Hunting for Silence (Storm and Silence 5)

‘Why?’ The Mohammedan’s eyes narrowed. ‘Do you believe that man has not killed before? He is nothing but a paid thug in the service of a power-hungry maniac!’

‘Yes. Which for me makes him rather easy to relate to. Besides, think for a second! This isn’t a firefight in the middle of the godforsaken desert. This in Paris, in the middle of France, and killing him would be murder. A chargeable offence. Do you really want to put that kind of advantage in Dalgliesh’s hands?’

‘Mr Linton is right, Karim,’ came Mr Ambrose cool voice from behind me. ‘About both parts.’

Karim stood there for another long moment—then slowly lowered his sabre. ‘Very well. What do you suggest we do with him?’

I let my gaze travel across the courtyard, looking for anything that could be used to restrain the man—until my eyes landed on something lying on the ground only a few feet away.

‘I think I have an idea.’

Five minutes later, the unconscious guard was wrapped up in a red, blue and golden dress and gagged with a pair of similarly patriotic gloves. I had even placed a red and blue bonnet on his head to complete the picture.

‘Doesn’t he look adorable?’ Grinning, I admired my work.

‘Indeed,’ Mr Ambrose said, his face as stony as a slab of slate. ‘Let’s go.’

With a sigh of regret, I followed as he stalked away in the shadow of the wall. I would have loved to have been there when the other soldiers discovered their comrade. But, I told myself, you can’t have everything in life. Preventing an intercontinental war would have to be enough for tonight.

Suddenly, Mr Ambrose held up a hand. I stopped in my tracks and, at another gesture, ducked behind a fountain. A few seconds later, two soldiers emerged from the shadows and marched past us, backs straight, rifles up in the air.

‘Now!’ Mr Ambrose whispered when they had passed. ‘Before the next patrol comes!’

Quickly, I unwound the rope from around my waist. Karim lifted me as he had before, and I clutched the wall to steady myself. I looped the rope over the nearest spike and—

‘Hey, you! What are you doing there?’

Crap!

Twisting around, I glimpsed a figure in red, blue and gold, who had just stepped out of the back of the house. I didn’t hesitate a second. Without even using the horse blanket I pulled myself up and flung myself over the spikes. The sharp metal tore into my hand, but I clenched my teeth and ignored the pain. This was no time to be a ninny!

‘Stop! Stop, and put up your hands!’ came the shouts of the fast approaching soldiers.

An instant later, Karim appeared atop the wall. In a move that was pretty risky for his manly parts, he crouched down over the iron spikes and extended a hand.

‘Come, Sahib!’

‘Move, Karim! You’re a sitting duck! I’ll be up there in a second.’

‘Not until you’re up here with me, Sahib.’

Bam!

The shot ripped through Karim’s turban, scattering bits of cloth left and right. The Mohammedan didn’t even blink an eye.

‘Come, Sahib. Now!’

Yes, come you bloody stubborn idiot! Move your tight, money-shitting derrière! I need it! And the rest of you, too!

An incredibly long second passed—then Mr Ambrose’s hand appeared above the crest of the wall. Karim clasped it and tugged.

Bam!

‘Aaarh!’

I heard a dull thud, and out of the gloom above me, a few wet droplets of red hit my face.

The Peaceful French Countryside