11

Carver repeated the question. “How many people?”

“I don’t know, all right?” Colclough whined. “That’s the whole point, ain’t it? You only know what you need to know. You only see what you need to see.”

“All right, what did you see?”

“It’s a big mansion. Old place. Proper flash. You get there and the building comes right up to the pavement, almost like a blank wall facing the street. There’s an arch with a driveway through it. That’s how you get in.”

“Security?”

“Gates. Metal gates.”

They’d made it back to the river again. Across the water, Carver could see the floodlit towers of Notre Dame. He ignored them, giving all his concentration to Colclough.

“You drive in and there’s a little guardhouse on the left, inside the arch, yeah? There was definitely an individual there, checking everyone in and out.”

“Cameras?”

“Couple at the front. Didn’t see any others. But there might be.”

“All right, then what?”

Colclough thought for a moment. “A courtyard. There’s like an old stables or something on one side they use for car parking. The front door’s opposite the entrance arch. It’s under cover, so you can drive right up, get to the door, and you don’t get wet. You go in, there’s a big, bare hall and a marble staircase right up the middle of the building.”

“That’s normal. It’s a hotel particular,” Alix interrupted.

Carver turned around in his seat. “Sorry?”

The girl explained, as if reciting from a guidebook. “A hôtel particulier. A classic Paris mansion, probably built in the seventeenth or eighteenth century.”

“How do you know about that?” asked Carver.

“Because I was trained to discuss such things.”

“In Russia?”

Alix nodded. “Of course. It was essential for my job.”

“Which was?”

She broke into one of her noncommittal smiles. “Conversation. So, if this is a typical hotel, all the main reception rooms are on the first floor. Is that where Max is?”

Colclough nodded. “Yeah, some kind of dining room. His guv’nor was next door, in some other room.”

Carver frowned. “What do you mean, ‘guv’nor’? You’re saying Max has a boss? Who is he?”

“How should I know? I never saw him.”

“How do you know he’s there, then?”

“Because Max was called into the next room. Went straight through, no argument. So the bloke must’ve been his boss. Logical, yeah?”

He looked at Carver with pleading eyes, desperate to be told he was doing all right, that everything would work out okay. His voice cracked. “Christ, I’m doing my best. I’ve got a wife, a daughter. I don’t wanna die. I mean, what’ve I ever done to you, for Chrissake?”

“Okay,” said Carver, ignoring Colclough’s pleas. “One on the door. Max. His boss. Who else?”

“I told you, I don’t know. Not many. I was told to wait downstairs in some kind of pantry. There was food and coffee there. A couple of other blokes came in and out.”

“Armed?”

“Could’ve been. In fact, yeah, there was two of them outside the room Max was in, like guards. They had guns, definitely. Anyway, I drank coffee and did the crossword till about eleven. Then I got orders to take up my position. The rest you know.”

“Not quite,” said Carver. “Where’s the pantry, relative to this dining room Max was in? How did you get there?”

“There was more stairs that went down the back way. You know, like for servants.”

Carver thought. Call it four people to mount proper surveillance of the targets in the hours leading up to the hit. You’d need a couple of them to stay by the accident, monitor what happened, and follow the ambulance. That left two, plus the doorman, Max, his guards, and his mysterious boss. Seven against one. Not great odds.

He turned around to face Alix again. He’d disarmed her pretty easily at the bus stop. It wasn’t a great sign.

“How much armed combat training have you actually had?”

She shrugged and pouted. “Some. Basic self-defense, shooting, nothing special.”

“And knife work,” said Carver.

“No. That I taught myself. Every girl needs a way to scare off creeps.”

“Bit extreme, isn’t it?”

“So were the creeps.”

Colclough spoke. “Can I ask a question?”

Carver only looked at him in response.

“Why don’t you just get out of here? Trust me, I’ll stay schtum. I swear to God, on my girl’s life, not a word. Take this car. Head for the nearest airport. Fly as far away as possible.”

Alix nodded. “Or we could fly to different places. Separately.”

“Yeah, we could,” said Carver, “if you wanted a pain in the neck from looking over your shoulder for the rest of your short life and an itch in your back, waiting for the first bullet. The people who sent us wanted us dead. They’re not going to change their minds on that. So we’ve got an hour, tops, before the police discover there was no one in that flat and that body gets fished out of the sewers. We’ve got to assume that Max and his boss are either monitoring police communications or have people inside the force. They’ll soon know we’re still alive. We’ve got to hit them before then. And we’ve got to find out about their organization. I take it Max had some kind of IT/communications setup?”

“I s’pose so. There was computer screens on the table, but he wasn’t letting me anywhere near ‘em, so don’t ask me what they did.”

“I don’t have to. They ran the show. And the computer that ran them has everything we need to know. If we can’t get it out of Max, we’ll get it from the computer. You got that, Alix?”

A shrug. “I guess. But you should know, I’m not a soldier. Attacking a house? I did not get trained to do that.”

“Then just follow me, do exactly what I say, and watch my back. And look on the bright side. Those bastards wanted to kill us. We’re going to return the compliment.”