Chapter 9: Up and down in Paris and Menton

A bead of perspiration slid slowly down my forehead and onto my eye brow, paused, and then continued its downward path to my eyelid. I brushed the sweat away with the back of my right hand and resettled my eye on the eye piece of the rifle’s sniper scope. Although my target was no more than 60 metres away I had to place my shot in the particular spot where the untidy edge of hair on my target’s nape abutted a roll of his neck fat.

I took up first pressure, steadied my breathing and then gently squeezed the trigger. The phhtt of the air rifle would not have been heard by anyone within five metres of me and I knew there was no one nearer to me in the Bois de Boulogne than my target, seated on a park bench alongside the Avenue de l’Hippodrome. When the dart, tipped with the sweat of Phyllobates terribilis aka the Golden poison frog, hit the intended spot on my target’s neck he briefly flapped at what he thought was a biting insect, dislodging the tiny feathered dart after receiving its deadly cargo. The pin prick would go unnoticed by medical staff when the target, who now had less than an hour to live, was brought into the emergency room suffering a cardiac arrest. Even if an autopsy was called for the poison would not show up on the standard toxicity test. The pin prick, hidden in a fold of neck fat, would require the keenest eyed pathologist to first notice it and then call for an intensive, more expensive, toxicity test.

I heard the sound of an approaching vehicle and glanced at my watch. Dead on time! I inwardly smiled at my judicious turn of phrase. Seated In the back seat of the approaching taxi was the young whore with whom the target intended spending an afternoon of torrid sex. The cab stopped opposite him and the overweight, soon to be deadweight, man got from the bench and lumbered towards the vehicle. The rear passenger door opened and a young woman wearing an indecently short skirt and low cut blouse beckoned him. “Hurry up, Gaston,” she said. “The sooner we get to the hotel the sooner you can do what you like doing best.”

The man laughed. “Yes, cherie, and what I like doing the best is what you do the best.”

He was a dead man walking. The poison was already coursing its way through his blood stream and I wondered which would come first, expending himself inside or expiring on top of her. Either way it was going to be an embarrassing and unpleasant experience for the young whore and I hoped her remuneration was enough to cover any damage to her psyche. The man got into the taxi as the driver, looking in my general direction but unable to spot me in the bushes, raised a thumb before the taxi sped away.

I disassembled the rifle, which packed up neatly and was easily concealed in the camera telescopic lens holder I had slung over my shoulder, making me appear to be a photographical ornithologist, and then made my way to the RV (rendezvous), a room in the Hotel Splendide where the rest of the team awaited me.

“Well done, Professor,” said Pierre Dubois, the driver of the taxi, as I arrived some thirty minutes later. “I didn’t think you had the balls to pull the trigger but by the way the sweat was pouring off Gaston when he got in my cab he was well on the way to a heart attack even before sticking his dick into that young slut Candice.”

Bear, who had his radio scanner tuned to the police and ambulance frequencies, held up a hand. “Ambulance called to the Hotel Augustus,” he said.

Pierre beamed a smile. “That’s the hotel where I dropped them off. He didn’t waste a minute before getting stuck into Candice!”

“What a way to go,” Maurice said. “I wouldn’t mind shuffling off this mortal coil while a young girl orgasms beneath me!”

Some ten minutes later Bear again held up his hand. “The first responders are using a defibrillator with no response as yet.” We waited another few minutes before Bear relayed what he was hearing over the radio.

“They are calling it a Dead On Arrival and will take the body straight to the mortuary,” Bear announced, and then switched off the receiver.

Maurice stood up from his chair. “Mission accomplished, gentlemen. I think we all deserve a drink!”

‘That one was for you, Alfie me old china,’ I said to myself.

The man who I had just assassinated – murdered – was Gaston Sancerre de Valois the officer responsible for the deaths of Alfie Hinds, Dimitri Raganovski and many others due to his blundering action during Operation Achilles in Africa. (Alfie’s ‘real’ name was Joseph Mundy but to me the Cockney Englishman would always be Alfie Hinds). As far as I was concerned Alfie’s death alone was reason enough for Sancerre de Valois extermination but that was not the reason for his Terminal Reassignment as non-judicial executions are known.

After the debacle in Africa Sancerre de Valois resigned his commission and left the Legion; had he stayed he would have ended up dead in a ditch. The man had disgraced the legion and caused the deaths of men whose boots he was not worthy to lick. After his resignation his politically influential family got him elected to the National Assembly as depute for Rheims but Sancerre de Valois was useless even in that sinecure. He had to give up his seat when it was discovered he was taking bribes – ‘Lobbying’, as it is known in the corridors of power. There are limits to the amount of ‘lobbying’ allowed and Sancerre de Valois had greatly exceeded the limits, which of course meant less for the other deputes and the main reason he was kicked out of office.

His family ensured he was elected to the European Union Parliament, a talking shop and money making place for those ‘politicians’ not up to the standard required in their home parliaments. Being a MEP (Member of the European Parliament) allowed him greater opportunities for graft and swindling the tax paying public who were funding his extravagant life style. During an official, all expenses paid, visit to Portugal he was arrested in Lisbon for possession of cocaine and having under-age sex (the age of consent in Portugal is 14). However he claimed diplomatic immunity, and to avoid any unpleasantness with France he was allowed to leave Portugal but banned from re-entering.

After that incident Sancerre de Valois had to resign from his EU parliamentary seat but his long suffering family found him a non-elected position in the European Commission where he continued his greedy thieving and his penchant for underage girls, and any other aged females he could lay his sweaty hands on. He thought himself fire proof because of his well-connected and respected family and he knew the sordid secrets of many deputes, MEPs, and members of the EU Commission. Eventually even his family grew tired of his criminal and licentious behaviour and made it known that there would be few tears shed, and no questions asked, if Gaston Sancerre Valois – known to have a heart condition being so grossly overweight – went to the Great Beyond before his threescore and ten, and before bringing the family name into further disrepute and/or spilling the beans on the sordid secrets of his former fellow deputes, MEPs and EU Commission members.

When I had seen who the reassignée was I volunteered for the job although it was Pierre Dubois and Maurice who normally shared the assassination duties. Bear was the communication and engineering expert while my brief was chemicals and explosives.

After finishing his celebratory drink Pierre Dubois got from the table. “I’ve got a hot date with a hot female named Desirée tonight. She will be waiting for me with open arms and legs so I’ll bid you farewell.” He clapped me on the back “Come along with me, Philippe. Desirée has a just as hot sister, Deidre, living with her and after what you did earlier I reckon you’ve earned a red hot shag. I can vouch for Deidre’s hotness as I’ve had her a few times when Desiree wasn’t available.”

I was surprised by Dubois’s invitation on two counts. First that he addressed me as Philippe after all the years of calling me ‘Professor’ and second that he would think I’d shag any woman he had been through.

I politely refused the offer. “Thanks, Pierre, but I’ve got to get back to Menton.” I looked at Maurice “Are you coming back with me or, as you’re here, hit the Paris casinos?”

“Neither, Philippe. I have to report to the Quai d’Orsay.”

“The Foreign Ministry?”

“The Legion has a presence there and the office from where our orders come from is in the building. A new man has been put in charge of the office and I’m making a courtesy call.” He saw my look of surprise. “Not the reassignment orders, they come from the Élysée Palace.”

“Who is our new boss, Maurice?” Bear asked.

“Pierre Gustave Beauregard, remember him?”

“Yeah, unfortunately!”

“He’s not that bad although I admit he was less than average as a combat officer. But his forte is management so at least the office will be run more efficiently.”

“Well, I’m off. If I don’t get to Desirée soon she’ll start without me,” Pierre Dubois said. “When you see Gaseous Gus give him a kick up the arse from me, Maurice!” With that he strode out of the bar and made it hotfoot to his hotter date.

“I’ll see you in Menton later this week, Philippe. I will probably give the casinos a go after seeing Beauregard,” Maurice said before shaking my hand. “I hope things turn out all right for you and ... err...”

“Yolande,” I reminded him.

“Yes, of course, Madam Faucher. Please give her my regards.” He then shook hands with Bear and left the bar.

Bear and I finished our drinks and then made our way to the Gare de Lyon to take the TGV to Marseille. From there we would board the Blue Train that traverses the Côte d’Azur; Bear lived in St Tropez a town on the same line as Menton.

During the four hour journey to Marseille I learned more of Bear – Mathieu as I now called him – than I had during the three weeks we spent together in Agadir.

He and Maurice had served in 1REP during the Algerian War; Mathieu a new recruit and Maurice an experienced sergeant and one of the few legionnaires who escaped from Điện Biên Phủ. It was in Algiers where they first met Beauregard, a lieutenant then but now a Brigadier (it seems Field Marshals’ batons are now carried in briefcases rather than in knapsacks). I also learned Mathieu was on rescue duties in Agadir in 1960 although not with Maurice’s team. However, he had been one of Maurice’s Away Team, along with Alfie Hinds and Pierre Dubois, who had liberated the famous Emerald necklace, along with sundry other valuable and portable jewellery formerly the property of an African Despot since reassigned.

It was during the hour long rail journey between Marseille and St Tropez I learned the most surprising facts about Mathieu/Bear. He had kept his share of the jewellery haul safe in a bank until he left the legion some eight years ago. Then he sold the jewellery and bought a rundown small holding in St Tropez with the money.

“I have an appetite for the simple life coupled with an even greater appetite for blonde haired, blue eyed women,” He announced.

“Don’t we all?” I said.

He guffawed before continuing. “Yeah, but the ones I have are always Scandinavian. They flock to St Tropez in the summer and I grab one and have her for the Season. Sometimes I keep her for the rest of the year and she helps me on the smallholding. Cows need to be milked, goats, pigs, and chickens fed, and vegetables and fruit need to be picked. Luscious, long legged; blonde haired, blue eyed beauties are my volunteer work force.”

““You don’t pay them?”

“Only in kind! During the Season they have part-time jobs in cafes and bistros that bring in some money but out of season, when there’s not much call for part time foreign workers, I keep them well fed and well shagged for free.”

“You only pick up Scandinavian girls?”

“Yes. Norwegians are my favourite but I’m not a racist. I’ve also had and enjoyed Swedish, Finnish, Danish and Dutch girls, although strictly speaking the Dutch are not Scandi, even though they are generally blonde haired and blue eyed.”

“What about blonde haired, blue eyed, English girls?”

“No way! English girls are all sex mad. I wouldn’t last the season trying to keep one of them happy twenty four seven. I always deliver the goods and that keeps my girls happy until we come to a mutual parting. Anyway, the English aren’t Scandinavian.”

I knew that many English people have Danish forebears from before William the Conqueror invaded England, and of course the Normans were themselves descended from Vikings, but kept that to myself. “Is there a Scandi girl waiting for you at home now?” I asked.

“No, I sent the one I had packing when I got the call from Maurice to come to Agadir. I’ll pick another one up as soon as I’ve unpacked and then make up for lost time. What about you, have you got someone waiting in Menton?”

“Not exactly.” I saw the question in his eyes and for reasons I still can’t fathom I unburdened myself to Mathieu.

I told him the complete Yolande saga; my attraction to Yolande but not being able to progress sexually until I was no longer a guest at the hotel and became an employee, the contre-temps when I wouldn’t have sex with her unless I wore protection, the certificate of sexual health Yolande produced, the frequent and enjoyable sex we shared until I was reinstalled as a guest and sex was again off the menu. Of Yolanda’s ‘training’ of young waiters that included sex, her long time separation from her husband, my plan to become a full time employee at the Imperial and my hope that Yolande and I could make a life together once she was divorced, and my frustration with her never giving an answer to any questions I asked about her life before we met.

Mathieu thought for a moment after I had finished and then shook his head. “It doesn’t sound good to me, Philippe. You’re thinking of marrying a woman that allows you to shag her one day and another day you can’t...”

“Yolande was obeying the rules, Mathieu. We as former legionnaires know that rules must be obeyed.”

“Yeah but you’ve been a couple, a sort of a couple, for nearly five years. Surely the rules can be amended when you have had that much of what you call ‘fraternisation’? And when you’re off shagging old women so that Maurice can get stuck into the young girls he fancies your woman is shagging staff members of the hotel?”