A Chateau Under Siege, page 16
Chapter 13
Bruno did not sleep well. Claire and Nadia gave him chaste kisses good night at the door of the château when he said he had to make a last patrol of the grounds with Balzac. They would meet at breakfast with the others the next morning and plan the day. There was a tentative booking at Lascaux for the guests to visit the eighteen-thousand-year-old cave paintings in the morning and Josephine Baker’s Château des Milandes in the afternoon. Harrison and Lori had read in a guidebook of the region’s summertime night markets with food and wine, music and dancing in the squares of the old towns. Their enthusiasm had persuaded the others to join them, and they would attend the Monday market at Beaumont, Nadia’s favorite of the old bastide towns.
As Bruno walked the grounds, all seemed quiet, the sentries by the pool and at the bend in the track watchful and remaining silent even when Balzac trotted up to greet them. A corporal gave him a silent thumbs-up to signal all was well. He sent a text to Marie-Do on the phone she’d given him, reporting a successful event at Sarlat and a quiet night.
Harrison and Lori, Hartmut, Angus, Krishnadev and Gergen’s wife, the lawyer, were still up, drinking vintage Armagnac in the library after they had evidently dined well. They called on Bruno to join them when he returned to the château, so he sat down, clearing space for his glass on a small side table, where he saw what looked like a scientific paper with the title, “2D Graphene: The Next Generation for Semiconductors.” Hartmut deftly removed it and placed an empty cognac glass on the table.
“You’re going to love this,” said Harrison, handing Bruno a half-empty bottle. “A Bas Armagnac, from Château de la Béroje, 1975, which is a lot older than my wife and almost as smooth.”
From the silence that fell Bruno realized he had interrupted something. Angus had a notepad full of scrawled figures on the side table next to him. Hartmut was putting a copy of Die Zeit on top of the scientific paper. Krishnadev tried to smooth over the moment.
“How could a young man like you bear to exchange the company of two lovely young women like Claire and Nadia for this gathering of has-beens?” the Indian asked with a mischievous grin. “Lori excepted,” he added, hastily, giving her an airy wave.
Bruno answered by holding up his glass, into which he had poured perhaps a finger’s width of Armagnac. He toasted them and they all watched him as he took a sip of the drink.
“This is wonderful,” said Bruno, truthfully. “I’ve never tasted an Armagnac so old and so distinguished.”
They all looked pleased, and he asked if they had spent a pleasant evening together. Indeed, they all chorused. Cassandra had arranged for a team of chefs to come from the Bergerac cooking school, and they had prepared an excellent dinner. How had the reenactment been at Sarlat?
“Nadia upheld the honor of her father very well,” he said. “She was a great success and Claire was very happy with the evening. The deputy mayor of Sarlat was very taken with her charm and beauty.”
Bruno finished his drink, thanked them, rose to go and wished them a good night’s sleep. He assured them that all was quiet and peaceful and he looked forward to seeing them at breakfast.
“Not too early, say eight-thirty, even nine,” said Angus. “We still have a little business to discuss here tonight.”
Bruno said that was fine and that their reservation at Lascaux was for ten-thirty, so they should leave the château by nine-forty.
Bruno closed the double doors behind him and went to his room, where Balzac bedded down on his cushion. The window was open and the night was warm and peaceful. Bruno gazed out, seeing the moon’s reflection on the swimming pool and aware of a light to his left. He realized the light must be coming from the library, and he could hear voices in English.
“This is no longer the age of geopolitics, not even geoeconomics, it is geotechnology, that is what will decide the future.” It was Hartmut’s voice, loud and a little guttural.
“We all agree that we can’t afford to fall behind China,” came a woman’s voice that he thought might be the lawyer’s. “That’s the challenge this project will help us to meet.”
“Let’s be sure the technology works first,” came the distinctive, almost musical accent of Krishnadev. “Just because China is pouring billions into it doesn’t mean it’s the best.”
Then two or three people spoke together, and Bruno picked up the words “Taiwan” and “graphene” before someone closed the window. Bruno wondered what exactly they were discussing, because from what he could understand it sounded interesting. He washed his hands and face and looked at his toothbrush. He hated to lose that lingering taste of the Armagnac, but he picked up his brush and toothpaste and cleaned his teeth. He turned out the light and went to sleep, thinking of Claire as she sat by the pool, and remembering that slight touch of her lips at Sarlat, and her hand stroking his.
Perhaps that was why he woke up at three, restless, the bedcovers awry, wondering why General Lannes insisted he stay here when Kerquelin’s daughters were already being guarded by some of France’s best soldiers. What was Lannes’s motive for such a big operation with him and the special ops troops? He could hardly justify that on account of Nadia alone. And why should French taxpayers fork out to defend Kerquelin’s old college pals? There had to be something of direct French national interest involved or the Elysée would never have approved it. He could understand the importance of Brice Kerquelin, but that would mean protecting his hospital ward rather than his friends. Unless, that is, the friends were involved with Kerquelin in an important project. Bruno tried to recall what he’d overheard from Hartmut and the title of that scientific paper he’d concealed. What was “2D Graphene”? Given the European connection, he could see Hartmut being involved in some high-tech project, but why the Americans? And what did China have to do with it?
He drifted back to sleep, waking before seven to take Balzac out for a run and to check on the soldiers, who gave him coffee and reported a quiet night. Bruno went back to shower, shave, dress and check his emails before breakfast. Claire and Nadia arrived wearing shorts and blouses, carrying baskets filled with towels and suntan lotion and looking lovely, even though they were bickering about whether they should both go to Lascaux and on to Milandes to keep their father’s guests company.
“I see them all the time back in the States,” Claire said. “I work with Angus, for heaven’s sake. And I’ve been to Lascaux four or five times and to Milandes twice. They don’t need babysitting, Nadia.”
“But I don’t see them that often,” Nadia said. “They are Papa’s guests and they are our responsibility. So I think we should stay with them as much as we can, just out of respect for Dad. I think that’s what he’d want.” She turned to Bruno. “What do you think?”
“My orders were above all to watch out for the two of you but also to make sure that all the guests at Rouffillac are secure,” Bruno said. “Whether that’s because of your father’s importance to national security or because his friends are somehow also important, I don’t know. Given their high-tech skills and the connections they maintain with your father, I suspect the latter, but all that’s way above my pay grade. You probably know more about that than I do.”
“Perhaps, but what should we do, Claire and I?” Nadia asked.
“I think one of you should always be with them, but you can divide up the responsibility. Nadia, you could spend the day with them before you leave for the performance in Sarlat, and Claire could spend the evening with them at the night market in Beaumont. There will be a discreet plainclothes escort with you all the time when I have to be somewhere else.”
“That makes sense,” said Nadia, and Claire agreed.
“When do you plan to take the guests to see Nadia play her starring role in Sarlat?” Bruno asked.
“Later in the week, maybe Wednesday or Thursday, there’s no rush,” said Claire, and then added, “Where are the soldiers staying?”
“In bivouac tents in the woods. They’re used to it; so was I when I was in the army.”
Then Bruno’s phone vibrated. It was a text from Lieutenant Berthier saying, “Alert, intruder detained. Proceed to meet sentry by the pool. Didi.”
Bruno texted back that he would be there right away. He excused himself, and Balzac accompanied him down to the pool. He was greeted by Cassandra, swathed in an enormous towel after a morning swim, while Kirk and Patsy were still frolicking in the pool. He gave them a wave and climbed up the slope where a sentry rose from behind a bush to whisper that the lieutenant was waiting for him at the camp.
“Bonjour, Didi,” Bruno greeted him. “What’s this about an intruder?”
“We found our mystery man in camouflage with the fancy shoes,” Didi replied. “He’s a kid, works as a kitchen aide at the roadhouse downhill. It seems he makes a habit of sneaking up here every morning when that gorgeous blonde takes her morning dip. He’s in the tent behind me.”
“You have the schedule for the guests’ movements today, to Lascaux and then Milandes, and tonight at Beaumont?” Bruno asked.
“Yes, the escort teams have been briefed.”
Bruno thanked him and ducked inside the tent to see a young Asian in a camouflage T-shirt sitting cross-legged on the ground, his hands bound behind him and looking terrified at the gun being pointed at him by a watchful soldier. Bruno checked the feet to see those distinctive shoes with the separate big toe and asked the soldier to wait outside the tent.
“I’m a policeman and my name is Bruno. What’s your name?” he began, his voice friendly.
“Nguyen, Jean-Marc Nguyen,” the prisoner said, a watchful eye on Bruno’s dog. He was maybe seventeen or so, but he looked strangely vacant, and Bruno wondered whether he was giving him his full attention. His ears, hands and feet were unusually small, as if not yet developed.
“I think we might both have the same friend, little Patsy, and she knows my dog,” said Bruno. “Are you her secret friend?”
“You know her?” Jean-Marc said, his face suddenly transformed into something more alert, almost cheerful.
“Yes, I know Patsy. She lives up by the big house with the pool. Where do you live, Jean-Marc?” Bruno asked.
At the roadhouse, with his mother, who worked there as a cleaner, the youth replied. He said he came up to the pool every morning to watch the pretty blonde lady swim.
“Does the lady know you’re there, watching?” Bruno asked, and the boy shook his head, saying he knew how to hide. He looked a little ashamed as well as frightened, as if he knew he was doing something wrong. Bruno got up, went outside to tell Didi to undo the handcuffs and that he’d be back with his Land Rover. He would take the youth down to the roadhouse to find his mother and check the story.
Fifteen minutes later he was at the roadhouse. He asked Jean-Marc to stay with Balzac and went in search of Madame Nguyen. She was a small, tired-looking Asian woman who looked to be in her forties, maybe a little older, and she was visibly nervous at the presence of a man in police uniform. He smiled, shook her hand, introduced himself and asked if Jean-Marc was her son. She nodded. He then explained why he had brought the boy back to her.
“He not well, ever since he was child, but he do no harm,” she said. “He likes people, willing worker.”
Bruno gave her an encouraging smile as he wondered what small epic she had been through in her life. Obviously not a native French speaker, perhaps arriving in France as a child, maybe with the boat people.
“Where is his father?” he asked.
She shrugged. “He left when I have baby. I raise Jean-Marc and he work with me here.”
“Can you tell him not to go up to the pool to watch the pretty lady? It could mean trouble for him,” he said, leading her to his vehicle where Jean-Marc had now made friends with Balzac, who was lying contentedly on the youth’s lap and enjoying being stroked. Bruno had a lot of faith in Balzac’s judgment of people.
“Nice dog, Maman,” Jean-Marc said, and shook hands with Bruno before leaving with his mother who half led, half pushed him to the rear door of the roadhouse as she admonished him.
Bruno drove back to the château in time to get some fruit juice, coffee and a croissant from the breakfast table as the guests prepared to leave for Lascaux. Bruno took his coffee and croissant outside and called Marie-Do to inform her that the mystery intruder had been identified and proved to be harmless. Then he used his other phone to call General Lannes. He spoke to a duty officer, explained again about the intruder and asked if General Lannes could let him know if he was supposed to be on duty round the clock, and whether his priority should be the daughters or the guests. He added that Kerquelin’s friends seemed to be talking of something called 2D graphene and whether that was significant.
“Where did you hear of this graphene?” Lannes asked, coming quickly onto the call. Bruno explained the scientific paper he’d seen, which was quickly concealed, and repeated Hartmut’s remark about geopolitics giving way to geotech and the alarm about China.
“Keep your ears and eyes open, Bruno. Are you satisfied with the special ops security perimeter?”
“Yes, sir, they’re very efficient. Nadia will be with the guests at Lascaux and Milandes today, and then Claire will join them tonight when Nadia takes the stage again. I saw her perform last night and she was terrific. You’d have been proud of her. One more thing, is there any news about her father’s condition?”
“Improving, and I’m told he may be released by the end of this week, but still no visitors. I assume you’re staying at the château with the guests?”
“Yes, sir. I’ve been with them around the clock and on duty since making the security review with Commissaire Pantin. Do you have any particular threat in mind, against the daughters or the other guests?”
“Nothing specific, and if you need to be elsewhere from time to time I leave that to your discretion, but I’d prefer it if you were there overnight. As I said, keep your ears open and don’t hesitate to search the guests’ rooms if you think there’s a reason to. Please give Claire and Nadia my warm regards and tell them that I hope to see them later in the week. Is that all?”
“Yes, sir,” said Bruno and Lannes ended the call.
Bruno went to the minivan where the guests were boarding. Nadia stood at the doorway, chatting with Claire. He assured them that there would be a plainclothes escort shadowing their guests at all times.
“Aren’t you coming?” Nadia asked, about to climb into the vehicle.
“I’ve got other duties,” he said, adding his goodbyes.
“I’m going to the pool,” Claire said. “Will I see you there?”
“Sorry, I’ve got paperwork,” he said, and went upstairs to the library. There was no sign of the graphene paper he had seen the night before, nor of the notes Angus had been taking. He glanced quickly into each of the guest bedrooms, recognizing Angus’s by the briefcase on the floor. The room with a woman’s dressing gown on the bed had to be the room shared by Lori and her husband. The one with a copy of Die Zeit on the bedside table had to be Hartmut’s, and beneath it he saw the scientific paper on 2D graphene, with a second paper beneath it. He took a photo of the title pages with his phone, and another of some notes scrawled in the space beneath the title of the second paper.
He went to his room, sat down, looked up one of the photos and could barely understand the title—“Synthesis, Structure and Applications of Graphene-Based 2D Heterostructures,” published by Chemical Society Reviews. The scrawled notes read simply: “EU—42B—Fr/De/Ned—GB??”
He tried to decipher it. “EU” must be European Union, but what was “42B”? Then came “Fr” for France, “De” for Deutschland and “Ne” for Netherlands and question marks over “GB,” which must stand for Great Britain. So it was a European project in which British participation was possible.
He opened his laptop and attached his secure phone to log onto the internet, where he copied the notes into his search box and then hit enter. A press release from the European Commission came up immediately with the announcement of a forty-two-billion-euro project to double Europe’s share of global chip manufacturing by 2030. That would explain the note about 42B.
Next he searched for material on 2D graphene, and dozens of pages came up. Bruno learned that the term “2D” stood for something in two dimensions, which had length and breadth but no height. A sheet of 2D graphene was therefore only a single molecule thick, but extremely strong, and an almost perfect conductor of electricity. It was said to be the next generation of computing, replacing or augmenting silicon chips to create more powerful and focused radio waves and to deliver far more advanced solar cells, batteries and even desalination filters to make seawater drinkable.
He read that scientists at Manchester University had won the Nobel Prize in 2010 for developing 2D graphene and had built both a new research center and a technical institute to exploit their findings. The Chinese claimed to have filed the most patents for ways to use this new miracle of science. More research was underway in Russia, in the United States, in Japan, Germany and France. The promise sounded extraordinary; the products so far, however, seemed to be few. And who would be best placed to exploit it?
Like many French people, Bruno remembered the Minitel, the internet revolution that never quite happened—except in France. Launched in 1982 by PTT, the state’s old post, telegraph and telephone giant, there were three million terminals in homes and offices across France by 1988, increasing by a hundred thousand each month. From each one a user could buy rail or air tickets online, order and pay for goods from a mail-order house, exchange messages, play computer games, consult data banks and join dating services. In 1986 French students even planned and coordinated a nationwide strike on Minitel. It seemed the internet age had been born in France, but the flowering of Minitel slowly wilted in the face of the World Wide Web, Microsoft and Apple, all strengthened by the huge financial lure of the American market and the global spread of the English language.
