Night Probe! (Dirk Pitt 6)

A hideous grin spread across his face. "I'm fixing it so you and your lover can spend eternity together."

"No reason to murder her," Villon groaned through the agony. "For God'ssake, let her go free."

"Sorry," said Gly callously. "She's part of the bargain."

"What bargain?"

There was no answer. Gly slammed the door and began climbing up the sloping embankment. He rapidly reached the top and disappeared into the darkness. A few minutes later they heard the sound of a heavy diesel engine knocking to life.

The engine began to strain as though it was working under a heavy load. The throaty roar of the exhaust drew closer and then a huge silver scoop crept out over the rim of the ditch. Suddenly it tilted downward and three-and-a-half cubic yards of dirt rained down around the roof of the Mercedes. Danielle let out a pitiful cry.

"Oh, Mary, mother of Jesus . . . he's going to bury us alive oh, no, please no!"

Gly coldly ignored the pitiful plea and shifted the front-end loader into reverse, angling the bucket for the next bite of earth. He knew the position of every lever, their use and how to activate them. For two nights he had practiced, filling sections of the ditch so expertly that the dirt-moving crew had never noticed that an extra twenty feet of the open pipeline had been filled for them between work shifts.

Danielle fought frantically to break the chain on her handcuffs. The flesh around her wrists was quickly chafed into bloody shreds.

"Henri!" Her cry had become a gagging whimper now. "Don't let me die, not like this."

Villon did not seem to hear. The end would come sooner for him. He knew he was only a few seconds away from bleeding to death.

"Odd," he whispered. "Odd that the last man to die for Quebec liberty is me. Who would have ever thought." His voice faded away.

The car was almost completely covered. The only parts that still showed were a portion of the shattered windshield, the three-cornered star emblem

on the hood and one headlight.

A figure moved to the edge of the embankment and stood in the light. It was not Foss Gly, but another man. He looked down: his face was frozen in deep sorrow, and tears glistened on his cheeks.

For a brief instant, Danielle stared at him in horror. Her color turned ghastly. She placed her free hand against the glass in a pleading gesture. Then slowly, her eyes mirrored an understanding look, and her mouth formed the words "Forgive me'.

The bucket was tipped again, the dirt fell and all sight of the car was blotted out.

At last the ditch was filled to ground level, and the exhaust of the front-end loader died into the night.

Only then did a saddened Charles Sarveux turn and walk away.

The airfield at Lac St. Joseph, deep in the hills northeast of Quebec City, was one of several belonging to the Royal Canadian Air Force that had been shut down because of budget cuts. Its two-mile runway was off limits to commercial aircraft, but was still used by the military for training and emergency landings.

Henri Villon's plane stood in front of a weathered metal hangar. A fuel truck was parked beside it and two men in raincoats were making a preflight check. Inside, in an office bare of furniture except for a rusting metal workbench, Charles Sarveux and Commissioner Finn stood in silence and watched the proceedings through a dirty window. The earlier drizzle had turned into a driving rain that leaked through the roof of the hangar in a dozen places.

Foss Gly was stretched out comfortably on a blanket. His hands were clasped behind his head and he was oblivious to the water that splashed beside him on the cement floor. There was an air of smugness about him, of complacency almost, as he gazed up at the metal-beamed ceiling. The Villon disguise was gone and he was himself again. Outside, the pilot jumped from the wing to the ground and dog-trotted to the hangar. He poked his head in the office door.

"Ready when you are," he announced.

Gly came to a sitting position. "What did you find?"

"Nothing. We inspected every system, every square inch, even the quality of the gas and oil. Nobody's tampered with it. It's clean."

"Okay, start up the engines."

The pilot nodded and ducked back into the rain.

"Well, gentlemen," said Gly, "I guess I'll be on my way."

Sarveux silently nodded to Commissioner Finn. The Mountie set two large suitcases on the workbench and opened them.

"Thirty million well-worn Canadian dollars," said Finn, his face deadpan.