‘Are we safe now?’ Angela asked.
‘I hope so,’ Bronson replied. ‘This tunnel crosses the mountains and comes out north of the Pyrenees. We should be out before they can get people there. Unless there’s someone posted there already …’
A little under six minutes after Bronson had driven the Renault into the southern end of the tunnel, they drove out into bright late-afternoon sunshine in France with a total lack of drama or excitement. Nobody shot at them, and no cars followed them, a situation which continued all the way down the valley until they reached Oloron-Sainte-Marie, where Bronson finally began to feel safe.
‘They won’t find us now,’ he said, ‘unless we’re really unlucky. There are just too many roads that we could take — there’s no possible way they can cover every one.’
‘So what now?’ Angela asked. ‘Do you want to stop somewhere here?’
Bronson shook his head.
‘Not yet,’ he replied. ‘We’ll drive on for a while and get to the north of Pau and Tarbes, deep into the countryside. Then we’ll find a small hotel and stop for the night. These days, you don’t have to show a passport or any form of identification at French hotels, and we’ll pay cash, so as long as the car isn’t visible from the road we should be safe enough.’
About two hours later, Bronson drove into a layby just outside Cadours and did what he could to conceal the damage the sniper’s bullet had done to the car, knocking the twisted metal more or less back into shape and smearing mud over it.
Then they drove on, continuing north-east into the countryside, finally finding a room in a quiet chambre d’hôte not far from Carmaux. It was approached by a long drive, and not even the house was visible from the road.
The room was a large double with a tiny balcony facing west, and they enjoyed the luxury of sitting on it to watch the last rays of the sun sink below the horizon while they ate the baguette and blue cheese Bronson had bought in a garage en route. It wasn’t a gourmet dinner by any standard, but it tasted as good as anything either of them had ever eaten before.
Then they fell into bed together and made love with the kind of desperation that only comes when both parties realize that it might be for the very last time.
101
Early that evening, Antonio Morini again left the Vatican, his mobile phone in one pocket of his civilian jacket. He had followed his usual timetable earlier that afternoon, and sat in a café for half an hour, waiting and hoping for a call from Tobí in Madrid, but had heard nothing.
When he’d finally tried calling the Spaniard’s mobile, the system told him that it was unavailable. That in itself could have been encouraging, because it might mean that they’d found and stopped Bronson and Lewis in some remote area of the Pyrenees. On the other hand, it could also mean that Tobí had nothing to report, and had turned off his phone to avoid having to talk to him. Or it could mean something much worse …
And that was why the Italian had decided to make one further call, later in the day than his timetable dictated, to try to find out what was going on.
This time, Tobí answered almost immediately, but what he had to report was exactly what Morini hadn’t wanted to hear.
‘They’re in France,’ the Spaniard said immediately they were connected. ‘I’d positioned a team on the road to stop them close to the border, but they were lucky and got through. My shooter is certain he hit the car, but he obviously didn’t do enough damage to stop it.’
Morini felt sick to his stomach. Another failure. ‘Where did they cross the border?’
‘North of a place called Jaca. The closest city in France to that location is Pau. But to save you asking the question, I have no idea where they might be now. From Pau there are autoroutes and fast roads going north, east and west and they could easily have reached Toulouse or Bordeaux within an hour or so of crossing the border, or taken some of the minor roads and lost themselves in the depths of the French countryside. I hope you have some surveillance teams in place already in France, because if you haven’t I think the only way you’ll be able to catch up with these people now is to intercept them when they try to cross the Channel.’
‘We were relying on you and your men to stop them,’ Morini said tightly, his anger and irritation showing.
‘We did our best,’ Tobí replied, ‘and we very nearly had them. They just got lucky.’ He paused for a moment, then continued. ‘When you do catch up with these two, let me take care of Bronson. You owe me that much.’
‘You had your chance and you failed.’
‘Somebody is going to pay for that, so if I can’t get to Bronson, I promise I’ll get to you instead.’
‘Don’t even think about it,’ Morini snapped, ‘and do not contact me again,’ he finished, and ended the call.
And then he knew he had no option. He had to call the Englishman.
As always, his call was answered in a matter of seconds, and he quickly relayed what the Spaniard had told him, finishing with the unwelcome news that the fugitives were now somewhere in France, and almost certainly safe from detection, at least until they tried to cross the Channel.
The Englishman’s voice was cold and hard when he replied.
‘I will ensure that suitable retribution follows this fiasco,’ he snapped. ‘Now, we know they’re in France. I will alert three of our operatives there and then you can call each in turn with my orders. Even we don’t have the manpower to cover France, but it will be a different matter when they try to cross the Channel. And if they do manage to get across to England, I have another plan. Anything else?’
‘Only that your man in Spain threatened me if he wasn’t allowed to take care of the male fugitive. Apparently one of the casualties in Madrid was his brother.’
The Englishman snorted.
‘I’ll handle that,’ he said, and ended the call.
Within half an hour, Morini had received the text and made the calls, passing on the orders he’d been given. He’d received assurances from each of the three French members of P2 that surveillance operations would be put in place to cover all modes of transport leaving France.
Morini finished by talking to the P2 man in Paris, François.
‘The one thing you haven’t told me is what you want to happen to these two people if and when we manage to find them,’ François said.
Morini didn’t hesitate this time.
‘They are expendable. But the most important thing is the relic. That must either be recovered and handed to me or utterly destroyed, with proof. There are no acceptable alternatives.’
François appeared unsurprised at the Italian’s instructions.
‘That’s very clear, but you must also be aware that the price will be higher because of the greater risks involved.’
Morini hadn’t expected that question, but there was really only one possible answer.
‘The budget is effectively unlimited, as long as you succeed.’
102
Breakfast was exactly what they needed — a choice of strong coffee or hot chocolate, croissants and a couple of small pains au raisin, fruit and yoghurt — and they cleared the lot. Bronson paid the bill in cash, and they were back on the road by just before eight in the morning.
After travelling slowly for four hours on minor roads, weaving through village after village, they stopped for lunch: another selection of sandwiches purchased in a cafeteria attached to a small service area, washed down by moderately suspect coffee.