The Watchers by Jon Steele Read Free Book Online Page A

cater to newcomers, like you.’
    ‘Lucky me then.’
    He made his way through the club and up the stairs to the street. Fresh air fired the alcohol in his blood and slapped him silly. The bouncers watched him wobble. Their matching black brollies now neatly folded, handles in hands as if they were waiting for a bus.
    ‘Strong drink down there.’
    The bouncers nodded.
    Harper looked up to the sky, watched a few stars coming out from behind the clouds. He took a deep breath. Whoosh again. Best leave the club-crawling to another night, he thought. He looked at the bouncers.
    ‘Same way out as coming in, yeah?’
    Ditto nods one more time.
    ‘Cheers.’
    He did the rat-through-the-maze routine in reverse. Got it right the whole way and found his way to Rue du Grand-Chêne and the Lausanne Palace Hotel. Passing the windows of the oyster joint, he saw Blondie in the corner booth near the window. Carefully sipping her wine, staring at her dinner companion as he talked. As if she cared deeply for his every word.
    Harper turned away, walked along the forest of Christmas trees and into the blazing lights at the hotel portico. He stopped, leaned against one of the columns, feeling as if he wanted to stay awhile. The hotel doors spun open; a man dressed like a Prussian general appeared. Wasn’t a Prussian general, was the hotel doorman. And the doorman didn’t like the look of the someone in a beat-up mackintosh leaning against one of his five-star pillars.
    ‘Just passing through, mon général .’
    Harper moved on and followed the spider-webbed shadows of bare plane trees on the pavement. Twelve bells sounded over Lausanne. He looked back through the trees, beyond Flon and above the Palud quarter. He saw Lausanne Cathedral reaching for the clouds. Something caught his eye in the belfry – something in the shadows of the arches and pillars. Bright as firelight, floating from side to side. The light drifted away and the floodlamps went black.
    ‘And so concludes our special midnight show.’
    He walked on.
    History Channel was waiting.

three
     
    Rochat sat on the porch of the loge where the afternoon sun heated the limestone pillars and it felt as warm as a summer’s day. He knew it was a trick. Winter may have retreated in the night, but a new wave of storm clouds hovered on the horizon for the next battle. But for the moment, all was well. He closed his eyes and dozed.
    It had been a busy day of sweeping balconies and climbing timbers to scrub pigeon poop from the tops of the bells. Then checking the clappers and tightening the lashings around the heavy wood yokes above the bells, greasing the wheels and chains of the rocking motors. Then tidying up the loge and carrying four empty Chianti jugs down the tower steps to the esplanade. Filling them with water from the fountain, carrying them back up the tower and storing them behind the door. Marie-Madeleine stirred in the timbers and rang for five o’clock. Rochat opened his eyes.
    The sun was low in the sky now, the mountains on the far shore of the lake like jagged shadows. He leaned around a stone pillar to see Marie-Madeleine.
    ‘And a very good afternoon to you too, madame. I hope you’re feeling well. You and your sisters must sing very soon, you know.’
    Marie-Madeleine remained quiet.
    ‘Oh, I see, saving your voice for your performance. And do excuse me for disturbing you.’
    Rochat settled back against the stone pillars and watched two streaks of white light in the darkening sky. One streak stretching to the southeast, the other to the southwest, the two streaks crossing to make a giant X in the sky. In the setting sun it turned the colour of fire and reflected in the mirrorlike surface of the lake till it faded and floated away. Rochat scratched his head.
    ‘Anyone up here care to tell me what that means?’
    There was the usual cooing of pigeons and unmoving silence of the bells.
    ‘Well, I think someone is sending me a secret message, that’s what I