Incitement (17 page)

“Now, Mr Tuur, you’ve given an account of how you were recruited for an operation in July of last year, could you run through it again?” she asked.

“I’ve gone over it more than once already. You have the notes; why don’t you just ask what it is you want to know?”

“Richard, I’ve explained to you that in order for our various associates to feel secure in your story, they need to hear it first-hand.” Girard spoke as one might with an
uncooperative child. “There’s a chance that a fresh perspective may yield something new. We’re all here to help one another. I know you want to make us happy and that can’t
happen until we know our colleagues are satisfied.”

Mesi sensed that the inspector was annoying the mercenary and she wasn’t sure it was unintentional. She was not convinced of the wisdom of such a tack but it was Girard’s show.

“Let’s start with how you were recruited,” said Mesi.

Tuur gazed at her sullenly for what seemed a long time before beginning. “Since leaving the Legion, I’ve worked privately. Security sometimes but mostly ... other work. Africa, the
Balkans, wherever. I was recommended for a place on a four-man assignment when someone dropped out last minute. There was a month’s prep beforehand.”

“Who hired you?”

“A man called Lorcy. He was the fourth member of the team. He organised a down payment of €60,000 and travel to Morocco to begin preparation.”

“The payment, how was it made?” asked Mesi.

“An off-shore bank account was set up for me in Jersey and the money lodged.” He glanced over at Girard.

“We’ve recently verified this,” said the Inspector. “We were able to get help from the British authorities. After some pressure, the off-shore affiliate of the mainland
bank allowed access to their records. Richard received that transfer and another one two days after the alleged incident, both from the same source. A company called Perseus Enterprises, located in
the Bahamas.”

“Anything on them yet?”

“The directors, rather predictably, turned out to be island residents agreeing to act as company officers for an annual fee. The lawyers who set up the company were being paid by the agent
of another offshore company. We’ve started tracing it back but I’m doubtful it’ll lead anywhere.”

Mesi made a few quick notes and asked Tuur to continue.

“We stayed overnight in Dakhla and headed into the desert the next day. We crossed the Algerian border and arrived at a camp that was either a former barracks or training facility. Before
you ask, I’ve already made it clear that I don’t have a clue as to its exact location. We drilled for a raid on a factory, which was under armed guard. Lorcy had extensive intelligence
regarding the security routines surrounding the factory and had drawn up a comprehensive plan of attack.”

“What did Lorcy look like? Had you ever heard of or met him before?”

“No. He was not so tall, perhaps one-seventy to one-seventy-five.”

“About five feet eight inches,” Girard added.

“Dark complexion. I guess he might have been Greek or Turkish,” Tuur said. “Look, I’ve helped one of Girard’s men with a photo-fit; I can’t add anymore, do
you want to hear about the operation or not?”

“Of course, please carry on, Richard.”

Mesi was surprised at Girard letting Tuur change the subject so easily but the inspector merely mouthed the word “later”.

“We drilled repeatedly the next four weeks. Plan was simple, direct, mostly we concentrated on infiltration and clearing the building.”

“Four weeks is a long time; you can’t have been drilling all the time. What did you do for the remainder? Did you have any breaks when you went off site? You must have gotten to know
one another?”

“We spent all four weeks at the camp. If we weren’t drilling we sometimes practised long-range shooting. Otherwise, we listened to world-service radio, played cards and slept.
It’s standard fare for anyone who’s served and we were being well paid for the tedium.”

“Lorcy spoke about nothing other than the immediate mission all that time?”

“I already knew one of the men and we got along okay with the other recruit, but Lorcy never socialised with us. He even slept in separate quarters. After four weeks, we were all eager to
get the assignment over with. On the last day, we were told the location of the target, Conchillo, a small town in Mexico, not far from the US border.”

When Tuur mentioned the Mexican town, Mesi’s attitude to the interview was transformed. The initial invitation from the French authorities, which had arrived a few days before, must have
been drafted shortly after Tuur’s arrest. It had contained little detail, no mention of Conchillo and only a reference to the Kosovars. Deluged with countless vague reports from all corners
of the globe, Samuels had happily palmed it off on her.

“Tell me how you travelled from Algeria to Mexico?”

“We were each given travel documents identifying us as Albanian nationals. We all had different routes from Casablanca to Mexico City and arrived at different times. We rendezvoused in a
suburb of the city at a specific road junction where two all-terrain vehicles were waiting. Girard has all the details. Within four days of leaving Algeria, we had begun on-site
reconnaissance.”

She knew the documentation matched with what Campas and his team had found from examining passenger listings.

“How long did the reconnaissance last?”

“Three days.”

“Why so long? Wasn’t that dangerous?” asked Mesi.

“It was Lorcy’s call, he said we had to wait. He was in contact with someone remotely and seemed to be waiting for a signal.”

“Describe the attack.”

“We split into two pairs. At Lorcy’s signal, we took out the two perimeter guards from about ninety-five metres. Then we breached the fence and eliminated the building
guards.”

“How?”

Tuur looked at her uncomprehendingly.

“Did you shoot them, bludgeon them, garrotte them? How did you kill the building guards?”

“My partner shot one with a handgun. Later, the other team member told us that Lorcy had used a knife on their guard.” Tuur glazed over for a second. “We proceeded to the
surveillance room, killed the only occupant and moved on to the processing area. We killed the three men working there. Lorcy and the other team member handled the guard room and joined
us.”

There was no more doubt in her mind. The confirmation that one of the guards had been stabbed convinced her that Tuur was genuine.

“What did the processing area contain?” she asked.

“Other than some basic equipment, the room was packed with heroin. I have no idea how much, only that it must have been worth a fortune. Lorcy ordered us to take up defensive positions
outside while he planted the charges. Fifteen minutes later, the building had been destroyed and I was on my way home.”

“You were never curious what it was all about?”

“We weren’t paid to ask questions. If I thought about it at all, I assumed someone in Mexico had offended the wrong party and this was payback but I really didn’t
care.”

“No one was tempted to take some of the drugs?”

“We had no way of getting it out of the country. Anyway, that wasn’t the objective, and mission discipline was strong,” Tuur replied with some pride.

“How did you get out of Mexico?”

“Lorcy left separately and the rest of us shared the other vehicle back to Mexico City, where we split up. I flew to Belgium and drove back to France.”

“Any further contact with Lorcy or the others?”

“No. One of the conditions of the contract was that we were not to contact each other for at least a year.”

Mesi nodded and looked down at her notes, lost in thought. “Why did you think this information would be important enough to the authorities for them to forget your outstanding
charges?” she asked finally.

“I see what’s been happening across Europe and the US,” he shrugged. “I’ve seen coverage of the queues outside the methadone clinics in Paris, read the reports on
the escalation of street crime.”

“So, where’s the connection to Mexico?”

“I think my operation was part of something larger. I know a little about the drug scene, here in France and other countries, so I’m guessing the travel documents we were given
weren’t accidental.”

A satisfied grin spread across Tuur’s blunt features. She could see he was quite pleased with his deduction.

“Personally, I think Richard’s been extremely brave, whatever the motivation. He’s run the risk of alienating some obviously dangerous people,” said Girard, the remark
banishing the smile from Tuur’s face.

“Can we talk outside?” Mesi asked Girard.

They left the living room and walked back outside to the front of the house.

“Well, what do you think?” asked the Frenchman.

“I’ll have to get more details but so far his account matches the findings of the investigation at the refinery perfectly. It’s interesting that he says they spent three days
on site before attacking. I wonder if Lorcy was waiting for a time when they could do the most damage? Maybe a new consignment? Speaking of which, what’s Lorcy’s photo-fit like? I
don’t think I’ve seen a copy.”

“I’ll see you get one and a transcript from all the Q&A sessions we’ve had with Tuur,” replied Girard. “Tuur’s relatively okay discussing other aspects of
the operation but whenever the conversation turns to Lorcy he becomes agitated. To get him to cooperate with the photo-fit, we had to threaten to rescind our agreement. I suspect the likeness may
contain some deliberate inaccuracies.”

“Why’s he so reticent regarding Lorcy specifically? If he’s telling the truth about the rest why stop when it comes to some hired gun? The details of the money transfer are far
more incriminating. Potentially, they could lead us to whoever funded the operation, which you’d imagine would worry him more.”

“I agree but I don’t think Tuur’s reaction to questions about Lorcy is because he’s unintelligent or unaware of the implications of helping us. I’ve spent a lot of
time with him, and listened to his story again and again, and my impression is that Lorcy said or did something that put the fear of God into him.”

“Any progress on anything he’s given you besides the bank transfers?” she asked.

“No. We haven’t been able to locate the man who recommended Tuur to Lorcy. If we find him, we might learn more.”

“For what it’s worth, I’d advise you to send out an up-to-date account of what he’s told us to all relevant agencies, asking for assistance and restating the invitation
to question him. I don’t think a lot of people you contacted would have realised how relevant he is, based on what was issued previously.”

She made a mental note to call Campas later as she was sure he would want to question Tuur himself.

“Okay, we’ll organise that. Shall we go back inside and see if we can wring any more out of Richard while he’s in such an effusive mood?” Girard said with a smile.

The noise that drifted up to them from the streets into the second-floor apartment would normally be associated with fun and celebration. But their already-frayed nerves were
not helped by the loud music and intermittent setting off of fireworks, each small explosion increasing the stress just a little bit more. Once a year, the little town of Quibdo came alive with La
Fiesta de la Ascensión. It was a signal for people to forget their everyday troubles and to experience happiness, however briefly. The highlight of the evening was the judging of the floats
everyone from small businesses to schools worked for weeks to prepare, in the hope that theirs would be judged best. The judging committee was comprised of the parish priest, the town mayor, some
prominent local businessmen and one guest. It was this final member of the committee that kept the temporary occupants of the apartment from enjoying the festival. They meant to perform the
dangerous task of killing him and then, just as importantly, escape with their lives. A few weeks earlier it had been arranged for the residents of the apartment to be absent for the week of the
festival.

The two gunmen had arrived late the previous night and, once they had set up, their only task was to pass the remaining time without drawing attention. To achieve this necessitated crawling
around on their hands and knees while in either of the two rooms whose windows looked down on the street. When the target reached the judging platform, the gunmen would open fire with Russian-made
SVD Designated Marksman Rifles. These guns were more than accurate enough for the distance involved, and their capability to be fully automatic meant they could achieve a far higher rate of fire
than pure sniper rifles. The intention was that the resulting confusion and panic would aid their escape.

Luis Madrigal had attended the festival for the last fifteen years without fail. His mother had been born here and this was his way of paying respect to her memory. She had
died before her son attained any appreciable success. As soon as he could, he had established a festival fund for the town, enabling a much grander celebration. Anybody who wished to enter the
float competition, but found themselves short of funds, could apply for a donation. The meal at the town square, which followed the competition, was now provided with as much free food and drink as
could be consumed. The only price for all this had been for the Masses in the week before the festival to be offered to the memory of Laura Madrigal.

During the festival, more than at any other time, Madrigal’s schedule taxed his security detail to their limit. He made it clear to them that he did not want to be surrounded by a phalanx
of bodyguards every second he was there. He insisted on only two close protection bodyguards. He wanted to be able to take this unique opportunity to mix and share in the enjoyment of these people.
The inhabitants of Quibdo lived a hard life but they refused to let their spirit be ground down and the festival was a joyous occasion. Occasionally one of them would approach him asking for help
with a particular situation. He had never refused a case he felt was genuine and, over the years, word had spread of his generosity. Every year he received a warm reception. He spent months looking
forward to the brief time he would spend here.