Looking around the road and roundabout, which was now busy with morning traffic, I saw no immediate clues as to the van’s ultimate destination.
“They went west into France,” Duval said, sauntering over.
He was somber and apologetic, as though he was ashamed his city had caused me so much pain.
“We can start a canvas along the route,” Duval suggested. “Petrol — gas — stations and convenience stores. See if anyone remembers the vehicle. Local post offices. Talk to the delivery drivers. See if they’ve spotted the van along their routes.”
I nodded. These were good suggestions, but my heart wasn’t in it. I knew this was the sort of thing the police did to work every lead, but they could throw resources at a search like this, have maybe a couple of dozen officers out working the places Duval had suggested. With just a few of us it felt too much like looking for a needle in a haystack. A very large haystack.
My phone rang and I stepped away from Duval to take the call from Sci.
“Jack, we may have something,” he said without wasting time on a greeting. “We found traces of germinating seeds on the suspect’s pants. Most of the land around Monaco is mountainside or scrub, so we can narrow down our search to only a few properties.”
My heart soared. “Good work,” I replied, trying to contain my excitement.
“What?” Duval asked, but I waved him away as Sci went on speaking.
“Pascal Garnier, the chief forensic scientist here, has told Inspector Chevalier. I tried to persuade him to let us have the jump on the information, but he isn’t a malleable guy. Very much by the book. Chevalier says it’s going to take her a while to coordinate with the French police and she doesn’t want to send an advance party to investigate in case it spooks them. She wants simultaneous raids on all the possible locations.”
I could understand her logic, but it was extremely frustrating not to be moving immediately.
“How long?” I asked.
Sci hesitated. “Six, maybe eight hours.”
“That’s too long,” I replied.
“My thoughts exactly.”
“Let’s meet at the hotel,” I said. “Figure out what we do next. I’ll be there in fifteen.”
“Got it,” Sci replied, before hanging up.
“What is it?” Duval asked.
“We might have a lead,” I told him. “I need a ride to my hotel. I’ll fill you in on the way.”
“Of course,” he replied, and we headed for his car.
Chapter 25
“What have you got?” I asked the moment I entered Sci and Mo-bot’s suite.
Sci was on his feet, pacing, and a tired-looking Mo-bot was at her workstation checking a satellite image.
Sci nodded a greeting at Duval, who followed me into the room.
“We found traces of germinating sunflower and lavender seeds on the suspect’s pants. There was also a chemical fertilizer and a rare mold that favors drystone barns. Most of the land around Monaco won’t support those crops, but there are three farms in the Utelle Valley thirty miles away from here that fit the bill,” Sci said, leaning against the back of Mo-bot’s chair and pointing to the valley on the map.
“Utelle is known for the quality of its lavender,” Duval remarked. “They say the mountain soil makes it hardy, and it grows a little closer to the sun for a sweeter fragrance.”
“Good locations to keep someone locked up,” I remarked, studying the satellite image, which showed a collection of outbuildings around each of the three farmhouses.
One of them was at the foot of the valley, near the main road that connected Utelle with Saint-Jean la Rivière, a small village to the east. The second farm was a couple kilometers up the valley as the crow flies, and the third closer to the summit, a few kilometers higher.
“No prying eyes, hard terrain in the event of an escape, and good visibility in every direction in case of a raid,” I said.
I took a few restless paces. “If the cops go in heavy, there’s a good chance the bad guys will see them coming and run. If it was me, I’d cross the ridge here.” I gestured at a high point where the mountain joined the neighboring valley. “And work my way down, using the countryside for cover, checking each property en route.”
“Then why don’t we do that?” Duval asked. “I will make some calls to Inspector Chevalier’s superiors and see if I can speed up the wheels of justice, but waiting hours for a police operation is unacceptable in these circumstances, surely? Why don’t we pay a visit?”
Mo-bot, Sci and I exchanged approving glances.
“Why not?” Duval went on. “You are a tourist, enjoying the sights of southern France. We survey each property, and if we see Ms. Smith or anything suspicious, we notify Inspector Chevalier and she can use the information for a targeted raid. With perhaps more urgency this time.”
Mo-bot nodded.
“I bet a crime in progress gets a higher priority,” Sci noted.
“Okay,” I said. “The prime objective will be to observe and report. We’re not equipped to engage an organized enemy.”
Mo raised her eyebrows. “If we find Justine, will you be able to resist the urge to attempt a rescue?”
“None of us are any good to her dead or captured,” I replied, but my answer lacked conviction. I’d gladly sacrifice myself for Justine and knew there was a chance I would throw logic out of the window if I found her.
Our conversation was cut short by a call on the phone the kidnappers had sent me. I answered after five rings, once Mo-bot had signaled she’d activated her tracking software.
“Mr. Morgan,” the machine voice said. “You have the parcel.”
It was a statement rather than a question, so I remained silent.
“You will be given instructions soon. You have killed before,” the voice remarked, “so this will not be a difficult exchange. One life for Ms. Smith’s.”
The distorted voice confirmed my worst fears about the 3-D gun. They wanted me to use it to murder someone.
“You understand what will happen to Ms. Smith if you don’t do exactly as we say?”
I hesitated. “Yes,” I replied at last.
The line went dead and I looked at Mo-bot, who checked her software and shook her head.
“They’re going to give me a target for assassination,” I told the others. “I’m not killing an innocent. We go to the mountains, we find Justine, and we help the police get her back.”
Chapter 26
Justine’s fingers were raw and the muscles in her arms ached. Her clothes — jeans and a T-shirt provided by her captors — were damp with sweat, and more poured out as the sun neared its high point, but she pushed on, driving the chair leg into the gap she’d gouged around the large stone. It had taken hours and hours of near-constant labor, with brief breaks to throw the guards off her trail when they checked her cell or to sleep when she was near to collapse.
The mortar was harder in some places, more impacted, less affected by rain and atmospheric conditions, and her progress had slowed when she’d hit those. She’d wanted to weep at her painstakingly slow progress and at times had wrung her hands and paced the room in frustration, but she always came back and pushed on, driven by a hunger for freedom and a thirst for her normal life. Her life, not the captivity imposed on her by others.
There was about an inch of mortar left to be ground away. The remainder of the join was wafer-thin, ready to crumble the moment she tapped it away, but there was still an inch of almost solid mortar connecting the stone to the rest of the wall. No matter how hard this section was, though, Justine’s spirits soared because she knew it wouldn’t take her much longer to dig through it.
The chair leg had been ground down to about half its starting length and was now the size of a large chisel, which suited her fine. It was easier to handle, and she’d settled into a steady rhythm, scraping away millimeter after millimeter. The motion was almost automatic now, and her focus on the mortar bordered on meditative, but thankfully she retained enough connection to the outside world to register noise nearby.
“Get everyone set to go.”
She recognized the voice of Roman, the man who’d forced her to record the proof-of-life video.
“We’re moving out in twenty minutes. Make sure she’s ready.”
They were moving. Why?
Justine was filled with panic and despair. She was so close! If they took her somewhere else, there was no guarantee she’d get another chance to escape. She had to go now.
She dropped the chair leg and pushed against the stone.
It didn’t budge.
She heard movement outside. Footsteps coming closer. She listened, straining to discern what was happening. No, they weren’t coming toward her, but there was activity near the building. Footsteps and the sounds of gear being moved. The muffled chatter of multiple voices.
She didn’t have long.
Justine lay on her back on the dirty floor and placed her feet on the wall. She put her palms flat against the floor to either side of her and tried to find some sort of purchase before pressing against the selected stone with all her strength.
It didn’t budge. She looked up at the underside of the table and took a deep breath. She was running with sweat again and wiped her brow before pushing on the stone with renewed determination.
She felt the slightest movement and heard a cracking sound. A tiny shift in the stone’s position sent her heart flying, infusing her with new energy. The stone was moving now. She had no idea what it weighed, but couldn’t recall doing anything quite so physically demanding before.
She focused on the fact it was sliding away from her and kept up the pressure, ignoring the burning ache in her thighs. There was a sudden grinding sound and more movement as all the mortar fell away and the stone came completely free. She forced it out and pushed it to one side to create a gap in the wall she thought she could squeeze through.
Outside, there were voices and more footsteps, and these were definitely coming her way.
Her dress and heels had been taken so she was barefoot, but she didn’t care. She had to escape.
She moved to her hands and knees and then slid onto her belly to ease herself through the hole. She put her head through it, squinting into the bright sunlight that greeted her.
She heard a key in the padlock behind her, and forced her shoulders through a gap that was millimeters too small for them. The stone tore at her T-shirt and flesh as she wriggled through, but she didn’t care about the pain. The feel of the sun against her skin and the sight of a nearby treeline spurred her on.
She squeezed herself out as she heard the padlock clinking; got to her feet and took her first few free steps as she heard the door swing open and a voice cry out in surprise.
She sprinted across the cobblestone yard, onto dusty, rocky ground beyond, ignoring the stabbing pain of each step as her soft feet found jagged pebbles and shards of cracked stone. She kept her eyes fixed on the bushes beneath the trees and her mind on freedom.
She heard cries and men mustering on the other side of the building as she made it into the nearest undergrowth. She glanced back through the thick foliage and saw a man push his head through the hole in the wall. He scanned the yard but didn’t see her. He withdrew and yelled at his accomplices.
“Spread out and search the area. She can’t have gone far!”
Justine didn’t wait to hear any more. She pressed on through the scrub and, once she’d cleared it, started sprinting through the woodland on the far side.