The Prone Gunman by Jean-Patrick Manchette Page B

as you please. You can have one door open or two, if you fire from the prone position; or you can have the hatchback open, if you want to fire from a standing position and lean on the closed doors. You can have all three open, if you want, but I don’t see the point in that.”
    With his elbows on his knees, Terrier leaned forward and dangled a hand over the miniature convoy. With two fingers, he described a vague circle.
    â€œWhere is the target?”
    â€œIn the back of the Pallas. Four motorcycle cops will lead the way, followed by an SM, then the Pallas, with the second SM behind, just as they are here.”
    â€œIt’s suicide,” said Terrier.
    â€œNo.”
    â€œYes, it is.” Terrier sat back in his rustic armchair and shook his head. He sniggered disdainfully. “The four motorcycle cops aside, there will be cops in the cars. They will be on us in a flash. If we try to get away, they’ll turn us into confetti. It’s completely ridiculous. It’s suicide.”
    â€œNo, not at all,” Maubert said again, smiling. “I belong to the Direction de la Surveillance du Territoire.” Terrier raised an eyebrow. “We won’t even try to get away,” said the blond man. “There’s a false sheet-metal floor. You’ll lie down and close the false floor over you, and the van stays put. I’ll get out and identify myself. After all, I really have been ordered to mount surveillance on the target.”
    â€œWho is it?”
    â€œAn OPEC camel jockey, Sheik Hakim. Does that mean anything to you?”
    â€œI must have seen him on TV.”
    â€œYeah, me too,” Maubert said distractedly. He smiled again. “My superiors really have charged me with keeping him under surveillance. I have written orders. And there will be a diversion.” He looked at Terrier with a smile, again seeming to expect comments that never came. “There’s a guy who will be on the top floor of a building on the other side of the avenue: he will spray the convoy with machine-gun fire. He’ll be given tracer bullets. He may have just enough time to go down and get out to Rue de Marignan through the cellars. He believes he will, in any case. I’d be surprised if he makes it. On the other hand, the cops are such idiots.”
    â€œIs your man named Oswald?” asked Terrier.
    â€œVery funny,” said Maubert. He wasn’t smiling at all now. “Do you have an idea of what weapon you’ll use?”
    â€œI’m thinking.” Terrier closed his eyes. “I need a rapid-fire automatic assault rifle. One that will take a silencer.”
    â€œAn Ingram,” suggested Maubert.
    â€œI don’t think so. I’d prefer something else. I think I’d like bullets that travel faster than sound, so that the shots seem to come from the other side of the avenue.”
    â€œI don’t know if we can have that for you in three days.” Maubert puffed out his cheeks and grimaced. “In any case, the silencer will slow it down.”
    â€œFailing that,” said Terrier, “get me something simple and solid—a Weatherby or something like that. I would also like a revolver.”
    â€œThat’s not part of the plan.”
    â€œIf things go wrong,” said Terrier, “I’d rather have a revolver.” He looked at Maubert candidly. During the past ten days, the caretaker had shown himself to be helpful and efficient. He had quickly and correctly satisfied all of Anne and Terrier’s requests in regard to clothing, food, cigarettes, beverages, and other needs. He had even provided Terrier with a compact hi-fi system and a stack of records, for which he must have had to go to Montluçon or Moulins. Only the walks taken by the two guests were subject to pronounced constraints. “I would like a large-caliber revolver with a short barrel,” added Terrier.
    â€œI’ll see if that’s