A Chateau Under Siege, page 13
“Look what I found,” he said. “That’s an unusual footprint and I never saw one like that before. Do you recognize it, Patsy, a shoe with the big toe separate from the other toes?”
“Yes, my friend has shoes like that. He said they are the right shoes for climbing and he’s going to see if he can get a pair my size.”
“That’s kind of him. He must know you like climbing. How long have you known this secret friend?” Bruno asked. Marie-Do was about to ask something, but Bruno stilled her with a gesture.
“He came yesterday, dressed in a greeny-brown shirt and pants that were in wavy kinds of stripes. I heard him before I could see him, so I called out hello, and he put his finger over his mouth, like that.” She put an upright finger in front of her lips. “But he was smiling and he looked nice.”
“Was he your age?”
“No, he was a grown-up, not as big as you and brown hands and he had tiger stripes on his face, but he was very nice and showed me these steps and said it would be our secret path.”
“It sounds like you had an adventure, a bit like a fairy tale, with a secret path and a château and a new friend who turns up from nowhere,” said Bruno, squatting down to her level and smiling. “Why do you call him a secret friend?”
“He wanted to keep the steps a secret so that only he and I would know, but I thought it might be a way for Balzac as well.”
“That was clever of you, and very thoughtful to help Balzac. Does your secret friend have a name, just in case I see him and then I can tell him that you’re my friend, too, and Balzac’s.”
“No, I told him I was Patricia, but he could call me Patsy. He said I should just call him secret friend. It was a bit hard to understand because he spoke funny, but not funny like some of the guests who come here who aren’t French. I think my friend speaks French, but he had a special way of talking.”
“Do you remember what his face looks like? Would you know him again if he wasn’t wearing those funny green-browny clothes and didn’t have tiger stripes on his face?”
“He looked a bit like Wang of the Sons of the Dragon in Tintin in The Blue Lotus. Do you know Tintin?”
“I did when I was your age, and liked him very much, and when I was older, too. And I always liked Tintin’s dog, Milou, and Captain Haddock.”
“If you had a beard, Bruno, you might look a bit like Captain Haddock, but Balzac is nothing like Milou.”
“Have you seen your secret friend since yesterday?”
“No. But I have you and Balzac to play with now. Do you want to swim in the pool? There are extra bathing suits in the little cabin by the pool. Does Balzac swim?”
“He can if he has to, but he’d rather just paddle on the steps. Do you swim?”
“Yes, but only in the shallow end and I’m not allowed in the pool at all, not ever, if there are no grown-ups there to watch me. That’s one of maman’s very strict rules, but I’m allowed to ride on Papa’s shoulders when he swims. Can I ride on your shoulders, Bruno?”
“I have to be at work now, but the very first moment that I can, I’ll take you for a ride on my back. Is that okay?”
“Is it a promise?”
He took her little hand and drew a cross on her palm with his finger.
She skipped off along the château wall, and Bruno and Marie-Do followed in her wake, Marie-Do demanding in a fierce whisper, “So what’s some damn guy in camouflage gear doing spying on this place?”
“Since he speaks French like a native, my guess would be he’s Vietnamese. There are more than three hundred thousand of them in France, and I knew some of them in the army, so he could be a scout for the special ops team that’s joining us. I’ll send the photo of the footprint to General Lannes.”
“Forward it to me, too. We have more Asian resources than he does,” she said.
Patsy was waiting impatiently with Balzac at the corner of the wall. “Come on, you two slowpokes,” she called, and ran off out of sight around the corner. Balzac cast a reproachful glance at Bruno and then trotted after her.
Bruno and Marie-Do walked briskly along the château face, around the corner and across the veranda with its low stone wall and down the steps to the pool, where Patsy was encouraging Balzac to paddle on the top step where the water was only a finger’s width high.
Some of the other guests were lying on poolside couches and catching the afternoon sun. Bruno recognized the plump and genial Indian, Krishnadev, and Hartmut, the German, who were lying side by side and talking together. A little beyond them was the American couple, Harrison and Lori, who seemed to be asleep. They had pushed their loungers together and were holding hands. Uncle Angus was in the pool, swimming lengths.
As Bruno approached, his phone vibrated to tell him he had an incoming text. It was from an army address, RPG2, which meant the second squadron of the Régiment de Dragons Parachutistes.
“The troops are here. I should go check with them and I should take Balzac,” he said to Marie-Do. “What are your plans?”
“I’m not supposed to spend the whole day here, so I’d better get back,” she said. “That Asian visitor could be a serious concern. Let me know if he turns out to be one of ours.”
Bruno looked at her levelly. “Is there anything more about this meeting, this group, that you can tell me? Or do you have to hold some things close.”
She smiled at him, almost cheekily. “I’m very particular about the things I choose to hold close, Bruno.” She put her hand on his arm. “Why don’t you escort Patsy to her parents and then you can take Balzac to meet the troops. Do you know yet which unit they are?”
“Parachute dragoons, part of Special Operations Command. I’ve worked with them before.”
“Ah, yes,” she said, smiling archly, “your Croix de Guerre, but you don’t wear the ribbon on your shirt.”
“I have to wear it on my uniform jacket, but I was never much good at sewing.” He shrugged.
“I’d have thought Isabelle would have been delighted to help you with that. I get the impression that you’re the only guy she ever truly fell for.”
He looked at Marie-Do coolly. “I fell for her, too. Shouldn’t we arrange to check in formally with one another twice a day by phone, let’s say zero nine hundred and eighteen hundred hours?”
“Good idea,” she said. “That reminds me.” She took a brand-new smartphone, still wrapped in plastic, from her shoulder bag. “Our secure phone system is not compatible with the one General Lannes gave you. This is one of ours. To open it, you’ll need to log in with this ID I prepared.” She handed him a blank business card with some letters and digits written on it.
“You’ll need to create a complex personal password, too, at least a dozen characters, the usual mix of letters, digits and symbols, and then use the phone to take a photo of your own face. Then you’ll be asked to give a fingerprint, right index finger. Then upload your photo to my email address, which you have. Wait a moment, and you’ll get a text from me to confirm, and you’ll be on our secure net. Only use that to contact me, okay?”
“Yes, thank you.” He put in the long access code she’d given him and then created a password.
“Now take a selfie,” she said. He did so and was asked for the fingerprint. He put his right index finger on the screen.
“Hit enter,” she said.
He did as Marie-Do said, and “Welcome” came up on the screen.
“That’s it. Now call my office number.” She read it out.
He did so and was asked to give his fingerprint again. Afterward, her phone rang, and his own screen said “Call Secured.”
“That’s it. Like I said, only use that phone to call me, or anyone else on that DGSE network. If I’m not available, you’ll get a duty officer. Okay?”
“Got it,” he said.
“Perfect.” She leaned up and kissed his cheek. “I’ll get here at least once a day, and we’ll call each other anyway at zero nine hundred and eighteen hundred, or at other times if our people here are on the move. I’ll need to know all their plans.”
“Are your people finished with Kerquelin’s house?” he asked. “I think Nadia wants to move back in, but I’d rather she didn’t.”
“I think we’re finished, but you don’t have to tell her that. I agree that it’s better if she stayed here where there’s security in place. I’d better get going. Au’voir.”
Bruno turned back to watch Patsy at the pool.
“Oh, come on, Balzac, you’ll like it,” Patsy was saying appealingly, kneeling at the edge of the pool and splashing her fingers in the shallow water.
“Sorry, Patsy,” Bruno said. “Balzac and I have to go to work, and I think we should take you back to your house, and I’ll hope to see you later. That ride on my shoulders in the pool is a promise.” He squatted down again to her level. “And if I should happen to come across your secret friend, I’ll tell him that I know you and that you and I are friends, too. Is that okay?”
“Just don’t tell him I showed you our secret path,” she said, nodding, and they shook hands on the deal. This time she made a little cross on his palm, before taking Balzac’s paw and crossing the dark pads of his foot and then kissing the top of his head. He gave her an affectionate lick on the arm, removed his paw and trotted over to Bruno.
Chapter 11
Bruno set off uphill through the woods, checking the sun so that he headed just a little east of due north. He was carefully checking all directions from the château. After some three hundred meters he saw to the east the brighter light of a clearing and headed that way. He emerged on a long, thin stretch of ground that ran north−south. It could almost have been the fairway of a golf course, some five or six hundred meters long and fewer than fifty meters wide. At the far end was a hedge, then some buildings that looked like private houses, which he had not seen during his earlier stroll with Kirk. He headed left and came to a dirt path that led to a narrow local road.
Now that the growth of home delivery had required all French houses to have a street address, he saw a street sign that told him he was on the Impasse du Camp Romain. It led through trees in each direction, to the north and to the east. He was about to head north when he heard a quiet voice call his name.
“That’s me,” he said, stopping. He kept his arms out to each side, waited for a count of ten and two figures in military camouflage emerged, one from either side of the trees, each one carrying a SCAR, a special forces combat assault rifle, with some kind of screen, like that of a mobile phone, strapped to their helmets.
“Dragon-Caporal Vernier,” said the shorter, stockier of the two, very quietly. He bent down and welcomed Balzac by name, delighting Bruno that his dog must have made quite a reputation as a tracker the last time he’d worked with troops from this elite unit. “The lieutenant is expecting you.” He told the other soldier to stay at his post and set off through the trees. Bruno was almost at their camp before he made out the first of the low bivouac tents. A burly man of his own height rose to greet him, double black bars on his epaulettes.
“Lieutenant Berthier, Didier,” he said, holding out a hand to be shaken and then dropping to one knee to let Balzac give him a thorough sniff. “Call me Didi. We’re glad to see you, and Balzac.”
“Same here,” said Bruno. “Tell me, do you have an Asian member of your squad who might have been around the château yesterday?”
“Our best scout is from a Vietnamese family, name of Tran, and he thinks you know his uncle. He came with us today. But no Asian that I know of was here yesterday.”
“Tran?” exclaimed Bruno. “If it’s the same guy, his uncle was our best scout, too. Has a restaurant these days, in Bordeaux.”
“That’s him,” said Didi. “We’re based at Martignas-sur-Jalle, just outside Bordeaux. We had a great feast at his restaurant when the squad got back from a tour in Mali. He told us all his old war stories from the Balkans.”
“If young Tran wasn’t here yesterday, another Asian was around,” said Bruno. “He was wearing camouflage and checking out the château. He had those special shoes with a separate big toe and speaks French well enough to convince a six-year-old that he’s a native speaker.”
“We’ll look out for him. Meanwhile, let me lay out my patrol plan. We’re a half squadron, twelve privates, two corporals, a sergeant and me.” Didi squatted down and pulled a large-scale map from his leg pocket. It went from Fénelon’s castle at the bottom to just beyond Carlux at the top, and east for about three kilometers to where the river took a big bend south. The Château de Rouffillac was in the center of the map, with enough detail to show its swimming pool.
“We’ll be four hours on, four hours off, organized into four teams of three privates each, two with a corporal, one with the sergeant and one with me,” the lieutenant said. “So at any given time we’ll have eight men on watch, working in twos.”
“Make sure your men stay out of sight in daylight,” said Bruno. “Where are you planning to post them?”
“I thought one pair at the hairpin bend in the path up to the château, another by the pool and watching the slope, another on the path from here and the fourth close to the château. I’m not sure about those two separate houses down the road to the west side of the château. Are they secure?”
“The larger one is where the owners live, a Monsieur Kirk and his very beautiful wife, Cassandra, and their daughter, Patricia,” Bruno replied. “She’s six and made a secret friend of the mysterious man I mentioned. The smaller house is for the housekeeper, Sylvie, and her husband, Louis, who acts as gardener, driver and handyman. You should also keep an eye on that slope above the rocky outcrop that dominates the courtyard, since that’s where the guests will probably eat most of the time.” He opened his phone to show the lieutenant his photo of the distinctive shoe print that Patsy had shown him.
“We’ll check it out. Should I let the guys know you’ll be patrolling around, Bruno? If so, we’ll need a password and response.”
“Since you’ve just been to Mali, let’s make ‘Bamako’ the password, ‘Timbuktu’ for the response.”
“Bamako-Timbuktu it is. You want to meet the squadron? They’ll need to know your face.”
“Sure. And I think you have some equipment for me.”
Didi reached into his bivouac tent and handed over a small backpack, a separate belt pack and a helmet, saying, “Have you used the FELIN helmet before?”
Bruno shook his head.
“It’s a very smart version of the Spectra system blue helmet you used in the Balkans, but it’s electronic. It weighs just over three pounds, and although it isn’t totally bulletproof it will stop anything but a straight-on hit and grenade fragments. Your two-way radio is in the helmet, and synced into our circuit. So is your night vision. We’ll have to test this tonight, since there’s a pull-down screen for silent orders which will also show you the positions of the rest of the squad. Recharge the batteries daily. Your flares, illumination grenades and spare magazines are in the backpack. And here’s your weapon.”
He reached back into the tent and brought out a SCAR like the one the sentries carried. “Do you know this weapon?”
Bruno shook his head. “A bit after my time.”
“It’s the SCAR-L, the light version that takes the 5.56-millimeter round. It has a double-action trigger—one pull gives you a single shot, pull and hold for a count of one, and you’ll get a burst of three. It’s a twenty-round mag. Keep pulling and it’s empty in less than four seconds.”
“You still use a bayonet?” Bruno asked.
“In these woods, you bet. We used them in Mali on night assaults. You’ll need to practice with the helmet. We can do that tonight. And then there’s your camouflage vest, which gives good ballistic protection and holds the batteries.”
“I feel like one of Napoléon’s soldiers suddenly thrust into a modern battle,” said Bruno.
“You’ll pick it up in twenty minutes. Thirty maximum. It’s designed to be intuitive. And the communications system and display screen make it very unlikely that you’ll be shot by one of your own team because you’ll know where they all are with a special color. The bad guys stand out.”
“This really makes me feel like I’m stuck in the age of bows and arrows. I’m supposed to mingle with these guests, which will be a problem if I stroll around looking like a commando. I’ll wear it for early morning and night patrols. Otherwise I have my sidearm. I thought I was getting this new undervest that’s supposed to be discreet but still stop bullets.”
“It’s in your backpack. Come on, meet the guys.”
Bruno recognized Tran at once, asked after his uncle, heard about the feast the squadron had enjoyed and then described the camouflage that Patsy had described, wavy stripes of green and brown. Did Tran or anyone else recognize it?
“Sounds like something you can buy here at any hunters’ store in France,” said Tran. “Military camouflage is dappled and hasn’t used wavy stripes for years.”
“Right. I’ll be at the château most of the time, unless I have to move with the guests or I get some free time. You have my contact details.”
He shook hands and exchanged a few words with each of the troops, thanking them for their service, before addressing them all. “We don’t know whether the threat is real, but we’re taking no chances. Nor do we know whether the threat is against Kerquelin and his daughters, or against this assembly of very important guests as a whole. Since Nadia Kerquelin, the young redhead, is committed each evening to take part in the reenactment at Sarlat, either I will have to accompany her or two of you in civilian dress. I’ll take that duty tonight. I’ll arrange two tickets for you each night for the rest of the week. Good luck.”
“The sergeant and I have your number, in case we need to contact you and you’re not wearing the helmet,” Didi said. “We use silent texts wherever possible.”
