by Colin Forbes
'Yes. A security video in the Oxford Street outrage survived the blast. We have a very clear picture of the man who planted that bomb. A very tall thin man with a hard bony face…'
'A very tall thin man with a hard bony face,' Tweed repeated, looking back at Newman.
'Vernon Kolkowski,' Newman said promptly.
'We know – knew – him,' Tweed reported to Buchanan 'He's dead as the proverbial doornail. Name of Vernon Kolkowski. I'll spell that… Got it? Good. He was probably based at the American Embassy while I was still in London.'
'He was. We secretly photographed him when he re-entered the Embassy. Couldn't do a thing about it. They all carried those diplomatic passports.'
'What I'd like you to do is to compile a file of evidence – including what you've told me, with pics. I'd like as fat a file as possible to show Morgenstern when I get back:'
'Consider it done. No more bombings. Our drastic security precautions are working. Touch wood,' he added. 'When will you be back?'
'At a guess, within the next twenty-four hours.' 'The file will be waiting for you.'
The connection was broken and Tweed sank back with relief. He smiled as Paula asked the question he'd been expecting.
'Why do you want to talk to Morgenstern?'
'I said quite a while ago that I was convinced that the Americans are operating at two different levels, in watertight compartments. Sharon confirmed that. I don't think the diplomatic side has any idea of what the Executive Action Department lot have been up to, the crimes they've committed. And Morgenstern is greatly respected not only globally but also inside the States. To the American public Morgenstern is Washington.'
He glanced in his rear-view mirror. Marler's Audi was parked behind them while Butler filled up its tank. Kent reappeared out of a large cafe attached to the petrol station. Paula lowered her window as he handed her two large paper bags. He leaned into the car.
'Mineral water in one bag, fresh croissants in the other. Most of the customers sitting inside are truckers. Their vehicles are parked out at the back. In France bakeries work through the night to produce fresh croissants. The French insist on them, as you may know. In the morning housewives make a trip to the nearest source of supply. Must have fresh croissants for breakfast.'
'Keith, you're an angel,' Paula purred.
She leant out of the window, kissed him on the cheek. At that moment Marler strolled up to Tweed's window. He was stretching his arms.
'Got a moment?' he asked.
'A few minutes only. Think I'll get out and flex my muscles…'
Paula was drinking water out of the bottle. When she'd quenched her thirst she wiped the neck of the bottle with a clean handkerchief. Then she handed the bottle to Newman.
'Excuse my unladylike manners. When you've had a drink I'll pass you some croissants. Don't forget Keith,' she went on as Kent got back in beside Newman.
'While I was marooned back at the Schwarzwalder Hof in Freiburg,' Marler began, 'I went out, found a public phone, called Alf.'
'Alf?'
'Alf Rudge. Top man in that cockney mob I once mentioned to you. In my spare time, for several weeks I've been training them as a reserve. Tough lot. All cab drivers. Took them out into the wilds of the Chiltern Hills. Seven of them, including Alf. Set up a makeshift shooting range in the middle of nowhere. Trained them with handguns, grenades, and machine-pistols. Three of them already knew their stuff – veterans of the Gulf War. They're all pretty much crack shots now.'
'Could come in very useful,' Tweed mused. 'The Americans have unlimited manpower. How can they afford the time if they're cab drivers?'
'Easy. They all own their cabs. Alf has one or two Americans as friends, but like the rest of his mob he does not like the Yanks. Can I tell you quickly a story about Alf?'
'In five minutes – at the outside – we must head for Paris again.'
They were walking about, working their legs in the glare of lights. Nield, a grenade concealed in one hand, his Walther in the other, was outside, watching the highway.
'Alf,' Marler explained, 'flew to LA for a change. One night he's out for a walk when three thugs approach him, demand his money. He takes out his wallet, shows them it has only a single one-hundred-dollar bill. Tells them he has more back where he's staying nearby. If they promise not to harm him they can have all the money. Leads them back to the run-down hotel where he's staying, up to his room. The chief thug has a gun barrel pressed into his neck, the other two stay downstairs in case police appear. Alf says if the chief thug takes the gun off his neck he'll tell him where to get the money. The thug obliges, Alf tells him to open a heavy drawer. The thug does so, Alf jams his hand inside, ramming the drawer shut. Alf slams him one on the jaw, the thug collapses, semi-conscious. Alf calls down to the others. They arrive, Alf uses the chief thug's gun to hammer their heads. He topples all three down the stairs, out into the street. Sleazy owner turns up, Alf pays his bill, tells him he's going to Malibu. Packs his case, flags down a cab, goes to the airport, catches the first flight home.'
'Alf can take care of himself,' Tweed commented. 'I see Butler, like Kent, has taken a bag of goodies to your car. Now, we get moving. Fast.'
'Shove your ruddy foot down,' snarled Rupert. 'This car's moving like a snail.'
'Some snail, my dear chap,' replied Basil, behind the wheel. 'I'm driving right on the speed limit.'
'To hell with the speed limit. I wanna get to Paris.' 'That's where we're going, dear boy.'
'Don't you "dear boy" me. We're the same flaming age. Thirty-two. In case you've forgotten,' he sneered.
'I had not forgotten. Exceed the speed limit and a patrol car nabs us. We end up in the Sante Prison in Paris. Heard of what it's like inside there, have we? They shove you inside and throw away the key.'
'I'll take over the wheel. Stop the car,' Rupert raged.
'Not sure that would be a frightfully good idea. Not after how much you consumed in the bar at the Hotel Regent. What's all this hurry to reach Paris?'
'I wanna drink.'
'I think you want to have a go at Newman. Not a good idea. He can look after himself in a mean way.'
'Not interested in Newman. A has-been fifth-rate reporter. I wanna drink. Couldn't get one to bring with me at that crazy bar. Closing as early as that.'
'It was the middle of the night,' Basil pointed out. 'What's that got to do with it? I should have brought a bottle.'
'Well, I fear you didn't – because you couldn't. You did drink five times as much as me.'
'You were counting, were you?' Rupert sneered once more. 'Just the kind of thing you would do.' He waved his hand about. 'I know you won't mind if I say you're one lousy driver.'
'We're getting closer to Paris now. Why don't you have a nap?'
'Don't wanna a nap. Wanna a drink.'
'While I think of it, Rupert. You phoned your late father's lawyer from the Colombi in Freiburg,' said Basil in a perfectly sober voice. 'You told me he'd agreed to advance you some money. I'm desperately short of that commodity. I could do with a loan very urgently. I'm sure you could spare ten thousand pounds.'
'I suspect we're not too far from Paris,' said Tweed. 'You're right,' Paula agreed. 'We'll soon be seeing the outskirts. Why? Are you getting tired?'
'No, just impatient. I have a feeling we should get back to London as fast as we can, that time is running out.'
'I've just remembered something important,' Newman called out from the back. 'Back at Schluchsee, when I was nearly knocked down by Ronstadt when he was fleeing in his car. There were four men in that car. But when Marler dropped his grenade into the launch in Strasbourg there were only three men in it. One is still missing.'.
'Maybe the Phantom,' Paula joked. 'He seems to live a charmed life.'
'You could be right,' Newman replied seriously. 'So far as we know he's still on the loose.'
'If he isn't dead,' Tweed remarked. 'I hope he appears sooner or later. He has: to be wiped out – the number of
people he's killed up to now.'
'When you've finished your business in Paris how do we get home?' Newman enquired.
'It all depends on which is the quickest way back,' Tweed answered. 'It could be by Eurostar or flying back from Charles de Gaulle airport. Lasalle will know the answer.'
'It's beginning to get light,' said Paula. 'With a bit of luck we'll reach the Ritz before the horrendous rush hour starts in Paris.'
A faint glow of light was rising in the east. Gradually it spread across the cultivated fields on either side of the auto-route. The clear sky was a pallid blue. There was a promise of a fine day on the way.
'A bit different from the Black Forest,' Paula said cheerfully.
'The weather forecast predicted a brighter fresh day for this area,' Tweed recalled. 'Makes a change. And I was just wondering how Howard is coping. He's had to run the whole show himself under very difficult circumstances…'
Many hours earlier – it was mid-afternoon of the previous day – Howard had decided he must drive down to the Bunker to see for himself how they were getting on. It was a gloriously sunny day but Howard had to force himself to make the trip. He'd had hardly any sleep for the past forty-eight hours and was concentrating as best he could behind the wheel of the car.
By himself, he had passed through the village of Parham. He had given a brief thought to calling at Irongates on Sir Guy Strangeways, but had decided he'd better keep going while he was still awake.
His eyes kept wanting to close and he nearly missed the turn-off from the road south of Ashford to Ivychurch. Now all his concentration was called for as he negotiated the narrow, twisting lanes. Half the time, the spiky hedges, waiting for spring to come into leaf, blotted out his view of what lay beyond the next bend.
'I'm driving a lethal weapon, he said aloud. 'I must look out for other people.'
Normally he would have been alerted by the beat-beat of a helicopter approaching. In his exhausted state he assumed it was a traffic-checking machine. He drove very slowly as he approached the automatic farm gate which would be operated by Mrs Carson. He could still hear the chopper when Mrs Carson ran out into the yard and gestured to him furiously to drive on inside a large barn with its door open. He did so. Getting out of the car, he nearly stumbled. As soon as he was outside Mrs Carson slammed the barn door shut.
'Get inside the house. Quick!' she shouted.
Once he was inside she shut the door immediately. He slumped into an armchair. He knew that if he wasn't careful he'd fall fast asleep.
'Black coffee, please,' he mumbled. 'A litre of it.'
'That chopper circling above us,' she said. 'It hasn't got any kind of markings. You should have waited further up the road.'
'Sorry. Could I have that coffee, please?'
Inside the helicopter the co-pilot held a powerful camera, aiming it down at the farmhouse. As the machine circled he took pictures from every angle. His tone was exultant when he spoke.
'Gene, we've just located the Brits' secret communications centre. I've gotten some great pictures.'
'That's great, Lou. What about the exact location?'
'I've marked that clearly on my detailed map of Romney Marsh. Guess we should get promotion for this.'
'What about those hedges surrounding the perimeter?'
'They're just hedges. I've got all we need.'
'OK, Lou. Then it's back to base. The pies and the map can be sent back to Washington. Guess they could go right up to the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff.'
44
'Rene Lasalle is out,' Tweed said as he put down the phone in his bedroom at the Ritz. 'He left a message that he'd call as soon as he returns.'
'This is a lovely room,' Paula enthused, 'with a wonderful view out over the Place Vendome. It looks marvellous – especially as the day is so glorious.'
Tweed joined her, gazed at the famous column erected to Napoleon in the centre of the many-sided square. The superb architecture of the stone buildings enclosing the place had been cleaned. He had always thought this was the most magnificent square in the whole of Paris.'
'You'll never guess why Rene had to rush off,' he remarked.
'Tell me, then.'
'A bomb has exploded in a big department store. Quite a few casualties.'
'You mean the Americans are now turning their attentions to France? More work by the Executive Action Department?'
'No, I don't think so for a minute. The deputy of Rene's to whom I spoke said it's the work of Algerian extremists. The world is in a wild state.'
'So the Cold War is over and now we have an equally sinister Hot War? Worse, in a way, because it's so difficult to locate the fanatical killers.'
'I want to phone Monica later, maybe have a word with Howard. Meantime I feel like a full English breakfast. What about you?'
'I've got a void in my tummy. Full English will do me.'
Emerging from the lift at ground-floor level Newman, who had joined them, rubbed his hands in anticipation. He looked around as they walked to the dining room.
'You know something? I've learned to enjoy luxury. I even think I've earned it – when I think of some of the hovels I tried to sleep in overseas as a foreign correspondent.'
'The pack has followed us,' Paula whispered to Tweed.
Running down the stairs, with surprising agility for so big a man, was Ed Osborne. At the same moment, as they approached the entrance to the restaurant, Rupert came out with Basil Windermere. As they reached the couple Rupert had paused. He bowed with mock courtesy to Paula.
'We've beaten you to it. Early bird catches the worm.' 'I've no intention of trying to catch you,' she replied tartly.
'One in the eye for you, Rupert,' Basil commented.
Rupert gave Paula a venomous look. As the two men strolled on Newman caught Tweed's arm to get him to pause. No one else was about and he could hear what the two men were saying.
'I'm off out to get something from my car,' Basil said.
'And I,' Rupert said in a loud voice, glancing over his shoulder, 'am going to get a shower. It's fun to have company in a shower,' he went on, staring at Paula. 'Maybe you'd consider joining me sometime soon.'
As they continued strolling away Paula flushed. She gritted her teeth. Had Rupert been close enough she'd have slapped his face. Newman took her arm, guided her into the restaurant, followed by Tweed. with Howard. Meantime I feel like a full English breakfast. What about you?'
'I've got a void in my tummy. Full English will do me.'
Emerging from the lift at ground-floor level Newman, who had joined them, rubbed his hands in anticipation. He looked around as they walked to the dining room.
'You know something? I've learned to enjoy luxury. I even think I've earned it – when I think of some of the hovels I tried to sleep in overseas as a foreign correspondent.'
'The pack has followed us,' Paula whispered to Tweed.
Running down the stairs, with surprising agility for so big a man, was Ed Osborne. At the same moment, as they approached the entrance to the restaurant, Rupert came. out with Basil Windermere. As they reached the couple Rupert had paused. He bowed with mock courtesy to Paula.
'We've beaten you to it. Early bird catches the worm.' 'I've no intention of trying to catch you,' she replied tartly.
'One in the eye for you, Rupert,' Basil commented.
Rupert gave Paula a venomous look. As the two men strolled on Newman caught Tweed's arm to get him to pause. No one else was about and he could hear what the two men were saying.
'I'm off out to get something from my car,' Basil said.
'And I,' Rupert said in a loud voice, glancing over his shoulder, 'am going to get a shower. It's fun to have company in a shower,' he went on, staring at Paula. 'Maybe you'd consider joining me sometime soon.'
As they continued strolling away Paula flushed. She gritted her teeth. Had Rupert been close enough she'd have slapped his face. Newman took her arm, guided her into the restaurant, followed by Twe
ed.
'No point in exchanging more insults with such trash,' he advised her. 'And surprise, surprise, look who is here.'
Sharon sat at a large table by herself, breaking a croissant between her elegant hands. She waved to them, an invitation to share her table. Tweed walked to her table, waited for Paula and Newman to join him.
'Paula, do sit by me,' Sharon suggested. 'Gentlemen, choose your seats.'
'I thought you were going to say choose your weapons,' Newman joked.
'Are you following me, Bob?' Sharon enquired as Newman sat down. 'If so, I take that as a great compliment. Or maybe, Tweed, you are the one who is pursuing me?'
'That's right,' Tweed replied, glancing at the menu, 'divine inspiration told us you'd be staying here.'
'Is there anywhere else to stay in Paris?' she retorted.
'Mind if I join you folks?' a deep American voice rumbled. Ed Osborne had a hand on the back of an empty chair facing Tweed. 'Guess we're gettin' to be a family – the way we keep meetin' up.'
'You're welcome, of course, Ed,' Sharon replied unenthusiastically.
'Great. I'm a sociable guy. Like company. What are you guys havin' for breakfast?' he enquired.
'We're having the full English,' Tweed told him. 'Here's the waiter.'
'Guess I'll go along with that,' Osborne agreed.
After they had ordered Sharon concentrated her attention on Paula. Putting a shielding hand to her face, she raised her eyebrows and glanced to her left at Osborne, as much as to say 'Here we go again.' Instead she said something else.
'When I've finished breakfast I'm off to the hairdresser. They have a good one here.'
Paula looked at Sharon's blonde waves, sweeping down gracefully to her shoulders.
'You look as though you've just come from the hairdresser,' she remarked.
'That's the nicest thing anyone's. said to me for a while.' Sharon extended a hand across the table, clasped Paula's. 'Thank you. Tweed, why are you in Paris?' she asked suddenly.