by Colin Forbes
'Almost?'
'That it will be complete by this evening. Most definitely, Senior. I give you my word ...'
'And I'll give you the destination when at long last you've got your act together. Get out of here and kick a few backsides to make them work faster...'
Alone when Santos had hurried away, he opened the wall safe. Stripping off the pea-jacket, he removed the fat money belt strapped round his waist. He began taking out French and Swiss banknotes in stacks, all high-denomination bills. When he closed the safe it was holding a fortune.
He next took from his wallet the message he had already encoded before leaving Grenville Grange. Making himself comfortable in front of the transmitter, he sent the signal which passed from the aerial alongside the complex radar above the bridge. Decoded, the message was simple.
Expected consignment will arrive agreed destination tomorrow positively. Equipment and finance. ETA 0800 hours. Oiseau.
'Just in time for breakfast in Arcachon,' Dawlish said to himself.
At his GHQ General de Forge read the decoded signal Lamy had just handed him from Oiseau. He folded his strong hands and stared at his Chief of Intelligence without speaking. Lamy forced himself not to shift about in his chair. It was another favourite tactic of de Forge's - to use silence to intimidate his subordinates. He had a maxim he sometimes liked to utter at meetings of the Cercle Noir. And the final meeting would take place this evening. The maxim was typical of the General: 'There are two ways of ruling men. Through love or fear. I prefer fear.'
'Lamy,' he said eventually, 'you'll have to reply with our own signal. Warn him that we have observed French aircraft patrolling offshore. He should make a broad sweep well out in the Bay of Biscay. We move tomorrow.'
Newman was in a cold fury. The troops were eyeing Paula in anticipation. Rey saw his expression and grinned again, his eyes glowing with lecherous malevolence. He tapped Newman on the arm.
'You can watch. Before we shoot you. Then her.'
Newman glanced at Berthier and almost frowned. Rey was deciding which soldier should take Paula first. Berthier had glanced surreptitiously at his watch. Then his expression went blank.
It was at this moment when Newman's acute hearing caught the sound of engines approaching at high speed. Within seconds the surge of the sea was drowned with the roaring chug-chug of a whole fleet of helicopters. The Alouettes appeared over the treetops like a cloud of metal birds. Several vanished out of sight, descending into a clearing, Newman assumed.
More choppers were flying south parallel to the beach. They came in very low. Then they were landing on the sand, spilling out droves of CRS men in leather coats and armed with automatic weapons.
From the nearest machine a swivel-mounted machine-gun fired a warning burst, coughing up bursts of sand. A familiar figure jumped out, ran with an escort of CRS men to where the group was lined up. Lasalle.
'Surrender!' His order was a piercing shout. 'Drop your weapons or every one of you will be shot down.'
Rey suddenly broke away, screened by his recent prisoners, running into the forest. Newman followed him. His feet pounded the earth, surprised at how fleet of foot the horrific gnome was. Ahead other troops were fleeing.
They stopped abruptly. From behind every massive tree trunk - or so it seemed to Newman - appeared a CRS man, aiming his automatic rifle. The soldiers froze in their tracks. Rey slowed, stopped, staring round desperately for an avenue of escape. There wasn't one.
Rey heard the pounding of Newman's feet, turned. He reached for the pistol, which was no longer in his holster. Newman's fist smashed with tremendous force into the side of his jaw, breaking it. Rey sagged against a tree trunk.
'You'd do that to a woman!' Newman was beside himself. He grabbed Rey by the throat, began to strangle him as Rey's fists beat futilely against his chest. Lasalle and Paula caught up with -them. CRS men grabbed hold of Newman, pulled him away from Rey, who collapsed.
'He's not worth creating a storm about,' Paula said in a chilling voice. 'You've done enough.'
Berthier appeared at Paula's elbow. He shook hands with Lasalle, thanking him.
'What happened?' Newman asked, breathing heavily.
He remembered then that ages ago he had given Paris the map reference of the graveyard. Berthier shook Newman's hand.
'I told you I called Paris. I warned Lasalle they were going to destroy the evidence of the killing ground.'
'And luckily saved yourself - and us,' Newman commented, rubbing blood off his knuckles with his handkerchief.
'You must have smashed the bone,' Paula observed, staring down at the unconscious Rey.
'All of them, I hope,' Newman said with vehemence.
'We must round up the rest of these killers' Lasalle said. 'And where is your witness?'
'Give us ten minutes and we'll give you the witness.'
'Tell me where.'
'St Girons...'
'So we fly you there in one of the Alouettes. It will pick up your witness and fly you on to Paris.'
'I want to go straight back to Arcachon with my team.' Newman said firmly.
'So.' Lasalle spread his hands, 'the Alouette flies you to St Giron, the witness is put aboard, the Alouette flies you to Arcachon, then proceeds to Paris with the witness Navarre needs so badly.'
'Agreed.' Newman pointed to the sagging figure of Key who was beginning to stir, groaning. 'What do we do with that? He was going to kill Berthier, was directing a firing squad when we arrived just in time.'
'He will be flown to Paris for intensive interrogation. He'll crack. That sort always does. Follow me .. .'
He led the way back to the beach. They passed CRS men handcuffing the hands of soldiers behind their backs. Paula was relieved to get on to the clean air of the beach. Stahl had collected their weapons, handed them back to their owners, including Paula's Browning.
Lasalle ushered them to the Alouette behind the lead machine he had travelled aboard. He shook the hand of each man as he climbed into the machine - Berthier, Newman, Stahl, Butler, and Nield. He had kept Paula to the last and hugged her before she joined the others.
'You have had an appalling ordeal.' he told her.
'It was a bit tense.' she admitted.
He felt her trembling as she smiled. Reaction was setting in. She took one last look south to where the high dunes rose, where the sea glided in, retreated before another wave rolled in. An idyllic scene - to hide so much horror. As soon as she was inside the door was closed, the rotors began to whirl, the machine ascended.
Outside the Atlantique Moshe Stein had been hustled to the waiting car on the far side of the road. A man inside threw open the rear door. The taller captor took hold of Moshe by the scruff of the neck, prepared to hurl him inside.
There was a sudden screech of burning rubber, of cars braking violently. Four Citroens were parked in a military-style manoeuvre - one car blocking off the car Moshe was about to enter, a second blocking the rear. Two more cars stopped on the far side of the road and men in civilian clothes holding automatics dived out. A tall, thin man with a streak of a moustache and without a gun, hands in his raincoat pockets, called out as he approached the trapped car.
'DST. Don't move. My men have orders to use their weapons at the first sign of resistance.'
'We are DST,' protested the man who had hit Moshe.
The thin man glanced at the coat lapel of the protester. He grinned without humour as the man produced his papers. Glancing at them, he held them up to the grey light, shook his head.
'Forgeries. And that is another offence.' He looked at Moshe's mouth where blood seeped. 'Who hit you?'
'Does it matter? Violence is the only language these people understand.'
'You're Moshe Stein? Good. And I agree with your remark. Come with me, please.'
Taking him out of earshot of the fake DST trio, he led him to the second car on the far side of the road. He opened the rear door, stopped Moshe as he was about to get inside.
&
nbsp; 'You will be flown to Paris under protective guard. I understand they need you there urgently as a witness to atrocities. Talking about atrocities, I insist you tell me who struck you.'
Moshe shrugged. 'Since you insist, it was the tall one. And perhaps I shouldn't ask but I'm curious. How did you know those men were not genuine DST?'
'As you're going to Paris, I will tell you. It was the idea of my chief based in Paris. Knowing there were a number of men posing as DST he told us all to wear blue pins in our lapels.'
'Clever.' For the first time Moshe saw the blue pin.
The thin man closed the door, the car drove off. He beckoned to the tall man, opened the rear door of the first car. The prisoner glared at him viciously, bent his head to step inside. The thin man grabbed his collar, pulled him back, then slammed him forward so his face smashed into the top of the car. The prisoner yelped with pain. He had blood all over his mouth and chin, had lost three teeth.
Tsk, tsk!' the thin man said sympathetically. He moved a foot over the wet street. 'It is very slippery. You should be more careful...'
Marler, carrying his holdall, had disembarked from the internal flight from Paris. He was walking across the concourse when he saw a group of soldiers stopping two scruffily dressed youths. He immediately changed direction, went to a bookstall, bought a newspaper.
He joined a crowd heading for a departure lounge, trailing in their wake. Looking back he saw the soldiers escorting the youths to a bench where their duffle bags were deposited prior to search. The troops were absorbed in their task.
Adjusting his beret, he turned round again, strolled out of the concourse. The car he had ordered from Paris was waiting for him. A Peugeot. He showed his papers to the girl, paid her a generous sum as though needing the vehicle for a few days, drove away.
Earlier, waiting in his room near the rue du Bac, he had received further instructions from Tweed over his mobile phone.
'Increase the pressure to the maximum. We have not much time left.'
'Don't worry. I have a new idea.' Marler had assured his chief. 'A very tight turn of the screw ...'
Kalmar sat in his camper concealed in woods outside Arca-chon drinking coffee. He was studying a map of the port. The coffee was black and strong and helped him recover his nerve. He had just experienced a frustrating shock.
He had traced Moshe Stein to the Atlantique and had been on his way to strangle the Jew. Arriving a short distance from the hotel, he had carefully parked his motorcycle inside a small alley. Always station your means of escape within easy walking distance of the target's home or temporary residence. But not so close that it might be seen and remembered by a passer-by.
He drew on his Gauloise, recalling the incident. He had been very close to the hotel, wearing the sort of trenchcoat favoured by the fake DST men crawling round the town. He had seen his target, Moshe Stein, being dragged from the hotel and had stopped, bending down as he pretended to tie an imaginary loose shoe lace. Then the other cars had arrived, other men had dived out of them.
Kalmar was a professional, so very observant. Before he turned away his sharp eyes caught the glitter of a blue pinhead in the lapel of one of the new arrivals. No similar pinhead in the lapels of the men who had hauled Stein out, who appeared to be arrested by the newcomers.
Kalmar had walked away. He knew exactly the right shop which sold embroidery equipment. Sure enough, they had a selection of blue pinheads. He had purchased half a dozen. He was wearing one now in the lapel of his trenchcoat. Taking another drag at his Gauloise, he folded up the map. His next target was Paula Grey, who had disappeared from Arcachon. His instinct told him she would soon return.
Chapter Fifty-Two
Navarre was holding a battle conference in his office at the Ministry of the Interior. Also present were Tweed and Kuhlmann. The three men were taking final decisions.
'Lasalle has signalled me.' Navarre informed his two confidants. 'He was brief. The graveyard has been discovered and soldiers were there on the verge of removing the corpses. The two witnesss, Moshe Stein and the old woman, Martine, are on their way here.'
'Old woman?' Kuhlmann queried. 'Will she make a convincing witness?'
'Lasalle says she is fiercely anti-de Forge and has all her marbles.'
'What about my people?' Tweed asked quietly.
Navarre ran a hand through his dark hair. His lean face radiated dynamic energy and determination.
'My apologies. I should have told you first. Newman, Paula Grey, and the rest of your team are safe. They are returning to Arcachon. They seem to think something crucial is going to happen there.'
'It is.' Tweed agreed. 'And the air patrols over the Bay of Biscay?'
'Are flying non-stop.' Navarre turned to Kuhlmann. 'I should have told you that your agent, Stahl, also is safe. He has joined Newman's team.'
'Not such a brief signal.' Tweed observed.
'Ah! Lasalle has a shorthand method of communication. He can convey much with few words. Have you news yet of Siegfried, Kuhlmann?'
The German smiled cynically at Tweed. 'My informant has reported he will soon have the locations. Soon.'
'And the saboteurs de Forge has infiltrated inside Paris?' Tweed queried. 'Were you able to obtain Balaclavas?'
'Yes.' Navarre replied. 'We now have mobile CRS in small groups stationed near likely targets. That was a clever idea of yours, Tweed. The Balaclavas.'
'I simply pinched the brilliant idea Lasalle had of using blue pinheads to distinguish between real and fake DST.'
'The whole key to victory against de Forge.' Navarre went on, staring at Kuhlmann, 'is the timing of two strikes. Ours against the Paris saboteurs and yours against this Siegfried underground organization in Germany.'
'The strike against Siegfried should take place first.' Tweed warned. 'Preferably by only a few hours. So the timing will be hair-raising.'
'I'm ready. And I agree.' said Kuhlmann.
'So now we can only wait for news of Lasalle's attack on the Cercle Noir,' Navarre stated. 'The precision timing - in the correct sequence - is, as you say, Tweed, hair-raising.'
They were speaking in the common language they all understood: English. Tweed rose from the table, glanced at the clock on the wall.
'I am not waiting for anything. I gather a chopper is standing by to fly me to Arcachon. I propose to leave immediately. Events at that port will decide whether we win or lose ...'
General de Forge was pacing up and down behind his desk. Lamy watched him. It was unusual for the General to be so edgy. Normally he was cool as ice. He guessed that the communications from Manteau were getting on his nerves.
'I have been waiting for you, Lamy.' de Forge said grimly. 'I was actually standing at the entrance to this building, wondering where the hell you were when I saw you arrive at the main gate on a motorcycle.'
'I had another urgent message from Kalmar's woman. I had to ride like blazes to a call box in a remote village in the hills. The phone started ringing just as I arrived.'
'What did he want?'
'Money. Of course. He is going ahead with the assignment to eliminate Paula Grey as soon as he locates her. But he was very aggressive in his demand for payment.'
'I expect large funds to reach me tomorrow.'
De Forge left it at that. He was not ready yet to tell anyone else the Steel Vulture was berthing at Arcachon at eight in the morning the following day.
'Kalmar also said Siegfried is now in place all over Germany...'
'So I hope you stressed we will be ordering him to send the signal for action within hours?'
'As you instructed me to do when he next contacted me. He will be available for me to contact him through the cutout number of the woman.'
'So,' de Forge mused, 'we shall then have the spectacle of Germany reeling under car bomb explosions. Then when the world's attention is fixed on Germany we act. It will be a model campaign, Lamy.'
'And all planned by yourself months ago. Even down to the K
u-Klux-Klan-style demonstrations, the Cross of Fire riots in major southern cities. Not only a model campaign, a unique campaign.'
'You would be flattering me for some reason...?'
General de Forge stopped speaking as he heard thudding feet approaching outside. Someone hammered in a frenzy on the door. De Forge nodded and Lamy went to the door and opened it. The sergeant of the guard stood there, fearful and gasping for breath.
The incident had occurred minutes earlier. On the orders of de Forge himself the guard at the main entrance gate had been doubled. Six soldiers on foot patrolled outside the gates, each armed with an automatic weapon carried ready for action in his hands.
On the grass verge a tank had been stationed, the barrel of its long gun aimed up the road to Bordeaux. As zero-hour came close the General had felt it wise to protect GHQ more strongly.
It was an unusually bright afternoon for the time of the year. Across the road from the gates the ground had been cleared of all undergrowth. Trees had been chopped down and taken away with the remnants of their trunks. The flat countryside now spread away for a long distance and made it impossible for anyone to approach without being seen.
Here and there low hills studded with boulders rose up and broke the flatness of the plain running towards the horizon. Behind the hills the landscape was criss-crossed with a series of gullies, often with shallow streams running along their beds. It was a scene of serenity and peace.