The Tenth Chamber Part 30

He started it, put it in gear and sped off.

In his rear-view mirror he saw Bonnet and Pelay emerging from the baker's front door. He heard a shot ring out. He shoved the Peugeot into second and floored it.

Bonnet ran back to his cafe to get his own car keys.

They had to be stopped.

They had to be killed.

He screamed these mandates at Pelay.

Luc was talking fast and loud and pushing the little Peugeot to its limits on the dark empty country road. He was brow-beating a low-level emergency services operator to push his call higher. He needed to speak to Colonel Toucas in Perigueux.

The colonel had to be wakened!

He was Professor Simard from Bordeaux, G.o.dd.a.m.n it!

He had the Ruac Abbey murderers in sight!

Bonnet had his keys in hand and was about to shut the cafe door when his mobile rang.

Luc was shouting at him. 'It's over, Bonnet. It's done. The gendarmes are on the way to Ruac. You're finished.'

Bonnet's rage spouted like lava. 'You think it's done? You think it's done? It's done when I say it's done! Go to h.e.l.l and say goodbye to your G.o.dd.a.m.ned cave! Come on, try to stop me! Come on! Try!'

Bonnet's car was at the kerb in front of the cafe. He folded himself into the driver's seat and Pelay climbed in beside him as fast as an old man could.

'My rifle is in the boot,' Bonnet said.

'I'm still a good shot,' Pelay grunted.

Bonnet pulled the car over to the side of the road at a point he knew, closest to the cliffs. Pelay retrieved the rifle and gave it a perfunctory check. It was an M1 carbine with a sniper scope, liberated from a dead US soldier in 1944. Pelay had been there. He remembered the day. He and Bonnet also took the young man's wallet and boots. It was a good gun that they'd used to kill a lot of boche boche. Bonnet kept it clean and oiled.

The two men ran into the woods, the branches whipping their faces.

After a while, they separated.

Bonnet made straight for the cliffs. Pelay took an oblique path through the dark.

Luc drove to the dirt road leading to the parking area above the cave. He didn't want to run the car all the way. Whatever happened, Sara had to be safe, so he parked a quarter mile away and leaned over the seat.

She was gradually coming out of it.

'I'm leaving you here, Sara. You'll be safe. I've got to save the cave. Do you understand?'

She opened her eyes, nodded, and drifted off again.

He wasn't at all sure she did understand but it didn't matter. Hopefully he'd be around to explain it to her later.

Bonnet could hear his feet pounding and rustling on the forest floor and the wheezy bellows sound his heaving chest was making. There was a clearing ahead, the gravel parking area which the archaeologists had laid down. He was close.

The big oak tree was across the gravel lot, the landmark he'd chosen, and he was glad he'd picked an easy one to spot in the dark.

The gravel sprayed under his heavy fire brigade boots.

Luc wished he had a torch to light his way. It was pitch black but he kept to the lane. It was a ch.o.r.e running with the shotgun. Sara had felt lighter in his arms.

Ahead was a band of grey, the horizon over the cliffs.

Something was silhouetted in the grey, moving.

Bonnet.

Bonnet was at the base of the tree. A metre away from the trunk was the pile of rocks which he and Jacques had piled up to mark the spot.

Bonnet fell to his knees and began to remove and scatter the rocks. The leather case was just below the ground in a shallow hole.

He slowly lifted the case out, careful not to disturb the copper wires that ran to its terminals. It was a Waffen-SS M39 detonator, liberated from a division of combat engineers in 1943. It was pristine and efficient-looking, a heavy brick of cast alloy and bakelite. Bonnet was confident it would work perfectly.

It had been a tough job but he was confident his old demo men had done it properly, auguring into the cliffs in a half-dozen spots, stuffing picratol, lots of it, deep into the ground. A huge swathe of the cliffs would crumble into the river taking the cave with it.

The cave that had brought his village to life and threatened it with death would be dust. If Pelay did his job, Simard would be dust. He'd find Sara and she'd be dust.

He cranked the wooden handle and heard it ratcheting. When he couldn't turn it anymore he would put his thick thumb on the k.n.o.b that said ZuNDEN: ZuNDEN: ignite. ignite.

He heard the footsteps first then, 'Stop!'

Luc was ten metres away, creeping forward on the gravel. He saw Bonnet hunched over something, doing something.

Luc lifted the shotgun to his shoulder.

Bonnet looked up and grunted a simple, 'Go to h.e.l.l!'

Luc could hear the sound of ratcheting.

The ratcheting stopped and Bonnet moved his hand.

At that moment, Luc's head completely filled Pelay's sniper scope, perfectly contrasted against the grey horizon.

Pelay was in low brush, on one knee. His hands were steady for a man of his age. Luc's head was in sharp focus.

Luc screamed at Bonnet, 'Not my cave!'

Pelay heard the shout and through the scope saw Luc's lips moving. The cross-hairs were planted on his temple.

The trigger was digging into his forefinger. He began to squeeze it.

Luc reeled when he heard the shot from behind.

He expected to feel some kind of searing pain but there was nothing.

He turned back to Bonnet. The old man was only five metres away now.

Bonnet looked into Luc's shotgun. He shouted, 'Pelay! Hurry!' His thumb was on a k.n.o.b.

Luc shouted. But it wasn't a word. It was a primitive roar, a primeval death cry that came from somewhere inside of him.

The sh.e.l.l from his shotgun exploded and flashed the darkness.

There was a thwacking thwacking. Wood, stone, flesh. It was bird shot.

Luc slowly moved forward, straining to see what he had wrought.

Bonnet was lying on his side, bleeding from his face, his eyes still searching. His right thumb was on the ignition b.u.t.ton. His left hand was moving. It was grasping the copper wire that had been sheared off the detonator by shotgun pellets.

Bonnet was going to touch the wire to the terminal.

It was a centimetre away.

Luc didn't have time to reload. He didn't have time to smash Bonnet's head or arm with the b.u.t.t of the gun.

He was out of time.

Then, another shot rang out.

THIRTY-SEVEN.

Luc was disorientated.

His shirt felt wet. He instinctively touched the fabric. Blood and bits of gelatinous material.

There were men surrounding him, pointing automatic weapons and roughly shouting at him to drop his gun.

Bonnet's head was half gone. The detonator wire remained a centimetre from the terminal.

Luc let his hands go limp. The shotgun fell at his feet.

From the circle of men, one came forward. He was tall and erect, unarmed, dressed in dark civilian clothes, a black commando-style jumper with epaulets.

'Professor Simard,' he said, in an upper-crust type of accent. 'I've been wondering when we'd meet.'

Luc gave him a once-over. He certainly wasn't from the village. 'Who are you?'

'General Andre Gatinois.'

Luc looked quizzical. 'Military?'

'Of sorts,' was the enigmatic reply. Gatinois came closer and inspected the mayor's corpse. 'Bonnet had a long run at the tables. It had to end sometime. Even for him.'

'You killed him,' Luc said.

'Only after you failed.' Gatinois observed the peppering Bonnet's body had received. 'Bird shot is not an efficient way to kill a man.'

'It was all I had. He was going to blow up my cave.'

There was a commotion as two men in black dragged a moaning body inside the circle of protection their comrades had created.

It was Pelay, bleeding from a chest wound, gasping for breath. One of Pelay's handlers gave his M1 carbine to a shorter man who had appeared at the General's side. It was his aide, Marolles.

'He had you in his sights,' Gatinois said, adding matter-of-factly, 'I saved your life.'

'Are you going to tell me what's going on?' Luc demanded.

Gatinois paused to think. 'Yes, I don't see why not. Do you, Marolles?'

'It's entirely up to you, General.'

'Yes, I suppose it is. Where's the American?'

Marolles spoke into a walkie-talkie pinned to his vest and a static reply followed. 'We're bringing her in,' he told Gatinois.

Pelay let out a pitiful, gurgling cry.

'Are you going to get him a doctor?' Luc asked.

'The only doctor he's going to see is himself,' Gatinois replied dismissively. 'He was valuable, but I never liked him. Did you, Marolles?'

'Never.'

'His last useful act for us was letting us know you were coming to Ruac tonight.'

The baker's Peugeot pulled onto the gravel, driven by another of Gatinois's men who helped Sara out of the car draped in her b.l.o.o.d.y sheet. She looked confused and wobbly but when she spotted Luc in the centre of the circle, she had the strength to slip the light grip of her guard and run to him.

'Luc, what happened?' she asked weakly. 'Are you all right?'

He put his arm around her. 'I'm okay. These men, I don't know who they are. They're not from the village.'

She saw Pelay who was curled into a fetal position on the ground, making low, horrible sounds. 'Jesus,' she said.

'No, we're not from Ruac,' Gatinois said. 'But Ruac has consumed us for many years. We are devoted to Ruac. We owe our existence to Ruac.'

'What are you?' Luc asked. 'What do you do?'