by Colin Forbes
'Should I now activate Austerlitz in Paris?'
'Not yet. What you can do, Major, is to contact Kalmar and tell him to finish the job. Paula Grey. She has to be a spy. That's it.'
'But Kalmar is pressing for payment - pressing hard.'
'Then pay him.' De Forge's tone was silky. 'I am sure you can lay your hands on the necessary funds.'
Lamy left the presence, his mind in a whirl of calculation. De Forge had refused to reveal to his Chief of Intelligence the real Marengo plan. And only on rare occasions did he address his subordinate by his rank - instead of by name. De Forge was distancing himself.
In his office the General continued to study the detailed map. The sealed plans ordered his commanders to continue north up the N20 - to head point blank for Paris by the most direct route. The last strategy Navarre would expect from a general noted for his devious manoeuvres. He would be in Paris before the government woke in their beds.
And Austerlitz, the infiltration operation, would throw the government into a panic when commando groups started to take over key centres of authority - only hours before de Forge's advance units entered Paris.
Paula was behind the wheel well south of Bordeaux, heading for the Landes, when the catastrophe occurred in deserted open countryside. At a garage they had exchanged temporarily the Renault for a much more spacious Renault Espace, leaving the original vehicle and a large sum of French francs as collateral.
Butler sat beside her, navigating. Immediately behind them were seated Nield and Stahl. Newman was sprawled at the back of the car, fast asleep. At the entrance to an abandoned farm with a large barn the car stopped.
Paula repeatedly turned on the ignition, used the accelerator. It was no use: the engine refused to come alive. Butler got out to the examine the engine and Stahl followed him.
'I don't know much about these engines,' Butler remarked.
'That's great.' said Paula, who had also got out.
'But I do,' Stahl told them eagerly. 'I have spent much time in France. I have driven one of these. Let me take a look...'
They waited half an hour while Stahl checked the engine. Paula looked round, was conscious of how exposed they were on the deserted country road. Apparently Stahl had the same thought.
When the half-hour was up he raised a hand, indicating they should stay where they were. He trotted off up the short track leading to the farmhouse which had a crumbling roof, exposing the rafters where tiles had slid away.
The barn was made of stern stuff. The roof was intact and the huge doors swung outward, held firmly on hinges, as Stahl opened the barn, investigated the interior briefly, ran back to the road.
'We must push the Espace into that barn so I can work on the engine. Paula, you handle the wheel. Get out, everyone.'
'Why?' Paula demanded.
'Because,' Stahl explained patiently, 'I can see it will take me several hours to repair the engine. I must dismantle, then put it together again. We were sold a pup. Is that right?'
'Yes,' Paula snapped impatiently. 'Are you sure you can get it going?'
'Absolutely. But I need the time. And we are in a very exposed position here. We have already seen tanks in the distance. Please! We all push.'
Nield was already standing beside Butler but Newman was unaware of anything. He flopped fast asleep, exhausted. Paula climbed behind the wheel while Stahl, Butler and Nield pushed the vehicle up the level track inside the huge empty barn, its floor deep with straw. The glass of windows on three sides was coated with a thick layer of grime. At the back a ladder led to a loft with an equally grimy skylight. Stahl closed one door, Butler the other. While Nield held a pencil flashlight, Stahl began work on the engine.
'Do you really think you can manage it?' Paula persisted.
Stahl grinned. 'I used to be a mechanic before I took up my present occupation. But please do not expect quick results...'
During all this activity Newman had not moved an inch - let alone opened an eye. He was in a very deep sleep. At lunchtime Paula collected the basket with sandwiches wrapped in foil and two flasks of coffee. When she had visited Isabelle just before they left Arcachon the French girl had asked Paula how many people there were, how long they would be away.
'Four people,' she lied, omitting Stahl. 'And two or three days,' she lied again.
'Then you'll need food and drink to see you on your way.'
Isabelle had insisted, had prepared sandwiches in a few minutes, her knife flashing while Paula prepared coffee. At the time Paula had cursed the delay: now she blessed Isabelle's consideration. Handing round sandwiches after unwrapping the silver foil, she then poured coffee and they shared the same makeshift cup - the top of the flask. Newman slept on.
While Nield held the new flashlight provided by Paula, Stahl, arms and hands covered with oil and muck, worked away. Half the engine seemed to be on the floor and Paula wondered whether he'd ever assemble it again. The alarm came in the early afternoon.
Butler had made it his business to keep a watch through the windows, resisting the temptation to clean a hole in the grime. At other times he climbed the ladder and peered over the countryside through the skylight. He was in the loft, Paula was scrunching restlessly over the straw, trying to ignore the rising dust, when Stahl waved the screwdriver he'd found in the vehicle's toolkit.
'It's OK. It will go first time. I promise you ...'
'Trouble. Big trouble. And coming this way fast.'
It was Butler interrupting the German. Paula stiffened as Butler scrambled down the ladder. For a brief second she'd half-believed Stahl: he spoke with such assurance. Now her hopes that they could get away fom this musty-smelling barn were dashed. Whatever the situation Butler usually kept his cool, but there had been urgency in his warning. She glanced at Newman in the back of the vehicle. Still out cold.
'What is it, Harry?' she asked.
'See for yourself. Through this window. Tanks. De Forge's tanks. A whole squadron of them...'
She peered through the window from the side with Butler staring over her shoulder. Coming over a low ridge towards them were three large tanks, gun barrels elevated. She tightened her lips. Of all the bloody bad luck. Butler gripped her arm.
'Come with me. Take a better look.'
He shinned back up the ladder to the loft and she followed him. Heaps of straw in the loft. Dry as a bone. The barn was pretty waterproof. He took her to the skylight, stood back so she could look out. From that height she had a much better view - a panoramic sweep - over the low-lying countryside. A spread of fields as far as the eye could see. No trees. And a horde of tanks advancing in the direction of the farm.
'Doesn't look too good.' she commented.
'They are on manoeuvres.' It was Stahl speaking. He'd followed them up the ladder. 'We are at least under cover. Maybe they will change direction before they get here.'
Paula's stomach muscles tightened as she watched. Here and there veils of cold grey mist floated across the landscape, drifting over the ground. The tanks slid though the veils, emerging like landbound sharks seeking prey. Stahl, as always, was for action.
'The Espace will go now,' he pressed. 'Let us drive to the north, back the way we came.'
'Better take a look to the north,' Butler advised.
Stahl and Paula turned their heads. More tanks were advancing from that direction. They all seemed to be making for the farm from three points of the compass. West, south, and north. Only the east was clear. And the road ran roughly north to south.
Butler ran down the ladder, followed by the others. He peered out of the window which looked on to the separate farm building. About thirty feet divided the barn from the wreck of a farmhouse. As he turned round there was movement from inside the vehicle. Newman had at long last woken.
He staggered out, stared down as his feet crunched straw, shook his head as dust rose. Staring round with heavy eyes, his gaze fixed on Butler.
'What the hell is happening?' He looked at his watch. 'It's
mid-afternoon. We should be in the Landes ...'
Paula poured him lukewarm coffee. He swallowed it greedily, held out the container for a refill as Butler tersely explained what had happened, their present situation. The report galvanized Newman.
Handing the container to Paula, he shinned up the ladder to the loft to see for himself. Butler and Stahl followed him. On the barn floor Nield stood alongside Paula as they stared at the incoming tanks which now looked like leviathans. Mobile power at its most terrifying.
'We stay put.' Newman decided. 'Nothing else we can do. Try to make a run for it and they'll use us for target practice.'
'If it comes to it we can take some of them with us. The tank commanders are exposed in their turrets.' Stahl observed.
As he spoke he extracted the Heckler and Koch submachine-gun from his bag. He had cleaned his arms and hands on cloths found in the rear of the Espace.
'Put that away.' Newman snapped. 'We can only wait and hope for the best.'
'Or the worst.' Butler added under his breath.
Paula had run up the ladder to join them. She stared at the tanks as though hypnotized. A unit of three large machines was heading straight for them. Suddenly the lead tank increased speed, rumbled forward. She could hear the grind and clatter of its caterpillar tracks rumbling over the stony field.
'Oh, my God!' she gasped.
She could see clearly in the turret of the lead tank a sergeant wearing a helmet, waving his arms ecstatically, in his early twenties. The tank forged remorselessly on, slowed as it reached the farmhouse, mounted a wall. The wall collapsed, the entire farmhouse fell inwards under the impact as the caterpillar tracks ground over the rubble of the wreckage. The young tank commander swept his gloved hand in a sideways gesture, shouting into his microphone. Paula heard the command clearly.
'Now the barn. Flatten it...'
Her last thought was that she had made a brief call from Isabelle's apartment, telling Lasalle they were driving south, giving him the apartment's number and its occupant. She'd seized the chance to make the whispered call while Isabelle was preparing the sandwiches.
Tweed had arrived back at the Ministry of the Interior in the early hours of the morning when Newman and his team had left Arcachon for the Landes. He had been delayed for hours at Heathrow due to a bomb scare. His flight had left five hours after scheduled take-off.
Lasalle, just returned from rue des Saussaies, sat in his office. He was studying his map when Tweed walked in, his manner urgent as he took off his Burberry.
'Navarre.' Tweed said immediately. 'Where is he?'
'At an emergency Cabinet meeting. Impossible to get to him. Why?'
'I estimate he has a maximum of sixty hours before de Forge launches his bid for power. I heard at the airport here that Dubois addressed a huge rally in Bordeaux yesterday evening, that he said what he called "the people" would soon be in power. Which means himself as Prime Minister, I assume.'
'I have heard about that ominous speech. Why no more than sixty hours?'
'Because de Forge is waiting for a delivery of weapons -nerve gas missiles I suspect - before he strikes. The weapons will come aboard the armament manufacturer Lord Dawlish's vessel, the Steel Vulture ...'
'The catamaran you told me about before leaving for London?'
'Exactly. I think I know where the weapons are hidden.
Something Paula told me eventually came back. It all links up with Kalmar, as I've always thought.'
'Where is this vessel now?'
'Anchored off a nowhere place called Dunwich on our east coast.'
'Then why not impound - search - the vessel?'
'Because I have no proof of my theory.' Pacing restlessly, Tweed thought that must sound strange to Lasalle. 'The trouble is the catamaran is based at Harwich. While there at different times recently it was searched - for drugs. Nothing was found. Dawlish has clout in high places, contributes large sums to party funds. I know I'm right but, as I said, I can't prove it.'
'We could send aircraft to patrol offshore. If we knew which areas to concentrate on.'
The approaches to Arcachon. The Bay of Biscay,' Tweed said promptly.
'I will put the idea to Navarre as soon as I can. I do not have the authority. You mentioned Paula. She called a few minutes before you arrived ...'
He paused as Otto Kuhlmann, in shirt sleeves, looking rumpled, appeared. The German held an unlit cigar in his hand as though he felt lost without it. Lasalle waved to a chair, continued.
'I was telling Tweed that Paula Grey called from Arcachon just before he got here. She was speaking in a low voice as though not wishing to be overheard. She said the team, including Egon, was driving south...'
'That damn bomb hoax,' Tweed burst out. 'Where was she calling from?'
'Isabelle Thomas's apartment. She repeated the number.'
'Get it for me, please. Urgently, Rene.' Tweed requested. 'I might catch them before they leave.'
'Stahl will be an asset.' Kuhlmann reassured Tweed.
'I'm sure he will. But we need the information Jean Burgoyne obtained. More urgently now...'
He took a deep breath as Lasalle handed him the phone. He was deciding how to talk to Isabelle if she had come on the line. She had. Odd, Tweed thought, to be answering the phone so quickly in the early hours.
'Is Paula there?' he asked.
'Paula? Who is that? And who are you?'
'A close friend - an associate - of Robert Newman's.'
'I have seen Newman's picture in the papers - if you refer to the foreign correspondent. You have not given me your name. Can you describe Mr Newman? Very accurately.'
Tweed swore to himself, but was impressed by Isabelle's caution. He could be anybody. She'd had enough trauma with phoney DST men. He gave her a detailed description of Newman but she hadn't finished with him yet.
'Let us assume he is carrying a weapon for self-protection. What weapon would that be?'
'A Smith & Wesson .38 Special,' Tweed said quickly.
'I'm sorry to question you so closely but I had to be certain of your claim to be an associate. Paula Grey is no longer here. No one is except myself. They drove off about half an hour ago.'
'I see.' Tweed was careful not to alarm her. 'They have been staying at a hotel,' he said, testing her.
'I know. The Atlantique. But when they return they will stay here. In two or three days' time. You have my number, so do not hesitate to call me again.'
'May I suggest you stay in your apartment as much as you can?'
'Bob - Mr Newman - has already told me that. Please do not hesitate to call me again,' she repeated.
'We are going to have to do something drastic, Rene.' Tweed said as he put down the phone. 'I'm alarmed - very alarmed. Because my whole team is heading for the Landes. Tell me, that map you're studying. It's festooned with crosses. Do they indicate areas where de Forge's troops are manoeuvring?'
'Exactly. From reports received so far...'
'And there are crosses in the Landes region.'
'You can read upside down. Ah! I see your point. Your people are moving straight into the danger zone. I am afraid so.'
'I repeat, we are going to have to do something drastic. I have another idea. Are the drivers of French petrol tankers likely to be sympathetic to de Forge?'
'My God, no! They're an independent gang. Very tough. They didn't even like de Gaulle. They loathe de Forge. Any breath of military rule is their idea of hell.'
'And the farmers,' Tweed went on. The farmers in the centre and north of France. Do they think de Forge is a saviour of France - like their compatriots in the south?'
'No. They deeply mistrust the Army. De Forge has successfully cultivated the farmers in the south by helping them to bring in their harvest. Fanners further north would chase a soldier off their land with a pitchfork. Why? Ideas seem to be tumbling out of your head.'
I'm an owl.' Tweed said with a dry smile. 'Are you still worried that de Forge has a network of info
rmants here in Paris reporting back to him?'
'Yes. I told you. I know he has. I just can't locate his network.'
Then tomorrow I will accept Josette de Forge's invitation to see her again.'
'And your references to petrol tankers, to farmers?'
'This is what I suggest you do with lightning speed ...'
Chapter Forty-Nine
'Get down the ladder quick!' Newman ordered.
Paula almost slid down it from the loft, followed by Stahl and Newman. The loft would hardly be the safest place when the tank crashed into the barn. They ran to the side window overlooking the carnage which had been a farmhouse. Paula kept to one side of the window with Newman, Stahl stayed on the other side.
Like the others, Paula felt she had to see what was happening before they ran for it. Ran where? She had a horrible vision of the walls toppling from a great height, caving in and burying them. They heard someone shouting in French as the young tank tearaway aimed his metallic monster at the barn.
A second tank appeared, broadside on, almost scraping the wall of the barn. Peering up, Paula saw the tank commander, a lieutenant. He had torn off his headset, was roaring at the top of his voice, waving his clenched fist. Through the glass of the window they could hear every word he said: