“I’ve been hired by the Union Corse,” he said, naming the most feared criminal organization in France, “to take care of a little problem. A matter of what you might term business rivalry.”

“Ah, I see,” Pierre said. “And you are to eliminate the problem?”

“Exactly. The men concerned will be passing along this road here toward Valenton shortly after two o’clock tomorrow. I intend to take them out here at the railway crossing.”

“And how will this be accomplished?” Gaston asked.

“A very simple ambush. You two are still in the transport business, aren’t you? Stolen cars, trucks?”

“You should know. You’ve bought from us on enough occasions,” Pierre told him.

“A couple of vans, that’s not too much to expect, is it?”

“And then what?”

“We’ll take a drive down to this place tonight.” He glanced at his watch. “Eleven o’clock from here. It’ll only take an hour.”

Pierre shook his head. “Look, this could be heavy. I’m getting too old for gunplay.”

“Wonderful,” Dillon said. “How many did you kill when you were with the OAS?”

“I was younger then.”

“Well, it comes to us all, I suppose. No gunplay. You two will be in and out so quickly you won’t know what’s happening. A piece of cake.” He took several stacks of hundred dollar bills from the briefcase and put them on the bar counter. “Ten thousand. Do we deal?”

And greed, as usual, won the day as Pierre ran his hands over the money. “Yes, my friend, I think we do.”

“Good. I’ll be back at eleven, then.” Dillon closed his briefcase, Gaston went and unlocked the door for him and the Irishman left.

Gaston closed the door and turned. “What do you think?”

Pierre poured two cognacs. “I think our friend Rocard is a very big liar.”

“But also a very dangerous man,” Gaston said. “So what do we do?”

“Wait and see.” Pierre raised his glass. “Salut.”