The English Girl: A Novel

Mer, in the town of Grand-Fort-Philippe. A reservation had been made there under the name Annette Ricard. Gabriel was to check into the room using his own credit card and explain that a Mademoiselle Ricard would be joining him later that evening. Gabriel had never heard of the hotel, or even of the town where it was located. He found it using the Internet browser on his personal mobile phone. Grand-Fort-Philippe was just west of Dunkirk, scene of one of the greatest military humiliations in British history. In the spring of 1940, more than three hundred thousand members of the British Expeditionary Force were evacuated from Dunkirk’s beaches as France was falling to Nazi Germany. In their haste to leave, the British forces had no choice but to abandon enough materiel to equip some ten divisions. It was possible the kidnappers hadn’t realized any of this when they had chosen the hotel, but Gabriel doubted it.
    The Hotel de la Mer was not actually by the sea. Compact, tidy, and covered with a fresh coat of white paint, it overlooked the tidal river that split the town in two. Gabriel intentionally drove past the entrance three times before finally easing into an angled parking space along the quay. No one from the hotel came to help him; it was not that kind of place. He waited for a lone car to pass before switching off the engine. Then, after burying the key deep in the front pocket of his jeans, he climbed quickly out. The two suitcases were surprisingly heavy. Indeed, had he not known the contents, he would have assumed that Jeremy Fallon had filled them with lead weights. Gulls circled slowly overhead, as if hoping he might collapse beneath the weight of his burden.
    The hotel had no proper lobby, only a cramped vestibule where a bald, thin clerk sat somnambulantly behind a desk. Despite the fact there were only eight rooms, it took a moment for him to locate the reservation. Gabriel paid in cash, violating one of the kidnappers’ demands, and left a generous deposit for incidentals.
    “Is there a second key for the room?” he asked.
    “Of course.”
    “May I have it, please?”
    “But what about Mademoiselle Ricard?”
    “I’ll let her in.”
    The clerk frowned disapprovingly as he slid the extra key across the desktop.
    “There are no others?” asked Gabriel. “Just this one?”
    “The maid has a master key, of course. And so do I.”
    “And you’re sure there’s no one in the room?” he asked.
    “Positive,” said the clerk. “I just finished preparing it myself.”
    For this thoughtful gesture, Gabriel placed a ten-euro note upon the desk. It was seized by a grimy hand and disappeared into the pocket of an ill-fitting blazer.
    “Do you require assistance with your luggage?” he asked, as though assisting Gabriel was the last thing on his mind that evening.
    “No, thank you,” said Gabriel cheerfully. “I think I can manage.”
    He wheeled the suitcases across the linoleum floor, then did his best to make them appear weightless as he lifted them off the ground by their grips and started up the narrow staircase. His room was on the third floor, at the end of a dimly lit hall. Gabriel inserted the key into the lock with the care of a doctor wielding a medical probe. Entering, he found the room empty and a single light burning weakly on the bedside table. He rolled the bags just across the threshold. Then, after closing the door and drawing his Beretta, he quickly searched the closet and the bathroom. Finally, certain he was alone, he chained the door, barricaded it with every piece of furniture in the room, and wedged the two suitcases beneath the bed. As he stood upright again, the phone he had collected in Calais rang for the second time. “Very good,” said the same computer-generated voice. “Now listen carefully.”
    T his time, Gabriel issued several demands of his own. She had to come alone, with no backup, and no weapon. Gabriel reserved the right to search her—thoroughly and intrusively, he added, just so there were no misunderstandings. After that, she could take all the time she needed to verify that the notes were genuine and, when tallied, amounted to a sum of ten million euros. She could count the money, smell it, taste it, or make love to it—Gabriel didn’t care, so long as she made no attempt to steal it. If she did that, said Gabriel, she would get hurt, badly, and the deal would be off. “And don’t make any stupid threats about killing Madeline,” he said.