Part 29 (1/2)

More red light bled into the white as the driver hit the brakes for the next hairpin.

”I need you to go to the port at Vauban.”

”All we do is pick up and drop off, man. Don't even have comms with the guys down the hill.”

”Look, the men who killed the rest of my team-they've got the money, they've got the boat. We have to stop them, or all this has been for nothing. They don't know it yet, but the guys down the hill need to know where it is. That's why I'm here, that's why you got the fastball for an early pickup. We need your help, there just isn't time!”

He finished dressing the injury and stared at me intently.

I explained about the Ninth of May Ninth of May. ”I need to know if it's still there. If not, bang on other boats, wave our weapons around, shout-do whatever we need to do to find out what's happened to it.”

He hesitated, and got back to checking Goatee. ”How do I contact you?”

”You got a cell?”

He nodded. ”In the front.”

”Keep mine, and I'll take yours. Find out what's happening in Vauban, then call your own phone.”

He nodded and slid back the hatch on the bulkhead. ”Hey, Greg, we have a situation here. We have to kick a.s.s in Antibes after the drop-off.”

I looked through the hatch as we continued downhill. We'd already crossed the main drag, and were heading into Villefranche. People were out and about, restaurants were open, neon was flas.h.i.+ng.

Then, to our left, I saw the wars.h.i.+p, still lit up like a Christmas tree in the center of the bay.

Thackery's phone was pa.s.sed back and the hatch closed. He turned it on before handing it to me.

Greg banged on the bulkhead and Thackery said, ”We're here.”

The vehicle came to a halt, then moved on another ten or fifteen yards before stopping again. An American voice echoed outside, ”Lights.” Thackery opened the rear door and disappeared left as the last of the fluorescent strip lights flickered on along a wall. We were in a stone building with a high terra-cotta roof; I couldn't see anybody, but there were more American voices around the van as they closed in on Thackery.

”We got two guys.”

Thackery didn't f.u.c.k around. ”The one in the sweats.h.i.+rt covered in tar is one of ours. He's injured. He needs to talk to whoever is in command here. There's more going down, he'll explain. The other guy, the pickup, has a gunshot wound to the abdomen. Looking pretty bad. Look, we gotta go, he'll explain.”

A radio crackled and a slick East Coast voice started relaying the information to the s.h.i.+p. Three or four people appeared at the back of the van, led by a black woman with Venus Williams hair, and a sheet of paper in her left hand. She was dressed as if she'd stepped straight from a Gap window, apart from the Glock .45 on her right hip.

”Your name?” She was from the South, too.

”Nick Scott.”

”What did you deliver yesterday?”

”A man, Gumaa...Gumaa something. Guy in a blue suit.”

”What's the next authentication color?”

I didn't want to f.u.c.k this up. I tried to get my brain in gear. Blue was the brush contact, and red was the Nice e-mail.

”White, it's white.”

”Okay.”

She moved out of the way as Goatee got lifted out by two men in jeans and safari jackets with pockets full of s.h.i.+ny scissors and other medical supplies.

She reappeared, and I saw that the paper she held was a printout of my Scott pa.s.sport photograph. ”You okay?”

”You in command?”

”No. He's on board. He knows you're here.”

One of the safari jackets cut in. ”Has he been drugged?”

I shook my head and looked back at the woman. ”I need to get over there.”

It was pointless talking to her. I didn't know how far down the food chain she was, and to relay stuff just wastes time-which was something we didn't have.

As soon as Goatee had been lowered onto a stretcher, a young guy got a line into his arm and attached to a bag of fluid. Two others tended the gut wound.

Venus held out her arm to me. ”Can you move?”

I nodded and eased myself down onto the concrete, clutching Thackery's cell phone to my chest in a vain attempt to ease the pain.

I could see now that we were in a boathouse. A gray Navy launch with a hard top was waiting at a jetty. The place echoed with low but urgent voices and the sound of feet on concrete as the stretcher was taken on board.

Venus put her arm around my waist to help me to the launch, but it wasn't the kind of help I needed. I could almost hear my ribs grating against each other. ”It's okay,” I gasped. ”I'll sort myself out.”

There was a shout from somewhere behind me. ”Lights!”

We were thrown into darkness as a set of well-oiled shutters was lifted and the van backed out. The shutters came down again and the neon flickered back to life.

Keeping my back as straight as I could, I hobbled toward the launch. Venus went to lock up and sort things out. No one was remotely concerned about my condition. It was Goatee they were here for.

I pressed a b.u.t.ton on Thackery's phone to illuminate the display. The signal strength was fives.

I stumbled aboard like an old man and sat on a hard plastic bench while Goatee got the five-star treatment. He had an oxygen mask on now, and was having more trauma care than a major RTA (road traffic accident).

We were ready to go. Venus. .h.i.t the switch again as another set of shutters opened seaward.

The launch started up, smothering me with diesel fumes, then backing out into the bay as soon as she'd jumped on board.

As we gathered speed, the line of restaurant lights along the quay receded. I went back to staring at the phone screen, willing the signal to stay strong, and hoping that Thackery and Greg weren't screaming toward Antibes at warp speed, risking a crash or getting pulled over by the police.

57.

T he side of the wars.h.i.+p loomed high above us. A rectangle of red light glowed at us from the top of a gangway, about six or seven yards above the waterline. At the bottom of it two shadows stood ready to receive the launch. Two black and businesslike RIBs (rigid inflatable boats), each with two huge outboards, bobbed up and down on the swell beside them. he side of the wars.h.i.+p loomed high above us. A rectangle of red light glowed at us from the top of a gangway, about six or seven yards above the waterline. At the bottom of it two shadows stood ready to receive the launch. Two black and businesslike RIBs (rigid inflatable boats), each with two huge outboards, bobbed up and down on the swell beside them.