Then there was nothing else she could do until the rendezvous time arrived, so she continued to wander the streets like a window-shopper. But all the while she was looking out for any possible problems, like a car full of carabinieri with copies of her photograph, while making sure she learned the layout of the town as accurately as possible. For her life might depend on knowing the fastest way out of it.
Chapter Eighteen
The shortest route to Genoa would have taken Richter due east from Ax-les-Thermes over to the Mediterranean coast, but he’d never even considered that route. It would have meant keeping on minor roads, with numerous climbs and descents, and Richter needed speed now if he was going to make the rendezvous. So he had headed north out of Ax, and through Foix, taking the tunnel there to avoid the town centre, and then picked up the new autoroute spur near Pamiers. That took him north-east to the Autoroute du Sud, the main route east from Toulouse to the Mediterranean coast near Narbonne.
He passed the impressively massive walls of the fortress of Carcassonne, and vowed that one day he’d come back there and take a look around — when he wasn’t carrying a pistol in a shoulder holster on his way to meet a Russian defector, and possibly about to tangle with numerous SVR-sanctioned assassins.
At Narbonne he turned left, and settled down to covering the remaining distance as quickly as he could. He kept the Ford at between one hundred and forty and one hundred and fifty kilometres per hour — round about ninety miles an hour — which was above the posted speed limit, but not enormously so. The French helpfully placed large warning signs before every static radar trap, so he was able to ease off the accelerator as he went past, but he still kept his eyes open for the mobile units. They had a tendency to hide their vehicles off to the side of the autoroute and place only a tiny tripod-mounted radar gun on the hard shoulder. Those devices took some spotting.
Richter wasn’t worried about getting stopped by the gendarmes, because his diplomatic passport would ensure his being able to drive on within minutes, but he didn’t need even that amount of delay. And he particularly didn’t want some French police officer spotting the pistol he was carrying. Diplomatic passport or not, it would require some explaining, so he kept his eyes open.
Somewhere near Montpellier, he pulled into a service area, filled up the Ford’s tank, then ate a pre-packed chicken sandwich and swallowed a cup of instant coffee bought from a machine near the toilets. That was to be his lunch, consumed in under ten minutes. Then he got back on the road again.
He passed Nîmes, Arles and Aix-en-Provence, and bypassed Marseilles, the autoroute continuing east through spectacular hills and valleys lying north of Toulon, before dropping back down almost to sea level near Fréjus. By mid-afternoon, Richter was following the autoroute that ran to the north of the playgrounds of Cannes and Antibes, and then on through Nice and Monaco.
Just after three-thirty he entered Italy east of Menton, barely slowing down even as he crossed the border. He was now into the province of Liguria, which gave its name to the sea lying immediately to the south. A quick glance at the map showed him how the autoroute — now an autostrada — hugged the coast all the way to Genoa, still about one hundred miles ahead. It was time to make contact with Yuri, and also with Colin Dekker, who should be somewhere behind him.
Richter pulled into the next service area, topped up the Ford’s tank yet again, and took the opportunity for another coffee. Then he prepared a text for Yuri, telling the renegade Russian that he was currently near San Remo, and only about an hour from Genoa itself. He had no idea when Yuri would read this message, but it would remain in cyberspace until the Russian next decided to turn on his phone. Richter explained that he would stop somewhere near the outskirts of Genoa and wait there for a text containing details of the meeting place and time.
Next he called Dekker’s mobile, which rang about half a dozen times before it was answered, so Richter guessed the SAS officer must be on the road somewhere.
‘Yup?’
‘It’s Richter. Where are you?’
‘About five miles west of Cannes. Where are you?’
‘I’ve just crossed the Italian border, so I guess I’m about thirty miles ahead of you. I’ve stopped in a service area and just sent a text to our mutual friend.’
‘You want to hang on there until I reach you, then we can sort everything out?’
Richter glanced at his watch. ‘Yeah, why not? I’ll be in the cafe, checking if Italian coffee is any better than the muck they serve in France.’
Just under half an hour later, Colin Dekker entered the service area cafe, bought himself a drink and a sandwich, then walked over to Richter’s table and sat down opposite him.
‘Apart from one fill-up, I’ve not stopped since leaving Toulouse,’ Dekker explained, ripping open the plastic to get at the sandwich inside. ‘So I really need this: an Italian sarnie and a cup of hot brown whatever.’
‘What’s it supposed to be?’ Richter was peering at the cup Dekker had placed on their table.
‘I think I asked for coffee, but my Italian is pretty nonexistent, so for all I know it could be oxtail soup.’
Dekker chewed contentedly for a couple of minutes, then brushed some crumbs off the table and tried a sip.
‘Yup, coffee, and not that bad, either. Right, what’s the plan, boss?’
Richter shook his head. ‘Until we know what Yuri’s got planned, I don’t have any real idea. And, anyway, I wouldn’t like to think I’m in charge of this little shindig. It’s really more your area of expertise than mine.’
Dekker grinned at him. ‘Maybe,’ he replied, ‘maybe not. You’ve done OK so far, I reckon, but whatever may happen in Genoa, we can already make some assumptions. Yuri will want to check you out, just to make sure you’re not one of the spooks on that list he got from Legoland. That means the meet will take place in the open, probably somewhere very public — lots of people, lots of traffic. My guess is that he’ll want to get you sitting on a bench or, better still, at an outside table of a cafe, so that he’ll be able to watch you, first from a distance, or maybe walk past two or three times to inspect you real close.’
Dekker glanced round, checking that no one else was within earshot. ‘Now that’s both a help and a hindrance. An open urban space means I should be able to find somewhere high up, maybe a rooftop or a balcony, where I can cover the whole area around you. The weapon’s fitted with a suppressor, so if I do have to get involved, nobody will know I’m there except you and whoever takes the bullet. Until the blood starts spreading, it’ll look like he’s just fainted or something, so you and Yuri will be able to thin out without anyone being any the wiser.’
He paused, then continued. ‘That’s the good news, then. The bad news is that, if the area’s really crowded, my biggest problem’s going to be identifying the bad guys. You and I can’t be linked by radio, because that would only worry Yuri. You’re supposed to be meeting him solo, so an earpiece and lapel mike would definitely cause problems. In a crowded place my big problem would be trying to decide which of the couple of hundred people wandering about below me is a Russian hit-man.’
‘The picture you’re painting doesn’t exactly fill me with confidence,’ Richter remarked.
‘Facts of life time. That’s the reality of the situation, or it might be, depending on whatever plan Yuri’s busy cooking up. Otherwise, what’s your intention, in general terms? Identify Yuri and then head for the hills with him?’