He went home to gather some things. What things though, his mind couldn't begin to fathom. It was midday when he flopped onto his sofa and stared out the window. He looked but he didn't see. Well, not the view of the river anyway. He saw a beach, a log and a windswept blonde. He saw a deep kiss, an earnest promise and a heart about to be broken into a million pieces.
"Fucking Hell Pine" he said angrily, standing up rubbing his face " get a grip. A photo doesn't mean anything. Not to her. Not when you..." He stalked over to the wardrobe and pulled out a leather jerkin and a grey hoodie. He stuffed a couple of tops and some underwear into a rucksack and picked up his helmet and keys. He already knew his pistol was holstered and his spare ammo stashed in his bag. He had a licence, one that no port authority would question. This side of the channel wasn't going to be the issue.
With a last look around the flat, he grabbed his wallet and left. He had a suspicion he knew where they would take her but he couldn't just rock up at Palma Airport and announce his arrival. He had to get there quietly, unobtrusively. That began with a small trip south. Through the Chanel Tunnel and into France. He had a contact in Bordeaux that could get him on a boat to Santander. Then a flight to Palma in a - very- private light aircraft. Subtle. Quiet. Safe. Alive.
He strapped the rucksack to his back, pulled on his helmet and started the bike. Patting his pockets, he reached in and touched the photo he'd pulled from her frame. The duplicate of his. He relaxed. OK Pine, let's go. Game face on, he told himself and roared away down the road.
It was dark when he reached the Gite. The tall gates were shut and the lights in the farmhouse out. Shit. He thought he'd made good time. The tunnel hadn't been that busy, a bike rarely had an issue squeezing onto the next available crossing and he'd arrived on the other side around 3pm. He'd ridden in France before - North to South in one day - so he knew a trip to Bordeaux was entirely possible. Now, standing outside Guillaume's farm, he began to wonder if he'd made a mistake. Come anytime he'd said, just knock the door he'd said. I owe you brother, he'd said.
Guillaume and Jonathan went way back. To their Special Forces days. They'd both come out the other side and Guillaume had retired back to the family farm. Jonathan had been amused, how could this mountain of a soldier, adrenaline junkie and trained troublemaker be at peace on a dairy farm? But now, having seen the countryside and heard the peace his bike had rudely shattered, he knew. This was a place to escape to. To forget.
He hammered on the gates once more and pulled the rusty chain by the side of them. Somewhere in the distance he heard a bell clang and a dog bark. A dog. He had an instant flashback to the dead Alsatian. Shaking his head, he waited. Presently there was a creak and the gate opened a fraction, even in the darkness Jonathan could see the glint of the double barrel in the moonlight.
"Oui?" the sound of a man's voice - a familiar man's voice - crept through the crack.
"It's me. Jonathan." he held up his hands and slowly removed his helmet.
"Mon Dieu! Jonathan I nearly shot you!" a gruff laugh echoed and the gate swung further open "Come in Brother, come in! What the bloody hell are you doing here? In the middle of the night?"
"Guillaume it's only 10.30! What happened to you?"
"Milking cows at 4am that's what!" the two friends hugged and slapped each other's backs. "Come in, get the bike stowed, you can have a drink and tell me what the fuck you're doing in the arsehole of France in the middle of the night!"
They sat in the kitchen drinking rough but welcome red wine and eating bread and homemade butter. Guillaume and his wife had made a good life for themselves, it wasn't flash but it was comfortable and it was theirs. Jeanne sat next to her husband, typically French, she managed to look stylish even at this hour having been dragged from her bed by the sounds of the men in the kitchen. When she saw Jonathan, her face lit up.
"Cherie!" she rushed over and hugged him, he kissed her on both cheeks and held her at arm's length looking at her blossoming figure. "Yes" she nodded "in two months".
Jonathan smiled and took her hand "I am so pleased for you - for you both." he suddenly felt guilty, involving his friend when he clearly had more important priorities these days. The three of them sat and talked, catching up on the intervening years. They had no idea he had ended up working for River House. He told them only what they needed to know. He was working on a secret project, he needed to get to Santander then Mallorca and he needed no official entanglements.
Guillaume looked at him steadily. "You're in trouble aren't you Jonathan?" he didn't look away "You need me to come with you?" he squeezed his wife's hand and she nodded silently. Jonathan was overwhelmed by this show of unquestioning support.
"No, I can't ask you to do that. Not when.." he trailed off and looked at Jeanne. She smiled and shook her head.
"No Jonathan Cherie, what you cannot ask id for him to stay here while you - you risk everything again. You saved his life, more than once I seem to remember. He wouldn't be here to help you now, if it were not for you." her voice was soft and sincere and Jonathan knew she was right. He needed help. Perhaps only as far as Santander. He could ask that much. He looked at Guillaume and nodded,
"Ok, I could use someone who knows how to use a weapon. Someone who knows how to ..." he paused and Guillaume finished the sentence for him.
"Kill."
There was silence. Jeanne stood and rubbed her back, smiling.
"Ok so if you two are off to play soldiers, then we better get some rest. You can milk the cows before you go. BOTH of you!" she smiled at them like naughty children and Guillaume stood, wrapping an arm around her and kissing her head.
"You see how it is these days my friend? I'm not arguing with this one and neither should you. Come on, I'll show you to the guest room." he walked off and Jeanne caught Jonathan's hand on the way by.
"Look after him please?" she smiled and he nodded. There was nothing else either could say. They both knew the risks but they also knew that a debt was a debt, and Guillaume would never have allowed it to go unrepaid.
Later, as he lay in the small bed in the guestroom, one hand behind his head, the sheet barely covering him in the warm spring night, the moonlight fell across him bright and inquisitive like a searchlight. He looked up through the open roof light and watched the stars. It wasn't the stars over France he was thinking of though. It was stars over a villa in Spain, a villa he knew he would have to revisit for the first time since... he wondered how Jeds was. For the first time in a long time, he thought of her. She'd escaped Roper's clutches - with his help - and was back in the States with her son. They'd been close, very close and it still bothered him. He'd never told Kate about her, what happened. What he had to do. Missions were just that, and he knew that Kate had slept with Price because she had to. But that was the difference. She knew that he knew. Jeds had been a part of him he'd never talked about. Kate knew the score but to Jonathan somehow it felt different. Underhand. He resolved to come clean, resolved to make a fresh start.
As he drifted off to sleep at last, he wondered what his "farm in France" would be and who would be sitting by his side drinking wine and eating homemade bread. He dearly hoped it would be Kate.
No, that was wrong, he didn't hope. He prayed.
YOU ARE READING
Dangerous Liaisons
FanfictionJonathan Pine was always a reluctant hero. He just saw it as doing what he knew was right. Except once. Then he did what he knew was unthinkably wrong. But even that too, had been for the best of reasons. Now he had to confront what he'd done...
