Lie down with lions - Ken Follett [12]
“I need to have a word with you,” said Raoul without preamble. He was out of breath. Jean-Pierre gestured to a chair. “Raoul—”
“It’s urgent,” Raoul cut in, almost as if he did not want the others to hear his name.
“Why don’t you join us for lunch? Then we could talk at leisure.”
“I regret I cannot.”
Jean-Pierre heard a note of panic in the fat man’s voice. Looking into his eyes, he saw that they were pleading with him to stop fooling around. Surprised, Jean-Pierre stood up. “Okay,” he said. To cover the suddenness of it all he said playfully to the others: “Don’t eat my lunch—I’ll be back.” He took Raoul’s arm and they walked out of the canteen.
Jean-Pierre had intended to stop and talk outside the door, but Raoul kept on walking along the corridor. “Monsieur Leblond sent me,” he said.
“I was beginning to think he must be behind this,” said Jean-Pierre. It was a month ago that Raoul had taken him to meet Leblond, who had asked him to go to Afghanistan, ostensibly to help the rebels as many young French doctors did, but actually to spy for the Russians. Jean-Pierre had felt proud, apprehensive and most of all thrilled at the opportunity to do something really spectacular for the cause. His only fear had been that the organizations which sent doctors to Afghanistan would turn him down because he was a Communist. They had no way of knowing he was actually a Party member, and he certainly would not tell them—but they might know he was a Communist sympathizer. However, there were plenty of French Communists who were opposed to the invasion of Afghanistan. There was nevertheless a remote possibility that a cautious organization might suggest that Jean-Pierre would be happier working for some other group of freedom fighters—they also sent people to help the rebels in El Salvador, for example. In the end it had not happened: Jean-Pierre had been accepted immediately by Médecins pour la Liberté. He had told Raoul the good news, and Raoul had said there would be another meeting with Leblond. Perhaps this was to do with that. “But why the panic?”
“He wants to see you now.”
“Now?” Jean-Pierre was annoyed. “I’m on duty. I have patients—”
“Surely someone else will take care of them.”
“But what is the urgency? I don’t leave for another two months.”
“It’s not about Afghanistan.”
“Well, what is it about?”
“I don’t know.”
Then what has frightened you? wondered Jean-Pierre. “Have you no idea at all?”
“I know that Rahmi Coskun has been arrested.”
“The Turkish student?”
“Yes.”
“What for?”
“I don’t know.”
“And what is it to do with me? I hardly know him.”
“Monsieur Leblond will explain.”
Jean-Pierre threw up his hands. “I can’t just walk out of here.”
“What would happen if you were taken ill?” said Raoul.
“I would tell the Nursing Officer, and she would call in a replacement. But—”
“So call her.” They had reached the entrance of the hospital, and there was a bank of internal phones on the wall.
This may be a test, thought Jean-Pierre, a loyalty test, to see whether I am serious enough to be given this mission. He decided to risk the wrath of the hospital authorities. He picked up the phone.
“I have been called away by a sudden family emergency,” he said when he got through. “You must get in touch with Dr. Roche immediately.”
“Yes, Doctor,” the nurse replied calmly. “I hope you have not received sad news.”
“I’ll tell you later,” he said hastily. “Good-bye. Oh—just a minute.” He had a postoperative patient who had been hemorrhaging during the night. “How is Madame Ferier?”
“Fine. The bleeding has not recommenced.”
“Good. Keep a close watch on her.”
“Yes, Doctor.”
Jean-Pierre hung up. “All right,” he said to Raoul. “Let’s go.”
They walked to the car park and got into Raoul’s Renault 5. The inside of the car was hot from the midday sun. Raoul drove fast through back streets. Jean-Pierre felt nervous. He did not know exactly who Leblond was, but he assumed the man was something in the KGB. Jean-Pierre found himself wondering whether he had done