Hugo ran toward her as Tom stopped to check on the still form on the sidewalk, a man Hugo didn't recognize, a man who was dead. Hugo ran around the car and found a wounded Garcia propped against the rear tire. Claudia stood behind him, a gun in her hand.
“I think I killed him,” she said, indicating the man on the sidewalk.
“Fucking right you did,” Tom said, arriving breathless. “Dead as a doornail.”
“I'm not sure that translates,” Hugo grimaced. He turned to Garcia. “Was he the only one?”
“Oui,” Garcia said. “I shot from the gate. I thought I'd knocked him down, but he disappeared into some bushes. As I was leaving the alleyway to look, he shot me in the back. I managed to get here, to the car, but I couldn't lift my gun.” Pale lips gave Claudia a smile, the best praise he could muster. “I thought he would kill us both, but my friend here can shoot.”
That explained the shell casings from different guns; they'd both fired from the same spot. Hugo looked at the wound, which had bled a lot but seemed to be superficial. It was either a deep graze or the bullet had passed through the flesh and kept going without hitting any arteries or bones.
“He got your shoulder,” Hugo said. “You'll live.” He turned to Claudia. “I had no idea.”
She smiled weakly. “I'm just full of surprises.”
“Tell me about it later. But nice work.”
He took Claudia's scarf and folded it up, then put it into her hand and showed her where, and how hard, to press it on Garcia's wound.
Hugo stood and looked back toward the house on Rue Véron. The street was still empty, but he didn't want anyone popping up from behind to give them a last-second surprise. He saw Tom doing the same. As the sirens grew louder, the realization hit him. There was no legal justification whatsoever for his friend being there, especially with a gun.
“Tom.” His voice was urgent. “You need to get out of here.”
Tom looked at him for a second, then nodded. “Yeah, I was wondering how you were going to explain me,” he said. He tucked his gun back inside his jacket and patted Garcia once on the head, winked at Hugo, then started down Rue Véron. They watched as he rounded the corner and disappeared out of sight.
“Bon,” said Garcia. “It was just us. Merci. He would have been too much paperwork. And maybe my job.”
Two police cars screeched around the corner from Rue Gemain Pilon, at the western end of the street, their lights flashing. They stopped beside each other thirty yards away, and four policemen piled out, guns drawn.
“Take out my badge, show it to them,” Garcia said.
Hugo pulled Garcia's badge from his inside pocket and held it up. He'd already thrown his and Garcia's guns onto the sidewalk, visibly out of reach. Claudia also had her hands up. One of the officers appeared to recognize Garcia and holstered his weapon, then reached into his car and grabbed his radio. In the quiet that had fallen over the street, Hugo heard him order an ambulance to approach. It must have been waiting around the corner out of the line of fire, because five seconds later it turned into Rue Véron and lurched to a halt behind the police cars. The four officers and two paramedics ran toward them, two of the cops gesturing for them to lower their hands.
As the medics tended to Garcia, Hugo moved across the street with one of the policemen, a gray-haired detective who gave his name as Duguey. He told him what had happened, what to find in the house. As he talked, his mind flipped back over events, making sure there was nothing left at the scene that would point to a third person, to Tom. They should have thought of that before, he knew, but he was pretty sure Tom was invisible now. His main contribution had been quieting the man Hugo had shot in the foot. And he wouldn't be a problem because, even assuming that he'd seen who'd hit him, he could say what he liked and the police would call him a liar if Hugo and Garcia disagreed.
Hugo and the detective looked over as the medics loaded Garcia onto a gurney and began wheeling him toward the ambulance. They walked over to him and Claudia joined them.
“I'll be fine.” Garcia's smile was thin, but genuine. “But let's not do this again, eh?”
“Fair enough,” Hugo said. “You take care, capitaine. We'll send flowers.”
“Non,” Garcia said. “They make me sneeze, and that would hurt.”
Claudia put a hand on his good arm and squeezed. “Merci.”
“De rien.” Garcia shook his head. “Just doing my job. And anyway, I should be thanking you.”
They moved out of the way and the medics lifted the stretcher into the ambulance. They watched as it backed out of the narrow street and then took off, sirens and lights blaring, toward the Boulevard de Clichy and the hospital.
“Monsieur Marston?” It was Duguey. “My superior, Commissaire Delacroix, will be here in five minutes, would you mind waiting?”
“Not at all,” Hugo said. He sat beside Claudia on the curb and put an arm around her.
“You going to tell me what this was about?” she asked.
“Yep,” Hugo said. “But I'm not sure that it's over yet.”
“What do you mean?”
“We got a couple of the bad guys, but there are more out there. One of them very bad.” Hugo looked up as a white car pulled into the street. A uniformed gendarme waved it through, then saluted as it passed him.
Had he been a foot taller, Commissaire Delacroix would have resembled a bear. Round, with thick arms and legs, his face was half hidden by a dark brown beard. Intelligent eyes, thought Hugo, intelligent and curious. They shook hands, and Commissaire Delacroix led him away from Claudia.
“How is she? A shock for a civilian.”
Some civilian, Hugo thought. “Not as bad as being shot, and she survived that.”
“I recommend brandy. Now, you understand this is a serious matter. I have been supervising Capitaine Garcia on this case and didn't know about this raid. For that he will face some difficult questions.”
Hugo went on the defensive, explaining the possibility of a leak and Garcia's reticence at abandoning protocol. The raid had been his own idea, Hugo said, and Garcia had come along to ensure the safety of French citizens and make sure Hugo didn't go too far. To Hugo's surprise, Commissaire Delacroix nodded and smiled.
“I trust Capitaine Garcia, and I'm glad you are able to speak on his behalf.” He turned and looked at the house. “Now, we need to find this Gravois. He is our first priority,” he said.
“Agreed,” Hugo nodded, “and even if you do have a leak, we'll have to move fast.”
“‘We’?”
Hugo smiled. “You, with as much help from me as you require.”
The commissaire nodded and called over one of the policemen. Hugo gave the man a detailed description of Gravois.
“Bien,” said Delacroix, “I will send someone to his offices and his home. We'll have the train stations and airports watched, too, as best we can. You said he is crippled. Do you suppose he drives?”
“He might,” said Hugo. “But I don't know what kind of car, and he'd probably need a driver.”
“We'll notify the border authorities, flag his passport, not that that's much use these days. But on the off chance that he's stopped, we'll be notified. I'll call the US Embassy to let you know if that happens.” They shook hands again. “If you would come to the prefecture tomorrow for a full statement, I would be grateful. For now, we will take Capitaine Garcia's car. One of my men can give you a ride to the embassy.”