Blood Storm

by Colin Forbes

  Tweed nodded as she sat on a chair close to his. He waited until the glass of Chardonnay he had ordered was placed before her. There was no one else in the room. He looked straight at her, his tone grim.

  'What went wrong while you were out?'

  'Nothing dramatic. Why do you ask?'

  'Because I'm observant,' he continued in the same serious tone, unsmiling. 'I know something did because your face has lost colour. Added to which Philip has gone off to the bar so you can talk to me.'

  'Philip saved my life,' she said, beginning on what she hoped was a positive note. She then told him of the incident. He gazed straight at her, the same expression on his face. When she had finished he drank the rest of his wine.

  'So, he saved your life after putting it in terrible danger. I thought the two of you were just walking down the cours. Now I know he ventured with you into the north side, which is to be avoided at all costs. You know I was here some years ago, staying at the Violette hotel in the north. There were a few Arabs creeping about in those days. So when I walked down through that area I had a gun in my hand. Any Arab who saw me disappeared immediately. Because of the gun. Now there are many more Arabs.'

  'You're not going to have a row with Philip?'

  'Of course not. We are dependent on him while we are here. Also, he is the most valuable agent I have abroad. Here he comes.' Tweed stood up. 'Hello, Philip. Could the three of us take a stroll along the cours?'

  Paula admired Tweed's masterful self-control. She sensed he was seething with anger, but nothing showed in the amiable way he greeted Philip. They left the hotel and wandered down the cours. Tweed was in the middle with Paula on his right, Philip on his left. Paula was drinking in the atmosphere of the famous street. Tweed kept his comments to himself. So much had been modernized, including the Negre-Coste. Still a magnificent hotel but without some of the character he recalled. Even the bathroom in his room had been 'upgraded'. The French had been influenced by the American fetish for advanced plumbing. Aix he'd visited once before to meet a contact.

  'Dreamy,' enthused Paula.

  'Unique,' said Tweed.

  'I've paid your hotel bills,' Philip said suddenly. 'We leave tomorrow, which may be an exciting day.'

  'How exciting?' Tweed asked.

  'Noel is moving his fifty Slovaks to Paris tomorrow, on their way to Britain. They're travelling in two separate grey coaches. I was talking to Harry earlier. You remember that old stone hump-backed bridge we crossed - where the road was rough?'

  'I do,' said Paula. 'We went up steeply, then dropped down the other side. It was over a river.'

  'We'll eliminate half of them at the bridge,' Philip said casually. 'The twenty-five in the other coach we'll finish off in Paris. Up at six tomorrow for early breakfast. It may not be a joy-ride.'

  20

  It was dark when they left the hotel for the south side of the town. They were on foot, led by Philip. Paula noticed it was more modern. Down an alley Philip opened an automatic door to a garage. Inside was parked their people-carrier.

  As they climbed aboard he remarked: 'Should have told you earlier. All windows are bullet-proof, the sides and roof have been reconstructed with armour plate. So rest easy on our way to Paris . . .'

  Harry emerged from underneath the vehicle, gave a thumbs-up sign to Philip.

  'No explosives attached underneath. I checked the engine.'

  'You're a thorough chap,' Philip thanked him.

  'I'm a bloody suspicious chap,' Harry shot back as he got into the car. Philip drove out to the end of the alley, pausing to use his controller to close the garage door. Leaving the alley he turned left. Paula sighed with nostalgia when they moved into open country. Tweed sighed with relief. Place is a death-trap these days, he muttered to himself.

  'We're well ahead of the first Slovak coach,' Philip called out. 'They're just loading up. The second one will follow some distance behind. Both with twenty-five killers aboard. We'll take the second one in Paris,' he reminded them.

  'How does he know all these things?' Paula wondered aloud to Tweed.

  'Contacts,' Philip called back. He riffled his right fingers as though shuffling a wad of banknotes. 'Dollars are more than acceptable.'

  'And where has Noel been all this time?' Paula asked from her seat by the window.

  'Staying under cover in a dump on the north side,' Philip told her. 'Visited by nice Mr Radek.'

  'Radek?'

  'The chief of the Slovak mob, remember? I gave you a photo of him. A very nice chap, to watch while he drowns. Noel is driving back to Paris in a hired Citroen, some distance behind the second coach. With Radek for company. The villain had a Slovak mother, a French father. And a Czech uncle who taught him languages, so Radek is fluent in quite a few tongues. We'll soon be at the bridge.'

  Tweed observed Harry place a large leather container in his lap. From inside he carefully extracted a large landmine and a trowel. Paula, peering out of her window, didn't see this. It was still dark and Philip's headlights were on full beam as the carrier moved round a series of curves. As the road climbed steeply, Philip slowed, then dropped down the other side. He switched off the headlights, joined Harry and they both left the carrier, walked the short distance back to the bridge.

  Not wishing to miss anything, Paula left her seat, moved forward and sat in the driving seat. Through the windscreen she had a good view of what was happening, her eyes now accustomed to the dark which was showing traces of dawn.

  Philip reappeared, handed a pair of night-glasses up to Tweed. 'If you'd watch out for their first coach. Warn me when you see its lights.'

  Harry was digging a large wide hole in the soft earth at the top of the bridge. He worked quickly, then with care slipped in the landmine. Equally quickly, he scooped loose soil over it to conceal it. As he stood up Tweed called out from the exit.

  'Lights in the distance. Looks like a coach. About a mile back, roughly. Difficult to be sure in this light.'

  Philip with Harry rushed aboard, closing the door behind them. Harry went back to his seat, as did Paula. Philip told Tweed he could keep the night-glasses.

  'Then you can see the fun,' he said.

  Jumping behind the wheel he started the engine, turned on the headlights to low beam, drove on a short distance. He swung right off the road up the same small cul-de-sac where he had parked on their way in to distribute weapons.

  At the top he moved round the small concrete circle so he was facing the exit. He suggested to everyone that they got out with him. Paula was surprised when he pointed how clearly they could see the bridge now silver bands of dawn were shafting across the eastern sky. Philip borrowed the night-glasses from Tweed, stared east, handed them back.

  'Coach is coming too fast. Slovak at the wheel, they're mad drivers . . .'

  It was chilly. Paula, now wearing her denims and windcheater, buttoned it up to the neck. The coach was racing along, its headlights on full beam. She half-expected it to drive into the wall and off the bridge. At the last moment the man behind the wheel slowed, crawled up on to the top of the bridge.

  The explosion was devastating. A blinding flash coinciding with a deafening roar. The vehicle soared into the sky, broke in half. Body parts were hurled in all directions. She thought she saw a leg as she gazed through the night-glasses Tweed had loaned her. Then a headless trunk caught in the blazing inferno illuminating the wreckage of the bridge. The dawn light was red with fire. One half of the vehicle dropped into the river. Paula heard a brief hiss as water absorbed the red-hot metal. Then a sudden silence.

  'That worked rather well,' Philip commented.

  'I think a long way off I can see headlights. The second coach?' suggested Paula, her mouth dry.

  'Probably,' Philip agreed. 'They have night-glasses so they'll see what's happened. They'll have to make a long diversion to reach the autoroute. That means we arrive in Paris before them. Ready to sort out that lot.'

  Sort out? Paula, her mind still full of th
e massacre on the bridge, wondered how Philip would manage this. He always seemed so calm, so matter-of-fact in the face of the most murderous danger.

  Well along the autoroute, Philip pulled in to a remote lay-by. He stood up, turned to address them.

  'I want you to hand in all your weapons now. We could be stopped by a patrol car.'

  He even collected the three remaining slim landmines from Harry. Everything was secreted inside a special compartment in the side of the carrier. Harry was indignant.

  'I thought I'd be using those to polish off the thugs inside the second coach.'

  'No, you won't,' Philip said firmly. 'Change of plan. I've been thinking. I can do that job by myself. There'll be a large barge-like vessel with a sail drifting off the lie St-Louis on the Seine in the middle of Paris. They plan to use small boats with engines to ferry the Slovaks aboard the Yvette, the barge. Then their idea is to sail it up the river to the port at its mouth. There they'll transfer their inhuman cargo to a larger shipping vessel, take them to an isolated part of the British coast. I'll see they never leave Paris alive.'

  He sat behind the wheel, waited until the autoroute was quiet, drove back on to it and headed at speed for Paris.

  They had entered the Paris suburbs when Tweed made a suggestion. 'Philip, I could phone Loriot, Chief of the DST. He's an old friend. Tell him what is happening, where to go.'

  'No!' Philip spoke over his shoulder. 'By now he'll have heard about the explosion at that bridge near Aix. And all the mangled bodies in the fields and floating down that river. He'll check all the hotels for names.'

  'We had false passports,' Tweed objected. 'I told you that earlier.'

  'Makes no difference.' Philip was authoritative. 'He'll be concentrating on short-stay visitors. He'll ask for their descriptions. Some of those concierges are observant. Now you'll have an hour to amuse yourselves - I'll drop you near the Place Vendome and the Ritz. Then take a cab to the Gare du Nord. You'll arrive in time to catch the Eurostar. I don't think Noel will use it. He'll fly back - as he came in . . .'

  Near the Place Vendome Philip practically pushed out Tweed, who wanted to thank him for all he'd done. Standing on the pavement Tweed called up to Philip behind the wheel, who still had the engine running.

  'Take good care of yourself. Call me - more frequently.'

  'When I've something to report. Look after yourself, Paula.'

  The automatic door closed and they were left standing as the carrier drove east. Towards the lie St-Louis.

  They walked along the Rue St-Honore, the main street with its fabulously expensive shops. It was early afternoon and the sky was full of menacing clouds drifting very low.

  Tweed and Paula walked ahead with Newman and Harry bringing up the rear. They were still performing their role as guards. Tweed took them into a cafe where they consumed coffee and delicious cakes. Paula was ravenous.

  'I'll leave you for a couple of minutes,' Newman said, standing up. 'We passed a shop selling the most glamorous scarves. I'll get one for Roma.'

  'Getting serious, are we?' Paula teased him.

  'She's nice and very intelligent. Be back in minutes.'

  They were leaving the cafe to wait for Newman. Paula went out first, paused to glance in both directions. She backed into the cafe, bumping into Tweed, pushing him back. Grabbing his arm she returned them to their table, which was at the side of the cafe with a view of the door.

  'What was that about?' Tweed demanded.

  'Radek. He's coming this way down the street.'

  'Are you sure?'

  'Yes, I bloody well am. I studied his photo. See him in a minute. Let's pray he doesn't come in here. We've given up our weapons . . .'

  Harry sprang up from the table, concealing a leather-covered sap. He walked swiftly across to a table on the far side, ordered coffee, insisted on paying for it. They were the only occupants of the cafe. The waitress placed coffee in front of Harry, smiled at the tip, went out of sight through a door at the back.

  Radek, wearing a dark coat, a black hat, wandered in. As he walked straight to their table the sneer on his Slavic features was prominent beneath his curved moustache. One hand reached inside his coat and he took off his hat with the other. He bowed briefly to Paula.

  'You will tell me, Mr Tweed, where the others are and what they are doing otherwise I shall shoot Miss Grey.'

  He spoke very rapidly, excellent English but with an accent. For once in his life Tweed was uncertain. He opened his mouth to say something, anything to delay the killer. That was the moment when Harry appeared behind the Slovak and hammered his sap hard on the back of his hatless head.

  Radek's eyes opened very wide, then he collapsed backwards. Harry caught him, lowered him to the floor as the waitress appeared again. Paula stood up, spoke quickly to her in French.

  'This poor gentleman has collapsed. Could be a heart attack. Call an ambulance. We have to go but we'll be back.'

  As they hurried out of the cafe the waitress rushed to the phone.

  Outside Newman appeared, carrying a beautifully wrapped package. He stared at their obvious haste. Paula hailed an oncoming cab.

  'Gare du Nord, please,' said Tweed, handing the driver a large tip. 'And hurry, or we're going to miss our train.'

  Paula repeated the request in French, seeing the driver's stare of incomprehension. They piled into the back, Tweed and Paula occupying the main seat while Harry and Newman used the jump seats. They were moving.

  At the Gare du Nord, Tweed found an empty coach. The Eurostar was on the verge of leaving. They had just settled in their seats when it glided out of the terminus.

  Tweed told Newman what had happened. Newman stood up and carefully placed his wrapped gift with their small bags. He didn't comment until he sat down.

  'How the devil did Radek reach Paris so quickly?'

  'By busting the speed limits on the autoroute, would be my guess,' Tweed told him. 'When we were parked in the lay-by while Philip collected our weapons I noticed a car going over the limit. Two people inside - the driver and one passenger. Too quick to identify anyone.'

  'Did you kill Radek?' Newman asked Harry.

  'Definitely not. That would have brought the police. He will be out for about an hour and then recover - with the mother and father of all headaches.'

  'What puzzles me,' said Paula, 'is how he spotted me, knew who I was.'

  'We've taken photos of people,' Tweed reminded her. 'So why shouldn't someone from the Cabal have done the same thing? Then Noel, the hyper-efficient Noel, takes the prints with him.'

  No one said any more until they emerged from the tunnel into Kent. Paula peered out of the window, heaved a great sigh.

  Unlike in Paris, the sun was shining brilliantly out of a duck-egg-blue sky. Not a cloud in sight. She savoured the green fields which, early, were beginning to sprout, the orchards coated in a green fuzz.

  'I'm glad to get out of France,' she said. 'So glad to get back to England and peace.'

  'Don't count on peace,' Tweed warned. 'We have a savage murder to investigate and a battle to crush the merger of all the security services.'

  'Do shut up,' Newman told him. 'She's had a rough ride. Your problem is you never appreciate the finer things of life.'

  'Sorry. You're right, Bob. Paula has had a nerve-racking trip most of the way. I do realize that.'

  'I just want to get home, to have hours of sleep in my own bed. In the morning I'll be a hellcat,' Paula added.

  21

  Tweed walked into an atmosphere of crisis,

  He took off his coat, settled down in his chair, looked round his office. Monica, grim-faced, got up to come over to him. Pete Nield was standing up, arms folded, no sign of a smile. Marler stood against the wall, fiddling with his cigarette holder, which was empty. He stared at Tweed.

  Paula, who had been going to leave, sat down at her desk. Newman waited by the door, scanning expressions. It was Tweed who broke the ice.

  'Well, what happened i
n my absence? You all look as though a bomb has gone off.'

  'It has, in a manner of speaking,' Monica said, standing stiffly in front of his desk. 'First, General Macomber phoned, told me that under no circumstances must Tweed go anywhere alone. He added he'd just seen the Cabal. Then Benton Macomber bulldozed his way in. Asked to see you urgently. I said you weren't available. "Is he abroad?" Benton asked. I said I'd no idea where you were. He said you must call him the moment you returned, then pushed off. Pete,' she went on, turning to Nield, 'maybe you'd like to describe your experience.'