Cross of Fire

by Colin Forbes

  Trouble?'

  'I think so. There's a soldier coming up behind us like a bat out of hell. A tall aerial on his motorcycle. What looks like an automatic weapon looped over his back.'

  'You could shoot him, Harry.' Nield suggested, checking his rear-view mirror.

  'No.' said Butler. 'Killing one of de Forge's men with a bullet would raise all hell. As I keep reminding you, we're in enemy territory.'

  'You've got a better idea?'

  'I might have...'

  Butler explained his suggested tactic - providing they had the right situation. Paula looked back again and the rider was closer, but not close enough yet to see him clearly. Butler glanced in his wing mirror for the third time. Then he gave the order to Paula.

  'Get down out of sight. Huddle on the floor as far as you can. We don't want you seen.'

  'Anything you say, sir.'

  Paula squeezed herself as low as she could. She curled her long legs in a most uncomfortable posture. Thank God the road surface was smooth now.

  Nield kept up his speed but the rider overtook them rapidly. The road was wider - wide enough for him to speed past them, then maintain the same pace ahead of the Renault. Butler saw the camouflage jacket. As the rider had flashed past he'd seen the sinister helmet, the goggles which made the rider seem eyeless, the tall aerial quivering with the speed, the automatic weapon across his back.

  The rider held on to the handlebars with one hand - not a difficult feat since this stretch of road was so very straight - and used the other gloved hand to waggle it up and down. A signal. A command. Stop your car!

  'Keep moving.' Butler ordered Nield, 'but gradually reduce your speed.'

  'I don't see any chance of carrying out your tactic,' Nield commented.

  'Just keep going,' Butler replied calmly. 'We could get lucky.'

  'You're an optimist,' Nield chided him.

  'Positive thinking, pal.'

  'Anything happening?' Paula called out.

  'Yes,' said Butler. 'You're to keep your head down.'

  The motorcyclist suddenly increased speed, roared on ahead, then vanished from sight. Butler grunted with satisfaction when the rider didn't reappear in the distance. There was obviously a dip in the road. The motorcyclist was waiting for them out of sight. He looked at Nield, who nodded, reduced speed a little more. Butler twisted round to speak to Paula.

  'Go on keeping your head down. There may be a little excitement in the next minute.'

  Nield drove on and without warning the road sloped to a shallow dip. A hundred yards away the motorcyclist, his machine standing on its strut beside him, stood in the middle of the road. He held his automatic weapon in his hands. As the Renault appeared he began to raise it, prepared to aim it.

  Nield reacted as Butler had suggested. He rammed down his foot, shot forward at high speed, driving point blank for the soldier who had almost aimed his weapon. When he saw the projectile hurtling towards him he hesitated, which was a mistake.

  At the last moment he jumped to one side. The bumper of the Renault struck him a glancing blow. The rider hit the hard road surface like a sack of cement, lay still. The Renault also hammered into the motorcycle, toppled it on its side. Nield braked and Paula swore inwardly, but had cushioned her head with her shoulder bag. Butler looked back. The aerial on the motorcycle was a mangled wreck. No means of communication.

  'You did a nice job, Pete,' he commented.

  'Flattery will get you a long way.'

  Nield drove on to join the highway, to proceed at speed towards Arcachon where Paula had an appointment with Victor Rosewater.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  General de Forge's limousine, preceded by outriders with a second group bringing up the rear, was travelling along the lonely road halfway back to GHQ. On both sides in the distance rose low hills, some topped with dumps of trees. Major Lamy sat beside him, studying a map of Paris.

  The chauffeur braked suddenly. De Forge sat up more erect and stared forward. The leading outrider lay in the road, his machine sprawled beside him, the wheels still revolving slowly. Shakily, the rider clambered to his feet.

  'What the hell!' de Forge snapped. 'Can't he even keep in the saddle ...'

  The crack of splintering glass stopped him. Something shot across the interior of the car. The window next to de Forge was crazed - like the window next to Lamy where the bullet had entered.

  'Down!' Lamy shouted. He grabbed de Forge, forced him below window level. 'That was a bullet. Stay down and I'll investigate...'

  'You bloody fool,' de Forge stormed. 'Tell the chauffeur to get moving. At speed...'

  Lamy gave the order. The chauffeur drove the limousine round the fallen machine and its rider, scattering the rest of their escort. As they moved past Lamy looked out, saw the machine lying in the road. He stared at de Forge.

  'They stopped us by firing a bullet into the front tyre of the lead machine. I saw it, ripped to shreds. And it must have been a special explosive bullet to penetrate the windows.'

  'The bastards can't even shoot straight.'

  De Forge was quoting almost exactly the words General de Gaulle had used after the abortive attempt to assassinate him on 22 August 1962. The General was fond of using similar language to that employed by the legendary de Gaulle.

  To demonstrate his iron self-control, his ability to keep in mind different problems at the same moment, he switched the topic.

  'I have decided Jean Burgoyne is a spy. She must be eliminated swiftly. Contact your woman agent, Yvette, at once. Tell her to drive immediately from GHQ back up this road, to take up a concealed position near the Villa Forban. If Burgoyne leaves she is to follow her and report back where she has gone to. She'll need a civilian radio car from the Transport Section.'

  As the limousine drove at speed closer to GHQ, accompanied by several outriders who had caught up with them, Lamy picked up his mobile phone. He got hold of Yvette in her room immediately, repeated de Forge's instructions.

  'I will leave at once, sir,' Yvette reported back.

  Lamy put down the phone. He glanced at the bullet holes in the windows. Certainly a very special bullet must have been used to pierce the glass. And the bullet had passed within inches of de Forge's head. Yet the General appeared to have his mind on other things. He issued a fresh order.

  'Lamy, just before I left I had a call from Oiseau in Britain. He told me his trusted confidant, Brand, had encountered a Paula Grey in Arcachon. She also sounds to be a spy. So Kalmar now has two targets. Inform him to act urgently...'

  *

  In Paris Tweed was talking from his temporary office on the phone to Pierre Loriot of Interpol, based in the same city. Loriot was replying to the question he had been asked.

  'Tweed, I am afraid I have no concrete information on the assassin, Kalmar. Only unconfirmed rumours. That he has operated in Bucharest, Warsaw, and Berlin. That he comes from the East, whatever that means.'

  'I'd like one solid fact,' Tweed insisted. 'Method of killing, any knowledge of explosives, a hint about what he looks like, his age. So far he's a ghost.'

  'I was coming to two of those points. Only rumours, but fresh ones. That his favourite method of assassination is strangulation. That he has an expert knowledge of explosives.'

  'I said one solid fact,' Tweed repeated.

  'We're still searching for just that. I'll be in touch.' concluded Loriot.

  Tweed was putting down the phone when Otto Kuhlmann came into the office with a bouncy tread. He waved his cigar.

  'What are you concentrating on now?'

  'What about yourself?' countered Tweed.

  We're turning Germany upside down tracking Siegfried - and we may be getting results. The pressure is so great their cells are beginning to move around to safer houses. We missed one gang of three men and a woman by one hour. In Dusseldorf. They left behind a large cache of guns, explosives. And fingerprints. This time they hadn't time to clean up the place.'

  'And you've sent
these fingerprints to Interpol?'

  'Of course.' Kuhlmann made an impatient gesture. 'Do you think it significant that Interpol, after checking its records, reported they couldn't link them on their computers with any known terrorists?'

  'Highly significant.' Tweed replied with satisfaction, certain that it confirmed a theory he held.

  'And what are you concentrating on?' Kuhlmann repeated.

  'The identity of Kalmar. I'm waiting for a few more pieces of the jigsaw I'm building up - you might call it an identikit of Kalmar, There's something very odd about that killer.'

  The private phone began ringing almost as soon as de Forge had sat behind his desk in his office at GHQ. Lamy had gone to his own quarters to arrange arm's-length contact with Kalmar: to phone the girl who would give him a public call box to go to.

  Placing his képi carefully on his desk so the peak faced him, de Forge picked up the receiver. Maybe Lamy was calling to say he was on his way, driving to another remote public phone.

  'Yes? What is it?'

  'The bullet which penetrated your limousine was aimed to miss you by five centimetres precisely. Which it did. Next time it will go through the side of your skull.'

  'Who the blazes is this?'

  'You know perfectly well. Manteau. You owe me two million Swiss francs. Arrange for Lamy to make the payment. I will call Lamy at his private number five minutes from now.'

  'How do I know you ...'

  'You can read the papers. I presume you can read?'

  'You dare to insult me?' de Forge said in a clipped tone.

  'I dare to kill you if I am not paid. Others have paid. Except one. He paid too - with his life.'

  'I am heavily guarded.' de Forge continued in his icy tone.

  'You were this afternoon. And travelling in a bulletproof limousine. That didn't save you. I know all your movements. If there is another job you require executing, let me know. Through Lamy. But only after you have paid up. In Swiss franc banknotes. As I said before, with the numbers out of sequence...'

  'I must consider your proposition ...'

  De Forge realized he was talking into space. The Frenchman at the other end had broken the connection. De Forge sat quite still, then dialled Lamy's number.

  'Come to my office immediately.'

  'But General, I have to leave immediately. I have made contact.'

  'My office. Immediately.'

  De Forge slammed down the phone. It gave him brief satisfaction to do to his subordinate what Manteau had done to him. He aligned his notepad with the edge of his desk, his face grim. Lamy came in without knocking on the door, out of breath, and his chief ignored this breach of etiquette. He was working out how to conceal that he was in a totally irresolute mood.

  'Is there an emergency, General?' asked Lamy.

  'Sit down. Keep still. Concentrate while I talk. Do not interrupt...'

  Tersely de Forge outlined the conversation he had just had with Manteau. As he spoke he watched his chief of Intelligence closely. There were beads of sweat on Lamy's high forehead. It could, of course, be the result of his rushing to reach his master's office.

  'So that is the situation.' de Forge concluded. 'And he made a reference to reading the papers. I assume that you are keeping up to date with developments - that you read the newspapers?'

  He took hold of a tidy stack of piled newspapers. Liberation, Figaro, Le Monde. He threw them across his desk into his subordinate's lap.

  'Read!'

  The headline in large type jumped at Lamy. He had read them but it seemed discreet to do what he was told. He arranged the headlines one under each other.

  'MANTEAU' KILLED PRESIDENT, PRIME MINISTER

  'MANTEAU' ASSASSINATED PARIS PREFECT

  'MANTEAU' MURDERS TOP STATESMEN

  'Manteau! de Forge burst out. 'Nothing but this Manteau. So why are we paying Kalmar? Is he subcontracting the jobs to Manteau?'

  'I doubt that very much.' Lamy ventured.

  'Oh, you do! And not an hour ago Manteau carried out his threat. That bullet passed within centimetres of my head. And.' he continued sarcastically, 'in case you hadn't realized it, his attack was brilliantly organized. First he shoots the front tyre of the lead outrider to stop my car. He didn't shoot the outrider - although I'm damned sure he could have done just that. And Manteau is calling you on your private number in your office in five minutes. God knows how he obtains these numbers. But you'd better be in your office when Manteau calls.'

  'What are your instructions, General?'

  Lamy had stood up quickly. De Forge threw up his hands and looked at the ceiling, as though asking the Almighty for sympathy in coping with the idiots he was surrounded with.

  'You pay him, of course. Two million Swiss francs. And make sure the numbers are not in sequence.'

  'But I have to go to a phone box in the wilds to take the call from Kalmar. What do I say to him?'

  'Can't you work that out?' de Forge grinned sardonically. 'I always have to plan everything. You give Kalmar the two targets. Jean Burgoyne and Paula Grey in Arcachon. When he asks for payment, tell him we're expecting huge new funds shortly. Which is true.'

  'And Manteau? I just pay him, whatever way he wants?'

  'You do that.' De Forge grinned again. 'And you give the new targets. Jean Burgoyne and Paula Grey. Let's see who does the jobs for us, who earns the money. Time you rushed back to your office ...'

  Alone, de Forge walked round his office, hands clasped behind his back. He was pleased with his devious ploy. Which of the assassins would succeed? It was clean-up time, the elimination of all spies before he made his bid. For the Presidency of France.

  In Paris at the Ministry of Defence Tweed had also been reading the newspaper headlines and the text beneath them. He looked up as Ren6 Lasalle came into his office.

  'Has Navarre decided where to concentrate his forces?' Tweed asked. 'In the north, here round Paris - or in the south close to de Forge's GHQ?'

  'He is still waiting before he decides. He expects some new development which will point the way. He has heard that Josette, de Forge's wife, has arrived in Paris and is holding what she calls "salons" - afternoon parties at the de Forges' apartment in Passy. A lot of influential people attend these salons, including the press. She seems to be preparing the ground for her husband's arrival in Paris.'

  'I see.' Tweed looked out of the window. The sky was still a leaden blanket. 'Rene, could you give me the address of the Passy apartment?'

  Lasalle tore a sheet off Tweed's notepad, wrote an address in his neat script. Folding the sheet, he handed it to Tweed.

  'What are you up to now?'

  'Time I went back into the field, saw for myself, This place is fraught with tension. It's becoming positively claustrophobic.'

  'I have one more piece of information.' Lasalle continued. 'There is the foreign member of the notorious Cercle Noir who goes under the code name Oiseau. He is attending these conspiratorial meetings much more frequently.'

  'How on earth do you obtain such information?'

  'That's top secret. I have informants.'

  'In the plural?' Tweed queried.

  'You heard correctly. One bit of advice. If you do go to Passy, take care ...'

  By himself again, Tweed wrote the word Oiseau on his notepad. He added the English translation. Bird. Then he drew a vulture. It was all adding up. But who could be Lasalle's informants?

  Yvette Mourlon, Lamy's woman agent, had received her orders from her chief. She was sitting in the battered Peugeot she had driven from Third Corps GHQ and was now in position to watch the Villa Forban. She had driven the vehicle with a souped-up engine into a field where she could see the grille gates but couldn't herself be seen.

  Yvette was a plain-looking girl with sallow skin and poor legs. In addition she had a cruel mouth. Her loyalty to General de Forge was carried to the point of devotion. The General cleverly gave her small gifts from time to time, a compliment she'd never received from any other ma
n. He was careful to keep her at a distance but her dedication to him was complete.

  Her Peugeot had also been equipped with a high-powered transmitter which enabled her to communicate with Third Corps GHQ from long distances. Her great advantage was she was a girl no one ever looked at twice. She wore a crumpled raincoat and a pair of old, worn gloves.

  She leaned forward as she saw the gates opening. Even from a distance she recognized the driver of the Rover as the car drove away to the north. Jean Burgoyne's long blond hair was unmistakable. Yvette waited, then turned on the ignition, drove out of the field and followed the Rover.

  Jean Burgoyne had not been fooled by de Forge's apparent change of mood just before he left the villa. She had seen through his pretended amiability, and realized he no longer trusted her an inch.

  She had always known this day would come - the day to run for her life. Packing quickly, she slipped the notes she'd made of Operation Marengo - after skip-reading the papers in de Forge's dispatch case - in a polythene bag. Using adhesive tape, she attached the bag to her body under her panties.

  She had taken with her only the minimum selection of everyday clothes. Without a qualm she had left behind the mink cape, the silk underclothes de Forge had given her: she wanted to wear nothing which reminded her of their relationship. But she did slip the Mauser pistol into her handbag.