Hector Trogg's Perfect World. P. A. Booth
and unhelpfully provided all of the details about how they had chopped her hand off, shot her, filled her with water and then smashed her head in using the blunt side of an axe. The man left muttering to himself, although Kate noticed that the two soldiers were laughing.
Hector thought that the two soldiers were probably special forces, and Kate suspected he was right about this. They did not look quite as neat as the other soldiers, and unlike the French police, they made no effort to appear tough. It was as if they had no need to show off or pose; they knew what they were. The other surprise was that they both spoke good English. The taller one introduced himself as Andrè, while the smaller soldier was called Pierre.
‘Can I go to the toilet please?’ asked Hector.
‘Well, that all depends,’ said Pierre, ‘Are you going to blow it up, set fire to it, or use it properly?’
Hector laughed, ‘That wasn’t my fault. The château just caught fire.’
‘You need to understand,’ said Andrè, ‘that we are here to protect France from you. And by the way, châteaux in France do not just burn down.’
‘Unless,’ said Pierre, ‘you take the bomb you’ve hidden in your pants, place it in the microwave oven and turn the oven on.’
‘OK, then they will catch fire,’ said Andrè.
‘I think we should let him go to the bathroom Andrè,’ said Pierre, ‘He does not look like he has a bomb in his pants this time, and there is always a chance that the dog is not the only one in this dangerous group who uses people’s legs as toilets.’
‘I’ve not done a wee on anyone,’ declared Hector laughing.
‘Stay back,’ yelled Pierre as Hector approached, ‘I know how dangerous you are.’
It was obvious to Kate that Pierre and Andrè had been well briefed, and their natural confidence made her feel safer. As Kate settled down to sleep the noises from the camp drifted through the window, intermingled with the occasional sound of Andrè or Pierre speaking into their radio microphones.
There were snatches of conversation from outside their window; footsteps; the occasional distant sound of cars and lorries being driven; doors being opened and closed. It was the scrape, grumble and grind of a place that never truly sleeps. Kate found it an unwelcome intrusion into uneasy dreams.
‘Great’ was the first thing Kate heard when she woke in the morning. Hector was bouncing around the cell, while Pierre and Andrè looked on, tired but amused.
‘We can explore this French Army camp,’ said Hector, ‘I bet they’ll let me drive a tank if I turn the charm on. Bang, bang, bang, boom! I could fire the gun!’
‘Now I can see why we have to guard him,’ said Pierre.
A short time later Andrè and Pierre said goodbye, to be replaced by two more soldiers. They were escorted to a bathroom in another building with a shower. They were given clothes donated by families living in the camp.
Kate and Hector were returned to their cell for breakfast, which was brought to them by a man with a facial twitch. Hector suspected he was a prison guard, as he clearly had difficulty with the notion that he should be nice to anyone in a cell. The idea that they should have a dog caused him further anguish. He kept shouting two or three angry words in French, before reverting to a much softer and politer voice. It all made no difference, as neither Kate nor Hector understood a word. Bandit, on the other hand, may have understood more.
Kate and Hector were just tucking into a very welcome breakfast of breads and cold meats when there was a shout. The guard jumped back and began to yell in French. Bandit had tried to wee on the man’s leg. Hector was beginning to see a pattern. If Bandit did not like someone he approached wagging his tail, and then urinated on their legs. When the shouting started he would run a short distance and then deploy the giant brown eyes and slightly regretful face, before bouncing on to his next target, which was usually food.
Sure enough, Bandit sat at his feet, waiting for an accident with the breakfast tray. Hector, it seemed, was his current best bet. Bandit’s judgement was flawless, as just a minute later there was a shout as a man ran into the cell, causing Hector to tip the tray just as Bandit hoped he would.
‘You come, you come quickly. Vite, vite!’ shouted the man.
Kate and Hector did as they were told and ran to follow the man. They were taken across the camp to an office where Colonel Bertrand was talking to someone on the phone. Both Kate and Hector were quickly informed that this was someone very important from Paris who wanted to speak to them. The phone was put onto speakerphone, and a man with a near-perfect English accent addressed the room.
‘Your safety is very important to us. In France the rule of law is paramount. We do not tolerate assassins and killers, and we will make any dispute involving the dark forces of the criminal underworld our battle. It is for the love of our heritage, our traditions, and the love of France that leads us to this bold and brave position. We will not fail you, the innocent, no matter where you come from, and no matter who you face. Only in France..,’ the voice continued.
Kate could see another man in the room reflected through a mirror. He was looking at Colonel Bertrand and rolling his eyes, while Colonel Bertrand quietly shrugged his shoulders in a manner that suggested weary resignation. Kate began to see why, as the speech just went on and on.
‘How long?’ whispered Hector.
‘I don’t know,’ whispered Kate in reply.
‘How long?’ asked Hector again more loudly, causing Colonel Bertrand to silently indicate that he should remain quiet.
A short while later the experienced father in Colonel Bertrand had seen the danger; there was almost no chance of Hector remaining silent. Colonel Bertrand was looking frantically at the other adults in the room; their various military ranks seemed to dissolve as the collective problem built.
It was one of their special forces guards who lent forward to look at the phone, and pressed the mute button. The Colonel then had his own idea, and pointed Hector towards another part of the rambling room that contained a large tropical aquarium. Hector was immediately transfixed and moved towards the brightly coloured fish as if dragged by gravity. Kate was not so fortunate, as Colonel Bertrand made it clear that she was to stay by the telephone in case she was needed.
While Hector studied the fish in the tank, the Colonel would occasionally press the Mute button on the telephone and utter a few words of agreement, before pressing the button again so that the important person in Paris could not hear them. Hector returned to the Colonel holding a large black plastic screw, only to be waved away imperiously by the same man that had fetched them to the Colonel’s office just a few minutes earlier.
‘But it came off,’ said Hector, ‘and it’s very wet.’
The Colonel gave a stifled yell as he realised what Hector held in his hand. The pool of water spreading throughout the office was obviously coming from the aquarium. The Colonel silently grabbed the plug from Hector, dashed towards the aquarium and began trying to stem the flow of water. The plug would not fit back in, and soon everyone in the room was trying to either stop the water from leaving the aquarium, add more water to the aquarium, or catch the fish using the small net so they could be saved in a bucket.
Hector moved back to the desk to join Kate, as it seemed like the best place to watch the crisis unfold. One man was bitten by a small fish, while another seemed to have a spine embedded in his hands. The splash of water, the yells, and Colonel Bertrand’s frantic instructions as they all tried to save his prized fish collection, drowned out the never-ending speech emanating from the telephone.
Just when Colonel Bertrand thought the situation could not get any worse he saw movement out of the corner of his eye. He turned and watched, in what seemed like slow motion, to see Hector lean forwards and release the mute button on the telephone.
‘Could you stop a minute please?’ yelled Hector, ‘Colonel Bertrand is fighting a shark.’