“Paul Deschutes died from cancer three months after I was released. I asked about him.”
“Last I checked prisons aren’t as honest as they might be, reporting these kinds of things.”
“You’re lying. The monsignor never got out of solitary.”
“Maybe I have him mixed up with someone else. Tall man, long hair he refused to cut. Spooky blue eyes. Oh…and he had great skill in martial arts even in his condition. He would teach some of the younger guys.”
Simon felt his pulse racing. He’d never questioned how the monsignor had died. “You didn’t?”
“I couldn’t let him hang around the yard knowing he’d spent all that time with you. The way I see it, I just shortened his suffering.”
Simon saw the taunting in his eyes, the casual cruelty. He didn’t know if Coluzzi was telling the truth. Maybe. Maybe not. It didn’t matter. Simon had spent years getting as far away as possible from him and those like him. He refused to go back.
“Open the safe,” said Simon quietly, without rancor.
Coluzzi waited for a more heated reaction, and when none came he lowered his head and turned the dial a last time. Of course, it was the same combination as the other safe. He opened the door. There at the bottom was a buff-colored envelope.
“Here,” he said. “Have a look.”
Concerned, Nikki came closer. Simon said everything was all right. He studied the envelope, then opened it and read the note inside.
“What does it say?” Nikki asked.
“It’s not what it says, it’s who said it.” Simon slipped the note back inside the envelope and prepared to hand it to Nikki.
He did not see Coluzzi dip back into the safe. He noted only a flash of motion from the corner of his eye. Then Coluzzi was raising his hand. Simon glimpsed a small silver canister. He shut his eyes tightly as Coluzzi shot the pepper spray into his face. The pain was immediate and devastating. Simon dropped the letter, his hands reflexively moving to his eyes. At the same time, Coluzzi kicked the door closed, then jumped to his feet and locked it.
“Simon!” Nikki pounded the door.
“Shoot him!” Simon fell to his side, the spray searing his eyes, burning, burning. He blinked and the pain worsened. He could see nothing.
“Lay down,” shouted Nikki.
A moment passed and she fired three bullets into the lock. The door burst open. She was at his side. “Are you all right?”
“Where is he?”
“He’s gone. There was a side door.”
“Get him. I’ll be okay.”
Chapter 65
Those are gunshots.”
Neill lay on his belly on a rock overlooking Coluzzi’s hideout. Next to him, also in a prone position, Makepeace looked through the high-powered scope of a sniper’s rifle.
“See anything?” Neill asked.
“Everyone’s inside the house.”
Neill stifled an expletive, his patience at an end. He didn’t know how much longer he could stand back and watch from a distance. He’d followed Riske and the French policewoman to Coluzzi’s house in Aubagne, losing sight of him time and again to maintain his cover. It had been the hardest decision in his life not to enter and end things there. He’d counted on Riske’s calm, his maturity and devotion to doing his job properly. Ambassador Shea had said of him: “All I know about Riske is that you can count on him to do the right thing. He’s got himself a backbone.”
Neill had learned that all too well these past twenty-four hours.
“Sir, I’ve got something. It’s our man.”
“Riske?”
