Exocet - Jack Higgins [41]
* * *
The address Belov had given Donner turned out to be a small, back-street nightclub in Montmartre not far from the Madeleine, run by a man named Gaston Roux.
He was small with horn-rimmed glasses and his pinstripe suit, while of excellent cut, was most conservative. He could have been a lawyer or accountant or even a prosperous business man, which in a way he was, except that crime was his business. Anything from drugs to prostitution and his ruthlessness was a byword in the Paris underworld.
'Muscle is what I need,' Donner told him as he sipped Roux's excellent Cognac. 'My contact told me you were just the man to provide it.'
'I have a certain reputation, Monsieur,' Roux said. 'That is true. How many men would you need?'
'Eight.'
'And our mutual friend tells me you would prefer ex-soldiers and that one of them must be ex-Army Signals.'
'That's correct.'
'So the task would be a formidable one. Can you give me any further information?'
'Not really.'
Roux tried again. 'Would there be the possibility of a little shooting?'
'Yes, which is why I'm offering twenty-five thousand francs per man.'
Roux nodded. 'How long would you require them?'
'To sit on their hands in the country for two to three days and receive a certain amount of instruction in what's expected of them. The actual task will take no more than three to four hours in all.'
Roux took a deep breath. 'Very well. My terms are as follows. One hundred thousand francs for my services as agent for which I will guarantee you, for thirty thousand francs apiece, eight men who would shoot their grandmothers if you told them to.'
'I felt sure I'd come to the right place.'
Donner snapped his fingers at Stavrou who was standing by the door and he came forward, put a dark blue briefcase on the table and opened it. It was filled with packages of banknotes.
Donner tossed packet after packet across the table. 'Two hundred and forty thousand for them, one hundred for you. Let's make it three-fifty. I can't stand loose change.'
'In advance?' Roux said. 'All of it?'
'Why not. Let's just call it an act of faith on my part.'
Roux smiled, showing the glint of gold-capped teeth. 'Monsieur, I like you. I really do. In anticipation of a satisfactory conclusion to our business, I have already gathered in a number of suitable specimens. You may take your pick. If you'd like to accompany me, we can settle the matter now.'
* * *
The sign above the door in the building two streets away said Roux & Son, Undertakers.
Roux said as he opened the door and led the way in, 'A legitimate enterprise. I started it to give a veneer of respectability to certain of my ventures, but my only son, Paul, has really taken it seriously.'
'Well, there's no accounting for taste,' Donner said.
Roux led the way along a dark corridor lined with waiting chapels. There were actually coffins in some of them and the heavy, cloying scent of flowers lay on the air.
The murmur of voices came from behind a closed door at the end of the corridor. Roux opened it and led the way into a large garage containing three hearses and two trucks. There were at least a dozen men waiting, four of them playing cards on the ground, the others lounging around smoking and talking.
They were as rough looking a lot as Donner had seen in a long time, most of them old hands from the look of it, aged around the late thirties or forty mark.
Roux turned. 'If you would like to wait outside for a couple of minutes, I'll explain the situation to them.' He smiled bleakly. 'I always like to achieve a certain understanding with people I engage. Something special between me and them. You understand, Monsieur?'
'But of course,' Donner said cheerfully.
He and Stavrou slipped out through a small judas gate into a back yard. Donner took out a cigarette and Stavrou gave him a light.
'Think you can handle them? They look rough.'
'Not if you look twice,' Stavrou said.
'We'll see.'
Roux opened the door.