Kate Mosse - Labyrinth

“I thought-”

“I know,” she said quickly.

Guilhem didn’t want to let her go, but the thought of Bertrande called him back.

“Sajhe’s hurt,” he said, striding up the slope towards the entrance. “You help him. I’m going after Oriane.”

Alais bent down to check Sajhe, then immediately ran to catch him up.

“He’s unconscious only,” she said. “You stay. Tell him what’s happened.

I have to find Bertrande.“

“No, it’s what she wants. She’ll force you to reveal where you’ve concealed the book, then she’ll kill you both. I’ve a better chance of bringing your daughter out alive without you, can’t you see?”

“ Our daughter,” she said.

Guilhem heard the words, although he could make no sense of them.

His heart started to race.

“Alais, what-?” he started to say, but she had ducked under his arm and was already running down the tunnel into the darkness.

Ariege

FRIDAY 8 JULY, 2OO5

They’ve gone to the cave,“ shouted Noubel, slamming down the receiver, ”of all the stupid-“

“Who?”

“Audric Baillard and Alice Tanner. They’ve taken it into their heads that Shelagh O’Donnell is being held at the Pic de Soularac and are on their way there. She said someone else was there too. An American, William Franklin.”

“Who’s he?”

“No idea,” said Noubel, grabbing his jacket from the back of the door and lumbering out into the corridor.

Moureau followed him. “Who was it on the phone?”

The front desk. They took the message from Dr Tanner at nine o’clock, apparently, but “didn’t think I’d want to be disturbed in the middle of an interrogation!” N’importe quoi! Noubel mimicked the nasal voice of the night sergeant.

Both men automatically glanced up at the clock on the wall. It was ten fifteen.

“What about Braissart and Domingo?” said Moureau, with a glance the corridor to the interview rooms. Noubel’s hunch had been right. The two men had been arrested not far from Authie’s ex-wife’s farmhouse. They’d been heading south towards Andorra.

“They can wait.”

Noubel threw open the door to the car park, sending it flying back against the fire escape. They hurried down the metal stairs to the tarmac.

“Did you get anything out of them?”

“Nothing,” said Noubel, jerking open the car door, slinging his jacket on the backseat. He forced himself in behind the steering wheel. “Silent as the grave, the pair of them.”

“More frightened of their boss than you,” said Moureau, slamming his door. “Any word on Authie?”

“Nothing. He went to Mass earlier in Carcassonne. No sign of him since them.”

“The farmhouse?” suggested Moureau, as the car jumped forward towards the main road. “Has the search team reported in yet?”

“No.”

Noubel’s phone started to ring. Keeping his right hand on the wheel, he stretched into the back seat, releasing a smell of stale sweat from under his arms. He dropped the jacket in Moureau’s lap and made frantic gestures while Moureau fished through his pockets.

“Noubel, oui ?

His foot slammed down on the brake, sending Moureau flying forward in his seat. “Putain! Why in the name of Christ am I only hearing about this now! Is anybody inside?” He listened. When did it start?“ The line was bad and Moureau could hear the signal breaking. ”No, no! Stay there. Keep me in touch.“

Noubel tossed his phone on the dashboard, turned the siren on and accelerated towards the motorway.

“The farm’s on fire,” he said, putting his foot to the floor.

“Arson?”

The nearest neighbour’s half a kilometre away. He claims to have heard a couple of loud explosions, then saw the flames and called the firefighters. By the time they’d arrived, the fire had already taken hold.“

“Is there anybody in there?” said Moureau anxiously.

“They don’t know,” he said grimly.

Shelagh was drifting in and out of consciousness.

She had no idea how long it had been since the men had gone. One by one her senses were shutting down. She was no longer aware of her physical surroundings. Arms, legs, body, head, she felt as if she was floating, weightless. She wasn’t aware of heat or of cold, nor the stones and dirt beneath her. She was cocooned in her own world. Safe. Free.

She wasn’t alone. Faces floated into her mind, people from the past and present, a procession of silent images.

The light seemed to be growing stronger again. Somewhere, just out of her line of vision, there was a juddering white beam of light, sending dancing shadows running up the walls and across the rocky roof of the cave. Like a kaleidoscope, the colours were shifting and changing shape before her eyes.

She thought she could see a man. Very old. She felt his cold, dry hands on her brow, skin as dry as tracing paper. His voice telling her it was going to be all right. That she was safe now.

Now Shelagh could hear other voices, whispering in her head, murmuring, speaking softly, caressing her.

She felt black wings at her shoulder, cradling her tenderly, like a child.

Calling her home.

Then, spoiling it, another voice.

“Turn round.”

Will realised the roaring was inside his head, the sound of his own blood pumping in his ears, thick and heavy. The sound of the bullets reverberating again and again in his memory.

He swallowed hard and tried to catch his breath. The pungent smell of the leather in his nose and mouth was too strong. It turned his stomach.

How many shots had he heard? Two? Three?

His two bodyguards got out. Will could hear them talking, arguing with Francois-Baptiste perhaps. Slowly, careful not to draw attention, he levered himself up a little on the back seat of the car. In the light of the headlights, he could see Francois-Baptiste standing over Authie’s dead body, arm hanging by his side, the gun still in his hand. It looked as if someone had thrown a can of red paint over the door and bonnet of Authie’s car. Blood, tissue and shards of bone. What remained of Authie’s skull.

The nausea rose in his throat. Will swallowed again. Forced himself to keep looking. Francois-Baptiste started to bend down, hesitated, then quickly turned back instead.

“Even though the repeated doses of the drug had left his arms and legs unresponsive, Will felt his body stiffen. He dropped back on the seat, grateful at least they hadn’t put him back in the claustrophobic box in the box of the car.

The door closest to his head was jerked open and Will felt the familiar callused hands on his arms and neck, dragging him across the seat and; him on to the ground.

The night air was cool on his face and bare legs. The robe they’d dressed him in was long and wide, although tied at the waist. Will felt self-conscious, vulnerable. And terrified.

He could see Authie’s body lying motionless on the gravel. Next to it, tucked behind the front wheel of the car, he could see a tiny red light blinking on and off.

“Portez-le jusqu’a la grotte! Francois-Baptiste’s voice drew Will back. ‘Vous nous attendez dehors. En face de I’ouverture. ” He paused. ’Il est dix heures moins cinq maintenant. Nous allons rentrer dans quarante, peut etre cinquante minutes.“

Nearly ten o’clock. He let his head hang as the man took hold beneath his arms. As they started to drag him up the slope towards the cave, he wondered if he’d still be alive at eleven.

“Turn round,” Marie-Cecile repeated.

A harsh, arrogant voice, Audric thought. He stroked his hand once more across Shelagh’s head, and then slowly he drew himself to his full height. His relief at finding her alive had been short-lived. She was in a very bad condition. Without medical help soon, Audric feared she would die.