when I came home to get some sleep. They haven’t called. So, no, none.’
‘I’m sorry if I woke you, Doctor.’
‘It’s okay. And you can call me Sandrine.’
‘Are you alone, Sandrine?’
‘What kind of question is that?’ she said sharply. ‘Yes, I do happen to live alone, for your information. Did you call to ask me on a date or something?’
‘Not exactly,’ Ben said. ‘The reason I asked is because I need a favour.’
‘What kind of favour?’
‘The sensitive kind that needs to be strictly between you and me. One that concerns Section Forty-Five of the French Code of Medical Ethics.’
‘I see. Regarding patient confidentiality?’
‘Specifically, the matter of releasing a victim’s identity to the media. Or not releasing it, more to the point.’
‘And you have some reason for having it kept quiet, I suppose.’
‘I have reason to think the shooter got the wrong guy, but doesn’t know it yet. I’d like that knowledge to be kept from him for as long as possible. Now you understand what I meant by sensitive.’
A rustling sound as she sat up in bed, fully awake now and unlikely to get any more sleep that night. ‘What are you telling me here? If he was the wrong guy, then who was the intended target?’
‘Let’s just say if they’d succeeded, it would have been a little hard for me to call you.’
‘Someone tried to kill you? But who?’
‘A dead man,’ Ben said. ‘Or so people believe. If he isn’t one already, he soon will be.’
‘Do the police know this?’
‘They’re fixated on their own ideas of what this is about. If I told them I thought I was the target, I’d spend the next week sitting in an interrogation room being hammered with all the questions they can’t ask Jeff.’
‘Where you’d at least be safe.’
‘But other people wouldn’t be. And I can’t have that. So no, I have no intention of telling the cops what I know.’
‘This is just plain crazy. Things like this don’t happen in my world.’
‘Things are a little different in mine,’ Ben said.
‘I can’t be drawn into this intrigue,’ she said. ‘Have you seen the news? The story’s getting bigger by the hour. I’m a doctor, not a spy. There are rules, you know?’
‘I understand. Forget I mentioned it.’ He was about to end the call when she said, ‘Hold on, don’t go.’
‘I’m still here.’
There was a pause on the line, followed by a sigh of resignation; then she said, ‘To reply to your question, the answer is no, I haven’t signed off on that disclosure, and can’t, without the consent of the victim or their next of kin, which I haven’t got at this point. If this was an instance of, say, rape or child abuse, where there’s a clear case for withholding the victim’s identity, that’s one thing. But where a violent crime has been committed involving firearms, especially in this day and age—’
‘The media are hungry for all they can get and the police can release the details themselves, I know. They haven’t yet, but it could all change by morning. I was hoping you could exert some professional influence.’
‘When you said you wanted a favour, you weren’t kidding.’ She heaved another sigh. ‘All right. I can try to delay things from my end, but probably not for more than a day, maybe two. And I know someone who knows someone in the police media liaison department. It’s possible that I can pull a few strings there, too, assuming I can come up with a plausible-sounding reason to persuade them. It won’t be easy.’
‘Whatever you can do, it’s appreciated.’
‘I can’t promise anything,’ she warned him. ‘I don’t even know why I’m agreeing to this.’
‘I’ll bring you a big bunch of flowers.’
‘Your friend needs them more than I do.’
‘He’s not really that into them.’
‘You take care,’ she said. ‘Don’t do anything stupid.’
‘Why change the habit of a lifetime? I’ll be in touch.’
Ben sped on southwards through the night. As he drove, he made one last call.
The kind of help Ben needed to ask for next could only be had from certain highly specialised quarters. And sixty-odd-year-old former sergeant Boonzie McCulloch, once Ben’s military instructor, later his friend and mentor, long since retired to an idyllic rural life in Campo Basso but still with a few fingers in a few pies, was just the man to go to.
Along with the rest of the world, Boonzie had seen the news about the shooting at Le Val and had been just about to call when Ben beat him to it. The Scotsman’s shocked silence quickly turned to molten anger as Ben described Jeff’s condition. ‘If I’m right, whoever did this is after me. And the moment it leaks that they got the wrong guy, they’ll be back.’
‘Aw, fuck this for a game of soldiers,’ Boonzie’s gravelly voice rumbled over the line. ‘I’m on ma way. Tonight, reet noo. I’m gettin’ in the car and I’m comin’.’ It was like letting a rabid pit bull off the leash. Ben could almost hear the phone cracking in Boonzie’s iron fist.
‘That’s not what I want,’ Ben said firmly, reining him in. ‘I’ve already dragged you into too much trouble in the past. I’ll deal with this my way, alone. But I could use some backup.’
‘Say the fuckin’ word, laddie,’ Boonzie rasped, wanting blood.
‘I need six guys. I was thinking maybe McGuire, Fry and Blackwood, if they’re available, plus three more. How fast can you get a team together for me?’
‘For you? They’ll be trippin’ over themselves tae help, son. And woe betide these murderin’ basturts when we get oor haunds on them. Leave it wi’ me. I’ll get back tae ye asap.’
By the time Ben had reached Limoges in west-central France, it was all arranged. Within a few hours three good ex-regiment men would be rolling up at Le Val, two of them flown in from London and the third from Germany where he’d just finished a VIP close protection stint. They’d be heavily armed, and they wouldn’t need to use the main gate. Their mission: to back up Tuesday and the others in case the bad guys tried to strike again. Meanwhile, another trio urgently summoned in from various parts of Europe would speedily converge on Cherbourg, where they’d station themselves in and around Louis Pasteur Hospital to spot, intercept and
