Emeric Humbert braked his SUV at the corner of the Gipfelstrasse where a commerce road leads off to the buildings that are grouped along a stream marked by firs and a long hedge grove.
Amidst the lights and snowy roofs, the shuttered windows and icy porches, he saw the Land Rover emerge. It left an alley near the warehouse, accelerating quickly onto the narrow access road that passes the stands of firs and follows the west border of the pastures, its headlights boring a bright hole in the darkness.
He was surprised to see the vehicle go recklessly up this deserted road. "Gott in himmel!" he exclaimed under his breath. "What is the fool doing?"
Emeric considered. Should he follow, or should he first determine if the bodyguard had taken Weizel for a ride? He thought it likely that the only person of interest to this man, here in this sector of town, would be the watchmaker. This was assuming that the bodyguard was a trained investigator, as LeCourt feared was true.
Emeric drove to the warehouse and parked by the truck dock. Getting out with his Walther automatic in hand, he noted the tracks of the Land Rover. They passed close to the dock and went straight off to the access road. There were no footprints in the fresh cover of snow.
He called Johann on his cell.
"It is me. Let me in."
"What is it? Where is the other?"
"I think he wishes to meet me somewhere by the slaughterhouse. Hurry, let me in. We'll make a plan. You should go with me tonight."
"That goddamned Benz is to blame for--"
"Shut your fucking mouth! Let me in or I'm leaving you to work this problem out yourself."
Emeric crouched behind his SUV opposite the back door of the warehouse and waited. When the door opened he saw Johann peering around the frame, the barrel of a shotgun catching a ray from an arc light on the eaves overhead.
"It is just me, Iceman, I swear it!"
"Step out on the porch and shut the door."
Johann came out with a droll look, his shoulders slumped. He pulled the door shut. "Now what? You want me to go back in with my gun blasting? I am alone and it's cold out here. Let's have a drink inside and you can plan what you want to."
Emeric, smiling cynically, came around to the ramp, his Walther leveled at Johann's midsection, and climbed up to the porch, his boots crunching the frosty ice.
"LeCourt is in bad water but doesn't know it," he said, "and his sister's strongarm admirer is not the only one he should be worried about. Come, lead the way, Weizel. You are no better off than LeCourt."
"Tell me what you mean!"
"Inside, fool."
Johann went in and locked the door when the smiling Corsican had passed. He led him down the short passage to the workroom and switched on the fluorescent ceiling strips. "Why do you say that I am no better off than LeCourt? Is someone after me besides the bodyguard?"
"Nobody is after you, they know right where to find you. You were contacted by the step-sister of Benz, were you not? It was she who told you of his death, no?"
"How did you find this out? And what is it to you?"
"A man who works for L'Figaro, the French newspaper," said Emeric, pouring himself a shot of Scotch at the shelf counter. He turned to Johann and took a sip, smacking his lips. "He believes that Francois Benz was involved in the assassination attempt on Bastio, in Paris, and that your familiarity with his former mistress, Giselle Portier, the Madame of the brothel which you are so fond of, implicates you in the failed attempt to kill Bastio. Giselle is in hiding, protected by the Napolitano syndicate in Marseilles."
"A lie! A filthy stinking lie! I knew nothing of the plot!"
"What does that matter, fool? Do you think you'll have a chance to argue your innocence? The L'Figaro reporter believes that Benz was killed by a Bastio henchman, and that you and Giselle are next on the hit list. Who knows but that this bodyguard is contracted by Bastio? Better that you find a place to lay low. A Napolitano man has requested of me this favor, to assist you in hiding, to perhaps take you to Marseilles. Why not? LeCourt arranges an accident for the Fontenay girl tomorrow, and I take the both of you down to Marseilles. I make double the money for one job."
Johann poured a drink for himself, his nose dripping sweat. "But you said LeCourt was in bad water without knowing it," he remarked. "Have the authorities caught on to him?"
"That would be the least of his worries. No, it is Bastio, of course. In Bastio's eyes, anybody who rubs shoulders with Benz is a personal enemy. So again, if you're--"
Johann jumped at the sound of an explosive air cartridge.
Emeric dropped his glass. In the next moment his body landed facedown on the shards of the glass that had shattered on the cement floor. Between his shoulder blades was the shaft of a Volki ski pole.
Johann stared at the door in the partition to the add-on room. It opened wide, and a tall man in jeans and a fur-lined black leather jacket entered with the composure of a man who was known and expected. He held a modified Cressi speargun in one hand and a Glock .38 in the other. Neither was pointed at Johann, who instinctively knew the identity of the killer.
"Mercy, my American friend. I am a poor man caught in circumstances beyond my control."
It sounded like a well-rehearsed speech. Sanguineus gave him what it deserved, a wry smile. "A too-easy access to the loading facility is something that is apparently outside your control then," he said, going up to Johann with an eye on the shotgun propped against the display table. "Stand away from the table and keep your hands where I can see them. Don't sit down."
"My friend, what are your intentions? Did Bastio send you? I swear on my mother's grave that I--"
"Leave her out of it. And never mind who sent me." Sanguineus indicated the Cressi. "This speargun that fires ski poles. You fashioned these for LeCourt and sold him one, am I right?"
Johann saw his chance. He seized it. "You are right, indeed," he said. "I am a skilled fabricator of unique, specialized, precision weapons, a valuable man for one to know, my friend."
Sanguineus kicked the Walther away from the twitching body. It slid up against a chair leg behind him. He backed up to the chair and knelt, weighed the weapon in the hand that had set aside the speargun, straightened, and said, "A blued PPK, one of my preferences." He put it in his jacket pocket. "I overheard what this iced man was saying about your trouble with Bastio. Pack your bags and leave tonight. Anywhere but Switzerland would be a good start. And if anything goes wrong tomorrow at Sonnenhut, I will put the blame on you... my friend."
Sanguineus parked the SUV in the carport of the Inn. He sat for a few minutes looking at the monitor of a small digital camera. It showed a series of images of the Land Rover lying on the driver's side in a gulch half filled with snow. He had removed the license plates and the contents of the glove and console compartments. These he placed in a laptop case he found in the SUV's back seat.
He carried the case up to the restaurant and into the bar. He did not see Ford Edmund or Isabel Montoya.
Tertia was sitting crosslegged on a shag rug in front of the fireplace, listening to a young Latin guitarist play a flamenco number that had her rocking on her haunches. Sanguineus walked past the cozy groups lounging on the couches and knudged Tertia on the back with the toe of his boot. Startled, she looked up at him with a surprised expression that immediately turned contentious, but in a good humored vein.
"Oh it's only you," she said with feigned boredom. Then she noticed the carrying case. "A present! Well that's different."
She saw by his serious demeanor that he wanted her to go with him to a private corner.
He chose a table near the kitchen and sat down, gesturing at the chair on his left. When she was seated, grinning in anticipation, he showed her an image of the wrecked Land Rover.
She gasped at him and said, "Fucker! How in hell did THAT happen?"
"I did a quick calculation and determined that my life was more valuable than your jeep. I pulled up to the steps of a loading dock, and getting out, careful not to leave a footprint in the snow, I depressed the accelerator with that gallon bottle of Cabernet we bought in Dubendorf. Off it went, in second gear. That was designed to distract Iceman long enough for me to jimmy the lock on the side door next to the roll-up door of the dock. It was a providential choice, in that it led to a room where I discovered the device Weizel made for LeCourt."
"Really? What is it? Oh and what about Iceman?"
"I gave him the same treatment your brother intends to give you," Sanguineus said, holding up four fingers when the Scottish bartendress looked in his direction. "We'll have a nightcap, and a dessert if you like. Then a leisurely telling of the tale in bed."
Tertia rested her chin on the back of her hand, a lurid look of appraisal in her half-closed eyes.
"You like that flame-top bitch Isabel," she said, "and I heard her mention you to Ford, if I may call him that."
Sanguineus leaned back waiting for the barmaid to bring the two cognacs. Tertia sat up, alarmed in an amused way by the solemnity of his dark, dangerous expression.
The drinks were quickly set before them, along with a small basket of cheeses and crackers.
"Did you hear what name she used in referring to me?" he asked Tertia without looking at her.
"She said your name. I heard it clearly. I think she wanted me to hear it, even though she never said a word to me at all. Why? She's not supposed to? I know I'm to keep my lips zipped about you. Rolgo made sure I understood that."
Sanguineus swirled the cognac around in his glass. Tertia offered him a piece of blue cheese.
"Is Izzy in trouble?" she asked.
Her face paled. She snatched up a napkin and dabbed at her nose.
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