Page 67 of French Escapade

Quickly, I find myself behind the man I need to neutralize. I wait to give the others time to get in position. Jimmy needs three more minutes to reach his destination. That’s also how much time Ted needs to climb a tree facing the double barn doors behind which we suspect they have hidden the car.

Time slows down. I’m soon running out of the very little patience I have left.

One minute before the attack, the shelter door opens. A man comes out. He rolls his shoulder, as we all do when we’ve remained in the same position too long. He’s holding a packet of cigarettes and puts one between his lips.

He pats his pockets. Probably looking for his lighter. He finds it in the inside pocket of his jacket.

Before he flicks it on and brings it towards him, I lower the intensity of my glasses. Can’t very well identify him with my eyes closed.

The face illuminated by the flame is Arkady’s.

The spot of light he has created in the darkness has turned him into an ideal target. To get him, I’d just need to raise my hand and press the trigger. Like shooting fish in a barrel.

I’m so tempted. But I resist. For all I know, he’s already sent Madison away, and my only chance to get her back will be to swap her for this bastard.

This is why I want him alive. Alive, and in perfect health.

And who knows, maybe, in one of his secret drawers, Ted has one of those magical serums that no government on earth admits to ever using to help people remember things. With a dose of the stuff, we could also get Tiffany back …

The flame of the lighter is gone, but thanks to the red tip of the cigarette, he’s still an easy target.

A look at my watch. Another thirty seconds to go. And Arkady is still standing by the door. So much for the surprise. Unless …

I put my gun away and take my knife out of my boot. If I can get close enough to the guard, I could…

The sound of a bullet breaks the silence.

Arkady falls to the ground. The guard turns around.

We’re face to face. Two meters away.

In his hands, a shotgun, in mine, a knife.

* * *