Not a trace of the rebels.
What was this? A trap? An ambush?
Philippe suggested they take a look in the basement.
A tunnel dug through the wall led to the sewers of San Salvador, which accounted for the infernal smell that permeated the building.
Later on, one of the escapees told American TV reporters that he’d once worked in the sewers and knew the city’s underground world by heart. An important conduit was situated nearby, and for a week, while Philippe faced down the generals under the eye of the camera, the fugitives had punched a hole in the cement and dug through the crumbly earth to the main sewer and freedom. They subsequently found refuge in Guatemala, and the media that had once demolished Philippe’s political career were now the ones that, despite themselves, allowed him to save these poor people and become a hero.
For the military, Philippe’s victory was intolerable, especially when it was so cool-headed and insulting. He ought to be at their feet begging for pity, but instead he was beaming and seemed to be at his all-time peak. They killed him on the spot at point-blank range.
“If I’d turned myself in to the police when Béatrice asked me to,” Max sighed, “Philippe would be alive today.”
Juliette was moved listening to this story. A few hours earlier, an elderly woman, Mimi, had greeted them with arched black eyebrows and a strident voice, as well as hot soup. Antoine, her taciturn brother, used his equipment in the basement while listening to Madama Butterfly. Mimi didn’t seem pleased by Juliette’s presence, but she kept her opinions to herself. Max let her use his room and he got settled on the sofa. Juliette wasn’t sleepy, and neither was he. She joined him in the living room, and that was when she had asked him exactly what happened to David’s father. This time, there was no avoiding the question for Max.
“Did David ever talk about him?” he asked.
“He admired him a lot. He was David’s idol,” and she added, “David would have liked a Central American posting. He knew they’d never send him though.” Then, after a long pause, and realizing that Max was silent now too, she continued, “I’m disappointed he didn’t tell me what he was up to. What if he felt guilty about something? Maybe he did feel guilty and didn’t dare tell me about it.”
“Or perhaps he was trying to protect you. Like Patterson just now.”
Everyone wants to protect me, regardless of what I want, she thought to herself. Maybe David did, too.
“He didn’t want you to get mixed up in anything,” Max went on, “like Philippe with Béatrice back then. The people who held a grudge against David knew that somehow or other. That’s why you weren’t attacked as well.”
“Your brother had secrets, too.”
Max didn’t react.
“Did you know about Deborah Cournoyer?”
Max had never heard the name.
“She was his mistress.”
“What’re you talking about? What mistress?”
Juliette relayed the conversation she’d overheard in Patterson’s office, as well as Cournoyer’s discreet presence at David’s funeral, and the former diplomat’s confidences after she’d left. Max was astounded and couldn’t understand why his brother had kept this affair hidden from him, and for such a long time.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything.”
Two hours later, Max still couldn’t get to sleep for thinking about Juliette’s revelation. Deborah Cournoyer. Why hadn’t Philippe said anything, and why had Béatrice let this go on?
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