The English Girl: A Novel

and left him with the don.”
    “Trust me, Gabriel—he wouldn’t have lasted long. Orsati doesn’t like problems.”
    “And, as Stalin liked to say, death solves all problems.”
    “No man, no problem,” said Keller, finishing the quotation.
    “But what if the man was lying to us?”
    “The man had no reason to lie.”
    “Why?”
    “Because he knew he was never going to leave that boat alive.” Keller lowered his voice and added, “He was just hoping we would give him a painless death instead of letting him drown.”
    “Is this another one of your theories?”
    “Marseilles rules,” replied Keller. “When things start out violently down here, they always end violently.”
    “And what if René Brossard isn’t sitting at Le Provence at five ten with a metal attaché case at his feet? What then?”
    “He’ll be there.”
    Gabriel wished he could share Keller’s confidence, but experience wouldn’t allow it. He checked his wristwatch and calculated the time they had left to find her.
    “If Brossard does happen to show,” he said, “it might be better if we don’t kill him before he can lead us to the house where they’re hiding Madeline.”
    “And then?”
    Death solves all problems, thought Gabriel. No man, no problem.

14
    AIX-EN-PROVENCE, FRANCE
    T he ancient city of Aix-en-Provence, founded by Romans, conquered by Visigoths, and adorned by kings, had little in common with Marseilles, its gritty neighbor to the south. Marseilles had drugs, crime, and an Arab quarter where little French was spoken; Aix had museums, shopping, and one of the country’s finest universities. The Aixois tended to look down their noses at Marseilles. They ventured there rarely, mainly to use the airport, then fled as quickly as possible, hopefully while still in possession of their valuables.
    Aix’s main thoroughfare was the Cours Mirabeau, a long, broad boulevard lined with cafés and shaded by two parallel rows of leafy plane trees. Just to the north was a tangle of narrow streets and tiny squares known as the Quartier Ancien. It was mainly a pedestrian quarter, with all but the largest streets closed to motor traffic. Gabriel performed a series of time-tested Office maneuvers to see whether he was being followed. Then, after determining he was alone, he made his way to a busy little square along the rue Espariat. In the center of the square was an ancient column topped by a Roman capital; and on the southeastern corner, partially obscured by a large tree, was Le Provence. There were a few tables on the square and more along the rue Espariat, where two old men sat staring into space, a bottle of pastis between them. It was a place for locals more than tourists, thought Gabriel. A place where a man like René Brossard would feel comfortable.
    Entering, Gabriel went to the tabac counter and asked for a pack of Gauloises and a copy of Nice-Matin ; and while waiting for his change, he surveyed the interior to make certain there was only one way in and out. Then he went outside to select a fixed observation post that would allow him to see the tables on both sides of the restaurant’s exterior. As he was weighing his options, a pair of Japanese teenagers approached and in dreadful French asked if he would take their picture. Gabriel pretended not to understand. Then he turned and walked along the rue Espariat, past the blank stares of the two old Provençal men, to the Place du General de Gaulle.
    The roar of the cars racing around the busy traffic circle was jarring after the pedestrian quiet of the Quartier Ancien. It was possible Brossard would leave Aix by another route, but Gabriel doubted it; a car could get no closer to Le Provence than the Place du General de Gaulle. It would happen quickly, he thought, and if they weren’t prepared, they would lose him. He peered down the cours Mirabeau, at the leaves of the plane trees fluttering in the faint breeze, and calculated the number of operatives and vehicles it would take to do the job correctly. Twelve at least, with four vehicles to avoid detection during the pursuit to the isolated property where they were holding the girl. Shaking his head slowly, he walked over to a café at the edge of the traffic circle where Keller sat drinking coffee alone.
    “Well?” asked the Englishman.
    “We need a motorbike.”
    “Where’s the money you took from Lacroix before I killed him?”
    Frowning, Gabriel patted his midsection. Keller left a few euros on the table