by Colin Forbes
'What about the mysterious men in Balaclavas carrying rifles? Sounded a load of codswallop to me.'
'There you could be wrong. It's so bizarre I do believe it happened. I think we may have stumbled on to something big. We'll go back to the Yard, you pick up your own car, then we drive back to Suffolk. Separately, we scour the area, ask questions - especially about underwater exploration. Even with the two of us we'll have our hands full. It's a very large area ...'
'Well, that went well,' Newman commented after their visitors had left.
'You think so?' Tweed queried. 'Buchanan wasn't fooled. He'll be back. What we've gained is a breathing space so we can get to the bottom of what is happening - here and in France. Where were you yesterday, Bob?'
'Marler and I went to Aldeburgh. We avoided the marshes where the police have cordoned off the killing ground. And someone is financing a new expedition to explore that sunken village of Dunwich. Ever heard of Lord Dane Dawlish?'
Tweed ticked off items on his fingers. 'Self-made millionaire. Has armament factories in Scotland, at Thetford in Norfolk, in Belgium, and at Annecy in southern France. Made his original fortune out of the property boom in the eighties. A tough ruthless character. I suppose he had to be to get where he has. That's it.'
'I think I ought to try and get an interview with him.' Newman suggested.
'I might do better at that,' Paula intervened. 'I hear he has a soft spot for girlfriends.'
'How could you present yourself?'
'I know the editor of Woman's Eye. I could go as a reporter to write an article on his achievements.'
'Hold off, Bob.' Tweed advised. Tor the moment. I'll decide who goes when I get back from Geneva - and Paula is coming with me. One step at a time. I want to hear what is disturbing the Germans first.'
The phone rang, Monica answered it, saying it was General & Cumbria Assurance. She listened for a short time, then put her hand over the receiver and looked at Paula.
'Could you take this? It's a girl. Speaking in French.'
Paula took the receiver, perched herself on the edge of Monica's desk. She spoke in French.
'This is General & Cumbria. Who is this?'
'My name is Isabelle Thomas.' There was a choking sound. 'I'm sorry about that. I'm upset. Do please excuse me. Did you know Henri Bayle?'
Paula put her hand over the receiver. 'Henri Bayle?'
'Francis Carey, the undercover man I sent to the south of France.' Tweed confirmed.
'Sorry.' Paula continued, 'the line crackled. You did say Henri Bayle? Yes, I work with him. I know all about him. I'm the General Manager...'
'Henri is dead ...' Isabelle's voice broke again. 'It was awful. He's been murdered ...'
'Isabelle, where are you speaking from?' Paula enquired quickly.
'From the main Post Office.'
'That's all right. Sorry to interrupt. Do go on,' Paula said in a businesslike tone. 'This is appalling news. I need to know as much as you can tell me.'
She listened while Isabelle, calmer under Paula's controlled reaction, related her story, starting from the arrival of the DST men at the Bar Miami. Paula was scribbling in shorthand on a pad Monica had pushed in front of her. The room had gone quiet. Everyone sensed the tension in the conversation as Paula encouraged the French girl to go on. Eventually she started checking Isabelle's story.
'You did say two DST men? Your Direction de la Surveillance du Territoire?'
'Yes, it was them. I was close enough to Henri in the crowded bar to catch what they said. I don't understand why they would...' Another choking sound. 'I was in love with Henri.'
'So you're very upset - as I would be.' A vital question: 'Have you informed the local police?'
'No. Should I?'
'Under no circumstances. Don't do that. Tell no one.'
'I haven't even told my mother. I'm so confused.'
'I can understand that. I may know what happened,' Paula lied. 'Whatever you do, tell no one.' she repeated. 'We will try and send someone to meet you. He will introduce himself as ... Alain Dreyfus.' The first name which came into her head. 'Have patience, Isabelle. It could be a short time before we can contact you. Now, would you give me your address and phone number?'
She wrote the details down carefully, asked Isabelle to repeat the address to make sure she had it down correctly.
'Isabelle, have you got a job? I see. Don't throw it up. Carry on your life as usual - as far as you can, considering the terrible bereavement you have suffered. And no police. Why was Henri working for an insurance company? He was checking on a suspicious death where a claim for insurance had been made.'
'I must get back to my job now.' Isabelle said in a lacklustre voice. 'I have at least done what Henri asked me to if something happened to him.'
'You did the right thing. We will investigate. But, don't forget, no police...'
She put down the phone and sighed heavily. She was wearing a white blouse with a pussy bow. She fiddled with the bow before she looked at Tweed.
'God! I hope I handled that reasonably well. You do realize what has happened?'
'With no time to think you reacted brilliantly. And am I right in assuming Francis Carey is dead?'
'Yes. Murdered through the agency of two DST men who took him from a bar to the Gare St Jean late in the evening yesterday. In Bordeaux ...'
She gave a terse account of what Isabelle had told her. Tweed listened with an expressionless face. When she had finished he drummed the fingers of his right hand lightly on the desk top and looked at Newman.
'I fear you were right. Carey was too inexperienced to send him on that mission. My deadly mistake.'
'Rubbish!' Newman snapped. 'Not too long ago Harry Masterson, an area chief in Europe, experienced as hell, was also murdered. It's part of the risk run by anyone belonging to SIS. I'm sure you warned Carey before he agreed to go. So stop blaming yourself.'
Tweed was suddenly galvanized into action. 'Two DST men? It's unbelievable. Monica, try and get me René Lasalle on the scrambler now. We'll soon find out the truth...'
There was silence as Monica dialled the number. Paula sat at her desk, plucking at the pleats of her skirt, playing back in her mind the conversation with the distraught Isabelle. Monica nodded to Tweed, indicating the DST chief in Paris was on the line.
'René,' Tweed began in a decisive tone, 'Tweed here on scrambler ... You are too? Good. I sent an agent to the south of France as we agreed. I've just heard he was murdered last night in Bordeaux - at the main station. After being hustled out of a bar by two men who said they were DST. . .'
'Good God! You did say DST? That's impossible. No DST men are operating in the Bordeaux area. I should know.'
'Then they were impersonators...'
'That I will not tolerate. As soon as this call is ended teams will be flown to Bordeaux to investigate. But I need more information, if you are willing to reveal that.'
'Certainly. The agent was masquerading - with papers -under the name Henri Bayle. He was working as a barman at some dive called the Bar Miami. From the timing I was given the murder must have taken place something in the region of 11 p.m. Apparently in some underground entrance which is reached by a ramp. Someone other than the two fake DST officers actually committed the murder.'
'And who told you this?'
'An informant whose name I would sooner not give. The informant sounds reliable. Carey was due to transmit a radio signal last night and nothing came. I assumed it was inconvenient.'
'And you heard this news when?'
'Five minutes ago.'
'My teams will be flying there immediately. Tweed, I would appreciate it very much if you could fly to Paris to see me. There are developments you should know - and they may be linked with this assassination. I send you my sympathy. But, most important, can we meet?'
'Yes. Very soon. I have to fly elsewhere in Europe first. May I call you as soon as I can come on to Paris?'
'Please do.' Lasalle's tone became g
rim. 'Events here are taking a desperate turn. A crisis is upon us. Hurry, my friend. Au revoir...'
Tweed stared into the distance after putting down the phone. He seemed to have forgotten the presence of everyone else in the room.
'Any instructions?' asked Monica.
'Yes. I've decided Paula is coming with me to Geneva and to Paris. Book another room at the Hotel des Bergues in Geneva, get her a ticket on my flight. Get us both open air tickets to Paris. Book two rooms at that small hotel in Paris, the Madeleine. It's fairly close to the rue des Saussaies - to Lasalle.'
'What is this Lasalle business?' Newman asked.
'The second man who has used the word crisis in the past few days. First Kuhlmann, now Lasalle. Something explosive is building up in Europe.'
'I've just remembered something Karin said,' Paula reported. 'It was while were hurriedly changing into our clothes after hitting the beach at Aldeburgh with those men coming after us. Drove it out of my mind.'
'What was it?' Newman asked.
'She said the French Army was the danger. The units stationed in the south. In our anxiety to escape it completely slipped my mind. I was never able to ask her what she meant.'
'My next objective.' Newman decided. 'While Tweed is haring over Europe.'
'What objective?' Tweed asked.
'To interview the commander of that army ...'
Chapter Four
Gun barrels. Row upon row of lethal firepower projecting menacingly from the huge assembly of tanks Newman was escorted past by a French Army lieutenant.
He had driven from Bordeaux to the heavily guarded entrance of the Third Corps. After flying to Bordeaux he had been surprised by the speed with which the commander of this great battle array had agreed to an interview.
'You represent Der Spiegel, Mr Newman? Then I am sure the General will be pleased to see you,' the suave voice had responded. 'I am Major Lamy. You are in Bordeaux? Shall we say 2 p.m? Yes, today. That is agreed...'
GHQ, Third Corps, was located in hilly country east of Bordeaux. During his drive in a hired Citroen Newman had passed through fields laid out with grids of vineyards, a distant view of the turrets of a large château.
'This way, Mr Newman.' the lieutenant said in French, walking between four lines of tanks, gun barrels precisely aligned parallel to each other. Uniformed soldiers ran in the distance. Newman had an impression of a highly organized military machine run by a man who tolerated no waste of time. Escorted inside a single-storey building guarded by sentries, he was led along a wide corridor to a heavy wooden mahogany door, elaborately carved with Napoleonic-style eagles. More like the door he'd expect to have seen inside the château he had passed.
'The General is expecting you. Just walk in.' the lieutenant invited, taking hold of the handle.
'How does he know I've arrived?' Newman enquired.
'The officer in the guard room had obtained a newspaper photo of you from the library. When you got out of your car he radioed to the General's aide-de-camp.'
'Radioed? Haven't you heard of the telephone?'
'Phones can be tapped.'
'And why was I body-searched before I was permitted to enter?'
'More security. You were checked for weapons, for a concealed tape recorder. Normal procedure against the danger of saboteurs. The General is waiting...'
The door was closed behind him as Newman walked alone into a long room with a polished woodblock floor. A very long room with a large Louis Quinze desk at the far end. Behind the desk sat a stocky figure wearing the uniform of a full general. Standing behind the tall-backed Louis Quinze chair was a thin erect man, also in uniform and with the rank of major.
But what caught Newman's attention was the framed silhouette hanging from the wall behind the chair. A large black silhouette, unmistakably of General Charles de Gaulle, head and shoulders, in profile and wearing his képi.
'Welcome to Third Corps, Mr Newman. Please do sit down. I hope you won't mind but we checked with Der Spiegel that you were reporting for them.'
'General Charles de Forge?' Newman enquired, remaining on his feet.
'Of course. This is Major Lamy, my Chief of Intelligence.'
De Forge had a strong hawk-like face, longish and with a firm jaw. His eyes were a piercing blue and he stared penetratingly at Newman as he rose, extended a hand. His grip was so firm Newman's fingers would have suffered had he not been prepared for it.
Lamy sported a dark smear of a moustache and his expression was sardonic as he nodded to Newman who now sat down.
'I can't interview you, General, with someone else present.'
De Forge, his manner aloof, stared at Newman. Leaning against the imperial high-backed chair, he exuded dynamic energy under the control of an iron will. There was something almost presidential about his manner.
'Major Lamy is one of my closest associates.'
'Nevertheless,' Newman insisted, 'I made it quite clear on the phone - and the call was with Lamy - that the interview was to be personal. That means alone.'
'Lamy, you'd better leave us. Reporters seem to think they out-rank generals.'
'I have heard rumours,' Newman began after the Intelligence officer had shut the door, 'that you have strong views on the present position in France. When I was at the gate I was body-searched. The lieutenant used a word I didn't quite grasp. Saboteurs.'
'The scum are everywhere. France is polluted with alien elements that should be removed. Algerians, Arabs - God knows what else.'
'That sounds like the programme of the new party, Pour France, an extremist group akin to Action Direct.'
Newman's French was fluent. He thought he detected a hint of surprise in the penetrating eyes. De Forge waved a well-shaped hand.
'I am a servant of the Republic. Politics does not interest me. But I must correct you. Pour France is a party whose popularity is growing hourly. If their views coincide with mine, that is irrelevant.'
'You're not concerned in any way with politics, or so you say. Have you any views on the new Germany?'
It was like pressing a button. De Forge leaned forward, gesticulating with a clenched fist. But his voice remained calm as he launched his attack.
'We have to be on our guard. The present Chancellor is a man of peace, but who follows him? A new Bismarck who will attempt to use the tremendous power of unified Germany to take back Alsace-Lorraine from us again? I draw your attention to the Siegfried movement which is growing stronger daily. An underground organization which may surface at any time. France must be prepared for a fresh onslaught. I repeat, Siegfried is a great menace to us - to your own country. We must be strong. You want to see how strong we are?'
'I did see your tanks ...'
'I refer to our methods of training an elite army - ready for any emergency. Come with me, Mr Newman...'
De Forge stood up, placed his képi over his high forehead. He glanced at the silhouette of General de Gaulle and smiled coldly.
'He was a great man. Maybe it is time for. a second de Gaulle to arise. Come!'
De Forge led the way from his office out of the building to where a vehicle like a jeep was parked. Jumping with agility behind the wheel he beckoned for Newman to join him in the passenger seat. Curious, Newman climbed up. He had barely sat down when the vehicle began moving at high speed.
Uniformed men on motorcycles appeared as outriders with sirens screaming, ahead of the General and behind his vehicle. The racing cavalcade swept through the gates of the main entrance which had been opened, continued into the countryside.
Newman, holding on with his right hand to avoid being tipped out, glanced at the General. His hawkish profile was calm despite the fact that he obviously enjoyed moving at high speed. The cavalcade swung off the road up a track across a field towards a forest, slowed down.
'Just where are we going?' Newman demanded.
'To show you the punishment well. Men have to be tough to form an elite strike force. Discipline, order, and stability are ou
r watchwords.'
'I seem to recall the leader of Pour France used the same slogan.'
Swivelling the wheel, de Forge stared at Newman and his expression was bleak. He stopped the vehicle in the middle of the evergreen forest in a clearing. There was something sinister about the atmosphere, the way the outriders formed a circle a distance away from an old stone well.
'This part of the interview is off the record,' de Forge ordered.
'I didn't agree to that condition earlier. You can't impose it now.'
De Forge paused as though about to change his mind, to drive back to GHQ. Newman, sensing the change of mood, jumped out of the vehicle, strode over to the well. De Forge followed him. He wore riding boots polished so they gleamed like glass. In his right hand he carried a whip which he slashed against the boots. Newman had to admit it was an impressive performance. Whatever else the General was, he was a natural leader.
Newman examined the ancient well. The main structure had crumbling walls but the windlass, operated by a handle, was brand new. Attached to one end of the windlass was a gauge measured in metres. Two ropes dangled tautly into the depths. Newman picked up a small stone, dropped it down the side. It seemed for ever before he heard a faint distant splash.