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.His watch was large and bulky.It had an aluminium wristband that glinted in the afternoon sun.Viktor’s breath caught in his throat.‘Look,’ he whispered.The guy wasn’t finished with his watch just yet.He used his thumb to release the metal catch on the strap.The wristband sprang open and hung loosely around his painted arm.He flicked his wrist, rotating it fast.The watch swung around in a complete circuit and ended up exactly where it had started.The guy fastened the clamp.Lowered his arm.Viktor’s body slackened.Trent reached out and grabbed his shoulder.‘What is it?’ he asked.‘Do you know that guy?’Viktor nodded, his eyes misty and roving.‘Tell me.’ Trent shook Viktor hard.‘Who is he?’The guy had turned sideways on.He had a low caveman brow.Eyes that seemed to be set just a fraction too far apart.‘He’s one of them,’ Viktor managed, in a voice that quavered with amazement and fear.The guy was walking away now.He was passing through a narrow gap between the flower stall and the butcher’s stand next to it.Trent could see that a blue panel van had been double-parked on the street behind, its hazard lights blinking.‘You’re certain?’ Trent asked.‘I remember the tattoos.And the watch.The gesture.’ Viktor gulped air.He jerked his wrist, mimicking the stunt the guy had pulled with his timepiece.‘He was always doing that.’Trent was out of his chair very fast.He hauled Viktor to his feet by the collar of his shirt.The kid scrabbled at his throat as Trent dragged him away towards where they’d left Viktor’s Golf.Trent didn’t pause or look back.He didn’t hesitate when the waitress called after them.He’d forgotten his newspaper but he wasn’t about to return.He paced through the crowds, Viktor stumbling alongside him, his lungs tight and airless, his heart thumping hard in his chest.Chapter Forty-nineTrent handled the driving.He’d taken the keys from Viktor without any discussion.He didn’t intend to lose the blue van.He wanted to be in complete control.And besides, Viktor was in no shape to drive.He was curled up in the front passenger seat, his scarred hand tucked protectively under his right arm, his body twisted to one side, as if shying away from the situation.He kept sneaking a look out through the windscreen, then cowering back into his seat.Trent asked himself if he should pull over and let Viktor out.But he didn’t want to stop.Didn’t want to delay.Traffic was heavy in central Marseilles.They could get snarled up and lose sight of the van.It wasn’t a chance he was willing to take.‘The guy with the tattoos and the watch,’ Trent said.‘Is he Xavier?’Viktor shook his head, quick and wary.‘You’re sure? You said they always wore masks.’‘They did.He’s not Xavier.But he’s definitely one of them.’‘Based on the watch thing?’‘I remember it.And the tattoos.The way he stands.His shape.’‘OK,’ Trent said.‘It’s him.’ There was no faking the terror in Viktor’s voice.His words were shaky but his conviction was strong.Trent nodded.‘I believe you.’He reached inside his shirt pocket, removed his mobile and flipped it open.He offered it to Viktor.Told him the four-digit security code.‘Type in the number plate,’ he said.‘I don’t want to forget it.’Viktor almost dropped the phone.He scrambled to catch it, then prodded at the keypad with clumsy fingers.The blue van was a Renault Trafic.It was probably no more than three or four years old.It was clean and well maintained.It featured no signwork and no distinguishing marks.Chances were high that the plates were fake but it was about the only thing they’d have to go on if Trent lost the tail.The van was moving east through the city, heading towards the tunnel that ran under the Vieux Port where Trent had pursued Jérôme, Stephanie and Alain in the Mercedes.Viktor prodded a final button.‘Should I call the police?’ he asked.Trent didn’t respond.The van was preparing to turn left at a junction up ahead.Trent moderated his speed.He didn’t want to get too close but he didn’t want to get trapped by the lights, either.There were two cars between them.‘I think we should call the police,’ Viktor said, like he’d reached a decision for both of them.‘I can do it.I can give them the licence number.’The lights were green.Trent hung his tongue out of his mouth and made the turn.The van accelerated on.An average speed.Not conspicuously slow.Not unusually fast.Trent didn’t believe that they’d been spotted.He guessed it helped that the guy was driving a panel van.There was no glass in the back doors so he was having to use his side mirrors, supposing he used them at all.And none of the gang members would be expecting him to be driving a black Golf.‘Or you can call them,’ Viktor said.‘You can tell them what we’ve learned.’Trent shook his head.‘No police.’‘But we want them caught, right?’Trent reached across and snatched his phone.He checked the plate number that Viktor had recorded and then he closed the device and slipped it inside his shirt pocket.‘These men are dangerous,’ Viktor told him.‘They could kill us.’Trent squeezed the steering wheel.Focused on the van.‘Not if I kill them first.’* * *The van left the city on the A7 autoroute.It passed the docks, then the airport.Its speed stayed just north of legal.It made no erratic manoeuvres.No sudden lane changes.There was nothing to suggest that the guy with the watch knew that Trent was following him.Trent stayed eight car lengths behind.Three vehicles between them.He squeezed closer whenever an exit approached.Dropped back once they passed a turn-off.He was visualising that straining length of elastic again.Imagining it stretching and relaxing.Pulling tight and slackening off.It was the same piece of elastic that had tied him to Jérôme.It bound them still [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]