Max O'Brien Mysteries 3-Book Bundle. Mario Bolduc
Читать онлайн книгу.
between this secret trip and the upcoming mission in Montreal expressly to reassure Canadian investors? There was no way to tell. There was no one left in the know. He could imagine Roberge’s sarcastic reply if he broached the subject. The best he could do was pass his information along to the Indian police, which meant the BJP, who would diligently hide it away or use it for their own purposes.
Close by the airport, traffic was snarled again, but planes were taking off with reassuring frequency. Roberge was in a good mood again. It would soon be time to ditch him, Max figured — in the confusion on the way to the counter in the departure lounge, maybe. But how? Roberge was younger and in better shape, especially given Max’s rough time in jail. Max was starving, and his head still seemed about to burst with every movement. Then there was Walkins, too, certainly armed. Sandmill was less of a problem, but he still needed to be dealt with. Three against one was a tall order.
The car pulled into the terminal parking area before he could properly gather his thoughts and work out a plan. The two cops, on the other hand, already had things mapped out. Walkins had arranged for their Air India baggage check in the VIP room of Terminal 2, out of sight of nosy passengers. A young woman guided them through a crowd of Westerners gathering in front of the counters of their respective airlines. Kids lounged on the floor with their Game Boys, their parents vaguely anxious but relieved to be at the airport. Max recognized some of the diplomats from the party the other night — flashing the middle finger of defiance to the terrorists. They weren’t quite so sure of themselves anymore. This was to be a quiet, uneventful slinking away.
At the far end of the waiting room, in a stuffy area stinking of cigarettes, a chubby government official stood waiting for them with a sheaf of papers. Roberge quickly scanned them, while Sandmill and Walkins watched from the sidelines. Walkins kept one eye on the prisoner, and Sandmill couldn’t stop looking at his watch, likely waiting for the cops to tell him he could go back and finish packing. Would there even be a plane out the next day, or would he have to barricade himself with the other late-leavers in the High Commission?
The papers were signed, and Roberge tied his tie; one more step completed. He looked at Max. “This is the moment I’ve waited fourteen years for. You have no idea how happy this makes me.”
Max saw the Indian official leave, and past him was the hall where passengers were ready to depart. It was the only way out, and led nowhere.
“You know, I’m gonna miss you,” Roberge said. “Your picture’s still on the wall behind my desk. Reminded me to keep hunting you. Yessir, that picture …”
“How about I send you another one? More up to date?”
Roberge burst out laughing, got up, stretched completely, then noticed the mini-bar. He bent down for a look: two cans of Pepsi and plenty of peanuts in case Air India ran out. Roberge sat down facing the prisoner and offered him one of the Pepsis. Max declined.
“Yes, I wish they’d kept you in one of their jails. Ten years times, say, five, the way things are. I’d make sure our union boys sent you a postcard every single day. Whaddya say? A card for a prisoner, now that’s depressing, am I right?”
Geez, five hours on the plane listening to this kind of sarcasm, not to mention the stopover in London; Max felt nauseated already. Was this his chance? Nope, Walkins and Sandmill were chatting right by the door. That would be straight-up suicide.
An Air India flight attendant in a sari of the company colours arrived to guide Roberge and Max to the plane. There was good news: the company had upgraded the two of them to first class. Roberge was as excited as a kid in the front row of a puppet show. All the peanuts he wanted and more he could take back to his family.
The waiting room was empty now that everyone was on board, and Max said goodbye to Walkins and Sandmill. What would he do now? Grab the flight attendant as a hostage and drag her into the concourse? That was going too far, even for a Bollywood movie script. Gentlemanly, Max shook hands with the two men. Then came the long corridor, a welcome from the cabin crew, and the smell of disinfectant. The 747 was full, but two places in first class awaited Roberge and his guest, and the cop had the decency not to make a display of his hunting trophy. The people around them paid no attention. Roberge pushed Max over to the window seat.
In a blasé voice, the captain apologized for the delay (probably because of Roberge and his prisoner), then announced still another, a shorter delay. The flight attendant asked them, “Would you like a drink?”
“Mineral water all around,” replied Roberge. “I’m on duty, and so’s he!”
She got it, of course. She never drank alcohol herself.
This was going to be a long trip, really long. Roberge was positively glowing.
“At least admit you regret all these stupid stunts you pulled,” he said a few moments later as he sipped his Bisleri.
“That would change what exactly?”
“Maybe get it off your conscience. Always helps.”
“Look, if there’s one thing I’m sorry for, it’s not doing even more damage. I let you off easy, really. I mean eight million isn’t so much.” Max had absolutely no intention of feeling sorry for himself or playing the sad little puppy to try to soften up his jailer. In a way, the cop was right to resent him: those millions the Sûreté du Québec union had been forced to take off the books of its investment fund, the incredible promise of huge returns, and the risk-free investment Max and his team had peddled to those suckers. This trap had finally closed on him, just like all the others, but the sound was sharper this time … and what about their union head who’d wanted to invest even more in it? Eight million, period. Max could just picture the meeting afterward, the anger of the police officers, drained by the naïveté of their broker. All our savings to Max O’Brien!?
“Don’t you wonder how I caught you?” inquired Roberge, taking another sip of mineral water.
“Béatrice and Patterson.”
“Juliette wasn’t so easy. Still, a charming kid, just the same. I bet she doesn’t know the part you played in Philippe’s death.”
“SHUT UP, ROBERGE!”
Passengers whipped around in surprise. Roberge was content just to smile. Max wished he hadn’t got carried away.
“Delhi was child’s play,” Roberge went on, “the night watchman at the Liverpool Guest House is a police informant.”
Of course he is.
Max stared out the window. At the edge of the runway there were more slums, people living just feet from the planes and breathing their fumes all day long, never able to talk above the constant roar of 747 engines. Max reclined his seat and closed his eyes so as not to have to listen to Roberge, then willed himself to sleep. Philippe in El Salvador; Philippe the martyr. He finally did sleep. He had no idea how long. Then a voice stirred him.
“Excuse me, sir.” The flight attendant, no longer smiling, held out her hand as he opened his eyes. “This way.”
Max turned to look at Roberge. He was fast asleep with his bottle of Bisleri spilled all over the tray. The plane was still on the runway, so Max had only dozed a few minutes. He followed the stewardess to the front of the plane. Passengers vaguely glanced at them before returning to their newspapers. The door was still open on the opposite side from the embarking platform. Airport employees were almost through loading food trays on carts with multiple shelves. One of the employees turned toward Max: it was Jayesh. He guided Max down the sloping platform to the catering truck parked next to the plane. The flight attendant followed them. Once inside the truck, Jayesh gave Max some coveralls and an ID badge. The flight attendant also changed clothes as the truck drove to the storage depot. The inside of the truck smelled of industrial chapati and stale fried food, but for Max it was the sweetest smell in the world.
“Thanks, Jayesh,” he said.
“Don’t mention it.”
When the door opened at the depot, Max saw the pilot finally get the plane