch in Flynn's jeering face, but before he got to his knees a boot in the ribs kicked him over.
"You lie there until I tell you you can get up, you fuckin' university professor," Flynn said menacingly. "See my boot?" "he put the toe cap next to Michael's nose. "You make one move and I'll kick your face in. Go on," Flynn breathed. "Move, try it." But Michael accepted his humiliation and stayed where he was until Dragov came up.
"What's the meaning of this?!" Dragov asked Flynn as he helped Michael to his feet.
The sadistic gleam in Flynn's eyes vanished and he stepped back, afraid of Dragov's anger. "You said to make it realistic this time," he glowered.
"He's no use to us hurt," Dragov said. "Go clean yourself up," he ordered Michael.
He walked Flynn out of earshot of the others. The Irishman was cunning as well as vicious. Before Dragov had a chance to speak he whined, "Sure now, don't you go threatening me and telling me what a bad fellow I am. We've got your girl, see, don't forget what we can do to her."
Dragov controlled his anger and appeared to ignore the incident. All the same, when he glanced at Michael, he knew that life on a university campus was no training for company like this. He needed a break.
"Take over the stopwatch," he told Michael.506Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡODR1ojZ5dO
506Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡCuv4QPIoCn
506Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ1s8hg3CBFF
506Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ18YZC7xBxn
506Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ2MPZnkDRBv
506Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡkdQJCJMsIh
Michael went to Dragov a night later. He was alone in the operations room, staring down at the model of the Pacific Coast Highway.
"Can I see you a moment?" Michael asked. "I've got a problem. It's not what happened with Flynn, I could learn to handle that. You said the other day you might need me on the Crown Victoria team at the accident: I've been going over and over it in my mind and I know I couldn't do it. If things went wrong, and we got involved in a shoot-out with the CHiPs, I wouldn't be able to use a weapon. I just couldn't kill anyone. I'm sorry, but I thought I'd better tell you now before you come to rely on me and I crack when it's happening.'
Dragov looked at him. The cold dark eyes bored into Michael and Michael shifted uncomfortably. In his mind's eye, he had gone over the details of the accident time and time again until he had made himself almost physically sick with fear at the possibility of having to maim or kill someone, or be maimed and killed himself. All forms of violence terrified him.
"No one knows what they're going to do or how they're going to behave in a violent situation without a lot of experience," Dragov said. "But if you feel that way, the others won't want to have to rely on you in a tight spot, so you're off the hook. You can ease up on the training. Tomorrow start work on the social calendar for Pescadero and Harborview. Then I've got something else for you to do."
"O.K." Michael sounded relieved.
Dragov turned back to examining the model.
"Michael," he said, his mind already half-distracted by the problems confronting him, "I think you should know something. If the accident doesn't pass off smoothly and a gunfight does break out, then all of us will have little chance of leaving California alive. The authorities will see to that."
Zoltan came to Dragov's room late that night. He didn't bother to switch on the light---he knew Dragov was expecting him. He refused to sit down and it was obvious that he was feeling strung out. He was shifting about as if his skin felt uncomfortable as if it was itching and crawling under his clothes.
"I can't take being cooped up here much longer," he muttered. "Pissing about being a soldier and living with all these people, it's driving me out of my mind. When can I go back on the outside again?"
"You won't have to wait much longer. Just hold on, Zoltan," Dragov begged, not sure of what forces were at work in his friend's mind. "Don't crack up on me now, not when I need you so badly."
Zoltan shot him a triumphant look. To Dragov it meant; I told you you'd need me one day, you bastard.
"How're you managing with Flynn?" Dragov asked.
"He's O.K. That guy's so nasty I find him fascinating. He keeps feeding me with orange-blossom tabs and when he thinks I'm too spaced out to notice he goes out through the window and doesn't come back for maybe two or three hours."
"That's when he'll be reporting to Kazakov," Dragov said thoughtfully.
"When do you want me to kill him?" Zoltan asked.
"I'll let you know when it's time," Dragov replied.506Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡFmxWt2qeV2
