The Crowded Grave

Bayonne in 1983. The son is forty next year, and we’ve never laid eyes on him, since he was arrested at a student demonstration. What can I say? They have very good security. It’s almost impossible for a non-Basque to infiltrate them.”
    “And now we come to the latest drama,” said the brigadier. “Bruno, what do you know about this morning’s bombing? There was something on my car radio about a war on foie gras, but Isabelle e-mailed me that there could be a connection.”
    “There’s certainly a connection with the dynamite theft from the local quarry,” Bruno replied. He explained that the dynamite that was used had come from the batch that was stolen the previous day and there was a scrawled slogan about animal rights on the side of the building.
    “Is anything more known about any of these students?” asked the brigadier.
    “We put through a routine inquiry to all the relevant foreign police, but nothing of significance came back,” Isabelle said. “I’ll do it again with a priority code, and with a special request under your name asking for a full security readout on the two students directly involved in the earlier attacks.”
    “The Dutch girl was supposed to have been back home in Holland by the time the bomb went off,” Bruno said.
    “We’ll get the Dutch police to do an eyeball, make sure she’s there.”
    “What I really want to know is how and when the informationabout this summit meeting leaked out,” Bruno went on. “How did the ETA group find out it was taking place? If we’re sure they do know, that is.”
    Isabelle and Carlos looked at each other, as if sharing something on which Bruno had not been briefed. But knowing the brigadier, he felt a suspicion begin to dawn.
    “That comes under the category of need to know,” said the brigadier, his image flickering so that Bruno could not read his expression. But his words confirmed Bruno’s thoughts.
    Bruno looked from the brigadier to Carlos and Isabelle at the table. A controlled anger was building inside him at the way these people worked, at the job Isabelle had chosen to do, the job that she had preferred to him and the life he offered in St. Denis.
    “I think you leaked it deliberately, setting a trap for this ETA cell to fall into,” Bruno said, his voice deceptively calm and his manner as restrained and philosophical as he could conjure. “You’re using this summit as a lure. You’re putting my town at risk of a terrorist attack and you’re even using your own minister as bait.”
    “Putain,”
said J-J. “He’d better not be right about this. That’s two top ministers’ lives you’re playing with.”
    “The ministers are in full agreement with this operation,” said Carlos.
    “In the meantime, you all have your to-do lists,” said the brigadier, coldly. “And if you breathe a word of this to anyone outside that room, Bruno, I’ll have your job and your pension.”
    He leaned forward and pressed something and the video screen went blank.
    “A useful meeting,” Isabelle said briskly, gathering her files and folders. “I think it went well, considering. We all have our jobs to do and we meet again to report back at six. By then, let’s make sure we have some results, shall we?”
    She began to stalk out, but her bad leg failed and she stumbled. Carlos steadied her by the arm and led her out, neither one of them with a backward glance.
    “Putain de merde,”
said J-J, looking after them as they left the conference room. “What do they do to these people?”

19
    The text message that Bruno had ignored since the beginning of the security meeting had come from Annette. It was politely worded but uncompromising. His presence at the gendarmerie was required as soon as possible. On arrival he asked Sergeant Jules if he knew what she wanted.
    “She’s been with Duroc in his office most of the morning,” Jules said, shrugging. “I know they went to Gravelle’s place to see the bomb damage and then I saw her give a radio interview outside.” He jerked his thumb at the small radio on the side of the counter, its volume turned low. “It hasn’t been played yet, but I’ll be listening.” He gave Bruno a quizzical look. “There’s a disposable razor and some soap in the shower room downstairs. I’d use it if I were you.”
    Bruno took the advice, and a few minutes later, cheeks stinging slightly from the crude soap, he straightened his uniform, tucked his hat under his arm and knocked on