Devil's Banker by Reich Christopher

Author:Reich, Christopher [Reich, Christopher]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2003-11-27T05:00:00+00:00

Leclerc threw his leg over the saddle of the Ducati, zipped up his jacket, and slid the key into the ignition. Chapel, he was thinking, you really must learn to close your mouth. He knew it was stupid to expect so much. Americans were a loudmouthed bunch in general, even when they spoke in whispers. A thought had yet to cross their minds that they did not feel obliged to share with the rest of the world. Turning the key, Leclerc started the engine, but a second later, he turned it off again. Inexplicably, he felt nailed to that very spot.

It isn’t right, a voice from a long-silent corner of his soul repeated.

Leclerc scoffed at it, but answered nonetheless. “I’m a soldier. I follow orders. That’s that.”

A soldier who cowers in the stairwell when the others charge.

“A smart one,” he answered, amazed at his conscience’s newfound temerity. “One who does as he’s told. I’m alive. They’re dead. Don’t confuse being foolish with being brave. Besides, who else could have found out about the Trust or Monsieur Ange?”

So why didn’t you tell them about him? Surely they’d be interested.

Finally, Leclerc had no more answers. He mumbled something about Chapel being an ingrate, but his words lacked conviction. He was looking for ways to hate the American, only to keep from hating himself. Chapel, who ran into danger without a backward glance. Chapel, who had every right to ask what Boubilas had said. Chapel, the accountant, who was every inch the soldier Leclerc should be. Suddenly, he raised his fist and crashed it down on his leg. The pain was welcome, if only to distract him from the lingering burn of Gadbois’s huge palm on his back. A swat on the back was the general’s ultimate compliment.

“You can give them the Holy Land Trust,” he’d said when Leclerc had met him at five-thirty that morning to debrief him about the Boubilas interrogation. “But that’s all.”

“They need to know the other thing, too,” Leclerc had protested. “You know, the other man. Maybe the agency has a line on him. He’s the boss. They’ve got to know.”

“No,” said Gadbois. “Ange is for us alone.”

“You know him?”

“Know who?” Gadbois shook his head, the old lion looking his age. “There is no such person.”

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