Peter Mayle - The Marseille Caper

In Tiny de Salis’s cabin, Daphne and Sam once again came across clues to the occupant’s interests: the Old Etonian Review , published every Michaelmas, and a DVD entitled Hot Babes-They Are Saucy and They Sizzle! There was also an impressive stash of marijuana in an open cigar box on the bedside table. There was, however, no sign of de Salis himself.

Events in the passageway began to take on aspects of a French farce, with Brian and Dave ducking in and out of various doors until they came to the cabin being checked by Daphne and Sam. The door was ajar. Brian closed it gently and, using his passkey, locked it. They hurried down to the spare cabin.

It was a good five minutes before Brian came back and responded to the hammering on the cabin door. He was apologizing even as he unlocked it. “Sorry, miss,” he said to Daphne, “it sometimes does this when the self-locking mechanism goes on the blink. Bloody nuisance, must get it fixed.”

“What’s the problem?” asked Ray Prendergast, solicitous for the first time, as he joined them in the passageway. Brian explained what had happened, Prendergast apologized again, asked if there was anything he could do, and insisted on staying with them while they checked the rest of the boat, “Just in case there’s any more trouble with the doors.”

They were just about to start on the next cabin when Daphne’s phone rang.

“Allo?”

“It’s Jo. Let me speak to Sam.” Daphne saw that Prendergast was hovering, his eyes fixed on the phone. “C’est l’hopital,” she said to Sam. “It’s the hospital,” she said to Prendergast. “I think it’s best if Dr. Ginoux takes the call in private.” She took Sam’s arm, guided him into the cabin’s shower room, and shut the door behind him.

“You know how they are about the phone, the French,” she said to Prendergast. “Always want to be in their little private corner when they take a call.”

Before speaking, Sam turned on the shower to make sure his voice didn’t carry. “What is it, Jo?”

“Two men have been on deck here, right above me. I couldn’t see them, but I could hear their voices. I think they were loading something into the helicopter.”

Ray Prendergast would remember the next few seconds for a long time. The French doctor burst out of the shower room and started speaking fluent English to the police officer who was standing by the door. “Flo, you stay here with him.” He jerked his head at the startled Prendergast. “If he tries to use his phone, break his arm. And if he tries to leave the cabin, knock him out and tie him up, OK? Daphne, you stay here-you’ll be safe with Flo. I think they’re trying to get out with Elena.”

Sam ducked out of the cabin and raced up the passageway, through the main stateroom, and out onto the deck. The helicopter was a white mass at the far end of the boat. Much to his relief, he saw that the rotor blades were immobile. Moving more cautiously now and staying in the shadows as much as he could, he came to within a few yards of the helicopter. There was no sign of anybody. Now he was close enough to touch the helicopter. He reached up to open the door.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

Sam turned to see Tiny de Salis, who had come around from the other side of the helicopter. He came closer. “Are you deaf? What are you doing?” He stood in front of Sam, legs braced apart, a big man ready to throw a punch.

Sam was not by nature a violent man, and it was with a twinge of genuine regret that he kicked de Salis in the testicles and pitched his writhing body overboard. Without waiting to hear the splash, he pulled open the door of the helicopter. And there, breathing easily, was the unconscious Elena in one of the back seats. Taking off his face mask, he climbed into the cockpit, stroked her face, held her tight. “You’re safe now, girl. We’ll have you home before you wake up.”

Sam heard footsteps on the deck, reached in his pocket for a syringe, then relaxed when he saw who it was. “She’s here, Jo. And she seems fine.”

Jo’s grin was a flicker of white in the shadows. “ Formidable , Sam. Vraiment formidable . Oh, in case you were worrying about him, I fished your big friend out of the water, but he won’t be going anywhere-I handcuffed him to the boat’s steering wheel. What do we do now?”

Sam took out his phone. “First, we tell Francis. Then we get the police out here.” He paused as the thought struck him. “Are they likely to be a problem? I mean, you’re not exactly official.”

“Don’t worry. The story is that we’re on special assignment from Corsica. The cops here can check with the police chief in Calvi. He’s my uncle.”

Sam spoke for a few minutes with a vastly relieved Reboul, who volunteered to arrange for the Marseille police to come out to the boat at once. Leaving Jo to guard Elena, he went back to the cabin, where he found Prendergast perched on the side of the bunk, his head sunk in his shoulders, staring at the floor. There was a cut on his forehead and a smear of blood on his face.

The reactions to Sam’s good news were immediate and enthusiastic: a smacking kiss on each cheek from Daphne, and a crushing bear hug from Flo. Prendergast’s head seemed to have slumped even lower.

“Did he try anything?”

Flo nodded. “Only once.”

Relief had made Sam feel intensely alive, slightly lightheaded, and well disposed toward the world. With one notable exception. “The police will be here any minute now, and their first stop should be Wapping. Tell me, Flo-what’s the penalty in France for kidnapping?”

The big man rubbed his chin. “That depends. If the victim has been harmed in any way, it’s twenty-five years. If no harm has been done, it’s only twenty years.”

“Only twenty years. What are the jails like here?”

Figatelli assumed his most innocent expression. “I’ve had no personal experience, of course. But I’ve heard they’re not exactly comfortable.”

“Good. OK, let’s get going.” He turned to look at Prendergast, who had been listening closely, his expression a mixture of disbelief and despair. “Is there anywhere we can lock him up?”

Flo shrugged. “Why bother? I’ll put him in with Wapping, and then stand outside the door until the cops come.” He bent down and, none too gently, pulled Prendergast to his feet. The procession set off, reaching the master cabin just in time to welcome the Marseille police, who had arrived in force on two speedboats.

To Sam’s relief, Flo had decided to deal with the situation himself. He told the captain in charge that the kidnapper was in the stateroom; that the victim was in a drugged sleep in the helicopter, saved from abduction by Sam; and that he and his colleagues were ready to be helpful in any way they could.

That, of course, was not the end of it. There were depositions to be taken, questions to be answered, and the curious appearance of two Corsican police officers to be explained. By the time this was over, what Daphne described as “dawn’s rosy fingers” were touching the eastern horizon, and they were at last free to go.

Sam would always remember that short trip back to Marseille. Elena, still sleeping, was curled up in his arms, the sky was a misty pink, and the air smelled as though it had just been cleaned. Relief gave way to a deep, deep happiness.

As they were driving back to the house, Sam called Philippe, who picked up on the first ring.

“Good morning, my friend. I hope I didn’t wake you up?”

“We haven’t slept. What happened?”

As Sam finished going through the events of the night, a thought occurred to him. “Philippe, how would you like an exclusive? You know, kidnapper caught red-handed by Marseille’s finest, his attempts to escape by helicopter foiled, all that stuff. I can fill you in on the details.”