The Take(109)

“D’Art, it’s Simon.”

“Riske, that you?” asked D’Artagnan Moore. “Why are you calling on a French number?”

“I’ll explain it to you later. Right now I need your help.”

“That sounds ominous.”

“It is.”

“I was joking. So this is serious. Are you all right?”

“Yes, D’Art, I’m fine. I need to ask you a question. Do you ever work with security companies like Brink’s?”

“Brink’s? Of course we do. Can’t transport a Van Gogh in the back of a Volkswagen. Why do you ask?”

“How about in France? Know anyone there?”

“Not offhand, but a friend of mine runs their European operations. Offices are just across the river at Canary Wharf, as a matter of fact.”

“I need you to find out how many trucks are in service right now in and around Marseille.”

“For Brink’s?”

“For all of them.”

“What is it, six o’clock there? Can’t be too many. Banks are closed. Museums as well.”

“That’s what I’m thinking. Ask if they can drill down on those that are on the road and find out specifically who tasked them and where they are going.”

“All trucks are equipped with individual location monitors these days. We can follow them every inch of the way, no matter where they go.”

“That’s what I thought.”

“Anything you’re looking for? Do we need to alert the police?”

“This isn’t anything for the police. At least not yet. We’re looking for a truck that is somewhere it shouldn’t be. Something without a tasking or an assigned driver.”

“A rogue armored car?”

“Something like that.”

“Now you are scaring me.”

“Make that call and get back to me as soon as possible. Oh, and D’Art, I owe you one.”

As Simon ended the call, he heard the helicopter approaching. He touched Nikki’s cheek. “Your ride is here.”

He ran outside and signaled to the chopper, shielding his eyes from the spray of dirt and gravel as it set down. The attendants had Nikki on a stretcher and inside the passenger bay in five minutes. There was no room for Simon.

“Where are you going?” she asked, as the attendant finished strapping her in.

“Not sure.”

Nikki squeezed his hand. “Hey,” she said. “Come here.” Simon came closer. “You never told me how you slipped my cigarette into the box without me seeing.”

“That’s a secret.”

“I won’t tell.”

“Get better and I’ll show you how I did it.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

Nikki lifted her head and kissed him. “I know you’re not giving up.”

“We’ll see.”

“When you find those bastards, give them my regards.”

“Count on it.”

Simon stepped away. The helicopter lifted off the stone butte. Its nose dipped and it dove over the cliff toward the blue water, then rose and flew into the setting sun.

He almost didn’t hear the phone ringing. “D’Art?”

“Not much joy, I’m afraid. I called Garda, Securitas, and all the smaller shops. All their trucks are accounted for. Only Brink’s had anything interesting.”

“Go on.”

“One of their trucks that was listed as ‘under repair’ left their lot a little while ago.”

“Here in Marseille?”

“Nineteen Rue de la Paix. Know where that is?”

“Sure I do. Where is the truck now?”

“As of this moment, the truck appears to be on a highway heading northwest.”

“To the airport?”

“Already past it, I’m afraid.”

Simon sighed with frustration. If not the airport to meet Borodin, then where? “That’s a start.”

“Did I say I was finished? Clients like to follow the trucks transporting their valuables. I texted you a link to the truck’s geo-locator. You can follow it yourself. If it’s the right one…”

“It better be.”

“Good luck, then. By the way, someone’s been asking round about you.”

“Client?”

“Never mind who,” said D’Artagnan Moore in a lighter voice. “Call me as soon as you hit town. Right now it sounds as if you have your hands full enough.”

Simon hung up.

He grabbed the assault rifle and retraced his path to the Ferrari. Five minutes later he was on the Gineste heading west. He kept one eye on the road and one on his phone and the blinking dot on the map. The Brink’s truck had left the main highway ten kilometers past the airport and was headed north. Simon studied the map for possible locations. He spotted a name he hadn’t thought of in almost twenty years. Suddenly, it made sense.

Returning his concentration to the road, he gripped the wheel lightly and depressed the accelerator. Ahead, the sun was setting over the sea, a brilliant fireball poised above a field of shimmering blue.

It was Coluzzi behind the wheel of the Brink’s truck.