‘That’s why you’re going to help me finish him, once and for all. Do we have a deal?’

Another pause. Then, ‘Yes. All right. We have a deal.’

Segal gave Ben the address of a hotel near the Port of Le Havre. They agreed to meet in the lobby. Then Segal thanked him again, and the call was over.

Roth hadn’t moved from the armchair, but one eye was open. ‘Are we on?’

Ben said, ‘We’re on. Let’s roll.’

Chapter 45

The 200-kilometre drive took them north and east towards the Normandy coast, almost exactly half the distance back to Le Val. It was motorway all the way, the A13 straightening out the sinuous, meandering path of the Seine River that connected Paris to the major port city of Le Havre.

Ben’s watch was ticking towards 5.20 a.m. by the time he pulled up in the off-street parking at Julien Segal’s hotel on a street named after some dead admiral, close to the sixteenth-century cathedral that was one of the town’s only buildings to have survived the devastation inflicted on it during the 1944 Normandy invasion. But Segal hadn’t chosen the hotel for its scenic view or luxury. It was a basic, no-frills establishment just a stone’s throw from the docks, where he clearly wished to keep a low profile.

Dawn was some time away. A light rain was falling, driven inland by a gusty wind from the Channel. Ben shut off the engine and rolled his head around his shoulders to relieve the tension in his muscles. His eyes were burning and felt dry. He’d driven fast to get here in so short a time. Roth had remained silent the whole way, deep in his own thoughts, whatever those were. Margot Segal was still asleep on the back seat, lying curled up with a travel blanket over her and her head resting on Ben’s bag. It couldn’t have made for a very soft pillow, filled as it was with weaponry and ammunition, but she’d been so washed out by the last two traumatic days and nights that she didn’t seem to care. Ben had given her some spare clothes he’d found in the safehouse, an old pair of jeans that needed to be rolled up at the bottom, a holey T-shirt and a baggy olive-green army pullover that draped over her like a tent.

He gently woke her, telling her they’d arrived. Her eyes blinked blearily open and then filled with excitement at the prospect of being reunited with her husband. The early morning dampness shrouded them with its sea-salty tang as they walked from the car towards the hotel lobby entrance. Roth carried the bag and Ben held onto Margot’s arm because she was still weak and shaky.