| General Fiction posted October 15, 2019 | Chapters: |
...87 88 -89- 90... 
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Chapter 89: Chonk, chonk, chonk
A chapter in the book The French Letter
The Graveyard Nightjar
by tfawcus
| Background Seconded to MI6, Charles and Helen are now in Pakistan on a mission in the Hindu Kush to neutralise Abdul Jaleel Zemar (The Lion), leader of an international terrorist network. |
Last paragraphs of Chapter 88
"I'm sorry," he said, and he sounded genuinely apologetic. "David has known for some time that Jeanne Durand has other plans for Helen's time here. She's been grooming her for work in the French Drug Squad ever since they first met in Bangkok."
"Les stups?" I said it more to show off my knowledge than to seek clarification. I instantly saw from Sir Robert's expression that he knew it, and I felt like a right twit.
"Yes, la Brigade des stupéfiants. As you know, she's a senior figure in the organisation. However, the problem is an historical one. The French versus the English ... know what I mean? She's never fully disclosed her plans. It makes cooperation difficult."
"She certainly has some unorthodox methods," I said. Her exploitation of Helen's sexual ambivalence was sharp in my mind. For a time, it had driven a wedge between us. I had almost lost her because of it.
"I don't quite understand Ash's position in all of this, sir."
"It's an interesting one. He's attached to us as a liaison officer. French, actually - though you wouldn't guess it. One of Madame Durand's mob. Les stups," he added with a poker face. "It would be good to know what they're up to."
Chapter 89
When Helen and I eventually left the building, we found our taxi still in the High Commission enclosure. Abdul leapt out. He opened the door for Helen in a gesture of old-world civility that carried not the least hint of obsequiousness. I went to the other side and climbed in next to her. She slid her arm around my shoulder, drew me towards her, and kissed me lightly on the cheek. I hoped it wasn't a Judas kiss. My meeting with Sir Robert had left me even more suspicious than before.
I eased her gently but firmly out of the embrace but, as I started to speak, she pressed her finger against my lips. She gestured towards Abdul with her eyes. He was busy adjusting a plastic fan on top of the dashboard to direct its breeze towards us. The two pink elephants swayed and nodded their approval.
Monty had briefed me on our way out, saying that we would be staying at a place called Mulberry House. It had been chosen because it was near our departure point the following morning. He provided me with a mud map. Helen and I spent the ten-minute journey in uneasy silence. I continued to mull things over, and it looked as if she, too, was deep in thought.
When we arrived, we were shown to a room on the second floor. Heavily flocked wallpaper in a paisley pattern of gold and cinnabar suggested the sultry atmosphere of a bordello. Helen, on the other hand, seemed to think it romantic. I opened the slatted door onto a balcony overlooking a small rectangle of lawn neatly edged with canna lilies. In the evening light, they were ablaze like a flock of fire birds. Helen came out to join me.
"What were you and Sir Robert talking about so secretively this afternoon?"
"About you, mainly. For that matter, what plots were you and Ash hatching together?"
"Touché!"
Although her use of the fencing term acknowledged that I had scored a hit, her look of amusement threw me off balance, enabling her to follow up with a quick riposte. "Sir Robert must have been most anxious to find out. Clever of him to call you away and leave Ash and me alone. Even cleverer of Ash to discover the listening device."
I looked her squarely in the eye. I was sick of this stupid fencing to score points and thought it time for the cut and thrust of a sabre. "If we're meant to be working together, wouldn't it be a good idea if you were to tell me just what the hell is going on? What is it, exactly, that Jeanne wants you to do? Trust is a pretty important element of a partnership, you know." She looked taken aback.
"All right," she said. "I'll tell you. It's better that there are no secrets between us. I'd have told you earlier, but Jeanne insisted on secrecy. She didn't want Bamforth to interfere with her plans. He would have done, you know."
"So, what are her plans?"
"She wants me to seduce Zemar and kill him."
I looked at her, appalled. "... and you would seriously consider doing that? But, why?"
The ensuing silence was absolute, save for a mesmeric and strangely hollow sound outside the window; a repetitive "chonk, chonk, chonk", as if someone were knocking on wood. I frowned, unable to place it. Helen came to my rescue.
"It's a graveyard nightjar. At least, that's what they used to call them in Bangkok. They have a liking for cemeteries."
"Interesting," I said. "Rather like you, it seems. For that's where you'll end up if you pursue this crazy plan. Whatever possessed you to agree to it?"
Tears welled up in Helen's eyes. "It's not just for Jeanne. She wants him dead because he's a critical element in the opium supply chain from Afghanistan, but ..."
"But what do you want him dead for?" In truth, I already knew the answer.
"For my parents. He was the one who planned and carried out the massacre. He was one of the masked Jihadists standing at the back of the church, AK-47s trained on the backs of the congregation. He was their leader." Her voice rose as she spat out each accusation.
"As I kill him, I shall see the face of my father, shattered by their merciless fire. I shall feel the deadweight of my mother, slumped across my shoulders as she fell across Kyla and me cowering on the ground. I shall see my sister struggling against addiction in a Montmartre garret." Then, very quietly, like the breath of the Grim Reaper, "... and I shall rejoice, bathed in the warmth of his ebbing pulse. I shall rejoice."
She stood facing me. Fire blazed in her eyes, daring me to respond. I had only seen that look once before. It was when she had first told me of her nightmare, in a hotel bedroom in the Louis Versailles Château. It seemed a lifetime ago.
I took her gently in my arms, brushed the tears from her cheeks, and held her against my shoulder until the madness passed. I knew there was no way I could stop her. I was also certain it would kill us both. Revenge being a form of suicide, I resigned myself to a dismal realisation. If I went along with her, it would be tantamount to entering into a suicide pact. Yet, for me, there was no other option.
We undressed each other with deliberation and curled in a tender embrace. I anticipated it would be the last time for several weeks that we would lie together on a soft mattress. After a while, there was again the familiar "chonk, chonk, chonk" of a wooden surface striking against something. This time, however, it was the rhythmic knocking of our headboard against the bedroom wall.
"I'm sorry," he said, and he sounded genuinely apologetic. "David has known for some time that Jeanne Durand has other plans for Helen's time here. She's been grooming her for work in the French Drug Squad ever since they first met in Bangkok."
"Les stups?" I said it more to show off my knowledge than to seek clarification. I instantly saw from Sir Robert's expression that he knew it, and I felt like a right twit.
"Yes, la Brigade des stupéfiants. As you know, she's a senior figure in the organisation. However, the problem is an historical one. The French versus the English ... know what I mean? She's never fully disclosed her plans. It makes cooperation difficult."
"She certainly has some unorthodox methods," I said. Her exploitation of Helen's sexual ambivalence was sharp in my mind. For a time, it had driven a wedge between us. I had almost lost her because of it.
"I don't quite understand Ash's position in all of this, sir."
"It's an interesting one. He's attached to us as a liaison officer. French, actually - though you wouldn't guess it. One of Madame Durand's mob. Les stups," he added with a poker face. "It would be good to know what they're up to."
Chapter 89
When Helen and I eventually left the building, we found our taxi still in the High Commission enclosure. Abdul leapt out. He opened the door for Helen in a gesture of old-world civility that carried not the least hint of obsequiousness. I went to the other side and climbed in next to her. She slid her arm around my shoulder, drew me towards her, and kissed me lightly on the cheek. I hoped it wasn't a Judas kiss. My meeting with Sir Robert had left me even more suspicious than before.
I eased her gently but firmly out of the embrace but, as I started to speak, she pressed her finger against my lips. She gestured towards Abdul with her eyes. He was busy adjusting a plastic fan on top of the dashboard to direct its breeze towards us. The two pink elephants swayed and nodded their approval.
Monty had briefed me on our way out, saying that we would be staying at a place called Mulberry House. It had been chosen because it was near our departure point the following morning. He provided me with a mud map. Helen and I spent the ten-minute journey in uneasy silence. I continued to mull things over, and it looked as if she, too, was deep in thought.
When we arrived, we were shown to a room on the second floor. Heavily flocked wallpaper in a paisley pattern of gold and cinnabar suggested the sultry atmosphere of a bordello. Helen, on the other hand, seemed to think it romantic. I opened the slatted door onto a balcony overlooking a small rectangle of lawn neatly edged with canna lilies. In the evening light, they were ablaze like a flock of fire birds. Helen came out to join me.
"What were you and Sir Robert talking about so secretively this afternoon?"
"About you, mainly. For that matter, what plots were you and Ash hatching together?"
"Touché!"
Although her use of the fencing term acknowledged that I had scored a hit, her look of amusement threw me off balance, enabling her to follow up with a quick riposte. "Sir Robert must have been most anxious to find out. Clever of him to call you away and leave Ash and me alone. Even cleverer of Ash to discover the listening device."
I looked her squarely in the eye. I was sick of this stupid fencing to score points and thought it time for the cut and thrust of a sabre. "If we're meant to be working together, wouldn't it be a good idea if you were to tell me just what the hell is going on? What is it, exactly, that Jeanne wants you to do? Trust is a pretty important element of a partnership, you know." She looked taken aback.
"All right," she said. "I'll tell you. It's better that there are no secrets between us. I'd have told you earlier, but Jeanne insisted on secrecy. She didn't want Bamforth to interfere with her plans. He would have done, you know."
"So, what are her plans?"
"She wants me to seduce Zemar and kill him."
I looked at her, appalled. "... and you would seriously consider doing that? But, why?"
The ensuing silence was absolute, save for a mesmeric and strangely hollow sound outside the window; a repetitive "chonk, chonk, chonk", as if someone were knocking on wood. I frowned, unable to place it. Helen came to my rescue.
"It's a graveyard nightjar. At least, that's what they used to call them in Bangkok. They have a liking for cemeteries."
"Interesting," I said. "Rather like you, it seems. For that's where you'll end up if you pursue this crazy plan. Whatever possessed you to agree to it?"
Tears welled up in Helen's eyes. "It's not just for Jeanne. She wants him dead because he's a critical element in the opium supply chain from Afghanistan, but ..."
"But what do you want him dead for?" In truth, I already knew the answer.
"For my parents. He was the one who planned and carried out the massacre. He was one of the masked Jihadists standing at the back of the church, AK-47s trained on the backs of the congregation. He was their leader." Her voice rose as she spat out each accusation.
"As I kill him, I shall see the face of my father, shattered by their merciless fire. I shall feel the deadweight of my mother, slumped across my shoulders as she fell across Kyla and me cowering on the ground. I shall see my sister struggling against addiction in a Montmartre garret." Then, very quietly, like the breath of the Grim Reaper, "... and I shall rejoice, bathed in the warmth of his ebbing pulse. I shall rejoice."
She stood facing me. Fire blazed in her eyes, daring me to respond. I had only seen that look once before. It was when she had first told me of her nightmare, in a hotel bedroom in the Louis Versailles Château. It seemed a lifetime ago.
I took her gently in my arms, brushed the tears from her cheeks, and held her against my shoulder until the madness passed. I knew there was no way I could stop her. I was also certain it would kill us both. Revenge being a form of suicide, I resigned myself to a dismal realisation. If I went along with her, it would be tantamount to entering into a suicide pact. Yet, for me, there was no other option.
We undressed each other with deliberation and curled in a tender embrace. I anticipated it would be the last time for several weeks that we would lie together on a soft mattress. After a while, there was again the familiar "chonk, chonk, chonk" of a wooden surface striking against something. This time, however, it was the rhythmic knocking of our headboard against the bedroom wall.
 Recognized |
List of Characters
Charles Brandon - the narrator, a well-known travel writer.
Rasheed - a Sikh taxi driver in Lahore, radicalised by ISIS
Abdul - a taxi driver in Islamabad, working under cover for the British High Commission
Ash - a French liaison officer attached to the British High Commission in Islamabad. Also a member of the French anti-drug squad (la Brigade des stupefiants), whose operations are directed by Jeanne Durand.
Montague (Monty) - a member of staff at the British High Commission in Islamabad.
Sir Robert - the Deputy High Commissioner at the British High Commission in Islamabad (a personal friend and confidante of Group Captain David Bamforth, the British Air Attache in Paris)
Abdul Jaleel Zemar (The Lion) - Coordinator of an international network of ISIS cells
Helen Culverson - a woman of increasing mystery
Kayla Culverson - her older sister, who disappeared somewhere in Bangkok and has surfaced again in Paris.
Group Captain Bamforth (alias Sir David Brockenhurst) - an intelligence officer with MI6 and Air Attache in Paris
Madame Jeanne Durand - a French magazine editor and undercover agent with the French Drug Squad.
Madame Madeleine Bisset - Helen's landlady in Paris
Mr Bukhari - a Pakistani businessman (now deceased)
Ian 'Bisto' Kidman - an ex-RAF friend of Charles's.
Monsieur Bellini - a denizen of the French Underworld.
Andre (aka Scaramouche) - an actor in Montmartre and friend of Kayla's
Dr. Laurent - a veterinary surgeon in Versailles.
Father Pierre Lacroix - vicar of the Versailles Notre Dame church.
Madame Lefauvre - an old woman living in Versailles - the town gossip.
Alain Gaudin - brother of Francoise, a gardener at Monet's house in Giverney
Francoise Gaudin - Alain's intellectually disabled sister.
Estelle Gaudin [deceased] - mother of Francoise and Alain, a prostitute
Mademoiselle Suzanne Gaudin [deceased] - Alain's grandmother, to whom the mysterious 'French letter' of 1903 was addressed.
Jack and Nancy Wilkins - a Wiltshire dairy farmer and his wife.
Gaston Arnoux - Owner of an art gallery in Paris. A triple agent, who infiltrated the ISIS network in France and fed information to MI6, but who is now providing information to Abdul Jaleel Zemar (The Lion).
Colonel Neville Arnoux [deceased] - Gaston's grandfather. Author of the infamous letter of 1903.
Pays
one point
and 2 member cents. Charles Brandon - the narrator, a well-known travel writer.
Rasheed - a Sikh taxi driver in Lahore, radicalised by ISIS
Abdul - a taxi driver in Islamabad, working under cover for the British High Commission
Ash - a French liaison officer attached to the British High Commission in Islamabad. Also a member of the French anti-drug squad (la Brigade des stupefiants), whose operations are directed by Jeanne Durand.
Montague (Monty) - a member of staff at the British High Commission in Islamabad.
Sir Robert - the Deputy High Commissioner at the British High Commission in Islamabad (a personal friend and confidante of Group Captain David Bamforth, the British Air Attache in Paris)
Abdul Jaleel Zemar (The Lion) - Coordinator of an international network of ISIS cells
Helen Culverson - a woman of increasing mystery
Kayla Culverson - her older sister, who disappeared somewhere in Bangkok and has surfaced again in Paris.
Group Captain Bamforth (alias Sir David Brockenhurst) - an intelligence officer with MI6 and Air Attache in Paris
Madame Jeanne Durand - a French magazine editor and undercover agent with the French Drug Squad.
Madame Madeleine Bisset - Helen's landlady in Paris
Mr Bukhari - a Pakistani businessman (now deceased)
Ian 'Bisto' Kidman - an ex-RAF friend of Charles's.
Monsieur Bellini - a denizen of the French Underworld.
Andre (aka Scaramouche) - an actor in Montmartre and friend of Kayla's
Dr. Laurent - a veterinary surgeon in Versailles.
Father Pierre Lacroix - vicar of the Versailles Notre Dame church.
Madame Lefauvre - an old woman living in Versailles - the town gossip.
Alain Gaudin - brother of Francoise, a gardener at Monet's house in Giverney
Francoise Gaudin - Alain's intellectually disabled sister.
Estelle Gaudin [deceased] - mother of Francoise and Alain, a prostitute
Mademoiselle Suzanne Gaudin [deceased] - Alain's grandmother, to whom the mysterious 'French letter' of 1903 was addressed.
Jack and Nancy Wilkins - a Wiltshire dairy farmer and his wife.
Gaston Arnoux - Owner of an art gallery in Paris. A triple agent, who infiltrated the ISIS network in France and fed information to MI6, but who is now providing information to Abdul Jaleel Zemar (The Lion).
Colonel Neville Arnoux [deceased] - Gaston's grandfather. Author of the infamous letter of 1903.
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