It took Jake just thirty minutes to get what he wanted. He worked on the bullet wound area with a knife, carving away at the nerve endings in the knee and again in the wrist. He damn near circumcised the guy, what little there was to find there. He shoved dirt down the guy’s throat until Jake thought the guy would choke to death. When he followed that with shoving the man’s head in water in an irrigation ditch, Jake found the man’s one fear. Drowning. But he didn’t get everything. The Iranian mentioned Gunter Schecht, Alexandra’s dead uncle. Yet, he didn’t know how they’d found Jake in Luxembourg. The driver had gotten a call from someone on his cell phone, so maybe they’d trace that back, since Alexandra had collected phones as well as identification.
Once Jake was sure he’d gotten everything there was from the Iranian, he taped the man up like Jesus on a grape vine. They’d call the police and give them the guy’s location once they got down the road a ways.
While Alexandra drove, Jake went through the phones, transferring the numbers to his computer server. They’d need some help to trace those calls.
“I saw a different side of you back there, Jake.”
“What do you mean?”
“Remind me not to piss you off.”
“It’s a dirty business getting information from someone. But everyone breaks. Even the most radical terrorists. It’s our fear of death.”
“What about the seventy-two virgins?”
“They’re virgins for a reason. Probably fugly.”
She cocked her head to the side. “Fugly?”
“Frickin’ ugly. Besides, you’d have to teach them everything. That’s no fun. Better if you get seventy-two porn stars.”
She giggled again and said, “It was kind of hot.”
“What was?”
“The way you handled that man,” she said, her brows raising seductively. You’ll have to punish me later.”
Well, that was an unexpected benefit of interrogation, Jake thought.
She found her way back toward the motorway. “Now which direction?”
“South toward Nancy.”
Alexandra giggled again.
“What?”
“It’s pronounced Naa Si.”
“Yeah, well in English it’s still a girl’s name. Damn French. This you should know about me. You’ll almost never get the right French pronunciation from me.” Italian and German? No problem. He drove Anna crazy with his lack of care with French. He’d traveled with her to Interpol Headquarters in Lyon on many occasions, and those contacts had directed his current path.
“Head south to Lyon,” Jake said, with his best French impression.
“Why there?”
“I need to see a man about a horse.”
Her brows rose. “I’ll never get used to American idioms.”
That made two of them. But this time the idiom almost fit.
It was about 450 kilometers from Metz to Lyon. Driving close to the speed limit, it took them four hours to reach the sprawling outskirts of Lyon. They wouldn’t be going directly to Interpol Headquarters, though. Instead, Jake directed Alexandra to a hobby farm 20 kilometers northeast of the city near Meximieux.
Getting off the paved road, they slowly finished the final leg of their trip on a hard-packed gravel driveway as the early evening approached. She parked the BMW out front of a ranch house next to an older Citroen. Two fit horses grazed casually in a pasture surrounded by a white fence.
“Those would be the horses?” Alexandra asked.
“Yeah. Let’s go.”
Jake checked his watch as he got out of the car. Although it was five p.m., he guessed the owner would be home. As they approached the front door, it suddenly swung open and an older man with gray hair to his shoulders stood with a glass of red wine. He shoved his little round spectacles higher on his long, narrow nose, his forehead wrinkled with thought. He was short and somewhat frail.
“Qui l’enfer sont-ils vous?” the Frenchman said.
Stopping about ten feet from the man, Jake smiled, his hands out, palms up. “Andre. It’s Jake Adams.”
The old man laughed and met Jake halfway, kissing him on both cheeks and then giving him a bear hug.
“Who is this fine woman?” Andre asked in perfect English.
Jake introduced them, without mentioning her profession. He did say that Alexandra had been he and Anna’s friend for the past few years. When Jake mentioned Anna’s name, a sadness came to the old man.
“Please, come in,” Andre said, leading them inside.
Jake had been there a few times, but still couldn’t help observing the contrast. Where one would have expected French country style, Andre’s house was decorated with an American Southwest theme. Right down to the Texas longhorns over a stone fireplace, which burned real wood now. They sat down on dark brown leather chairs across from a sofa made from cowhide.
Without asking, Andre ran off and returned with a fresh bottle of wine and two more glasses. He poured them each a glass of Beaujolais. Then he took a seat across from them on the cow.
Jake took a drink of wine, his eyes concentrating on his host.
“I’m sorry I didn’t make it to Anna’s funeral,” Andre said.
“I didn’t make it either,” Jake said, swirling his wine lightly in the wide glass. “Alexandra did.”
“You had a good excuse,” the Frenchman said. “I understand you were in the hospital.”
Turning to Alexandra, Jake explained, “Andre was Anna’s boss and mentor when she first joined Interpol.” He turned back to Andre. “I thought you were going to retire this year.”
Andre laughed. “They’ve been trying to force that on me for the past two years. I’m still with Interpol, but I only work about half time.”
“Just like everyone else,” Jake quipped.
“You’ve always been a smartass, Jake. But that’s what I like about you. You tell me like it is.” He took a sip of wine and set his glass down onto a huge wooden coffee table that was the crosscut of a huge tree.
Silence as the two men stared at each other.
Jake took the opening. “I need some help.”
Andre laughed. “I would hope so. We have a Red Notice out on you.”
“What?”
Alexandra sat forward in her chair, a concerned look on her face.
“Afraid so. It was issued by our Vienna office for the death of a man in western Austria.”
Great. That’s all he needed. First he had every swinging dick in Europe trying to collect on a million Euro bounty, then the Austrian and German Polizei were after him, and now Interpol.
“That’s totally bogus,” Jake said. “I’ve had people trying to kill me.” He explained what had happened since the men killed Anna two months ago, including the car bomb, the men at his apartment, and those at the Austrian gasthaus. For now he left out the shootings earlier that day.
“It’s all true,” Alexandra interjected.
“I understand,” Andre said. “I believe you. But a Red Notice…” He trailed off and shrugged his shoulders before picking up his glass of wine and sipping gently.
“You’re yankin’ my chain,” Jake said.
Andre shook his head and produced a laptop computer from a side table. In a few moments he had accessed a site and then turned the computer for Jake to see. It showed the Red Notice with Jake’s photo. He was armed and dangerous and should be approached with great caution.
“That’s a terrible photo,” Jake said. “From one of my lectures in Austria.”
“How may I help?” Andre asked.
“Well, I guess you could start by convincing your Interpol friends to drop the Red Notice.”