Free Death on the Pont Noir by Adrian Magson Page B

become used to them, finding their presence oddly comforting. He still wasn’t sure who was the guest and who the host here, but so far, the relationship had worked well.
    And in his experience, there were far worse rats in the world to deal with.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN
    Up close, Rocco thought Colonel Jean-Philippe Saint-Cloud, formerly Lt Colonel of the 1er Régiment Étranger de Parachutistes – 1st Foreign Parachute Regiment – looked older than his walk or demeanour showed. He had sallow skin, but still possessed the build and apparent vitality of a younger man. His neat moustache and haircut en brosse were clear visual clues to his military background, as were the neat double-breasted suit and highly polished shoes, and the tie knot as tight and hard as a nut.
    He was waiting for Rocco at the front desk, staring into the middle distance and ignoring the gaggle of overnight miscreants gathered for logging or release, depending on their offences. He turned and led Rocco without greeting through the office, where the daily briefing was being conducted by Commissaire Perronnet and Captain Canet. Numerous pairs of eyes swivelled to follow as Rocco and the security chief passed down the corridor, which madeRocco question how discreet his involvement with Saint-Cloud was going to be.
    ‘Sit down, Inspector.’ Saint-Cloud led the way into an empty office and closed the door. ‘Thank you for being so prompt.’ His voice was calm, with the quiet confidence of a man accustomed to his authority. He sat and crossed his legs, his movements economic and controlled. He put Rocco in mind of an attack dog he’d once seen in a scrapyard: not the slavering, snarling beast most commonly imagined, but a quiet, almost serene animal with quite possibly the most evil eyes he’d ever seen.
    Rocco sat and waited. This was probably one of the most powerful men in the land. But it wasn’t through any position in the chain of command, rather his close association with the president. In fact, there was rumoured to be only one man closer, and that was the main physical bodyguard himself, Paul Comiti, a man sworn to protect de Gaulle to the death.
    Saint-Cloud, however, was the organiser, the bureaucrat with quiet muscle, always behind the scenes, pulling strings, making arrangements. To him fell the task of keeping the president’s visits and sorties as minutely planned and as secure as possible. At the point of contact with the public, however, it was down to Comiti’s small team of men to catch the bullet.
    So far, they had succeeded in their job against many expectations and attempts.
    ‘You have an impressive record, Rocco,’ Saint-Cloud continued. ‘Both in the army and the police. You were in Indochina, I believe.’
    Rocco nodded. As were the 1st REP, he recalled. A toughbunch of men, they had been disbanded in 1961 following service in Algeria. It seemed Lt Colonel Saint-Cloud had moved on to better, if not bigger, things.
    ‘What can I do for you, Colonel?’ he asked. He wanted to find out what this man wanted of him, not to relive old war stories.
    ‘I want you to do your duty as a sworn police officer and help protect the president, of course.’ Saint-Cloud’s eyebrows lifted slightly, as if surprised by Rocco’s blunt approach. ‘I appreciate this is not your normal work, and I’m sure you have many pressing matters to investigate. But as the man on the ground here, I would like to seek your cooperation in ensuring that those … forces keen to confront the president with violence are not successful. You’ve heard about the latest attempt?’
    ‘I have.’
    ‘Badly planned, poorly executed, but a clear warning that we cannot relax our guard while the dangers still exist.’ He studied his fingernails. ‘I need you to act as our eyes and ears on the matter of security in this area. Other of your colleagues spread around the country are doing the same. It is vital that you unearth anything – any group or individual –