The Hostage (24 page)

Hank pushed through the cross traffic and headed down the steps.

The density of people in the confined tunnel, shuffling in both directions, made it difficult for Hank to move any quicker than the flow. He twisted and sidestepped, pausing only to avoid full-on collisions. He reached a row of metal doors and pushed on through and down a sloping corridor, which suddenly opened out into a crowded hall. He stopped on the edge and looked around, eyes locking for a second on to anyone who resembled Henri before moving on.Then he saw him, slipping a ticket into a turnstile, removing it from a slot the other end and passing through.

Hank hurried to the ticket windows and chose one that had just two people waiting in front of him. Money he told himself and dug into his pockets to find some notes. Ignorant of the cost of a ticket he chose the largest bill and clutched it, willing those ahead of him to hurry up. He checked over his shoulder and caught a glimpse of Henri heading down a tunnel the other side of the stiles. When he looked back there was no one between him and the ticket window. A man attempted to step in front of him but Hank barged him aside. The man spat something in French but Hank ignored him and faced the ticket person behind his window.

‘Uhh, anywhere. Your furthest journey,’ Hank said quickly.

The man in the ticket office shrugged and responded tiredly in French but was not forthcoming with a ticket.

‘The end of the line, okay, buddy? I just wanna go for a ride.’

The man shrugged again, this time with his mouth and jaw in a deformed expression that appeared to signal he was baffled.

‘Look, pal. Just give me a friggin’ ticket to anywhere, okay. Anywhere, for chrissake!’

Hank looked back at the turnstiles and considered jumping them, but there were doors the other side that activated only with the use of a ticket - he wouldn’t get through. Then a woman in the line behind him explained something in French to the ticket officer, who shrugged again, rolled his eyes and punched several buttons. Two tickets popped out of the machine. Hank shoved his bill under the window, grabbed the tickets, and hurried to the turnstiles. The ticket person called out after him but Hank was too focused to think about his change.

Hank put the ticket into the slot in the turnstile. It popped out the other side and he snatched it up and pushed through the doors.

Hank hurried along the tunnel, threading past the people like a slalom, and came to a sudden stop where it divided into three more tunnels with signs advertising different destinations.

‘Shit!’ he exclaimed.

He chose one, ran to its mouth and looked into it. Dozens of people were strung out along its length, the end disappearing in a bend. Hank felt frustration welling up in him. People pushed passed him to enter the tunnel. He was about to turn back to check another tunnel when he caught a flash of what looked like Henri at the far end. He wasn’t sure if it was the Frenchman, took a second to make a decision and went for it. He moved quickly along the tunnel, bashed into more than one person without apologising, and hurried on.

He arrived at a flight of stairs and hurried down them. A short tunnel at the end led on to a crowded platform. He remained on the corner, standing on tiptoe to search the sea of heads. A train burst out of the tunnel beside him and the brakes screeched as it slowed to a stop. The doors opened and he saw Henri step into the centre doors of a crowded carriage.

Hank pushed his way along the platform to the closest end of the same carriage and jumped in as the doors closed.

The train started off and entered the tunnel.

Hank craned his head to catch a glimpse of Henri, who was standing in the middle holding on to a rail, staring ahead. He looked calm and relaxed.

Hank felt sweat trickling down his temples. A woman beside him watched him. He wiped the sweat away with the sleeve of his jacket and she looked away.

Hank took stock of the situation and considered what he had actually achieved by this spontaneous piece of activity. It was quite probably a pointless exercise since he had no phone - not that it would work in the métro anyway - no map and he had no idea where he was, and once off the train couldn’t follow Henri by himself even if he had that equipment. The smart thing to do was to get off at the next stop and find his way back to the rendezvous point. He decided that was what he would do.

He glanced through the glass door beside him that led through to the next carriage and to his surprise there was Clemens looking directly at him. Clemens gave him a quick smirk.

Hank never thought he’d be pleased to see that ugly face. He looked in Henri’s direction then back at Clemens. Clemens nodded. The train suddenly popped out of the dark tunnel and into a brightly lit station. It came to a stop and the doors hissed open. Henri remained where he was. People got on and off, the doors closed and they moved off again. Hank checked Clemens was still in the other carriage.

Hank settled down and made an effort to relax. He dropped his shoulders and rotated his head a little to ease the tension. The carriage between him and Henri was crowded and he didn’t feel exposed. The next move would be Clemens’s.

The following stop a seat became vacant beside Hank and he took it. From where he was sitting he could just about see Henri’s legs, and Clemens’s.

The train stopped several more times. At Bastille Henri stepped off. Hank followed and watched Henri move with the crowd towards the exit at the end of the platform. Clemens passed him and he tagged along behind. As he walked up a flight of stairs a man brushed passed without a look. It was Brent. Hank felt even more comfortable and settled into the rear of the surveillance snake. All he had to do was keep Brent or Clemens in his sights.

Henri did not leave the métro station and instead led them through several tunnels to another platform, where a train had just arrived. Hank saw Brent step into a crowded carriage and so he chose the one behind where he could see him through the connecting doors. He couldn’t see Henri but that responsibility was no longer his.

Two stops later, at Gare d’Austerlitz, Brent climbed off the train. Hank followed him along several tunnels and up an escalator that led out into daylight. Brent turned a corner several yards ahead of Hank. When he caught up to it a short corridor led to a row of swing doors across the far end. Hank pushed through and found himself in a cavernous hall crowded with people, small shops and rows of ticket counters. It was a mainline station and the platforms were beyond a long row of double doors the other side of the hall. Hank had lost sight of Brent and stopped to look around.

A hand grabbed his arm. Hank jerked around to see Clemens.

‘Where’s Henri?’ Clemens asked quickly, eyes searching anxiously.

‘I don’t know,’ Hank said. ‘I haven’t seen him since we changed trains on the subway.’

‘He’s doubled back, the slippery bastard. This place is a fucking maze. What about Brent?’

‘I lost sight of him when he turned into here.’

‘There’s another platform level below. Through that way,’ Clemens said, pointing at an archway. ‘I’ll check the platforms on this level.’ And with that he moved off across the hall.

‘Clemens,’ Hank called after him, but Clemens didn’t hear or chose to ignore him and kept on going.

Hank didn’t like this. It was all beginning to feel out of control. He wished Stratton would turn up and take charge. What was he supposed to do if he did see Henri? He had no form of communication. Clemens was wrong in sending him off by himself. Last time it made sense. Stratton had given him clear instructions. His gut instinct this time was to ignore Clemens. But then he would be in a negative position come the debriefing. If he went off alone this time at least he could blame Clemens. He headed in the direction Clemens had indicated and through the archway that led to a descending escalator. He skipped down it and into a grimy, grey, concrete hall with a low ceiling, much smaller than the main station and not nearly so crowded.The combination of supporting pillars throughout and various foyers offering such items as flowers, magazines and tourist paraphernalia gave it a labyrinth effect and obscured visibility of most of the hall. Hank made his way through it, checking in all directions. Then he caught sight of Henri heading up an escalator the other side of a row of ticket turnstiles.

Hank looked back the way he had come, hoping to see the others, but he was disappointed. He searched for his tickets as he approached the stiles and pulled them out of his pocket. He had no idea which of them would work, if any.There were no doors on this barrier and he could jump over if he wanted to. He shoved one of the tickets into the machine and the turnstile sprung open.

Hank pushed on through and headed for the escalator.

It took him up on to a long, open-air platform with tracks on both sides and a handful of people hanging about. Dirty brick buildings occupied the centre and Hank walked to the corner of the nearest one and checked along both sides of the platform.

Hank didn’t need to search for long. Henri was halfway along one of the platforms, standing near the edge in full view. Hank stepped back behind the building and looked towards the escalator, hoping to see Brent or Clemens appear.

A train pulled into the station.When it stopped the doors automatically opened and Henri stepped inside. Several people emerged from the escalator but there were no familiar faces.

It was decision time again. Hank didn’t feel comfortable at all about getting on the train this time. It could be going to Poland for all he knew.

A door klaxon sounded. It was now or never. His instincts called out for him to stay put, but something else ordered his legs to get moving and jump on board as the doors closed.

It was a double-decker carriage with only a handful of people aboard. There was no sign of Henri, but then he had climbed on the other end. Hank hoped some of the guys were on another part of the train but somehow he didn’t think that would turn out to be the case this time.

He walked up the steps to the top deck and moved along, holding on to the rails as the train slowly left the station lurching from side to side. He stretched to peer down into the far end of the lower deck, where he caught a glimpse of Henri.

Hank sat down where he could see the side of Henri’s head if he leaned forward but where Henri would not be able to see him if he looked up.

The train cut through the city. Hank checked his watch. It was ten forty-two. He calculated that he could afford to stay with Henri for an hour. If Henri got off he might follow him for a bit, or simply go on to the next stop and catch a train back the way he had come. If Henri was still on board in an hour Hank would get off anyway and back-track to the rendezvous point. He had a list of the team’s phone numbers in his pocket and would call Stratton and report where he last saw Henri. Hell, out of the whole team he was the only one who had kept sight of him. Even if he didn’t see Henri make a meeting he might still get a pat on the back for trying.

Hank was content with his plan and watched the backs of buildings as they sped past. An endless scrawl of graffiti seemed to run in one long connected strip of fractured colour on both sides of the track. The stations were much further apart than on the métro. At the first stop, ten minutes later, an elderly woman got on and sat the other side of the carriage from Hank. He leaned forward to see if Henri was still there and saw him talking into his cell-phone.The doors closed and the train shunted off again.

As the train pulled into Juvisy, twenty minutes later, Henri remained in his seat. A handful of people got on and a man took the seat directly facing Hank. He was squat, broad shouldered and powerful looking, muscle-bound but not sculptured like a professional bodybuilder. He was naturally hard, a product of strong genes and a tough occupation, a labourer, Hank decided. A thick scar tracked from his right eye down to his throat and his hands were huge and calloused. Hank wondered where he was from. His hair was jet black and his skin tanned and weathered. He was dressed in a worn, cheap, ill-fitting suit and a pair of seasoned, black work boots with white parachute cord for laces. The man sat quietly, unmoving, looking straight ahead, like a troll. Only once did he look at Hank with his slow, large, expressionless eyes and when Hank looked at him he turned away.

As the train pulled out of the station someone sat behind Hank. Hank casually turned to look back but not enough for his peripheral vision to catch sight of whoever was behind him. The elderly woman was still seated opposite clutching her handbag. Hank suddenly felt uneasy. He reasoned it was a combination of being alone in a strange country under strange circumstances and heading further away from the city. He looked at the station map above the window and saw the next stop was a place called Savigny sur Orge. Hank had a rethink of his plan and decided to get off at Savigny and head back to the city. He could do no more on his own and felt he should never have gone this far.

Ten minutes later the train started to slow.The track ahead was curved and Hank could see the small station. As the leading edge of the platform passed the carriage he checked the sign. It was Savigny. He leaned forward to check on Henri and saw he was on his feet and standing at the door. Hank stopped to rethink again: should he just let Henri get off, give him time to head along the platform, then when he was out of sight get off himself? Or should he wait until the next stop? What the hell, he thought. As long as Henri did not see him it couldn’t do any harm to follow him for a bit. He was still twenty minutes short of the hour deadline he’d given himself.

As the train slowed Hank sat back to wait until it had stopped completely and allow Henri off the train. Suddenly a powerful arm wrapped around his throat and yanked his head back over the seat so brutally Hank thought his neck was going to break. He could barely breathe, his eyes bulging as the flow of blood was restricted. He grabbed the arm but it was like a block of oak. Then a blow as if from a sledgehammer slammed into his gut. The gnarled man opposite was on his feet in front of him and cocking back his huge fist for another punch. Hank kicked out but the squat man kneeled on Hank’s crotch and powered his fist into Hank’s chest with such force it cracked several ribs.The arm around Hank’s neck released him, but only so that it could grip Hank’s head, turn his face towards the window and slam it into the coach frame. Hank saw stars and felt consciousness slipping away. The blow was repeated and blood splashed across the window. Another blow struck him in the gut and he felt the strength drain from him. His brain was closing down communications with the rest of his body. He could see the bloody window frame move away from him once more, then close in again at speed. There was a loud crack and everything went dark and silent.