A Devil Is Waiting - Jack Higgins [36]
Holley helped, wheeling him onto the hydraulic lift, which had the chair inside in seconds. “If anyone wants a lift, jump in,” Roper said.
“I’ll walk,” Duval said. “I’ve other things to do, but I’ll be in touch.”
“You don’t want to hang about here,” Roper said to Holley and Sara. “Maggie Hall does a lovely lunch at Holland Park.”
“You could try your new weapon on the firing range,” Holley suggested.
“Good idea,” Sara said. “We’ll do that.”
SEVEN
They climbed in, and Tony turned from the rioting mob and drove off. Henri Legrande, some little distance away, saw them go, and Duval make his way toward the subway, as many people did, fleeing from the violence. He joined in, keeping an eye on Duval, who was some distance ahead.
On the other side, some people made for bus stops and others hailed taxis or walked down Park Lane. Duval was on the heels of a group of seven or eight who turned into Upper Brook Street. As Henri rounded the corner, Duval, concealed in a doorway on the other side of the street, took a photo with his mobile phone.
Henri hurried after the group, realizing that he had lost his quarry when they reached Grosvenor Square, not that it really mattered. He’d just been interested in who the fellow Frenchman might be. Kelly was parked across from the American Embassy, and Henri joined him.
“What was it like?” Kelly asked.
“Terrible. A real bloody riot,” Henri told him, and Kelly drove away, passing Duval, who had been watching.
Duval called Roper on his mobile and told him what had happened. Roper said, “I must say, Claude, it would be a remarkable coincidence.”
“My dear Giles, I understand life to be full of them, but admit I could be wrong. If he hadn’t cursed someone he was wrestling with in that mob in rather rude French, I would not have paid him the slightest attention, but why was he following me?”
“You’re quite right, so first things first. I’ll have Dora look at the photo. If she says it’s the Pernod drinker from the Dark Man, then we’ll obviously seek assistance from your Paris files.”
“Excellent. Give me your number and I’ll patch the photo through now.”
Roper did as he was asked. “We’re still in the van on the way to Holland Park, but it will be waiting when we get there.”
Duval lit a cigarette, thinking of the sign he had noticed on the side of the Citroën van as it passed. Mary’s Bower. Quite intriguing, that. Something to do with religion perhaps. And he walked away.
When they arrived at Holland Park, the four of them went into the computer room, and Henri Legrande was on one of the many screens. Roper had explained the situation to them on the way.
He said to Doyle, “You’re the copper. What do you think?”
Doyle said, “Mid-sixties, could be older. Very self-contained. Don’t let the glasses fool you— that’s just age. He’s been a soldier.”
Sara said, “How can you be sure of that?”
“Because I’ve been a military policeman for seventeen years. We guard the wall, we take care of the bad things that ordinary folk can’t face. We can kill when we have to. Not many people can do that.”
“Now then, Tony, you’re waxing lyrical again.”
“Yes, I’ll put myself on report, Major. There was some talk of Captain Gideon trying out her new weapon on the firing range. Shall I go down and prepare?”
“An excellent idea,” Roper said. “You carry on, Tony, and we’ll catch up with you in fifteen minutes.”
The firing range was at the rear of the main building, a long concrete bunker under the garden and dating from the Second World War. It was reached by a lengthy sloping tunnel, Roper leading the way into a cold and gloomy room, harsh white light at one end, illuminating a line of twelve targets representing charging soldiers in uniform, nationality unspecified. Tony Doyle was standing at a long table with a range of handguns laid out and sound mufflers for everyone.
“Here we are, then,” Roper said. “What have you got for us, Tony?”
“There’s a Glock here, a Browning Hi-Power, a .44 Magnum, and a Beretta.” Tony picked