Lie down with lions - Ken Follett [66]
The more she thought about it, the more convinced she was that he had a radio. He needed to arrange those meetings in stone huts. In theory they might have all been scheduled before he left Paris, but in practice that was almost impossible: what would happen when he had to break an appointment, or when he was late, or when he needed to meet his contact urgently?
He must have a radio.
What can I do if he has a radio?
I can take it away from him.
She put Chantal down in her cradle and looked around the house. She went into the front room. There on the tiled counter in the middle of what had been the shop was Jean-Pierre’s medical bag.
It was the obvious place. No one was allowed to open the bag except Jane, and she never had any reason to.
She undid the clasp and went through the contents, taking them out one by one.
There was no radio.
It was not going to be that easy.
He must have one, she thought, and I must find it: if I don’t, either Ellis will kill him or he will kill Ellis.
She decided to search the house.
She checked through the medical supplies on the shopkeeper’s shelves, looking in all the boxes and packets whose seals had been broken, hurrying for fear he would come back before she was finished. She found nothing.
She went into the bedroom. She rummaged through his clothes, then in the winter bedding, which was stored in a corner. Nothing. Moving faster, she went into the living room and looked around frantically for possible hiding places. The map chest! She opened it. Only the maps were there. She closed the lid with a bang. Chantal stirred but did not cry, even though it was almost time for her feed. You’re a good baby, thought Jane, thank God! She looked behind the food cupboard and lifted the rug in case there was a concealed hole in the floor.
Nothing.
It had to be here somewhere. She could not imagine that he would take the risk of hiding it outside the house, for there would be a terrible danger of its being found by accident.
She went back into the shop. If only she could find his radio everything would be all right—he would have no option but to give in.
His bag was so much the obvious place, for he took it with him wherever he went. She picked it up. It was heavy. She felt around inside it yet again. It had a thick base.
Suddenly she was inspired.
The bag could have a false bottom.
She probed the base with her fingers. It must be here, she thought; it must.
She pushed her fingers down beside the base and lifted.
The false bottom came up easily.
With her heart in her mouth, she looked inside.
There, in the hidden compartment, was a black plastic box. She took it out.
That’s it, she thought; he calls them on this little radio.
Why does he meet them as well?
Perhaps he cannot tell them secrets over the radio for fear that someone is listening. Perhaps the radio is only for arranging meetings, and for emergencies.
Like when he can’t leave the village.
She heard the back door open. Terrified, she dropped the radio to the floor and spun around, looking into the living room. It was only Fara with a broom. “Oh, Christ,” she said aloud. She turned back, her heart racing.
She had to get rid of the radio before Jean-Pierre returned.
But how? She could not throw it away—it would be found.
She had to smash it.
With what?
She did not have a hammer.
A stone, then.
She hurried through the living room and into the courtyard. The courtyard wall was made of rough stones held together with sandy mortar. She reached up and wiggled one of the top row of stones. It seemed firm. She tried the next, and the next. The fourth stone seemed a little loose. She reached up and tugged at it. It moved a little. “Come on, come on,” she cried. She pulled hard. The rough stone cut into the skin of her hands. She gave a mighty heave and the stone came loose. She jumped back as it fell to the ground. It was about the size of a can of beans: just right. She picked it up in both hands and hurried back into the house.
She went into the front room. She picked up the black plastic