knows? The night is long.”
Valador finished his unloading, locked up the van and disappeared inside the store. A few seconds later a light could be seen behind the shutters. Almost half an hour passed. Then the light in the shop went out, and after a few moments another light went on, this time in the apartment above the store.
“He’s gone to bed,” said Rafi, a note of anger in his voice.
“I think perhaps you are right,” said Japrisot.
Rafi snorted.
“So we spent half the day following a guy all the way along the Riviera delivering fish and this is what it amounts to? Watching him get ready for sleep?”
“Police work is mostly waiting,” answered Japrisot. “And very boring. I’m afraid you must be patient.”
“Rafi’s right,” said Holliday finally. “My cousin has been taken hostage. We don’t have time for staking out some low-level smuggler. We need information. Now.”
“Stakeout?” the French cop said. “You mean comme le bifteck? Une barbeque?” Japrisot lifted his caterpillar eyebrows and winked. Holliday scowled, realizing that he was being teased.
The headlights of an approaching car washed through the rear window of the Peugeot.
“Attendez,” said Japrisot, and hunched down in his seat. Holliday and Rafi did the same. The car went past, then parked between a pair of wrought iron stanchions at the curb in front of the dark, deserted restaurant. There was an old-fashioned streetlight on the corner and Holliday could see the car clearly. It was a dark blue Audi Quattro. Two people got out: a well-dressed man with a Vandyke beard and a highly attractive woman in a short black cocktail dress.
“That’s the couple I saw at the casino,” whispered Holliday. “What are they doing here?”
“As they say in my country, Colonel Holliday , Tout vient à point à qui sait attendre. Good things come to those who wait.”
6
They watched as the couple from the Audi walked back along the sidewalk in front of the restaurant and paused in front of Felix Valador’s store. There was an intercom box high on the left-hand side of the doorframe. The man with the Vandyke reached into his jacket and took something out of the pocket.
“What’s that?” Holliday asked, squinting.
“Gants de latex, je pense,” said Japrisot. “Surgical gloves, I think.”
The man with the beard deftly snapped the gloves onto his hands, then pressed a button on the plastic intercom box and waited. A few seconds later there was a loud buzzing sound and the bearded man leaned forward to speak. His companion kept her back to the door, looking up and down the street. Without the film festival, nighttime in Cannes was relatively quiet. The sidewalks were deserted.
There was a second buzz from the intercom, and then a heavy clicking sound Holliday could hear from halfway down the block. The door opened and the couple from the blue Audi disappeared inside the store. A moment later the light came on behind the shutters over the front windows.
Japrisot took a small notebook and a gold-plated automatic pencil from his sagging suit coat pocket and climbed out of the Citroën. He walked down the street and wrote down the license number of the Audi. Thirty seconds later he slipped back into the car.
“AHX 37 45,” he said. “Czech. I think ‘A’ is for Prague.”
“What do the Czechs have to do with any of this?” Rafi asked.
Japrisot turned in his seat.
“Maybe nothing, maybe everything.” The policeman shrugged. “Prague was once the European end of the old Silk Road. It is still a central point for smugglers. You can find anything you want in Prague from beautiful Russian girls to heroin from Bangkok. Why not stolen artifacts?” He held up a finger. “Moment . ” He dug a cell phone out of his jacket pocket and let out a burst of rapid-fire French. He snapped the cell phone closed and returned it to his pocket. “Now we wait again.”
No more than two minutes later the lights in the store went
Valador finished his unloading, locked up the van and disappeared inside the store. A few seconds later a light could be seen behind the shutters. Almost half an hour passed. Then the light in the shop went out, and after a few moments another light went on, this time in the apartment above the store.
“He’s gone to bed,” said Rafi, a note of anger in his voice.
“I think perhaps you are right,” said Japrisot.
Rafi snorted.
“So we spent half the day following a guy all the way along the Riviera delivering fish and this is what it amounts to? Watching him get ready for sleep?”
“Police work is mostly waiting,” answered Japrisot. “And very boring. I’m afraid you must be patient.”
“Rafi’s right,” said Holliday finally. “My cousin has been taken hostage. We don’t have time for staking out some low-level smuggler. We need information. Now.”
“Stakeout?” the French cop said. “You mean comme le bifteck? Une barbeque?” Japrisot lifted his caterpillar eyebrows and winked. Holliday scowled, realizing that he was being teased.
The headlights of an approaching car washed through the rear window of the Peugeot.
“Attendez,” said Japrisot, and hunched down in his seat. Holliday and Rafi did the same. The car went past, then parked between a pair of wrought iron stanchions at the curb in front of the dark, deserted restaurant. There was an old-fashioned streetlight on the corner and Holliday could see the car clearly. It was a dark blue Audi Quattro. Two people got out: a well-dressed man with a Vandyke beard and a highly attractive woman in a short black cocktail dress.
“That’s the couple I saw at the casino,” whispered Holliday. “What are they doing here?”
“As they say in my country, Colonel Holliday , Tout vient à point à qui sait attendre. Good things come to those who wait.”
6
They watched as the couple from the Audi walked back along the sidewalk in front of the restaurant and paused in front of Felix Valador’s store. There was an intercom box high on the left-hand side of the doorframe. The man with the Vandyke reached into his jacket and took something out of the pocket.
“What’s that?” Holliday asked, squinting.
“Gants de latex, je pense,” said Japrisot. “Surgical gloves, I think.”
The man with the beard deftly snapped the gloves onto his hands, then pressed a button on the plastic intercom box and waited. A few seconds later there was a loud buzzing sound and the bearded man leaned forward to speak. His companion kept her back to the door, looking up and down the street. Without the film festival, nighttime in Cannes was relatively quiet. The sidewalks were deserted.
There was a second buzz from the intercom, and then a heavy clicking sound Holliday could hear from halfway down the block. The door opened and the couple from the blue Audi disappeared inside the store. A moment later the light came on behind the shutters over the front windows.
Japrisot took a small notebook and a gold-plated automatic pencil from his sagging suit coat pocket and climbed out of the Citroën. He walked down the street and wrote down the license number of the Audi. Thirty seconds later he slipped back into the car.
“AHX 37 45,” he said. “Czech. I think ‘A’ is for Prague.”
“What do the Czechs have to do with any of this?” Rafi asked.
Japrisot turned in his seat.
“Maybe nothing, maybe everything.” The policeman shrugged. “Prague was once the European end of the old Silk Road. It is still a central point for smugglers. You can find anything you want in Prague from beautiful Russian girls to heroin from Bangkok. Why not stolen artifacts?” He held up a finger. “Moment . ” He dug a cell phone out of his jacket pocket and let out a burst of rapid-fire French. He snapped the cell phone closed and returned it to his pocket. “Now we wait again.”
No more than two minutes later the lights in the store went
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