France was the biggest consumer per head of oysters anywhere in the world, and the biggest producer in Europe, the commissaire explained. The country produced over 160,000 tons of oysters a year, worth more than €600 million annually. Almost half of the oysters were sold in December. Police sources in Paris, Lyon, and Lille had picked up hints at restaurants of cut-rate oysters being available for those with the right connections. That was why Operation Dominique had been mounted.

The role of Bruno and the twenty-nine other rural policemen who had been put under political pressure to join Operation Dominique was relatively modest. They would each patrol different sections of beach throughout the night, using night-vision glasses borrowed from the French army. They had all been equipped with portable sensors to track the radio transmitters in case the drones failed. The sensors looked like a smartphone. Bruno and the others had to report each truck that arrived on their stretch of beach, note the number of the license plate, and check the driver’s papers. The police had been equipped with mug shots of locals with previous convictions and photos of other suspects. Bruno reckoned the chance of his recognizing someone at night, probably with a scarf around his face against the cold, would be close to nil.

“These are tough guys, people who know the oyster trade and have the contacts to sell the stuff by the truckload,” the commissaire went on. “You’re each armed, but the usual rules of engagement apply. Only fire if you have reason to believe that you or an innocent civilian could be in danger. Use your heads. Stay in touch on the radio so we know if you are stopping a truck, and we can have reinforcements with you within minutes by chopper. We have armed gendarme teams standing by.”

Bruno had studied the relevant maps before coming down to Bordeaux the previous evening from his home in the Périgord, nearly two hundred kilometers inland. The coastline of Arcachon Bay was at least fifty kilometers long, not counting the sprawling beaches to each side of the entrance to the bay. That meant each of the thirty rural cops had to patrol close to two kilometers of ground. On the maps Bruno had counted more than a hundred roads and paths leading away from the endless beaches, and locals probably knew of more that weren’t shown. There were five sizeable towns and dozens of small villages around the bay. With the huge market of New Year’s Eve awaiting them, every one of the five hundred local oystermen would be out in the bay and bringing in his harvest.