Death on the Pont Noir - By Adrian Magson Page 0,52

a bike, for a start. If that’s his real job.’

Caspar’s eyes went wide as he considered the implications. ‘Damn, you’ve got a devious mind, Rocco.’ He nodded. ‘I’ll see what I can find.’

Rocco pulled in to the side of the road opposite the track, just short of the bridge. He and Caspar climbed out as Saint-Cloud parked in front and walked back to join them.

‘Who is this?’ he queried, as if noticing Caspar for the first time. He shrugged on a warm coat, the skin on his face pinched and white, and Rocco wondered how often he ever got out of the office on field trips.

He made introductions, but Saint-Cloud seemed barely interested. ‘Fine,’ he said, when Rocco told him Caspar was on the strength and would be looking into the Paris end of things. ‘Whatever you think is necessary. Clear payment with my office.’ He glanced at Caspar. ‘Just make sure you find me some names, you understand? We’ll drop the hammer on them. We need to stop this thing before it goes too far.’ He glanced around at the bridge and fields. ‘Is this it? This is your suggested attack zone?’ He shook his head. ‘Rocco, you disappoint me.’

Rocco bit his tongue. Losing his temper with Saint-Cloud would serve no purpose. He indicated the point where the road passed the mouth of the track. ‘I believe they’ll leave some kind of obstruction here to slow down the president’s car … work signs, something like that. But instead of using guns, they’ll come down the track past that shed, using a truck to drive the official car off the road here and over the edge.’ The shed’s pigeons, he noted, were looking at the three men with wary interest. No doubt they had learnt at an early stage that anything that flew was fair game for the end of a long gun.

Rocco led the other two to the brink of the gully and pointed down. The drop drew a faint oath from Saint-Cloud. ‘Once down there, there’s no coming back. They could do whatever they choose to finish the job. There’ll be nobody to stop them.’

Saint-Cloud looked sceptical. ‘Oh, you mean wine bottles filled with petrol? Like you said that farmer saw the film crew using? The idiot was deluded. Who throws petrol bombs anymore?’

Caspar frowned, unfazed by Saint-Cloud’s rank or position. ‘I saw Molotovs being used during a protest in Saint Denis a couple of months back. Pretty effective they were. Set a couple of cop cars on fire, broke up the CRS ranks, too, for a while.’ He looked down the slope and murmured, ‘If I was going to make sure nobody got out of a car alive, down there is where I’d do it.’ He shivered. ‘Nasty way to go.’

‘Well, thank you for that expert analysis,’ Saint-Cloud muttered. ‘Believe me, these disaffected groups prefer streets for their cowardly attacks, not open fields. Busy roads, traffic, people – and escape routes for when they run out of courage or ammunition. Out here, they’d be exposed … vulnerable and frightened.’ He turned and walked away across the bridge, stiff-legged and impatient.

‘What an arse,’ Caspar murmured. ‘On past experience, he’s right … but that’s just being blinkered. Makes you wonder how de Gaulle survived this long with him in charge.’

‘Because when it came down to it, others were providing the real protection,’ said Rocco. He felt surprisingly calm in the face of Saint-Cloud’s scepticism. He had a feeling he wasn’t going to win this one, not here and now. But that meant he’d simply have to prove he was right.

Saint-Cloud came back across the bridge, shaking his head. ‘No – I don’t buy it. The president is unlikely to come this way, and even if he wanted to, there’s no way we could let him come to such an isolated spot without full protection. Once any attackers saw that we were prepared, with no way out, they’d call it off.’

‘And go underground,’ Rocco pointed out.

‘Maybe. Maybe not. But I have a better idea of where they might plan an attack. And it fits with what we know of their methods. Come on.’ He walked back to his car, leaving the other two to follow.

Saint-Cloud drove fast and efficiently, showing that he was not entirely without skills outside the office. They soon arrived on the outskirts of Arras, on a wide crossroads dotted with a handful of houses, a café and a depot supplying Camping Gaz. Saint-Cloud had parked on