Cross of Fire

by Colin Forbes

  As she prattled on she led him to an elegant couch next to the wall, waved a hand for him to join her, sat down crossing her long legs which were revealed by a deep slit in the dress. Tweed made a point of noticing them: he felt sure it was expected. He replied in English, concealing the fact that he spoke fluent French.

  'You have a very distinguished gathering here, including General Masson. He gives you moral support in the present crisis?'

  'It really is most intriguing, Mr Prentice, that now the British press is beginning to take an interest in France. Soon Paris will once again become the capital of Europe as it was in the time of Napoleon.'

  'What about Germany?'

  'They respect power.' She made a dismissive gesture with her free well-shaped hand. 'And soon we shall be recognized as the superpower of Europe. After all -' she sipped at her champagne - 'we have the force de frappe, atomic weapons. There is General Lapointe over there, commander of the force.'

  The eagles gather, Tweed thought, turning to look at the uniformed general she had indicated. Of medium height, slim, with a neat small black moustache, he was listening to a blonde beauty who gazed up at him with adoring eyes.

  'He has divorced his wife,' Josette went on, 'so Lisette is hopeful. He may bed her but she will not become his second consort.'

  'I gather Prime Minister Navarre has other ideas - that he approves close co-operation with the new Germany.'

  'Navarre! Pouf!' She blew him into the wind. 'He will not last long once my husband arrives in Paris.'

  'You are expecting him? With an army, you mean?'

  Her magnetic black eyes narrowed. She studied Tweed before she replied. Then she looked round the room and her full red lips made a moue.

  'We can't talk properly in this dreadful bedlam. Come with me. They'll have to do without me for a while.'

  She made it sound like a deprivation as Tweed stopped a waiter topping up his drink and followed her. Opening a side door she went through into a smaller room which was mostly furnished with chaise longues wide enough to take two people lying down. Locking the door, she led the way to a chaise longue against the wall. As she arranged herself on it she patted it.

  'Come and sit close to me so we can put the world right.'

  Tweed perched on the edge, turned to face her while she lounged against the headrest. He took out a compact tape recorder from his pocket, placed it on a small coffee table, pressed the start button and there was a whirring sound.

  'I hope you don't mind,' he suggested.

  She reached forward, used her pink-varnished index finger to press the stop button. The whirring sound ceased. She smiled languidly, her bare arms clasped behind her swan-like neck.

  'You might not want a recording of all we say to each other. In any case, I don't like those machines.'

  'As you wish.' He took out a notebook and pen. 'You won't mind if I make notes? Good. Perhaps you'd say again what you told me in the other room? I couldn't catch all you did say,' he lied.

  'Of course...' She repeated what she had said, drawing up her knees and leaning on them as she watched him.

  Her movement again exposed her long legs. Tweed scribbled as she spoke.

  'And.' he coaxed her when she was silent, 'you said you were expecting your husband to arrive in Paris with an army.'

  'You newspaper men are wicked.' She gently slapped his knee, let her hand linger. 'You asked me that question. I hadn't answered.'

  'And your answer?'

  'He will come to Paris, of course. At the right moment. When France is crying out for a strong man to save her. And maybe an army will come with him - he inspires great loyalty and may not be able to prevent them following him.'

  Which was a pretty damned devious approach, Tweed thought as he went on scribbling. He could see now how the coup could be justified. Her revelation had already made his visit worthwhile. Immensely so. Her hand began to wander. He clamped his own hand on hers. He was finding her the most dangerously attractive woman. He decided to face her with it.

  'Supposing your husband walked in and found us like this now?'

  'The door is locked.'

  'You know what I mean.'

  'Oh, Charles finds his amusement elsewhere. He has a long-term mistress. English, as it happens. Then he has other feminine sources of relaxation. Don't you ever relax?'

  She had turned over her hand under his, entwining their fingers together. She tugged gently to draw him closer. Tweed asserted his considerable will power. He reminded himself that de Forge was probably responsible for the cold-blooded murder of his agent, Francis Carey, in Bordeaux. And was she just feeling playful - or did she see this as a golden opportunity to spread de Forge's propaganda across the Channel? He took a deep breath.

  'If we don't continue this interview I could lose my job.'

  'Fire away, Mr Prentice. Then we can relax later.'

  'I have heard rumours of some kind of high-level club which is planning to take over France. Even a rumour that one of the club's members is a foreign armaments manufacturer who is secretly supplying General de Forge with new weapons.'

  He had shaken her, but she was a clever woman. Her reaction was unexpected. She stretched out her exposed leg and laid it across his lap. He perched his notebook on the leg, smiled, waited for her answer.

  'I can't imagine where you heard such a melodramatic idea. Of course, as you will have seen from the guests outside, very influential people attend my salons. They wish to keep up with the latest developments. Events are close to a climax.' She wiggled her leg. 'Talking about climaxes...'

  'Your weakness,' Tweed said brusquely, 'is you haven't any political support.'

  'You think not!'

  She removed her leg, jumped up. He had struck a nerve. Straightening her dress, she walked over to a wall mirror to make sure she was decent. Then she beckoned to him as she unlocked the door. Tweed followed her back into the salon. Josette took his arm, used her other hand to point to a man talking non-stop to a small brunette, chopping a hand up and down to emphasize what he was saying.

  'There,' Josette said, 'is your - our - political support. Emile Dubois. Leader of the Pour France party. Thousands flock to his banner every day.'

  Tweed studied Dubois. Of medium build, running to fat, he would be in his fifties. He had a mass of shaggy hair, a straggly moustache above thick lips. With his dinner jacket he wore an ordinary white tie which looked a trifle soiled. A thoroughly unsavoury-looking character who reminded Tweed of pictures he had seen of Pierre Laval, wartime collaborator.

  'You certainly have the big guns on your side.' Tweed remarked, wishing to leave Josette in a satisfied frame of mind.

  'And the big guns always win. Why don't you come to see me tomorrow evening? I have no salon and will be alone. Let me give you my card. Phone me to say when you will arrive so I can be ready for you ...'

  Josette opened the drawer of an escritoire standing by the wall. She took out an engraved card with a red rose above the lettering. Her smile was inviting as she gave it to him.

  'My personal card, my private number. Given only to a few.'

  Tweed thanked her, said good-night and the flunkey brought his coat. As he left the building Tweed patted his jacket pocket to check the small tape recorder was safe. He had been careful to collect that off the table before moving back into the salon.

  'There is a taxi waiting across the road, Mr Prentice.' the flunkey advised him, ever-helpful now.

  Prentice. It was the cover name Monica had chosen before having the card printed, and she had told Tweed's close friend, the editor of Daily World, that this was the name Tweed would be using. Inside the cab Tweed took out the tape recorder, looked at it and smiled to himself.

  *

  You think not!

  Josette de Forge's voice came clearly out of the recorder as Tweed stood up, switched it off, looked at Lasalle in Navarre's office at the Ministry of the Interior. Navarre, who had retained the portfolio of the ministry when he becam
e Prime Minister, was spending time in another building. Lasalle had just listened to Josette's whole conversation with Tweed.

  'How did you manage it?' he asked. 'You said that she switched off the recorder.'

  'She thought she had. The Engine Room at Park Crescent are ingenious. They structured it so the stop button starts it, and the start button simply creates a whirring noise as though the tape is running - when it isn't. When the tape is really running it's completely silent.'

  'But supposing she'd agreed to your using it and hadn't stopped it?'

  'I'd have said it didn't sound right, fiddled with it, arid operated a concealed lever which starts the tape running.'

  'We could use a few of those ourselves. But the critical result of your visit is her vague reference to de Forge arriving in Paris with an army. That is vital data. You have heard that de Forge has been appointed temporary commander of the Third Army?'

  'No. Navarre approved that?'

  'Didn't get the chance. General Masson announced the appointment publicly without reference to him. Navarre's only remedy would be to dismiss both his Army Chief of Staff and General de Forge. That could provoke an uprising. He can't do it.'

  At that moment Navarre himself strode into the office with a brisk step. His lean face was grim and determined. Lasalle explained about Tweed's visit and Navarre asked to listen to the recording.

  He sat behind his desk, quite relaxed. He stared at the tape recorder, listening intently as it played back all Tweed's conversation with Josette. As he switched it off Tweed made his observation.

  I'm very glad you retained the portfolio of the Ministry of the Interior when you became Prime Minister.'

  Navarre grinned. 'My trump card. Control of the DST, the police, above all of the CRS, our paramilitary units. The question is when to play that trump card. I need hard evidence of de Forge's treachery.'

  The phone rang, Navarre listened, handed it to Tweed.

  'Robert Newman for you ...'

  Chapter Forty-One

  General de Forge was also up late, pacing his office at GHQ as he listened to Major Lamy reporting the success of Kalmar. Lamy found it disconcerting to have his chief prowling round, often behind him as he spoke. It was a psychological trick de Forge was fond of - to put a visitor at a disadvantage. He interrupted Lamy's flow of words.

  'The bottom of your coat and your shoes are caked with mud.'

  'It's muddy in the countryside.'

  'Even so, before you come to see me you should clean up. You are expected to give an example of smartness at all times to any soldier who may see you.'

  'My apologies. I was anxious to let you know what Kalmar confirmed over the phone. Jean Burgoyne is dead.'

  'One spy eliminated. And I'm considering developing the present manoeuvres into Operation Marengo - the march on Paris. After you've activated Operation Austerlitz - to throw Paris into chaos. And the cross of fire must appear everywhere from now on.'

  While talking another part of de Forge's mind considered his conviction that there was a traitor at GHQ. Paris was being fed information - the informant at the DST in the rue des Saussaies had confirmed this. It had to be a member of his inner circle. Lieutenant Berthier? Major Lamy himself? He had to be detected quickly, liquidated. An essential condition before he ordered Austerlitz and then Marengo.

  'The cross of fire was used both in the Marseilles and Toulon riots.' Lamy assured him hastily. 'The newspapers will be full of pictures tomorrow. You wish me to set in motion Austerlitz?'

  'Not just yet. Timing is everything in a successful campaign. You said Berthier phoned you, that he was sure he caught a glimpse of Paula Grey inside a car with two men in Arcachon. She is Kalmar's next target. He must finish her off within the next twenty-four hours.'

  'That doesn't give Kalmar much time. He's a meticulous planner.'

  'Then he'll have to speed up his meticulous planning. I am equally concerned with your contact with the mysterious Manteau.'

  'He phoned me, told me to put the two million Swiss francs in a cloth bag, to deposit the bag behind an isolated telephone box outside a village south of Bordeaux. I did so. Then drove away.'

  'But what else did he say?' de Forge asked over Lamy's left shoulder.

  The General was a devil, Lamy thought. How could he have guessed there was more?

  'Manteau told me I was to drive back towards GHQ for half an hour, then I could return. That if I felt inclined to return earlier that was all right by him, but I'd be shot through the head.'

  Yes, de Forge ruminated, that sounded like typical Manteau language. Not a bit like Kalmar.

  'Anything else?' he rapped out.

  'Yes. He said he'd deal with Paula Grey. And any other people you needed extinguished. The very word he used.'

  Well, at least the payment should stop any further attempts on his own life, de Forge decided. He felt relieved: the bullet which had penetrated his limousine had come rather too close for comfort.

  'Send a yellow signal to the Austerlitz units in Paris.' he decided suddenly. 'Immediately...'

  When Lamy had left he checked his watch. The next and final signal would be red: the signal for the saboteur units to set Paris aflame. He must strike soon before Navarre established his hold on the government.

  Navarre and Lasalle watched Tweed as he took the call from Newman but could read nothing from his expression. Tweed made brief notes, asked a question now and then, eventually told Newman to hold on. He looked at the two Frenchmen.

  'He's calling from a hotel in Arcachon. Should be a safe line - he has Butler watching the clerk who operates the switchboard - but I want quick decisions.'

  'Tell us the problem,' Navarre said crisply.

  'Newman has photographic evidence of atrocities committed by de Forge's men...' Tersely he told them about the burial ground in the Landes, the attack on Moshe Stein's villa by men masked as Ku Klux Klan.

  'Let me speak to him.' Lasalle said.

  'Lasalle here. I'll be brief. You have the film? Good. Do you know the airfield just north of the Etang de Cazaux, to the west of the N652?'

  'Yes. I noticed it when Moshe and I were driving up here from the Landes.'

  'An Alouette chopper will land there at daybreak. Give the pilot the films. Codename Valmy for the pilot.'

  'I'll be there.'

  'Tweed is gesturing, hold for a moment...'

  Tweed had been thinking of Newman's shorthand description of the discovery of Jean Burgoyne's body by Paula. He'd decided to pull her out of the area. He told Lasalle quickly about the murder. Lasalle clapped a hand to his head.

  'My God! Jean Burgoyne was one of my agents I told you I had in the area. This is terrible. Now I only have one left...'

  'Give me the damned phone.' Tweed snapped. 'Bob, where is Paula? With you. Put her on quickly ... Paula, I'm sorry about Jean Burgoyne - it must have been a shock. A great shock ... Yes. I can see how it brought Aldeburgh back to you. Now listen, I'm pulling you out. Bob knows Lasalle is sending a chopper. You're to board it, come back to Paris.'

  'No. I'm staying on to try and find this killer. Up to now he's strangled two of my friends - Karin Rosewater and Jean Burgoyne.'

  'Paula.' Tweed's tone was grim. 'This isn't a request, it's an order. You're to fly back in the Alouette.'

  'No,' she repeated with the same firmness, 'I'm staying here. There's Bob with me - as well as Harry and Pete.'

  'I don't think you heard me.' Tweed rasped. 'I am giving you an order...'

  'Which I'm disobeying. You don't like it, you can sack me later.'

  'You're an obstinate woman...'

  'When I want to be. And I want to be now. How is everything there?'

  'Put Newman back on the line. Now!'

  'Tweed, I'm here.' Newman responded after taking the phone.

  'Paula is being difficult, as you doubtless realize now. So I want her aboard that Alouette - even if you have to carry her into the machine physically.'

  'Can't do
that.' Newman said laconically. 'You're making a mistake. She'd feel she was running away. Can't say that I disagree with you in one way. But she's a fully paid up member of the team. Don't forget that.'

  'If you say so.' Tweed's tone was abrupt. 'I'm hoping that evidence you're providing will give us a powerful lever to neutralize the enemy. Of course, a witness would have made all the difference.'

  'There is a witness.' Newman told him, thinking of Martine, the old woman who collected brushwood by the shore. 'Getting on a bit, but still with all the marbles there. And could be very impressive on TV.'

  'We want that witness.'

  'It means my going back to the Landes. But I can see that it's important, could tilt the scales.'

  'The Landes?' Tweed was alarmed. 'I can't ask you to do that.'

  'You didn't. I've just decided myself I'm going soon as I can.'

  'Bob, before you leave promise me you will let me know - or get one of the others to do it.'

  'OK. Promise. Take care.'

  'You take care.' Tweed's tone was urgent. 'I'd better warn you we have reason to believe that all hell is about to break loose. Prepare yourself...'

  As Tweed put down the phone he reflected this was the critical point in the titanic struggle to save France. After laying out the situation, Navarre had stood as though gazing into the fog of an uncertain future while he listened to Tweed's phone call. Tweed looked at him first, caught his expression, guessed his thoughts, then studied Lasalle. The DST chief was edgy and also unsure. Should he launch his battalions - the DST, the paramilitary CRS and other forces under his control? If so, in which direction? To the south where de Forge was organizing controlled chaos? Or should he dig in round Paris?