by Colin Forbes
'Your eye must be slipping.'
The grip tightened more, his fingers pressing through the white flesh to the bone.
'You looked at the papers inside while I was in the shower.'
Take your hands off me, you fool,' she replied with equal quiet. 'You think I'm interested in your stuffy papers? You're becoming bloody paranoid - spies everywhere. And,' she continued calmly, 'if you hit me again I'll sock you with this brush...' Her right hand grasped the handle. 'Now push off with that creep, Lamy, and play your silly war games.'
'Why are you flying to England?' he demanded as he released his grip, stood back away from her.
'Because I want to, Charles.'
This time she had insisted on using the shower first. Now she pulled on her tights, dropped a slip over her head, put on a black form-hugging knee-length dress, tucked her small feet into court shoes, fastened a string of pearls round her neck. All in record time.
'Why do you want to go back to England?' de Forge persisted. 'You're always flying off somewhere - like a dragonfly. I may need you here.'
'Because I like to visit my uncle, to see my home. You will just have to contain your desire. If you're desperate you could pay Josette a visit. How long is it since you've seen your wife? And when you do go to her apartment do you take that damned dispatch case there, darling?'
De Forge's mouth tightened. He moved towards her with a deliberate step. Again, she held up a minatory finger.
'Remember what I said when you struck me last time. I meant it. And why do you always choose women whose names begin with the letter "J"?'
De Forge asserted his natural will-power, refused to respond to her mockery. He was putting on his képi when someone rapped quietly on the door.
'Come in,' Jean called out to show who was in control.
The door opened slowly and Lieutenant Andre Berthier, fair haired and good looking, his képi tucked respectfully under his arm, stepped into the room, careful to look straight at de Forge.
'Excuse me, General, but Major Lamy sent me in as you asked to be reminded of the time.'
'Maybe the lieutenant would like a glass of champagne?' Jean suggested, moving towards the ice bucket beside the rumpled bed.
'He would not.' de Forge replied in a cold voice. 'He is on duty.'
'You do have some handsome men on your staff, Charles,' Jean whispered.
She stroked her blond hair across a shoulder, staring at Berthier. She studied his build, his strong young face. Berthier, aware of her scrutiny, stared at the wall.
'Competence is the only qualification for my choice.' de Forge responded in the same chilly tone.
He marched to the door, picked up the dispatch case. Her remark about taking his dispatch case to Josette's apartment in Bordeaux had alerted him: he did take the case with him on his occasional visits.
Jean watched him leave with grim amusement. Always arouse a little jealousy when your lover was departing - it kept you in his thoughts. Hearing the outer door close, she ran to the bedroom door, opened it a fraction. Yes, they had gone. She went to the phone, dialled a number.
Outside it was arctic cold as snowflakes drifted down. Standing by the bullet-proof limousine, Major Lamy reached out to open the rear door. It seemed to have iced up. His large strong hand gave it a powerful twist, the door opened, de Forge brushed flakes off his uniform, sat inside. Lamy closed the door as Berthier sat in the front passenger seat next to the chauffeur, ran round the back, climbed in beside de Forge. The limousine sped down the drive, the wheels spurting up gravel.
De Forge glanced at Lamy. The Intelligence Chief often reminded the General of a fox with his long face, his expression, his pointed jaw. De Forge closed the sliding glass panel, shutting them off from the front compartment so Berthier could not hear him.
'Why do you choose Berthier as bodyguard?'
'Because,' Lamy explained, 'he is an expert with machine-pistols. He has one now by his side. He scores higher than anyone else on the range.'
'Kalmar did a good job with that spy, Henri Bayle,' de Forge commented, switching the subject suddenly - a favourite tactic to keep his officers off balance. 'I wonder who he really is. You must have some idea.'
'No idea.' Lamy gazed out of the window where the snow had become a white curtain. 'He keeps his identity a close secret. Communication only by phone - between two public call boxes. Payment in Swiss banknotes. Inside an envelope placed inside a small leather pouch. Always a different drop for the pouch. Always at a remote spot in the country - a location which can be watched for miles all round.'
'You'd almost think he had military training,' de Forge decided. 'Still, he does a perfect job. That's all that matters.'
'I have a different problem you might wish to consider,' Lamy said quickly, changing the subject. 'We are running low on the secret projects fund. And we need more of the special missiles - and the nerve gas they are armed with.'
'Don't worry. I have received a coded signal from our supplier. More funds are on the way, more missiles, more nerve gas.'
'When will the ship arrive?'
'Soon. I will tell you when I have a definite date.'
'And the pick-up point is Arcachon? As before?'
'Yes, Lamy, it is. There is one more task calling for immediate action. I want Jean Burgoyne followed when she leaves the villa. Reports on where she goes, who she meets.
A complete rundown. Berthier is fluent in English. Stop the car, give him my orders.'
'Why now, General? How can Berthier follow her in his uniform? She will recognize him.'
'Your brain is getting duller, Lamy...'
De Forge glanced behind the limo where outriders in uniform had joined the cavalcade to bring up the rear. More outriders preceded the car. They had taken up station as soon as de Forge's limo emerged from the entrance to the Villa Forban. Jean Burgoyne had complained she didn't want a lot of rowdy motorcyclists on the property.
'She is leaving soon for the airport.' de Forge continued. 'Send one outrider back to stay under cover, watch the villa gates, and follow her discreetly if she drives away. He can use his radio to contact Berthier. What happens to Berthier? He takes over one of the motorcycles, rides like hell to GHQ, changes into civilian clothes. I've seen him in mufti. He wears a hat which hides his fair hair, sports tinted glasses. Give him some money. Stop the car. Now, Lamy...!'
The major alighted from the car after telling Berthier to get out. He spoke rapidly to the lieutenant. With his back to de Forge, he took out his wallet, extracted three 1,000-Swiss franc notes. The equivalent of well over £1,000.
'That's dealt with.' he reported as he sank back into his seat, his face raw from the brief exposure to the elements.
The car with its outrider escort began to move again. De Forge was thinking he'd also have to arrange to have his wife, Josette, put under surveillance. In case Paris had infiltrated Third Corps the answer was more spies.
Chapter Ten
'General Charles de Forge is the most sinister political figure France has seen this century.' said Lasalle.
Paula look at Tweed, merely nodded, encouraging the DST chief to continue. They had returned from the restaurant and again sat in Lasalle's cramped office.
Paula had grasped Tweed's tactics. He was still at the stage of gathering data before returning to London, before deciding how to deploy his forces. A phase now familiar to her.
'He is inflaming French public opinion against Germany.' Lasalle went on. 'Dubois, head of the Pour France party, is his puppet, the ventriloquist's dummy. It is de Forge who supplies the angle for Dubois to take. It is outrageous - Germany is the most peace-loving nation in all Europe. De Forge is whipping up artificial fear of the new unified Germany.'
'Why?' Tweed asked. 'What is de Forge's objective?'
'To become the next President of France ...'
'Has he a hope in hell? A general?'
Lasalle gave his wry smile. 'There is a precedent -General de Gaulle ...'
<
br /> 'Who took power at a time of national emergency when the government became desperate.'
'Which is precisely the scenario de Forge is successfully recreating. Disorder, fighting in the streets. Clearly you have not grasped the significance of what has happened in Bordeaux.'
'Why Bordeaux?'
'Ah, Bordeaux! There you put your finger on it. You see, Bordeaux was the city which witnessed three French crises - and two humiliating defeats at the hands of Germany. In 1871 when Bismarck's armies destroyed us, annexed Alsace-Lorraine. In 1914 when the Paris government panicked, fled to Bordeaux temporarily. Above all, in 1940 when, as you know, the premier, Paul Reynaud, fled - again to Bordeaux - with his government. And surrendered to Hitler.'
'I still don't see why de Forge should launch his campaign from there.'
'He asked to be transferred to the command of the Third Corps, partly because it was based close to that city. De Forge is using Bordeaux as the symbol of French humiliation. What better city to launch a revenge campaign from? To make France the most powerful nation on the continent?'
'You said "partly". What was the other reason?'
'Because there he is dose to his friend and ally, General Lapointe, commander of the force defrappe - France's atomic strike force.'
'And his request for this transfer was accepted?'
'Another ally is the Minister of Defence, Louis Janin. De Forge has Janin in his pocket.'
'Surely the President could do something, must know what is going on?'
'Ah, the Elysée!' Again the wry smile. 'The President is treading carefully. He cannot yet believe that a mere general would challenge him. And Pour France is worrying him with its growing popularity. Throw out the Algerians, the Arabs, Dubois thunders.'
'It has hardly become a national emergency,' Tweed insisted, determined to make Lasalle prove his case.
'We are close to it. The riots in Bordeaux. I hear that down there people...' He broke off as an aide rushed in, laid a long sheet of paper in front of Lasalle while apologizing for the intrusion, then rushed out after glancing at his chief's visitors. Lasalle's normally relaxed expression became grim. He looked at Tweed.
'You said there was no national emergency. This decoded fax has just come in. There have been major riots in Lyons. First reports indicate over one thousand five hundred casualties and the centre wrecked. Rioters were wearing Balaclava masks and not a single one has been arrested. The CRS were held back with tear gas, smoke bombs. Every hour it is coming closer to Paris.'
'So the plan is working.'
'Yes, Tweed. De Forge's plan is working. He is destabilizing France, creating conditions for revolution. Who will save France? I give you one guess.'
'Tell me about the Cercle Noir you mentioned earlier.'
'The Black Circle.' Lasalle threw out both hands in a gesture of helplessness. 'A strong rumour that it is a small club planning all this. My investigations suggest - no proof - that its members are General de Forge, General Masson, Army Chief of Staff, General Lapointe, Louis Janin - Minister of Defence here in Paris. And Emile Dubois.'
'Any other members?' Tweed enquired.
'Perhaps one more. They have codenamed him Oiseau...'
'Bird?' Paula interjected. 'A curious codename.'
'We believe he comes and goes, that he is not only providing de Forge with funds to finance his campaign -but also secretly transporting to him advanced weapons not in his official armoury. Perhaps even lethal nerve gas.'
'Any idea who Bird could be?' Tweed pressed.
'None at all. Incidentally, do not mention any of our conversation to anyone - including a Cabinet Minister or a member of my staff. De Forge has spies everywhere.'
Tweed was stunned. He'd never heard the DST chief talk like this before. Paula reacted crisply.
'So, de Forge has a bandwagon rolling and a lot of people are climbing aboard?'
'You express it well,' Lasalle agreed. 'Let us hope it is not already too late.'
'On the other hand.' Paula suggested, 'I expect you also have your informants well placed. Otherwise how would you know so much about what is happening inside de Forge's camp?'
'I do have informants.' Lasalle replied cautiously. 'But it is not only the situation here which worries me. Strange developments are taking place inside Germany. An extreme right-wing group, Siegfried, is operating underground across the Rhine. This helps de Forge to portray the new Germany as a threat.'
'Is there no one - apart from the President - high up you can trust?' Tweed enquired.
'One strong man. Pierre Navarre, Minister of the Interior, and ultimately my boss. He detests de Forge. His attitude has one disadvantage. The President, I know, feels all will be well so long as Navarre is in the Cabinet to counter Louis Janin, who tells the President there is no danger of a coup.'
'So inertia rules?'
'Exactly. Before I come to a delicate subject, is there anything else you wish to know?'
'Yes.' Paula said promptly. 'Can you give us data on de Forge's personal life? That could be his weak point.'
Lasalle stood up, opened a wooden cupboard behind him attached to the wall, revealed a safe. Turning the combination dial from a code he carried in his head, he swung open the metal door, took out a thick green dossier, placed it on his desk.
'You've been busy,' Tweed observed as Lasalle opened the dossier.
'De Forge is becoming an obsession with me.' Lasalle admitted.
Paula glanced round the office on the first floor as the Frenchman searched the file. The furniture was ancient - a cheap wooden desk, the surface well worn; all the cupboards were also shabby wood; the windows could do with a clean, the curtains hadn't seen a laundry for a long time. Yet when they had entered the old building she'd glimpsed through an open door on the ground floor a room full of computers, fax machines, shimmering green screens. DST was an odd mix of the old and advanced technology.
Lasalle addressed himself to Paula as he began speaking. 'De Forge has been married for ten years to Josette, a Parisienne society woman. She has an apartment in Bordeaux, another here in Passy. She was left a fortune by her father, who was Minister of Defence when de Forge married her. Her picture...'
Paula studied the photograph of an elegant brunette, seated on a sofa, wearing a short skirt with her superb legs crossed. A lady who knew how to display her assets.
'Attractive, intelligent, knows what she wants,' she hazarded.'
'An excellent character analysis,' Lasalle replied, impressed. 'And she wishes to be the wife of the President of France, her husband.'
'Is he faithful to her?'
'My God! No! De Forge has an insatiable appetite for the good things of life. At the head of the list he places women. He has an English mistress, as I mentioned before lunch. She spends time at the Villa Forban, near Third Corps GHQ. May I introduce you to Jean Burgoyne...'
Paula studied the photo he had extracted from the dossier. She recognized the glamorous girl with long blonde hair. Seated in a canvas chak on a lawn with a backdrop of dense evergreens, Jean Burgoyne wore a tight-fitting blue sweater which revealed her enticing figure and her wide mouth was smiling, a smile of wicked amusement.
'The picture is a bit blurred,' Paula commented.
'Taken secretly with a telescopic lens.'
'And I suppose Josette doesn't know she exists?' Paula remarked, phrasing her point carefully.
'You believe that!' Lasalle gave a mocking laugh, relaxing briefly for the first time since they'd met. 'I have proof Josette is well aware of de Forge's many little peccadilloes. Is that the word?'
'That's the word, René,' Paula said and chuckled. 'She puts up with them?'
'She ignores them. I told you - she wishes to remain the wife of the man who will become President of France. A most ambitious woman. She also has her affairs - and always with men who could be useful to de Forge.'
'Quite a lady, if that's the word,' Paula commented.
Lasalle extracted a fresh pho
to. 'And this is Major Jules Lamy, Chief of Intelligence to de Forge. Some say he is de Forge's eminence grise, his evil genius. Lamy is a keep fit fanatic. They say he runs ten miles every day, no matter what the weather.'
Tweed leaned towards Paula to look at the picture. A foxy-faced man, strong features, staring eyes. Paula grimaced, handed back the photo.
'Don't like the look of him at all. Wouldn't like to bump into him on a dark night.'
'Finally, this is Sergeant Rey. I have two copies - take one. If the formidable Robert Newman is thinking of returning to Bordeaux, best he knows about Rey.'
'What is his function?' Tweed asked as Paula leaned to look at the photo.
Rey wore the uniform and emblems of a sergeant. He had a gnome-like face, was of uncertain age, but his eyes were cunning and cruel. Again the picture was slightly blurred.
'He is officially de Forge's batman,' Lasalle said, his tone grim. 'The important thing to remember is that he is a genius at constructing booby-traps. Inventive as the devil.'
'De Forge sounds to specialize in devils,' Tweed commented half-humorously to lighten the atmosphere.
He handed the photo to Paula who tucked it carefully inside a compartment in her shoulder bag. Lasalle slowly drummed his fingers on the desk, staring at Tweed.
'Now I come to the delicate subject. I know how much you value and look after your agents. Henri Bayle who was murdered in Bordeaux. He was taken from a place he worked at called the Bar Miami by two fake DST officers. The autopsy report has come through by fax. A detailed report.'