by Colin Forbes
Stahl produced a small notebook from somewhere under his jacket. He handed it to Lasalle.
'I disguised myself as a DST officer.' he said in English. 'I got inside GHQ, then inside de Forge's office. He had rushed out during some emergency - leaving on his desk the order of battle. For an attack on Paris. The notebook has the details.'
'Thank you. A remarkable feat. Kuhlmann - and others -will be relieved to lay their hands on this.' Lasalle looked at Berthier. 'I am glad to see you escaped from de Forge. You have done wonders for your country. We can talk properly when you return to Paris.' His voice became casual. 'Is Isabelle about?'
'In the kitchen.' Newman said. 'I'll bring her out if that's what you want?'
'Please. A remarkable woman, from what you've told me. Just tell her we are from the DST. But hurry!'
'First, this is Henri Bayle's notebook. Inside is a list of de Forge's units he identified in Bordeaux.' After handing over the notebook for which Francis Carey had died, Newman brought Isabelle out after she'd hastily whipped off her apron. She had been preparing a pile of sandwiches. She shook hands with Lasalle. He gazed at her with a quizzical expression Newman found odd. Then the DST team were gone.
Berthier began speaking as they all sat round the large table, devouring the sandwiches. Isabelle frequently stood up with the coffee pot to refill cups. Paula had tried to help her in the kitchen but she had refused politely. Newman had told the others they could trust Isabelle, had recalled how she had accidentally killed two of de Forge's fake DST men -and had come with him on his dangerous mission to bring out Stahl.
'I was working for Lasalle for many months.' Berthier told them, 'once I realized de Forge was a menace to France. As an Intelligence officer, working under Major Lamy, I pretended to de Forge that I was fooling Lasalle, pretending to work for the DST. If you follow my meaning. Lasalle provided me with misleading information to hand on to GHQ. He also gave me a listening device I could attach to the wall of my office, next door to Lamy's. I overheard many phone conversations. When I called Lasalle I used a public call box in different nearby villages.'
'So what went wrong?' Newman asked. 'They were going to shoot you on that beach.'
'Later on no one was allowed to leave barracks at GHQ. I made the mistake of using an internal phone to report something vital to Lasalle. That bastard de Forge had had all phones tapped. I was overheard. Captain Rey took delight in telling me that on the beach.'
'But what were you doing in Aldeburgh.' Paula asked him, 'posing as James Sanders, salesman of marine spares?'
'General de Forge sent me with a message to Lord Dawlish. That is another evil man.' He looked at Newman. 'His only ambition is to establish close relations with the French High Command so he can sell arms to certain middle eastern countries. Especially those where arms sales are officially banned. That is my story.'
Newman looked at Paula who had left her seat to gaze out of the window. It was the second time she had done so.
'What are you nervous about, Paula?'
'Shortly after we arrived I looked out of this window. A man on a motorcycle was riding down the street. He wore a helmet and was hunched over the handlebars. I am sure I know that man. Something about his movements as he turned the corner. It will come back to me.'
'Get on with your meal. Then I want to drive round Arcachon. I have the feeling something important is about to happen here.'
General Charles de Forge stood erect in the turret of his tank. Before him on the vast parade ground at GHQ were drawn up line upon line of tanks of the Second Armoured Division. Their commanders and crews stood at ease beside their leviathans, gazing at the General as he began his hypnotic speech.
'Soldiers of France! Zero hour is close! It is your duty to save the Republic from the corrupt politicians in Paris. Mob rule is rampant in Toulon, in Marseilles, in Toulouse, in Bordeaux itself, in Lyons, in half a dozen other cities. How long before Paris collapses into chaos?
'Soldiers! Who is behind this anarchy? There are three and a half million Arabs in France. Arabs! They have raped our French women, have wrecked shops, have set fire to French homes. The Jews are also rising - seeing their chance to take control. Algerians! Go home to where you came from! The slums of Africa, riddled with disease they bring here.
'Soldiers, you will be the saviours of France! Hordes of refugees threaten to overwhelm Europe from the East. France must resume its rightful role. Only France has the will to stem this tide of aliens. Are you ready?'
A storm of cheering broke out. A thunderous shouting of men whipped to hysteria.
'De Forge to Paris! To Paris! De Forge to the Elysee!'
As the roar eventually began to die down a captain turned to a lieutenant.
'What a great orator. He makes Dubois look like some amateur...'
De Forge waved, acknowledged the acclamation. Jumping from his tank he marched swiftly along the front line, shaking the hands of officers, of private soldiers. They were ready.
Chapter Fifty-Four
Tweed had arrived in Arcachon. It was now December.
The Alouette which had brought him from Paris was descending over the triangular-shaped bassin - prior to landing on the beach at the tip of the lie aux Oiseaux, the island north of Arcachon. A second Alouette was stationary on the sand. The flight had been timed for low tide. Tweed spoke to the pilot through his headset microphone.
'Could you please cruise over the front at a low altitude. I want to get my bearings.'
'What's the idea?' asked Fred Hamilton, sitting next to him.
Back at Park Crescent Howard had insisted that Hamilton should accompany Tweed as bodyguard. Reluctantly, Tweed had agreed.
The Alouette lost more height, changed course. It flew south almost to Cap-Ferret, located on the peninsula which blocked off the full fury of the Atlantic. A short distance further south was the narrow entrance to the bassin from the ocean - the entrance the Steel Vulture would have to pass through before berthing at the port.
'The idea,' Tweed said as the machine began to approach the front, 'is to see if I can recognize anyone.'
He had lifted a powerful pair of field-glasses and scanned the front, the boats moored offshore. He adjusted the focus on a man swabbing down the deck of a cabin cruiser. Victor Rosewater. Always present at the new trouble spot.
Near the port he frowned, focused afresh. A man wearing a naval cap was stepping ashore from a vessel, walking towards a motorcycle. Dawlish's right-hand man. Brand. Tweed had rather expected he would be in the area. His mouth tightened as he watched Brand exchange the naval cap for a yellow helmet, start up his machine, riding away from the shore into the town. He gave the pilot a fresh order.
'Please follow that motorcycle - without him realizing what we're doing if you can. Even if it means gaining some altitude.'
The Alouette climbed a little higher. The pilot showed great skill keeping his target in sight from a distance. Using his field-glasses, Tweed was struck by the intricate network of streets making up the town.
Brand was threading his way in and out of the maze. He seemed to have no particular destination. Then it dawned on Tweed the rider was searching the town. Looking for what? A few minutes later he saw the second motorcyclist.
He was riding down a street in a different part of the town from Brand. Tweed adjusted the focus as the rider turned into an alley, stopped, swung his machine round. From the way he took off his helmet, stretched his neck, Tweed guessed he was taking a breather.
In a town like Arcachon a motorcycle was a good way to get about but it seemed odd to spot two in such a short space of time. Tweed adjusted the focus while the rider was stretching aching muscles. A familiar face jumped into his lenses, a face Tweed recognized from one of the photos Lasalle had shown him. The face of Major Lamy.
Receiving a fresh instruction from Tweed, the pilot followed a new course along the southern and eastern shores of the bassin. They had left the town behind, marshes were stretching down to the water's edge, wh
en Tweed saw military checkpoints on the roads inland. De Forge had the port sewn up tight.
He pressed the glasses close to his eyes as he saw the oblong of a slipway slanting down from firm ground into the water. Behind the slipway a fleet of camouflaged trucks. He frowned, swept the whole area. It had manned checkpoints guarding every approach road.
Tweed nodded to himself, lowered his glasses, ordered the pilot to land on the island immediately.
'You've seen something, sir?' Hamilton enquired.
'Yes. I have been surveying the coming battlefield.'
A boat was being drawn up on the beach as Tweed descended the ladder agilely from his Alouette. He was in a hurry. A slim man in a telephone company's boiler suit came towards him.
'Welcome to the Île aux Oiseaux,' said Lasalle.
Tweed came out immediately with what was on his mind while they shook hands. He described tersely the slipway across the marshes, the waiting fleet of army trucks, the checkpoints.
'Hamilton, my aide here,' he went on, 'visited Dunwich before he joined me at Heathrow en route to Paris. It was misty, he couldn't even see the Steel Vulture. I'm convinced that vessel - which moves at high speed - will be arriving here to deliver weapons to de Forge. Within hours. Maybe in the middle of the night. Or at dawn.'
'Not in the middle of the night,' Lasalle objected. 'It is a difficult passage into the bassin. The skipper will need daylight. It is a problem - the whole area is infested with his troops.'
'Then the Steel Vulture must never land. Contact Navarre. He has the authority...'
'To do what?'
'To issue a warning that mines from the Second World War are floating off Arcachon. No vessel must approach within ten miles.'
'That will stop Dawlish?'
'Having met him, I doubt it. He'll think it's a bluff. So get aircraft to drop real sea mines. I hear there is a type which has a beeper signal - makes them easy to locate, pick up afterwards.'
'That is so. You are ruthless.' Lasalle commented with a wry smile.
'So is General de Forge. I know the enemy now. I wish I could see him, face to face.'
'It might be arranged, with a safe conduct. But I would have to be present.'
'Then arrange it. I see you have another boat concealed in the undergrowth. Can I use it to visit Arcachon?'
'You have sharp eyes.' Lasalle smiled again. 'It is supposed to be concealed. But it cannot be seen from the air...'
'Where are Paula, Newman, and the others?' Tweed hurried on.
Lasalle explained that they'd returned from the Landes, their experience there, that they had moved from the Atlantique to Isabelle Thomas's apartment. Tweed shook his head.
'That so-called safe house could be traced. They simply must move at once. But where to?'
'I can help there,' Lasalle assured him. 'I have hired a large cabin cruiser, L'Orage V...'
'"The Storm". Appropriate for what is coming,' Tweed commented.
'It is berthed at the edge of the bassin away from other craft.' As he spoke Lasalle took out a map, marking a position with a cross. 'It is the HQ of my DST team operating in the town. Also well away from any checkpoint. There would be plenty of room for all of you.'
'Then get me ashore fast.'
Newman had just arrived back at Isabelle's apartment. He had driven the Espace round Arcachon, had decided he was taking too many chances. As soon as he came near the outskirts he saw a checkpoint manned with troops. He parked the Espace further up the quiet side street. They had stayed with one vehicle too long.
Tweed arrived a few minutes later, riding a bicycle provided by Lasalle from several stored beneath the undergrowth on the island. He had also marked Isabelle's address on the map.
'A man on a cycle is never noticed.' he had remarked.
Tweed had to press the bell. After a minute a large woman with a beaky nose and inquisitive eyes opened the door.
'I have to visit someone on the first floor.' he explained in French.
'The stamina of that girl.' the woman sneered. 'She has five men up there already. I expect she'll cope with you.'
'Would you repeat that comment?' Tweed demanded.
She wilted under his icy stare. Contemptuously, he pushed past her ample form into the lobby, ran up the stairs. Newman opened the door to him, unable to hide his surprise.
'All of you have to get out of here.' Tweed announced without ceremony as he entered the room. 'Immediately!'
He took in Butler, Nield, Berthier, Stahl, and Paula with a quick glance. His gaze rested longer on Isabelle, introduced to him without a name as a friend by Newman.
'Just why do we have to leave so quickly?' she demanded, her chin tilted, her eyes studying him.
'Because the town has practically been taken over by de Forge. I can give you five minutes to clear up, collect some things. Less would be better.'
'We have been safe so far,' she persisted and he realized she was challenging him, which he found intriguing. 'Kalmar, a top professional assassin, is in Arcachon. He strangled a girl in England. He has since strangled another woman not three miles from here. He seems to specialize in strangling attractive women. I think you're on his list. So is Paula. Pack your things. Quickly...'
L'Orage V was a very large cabin cruiser. It was moored part way up a creek outside Arcachon, shielded from the mainland by a copse of pine trees. Leaving the Espace, which Newman had parked inside the copse, Tweed insisted on exploring the apparently deserted vessel alone.
Walking gingerly along the gangplank, he stepped on to the deck. The bassin was still calm, its surface hardly ruffled by wavelets, but approaching from the ocean was an army of low black clouds.
The Orage had the wheelhouse for'ard, a companionway leading down to a saloon. Tweed's first warning that someone was aboard was as he stepped into the large saloon equipped with a long table. A hard object like the barrel of a gun was rammed into his spine. He stood quite still.
'Pierre?' he enquired.
'Who the devil are you?' a harsh voice rapped back.
Tweed held up the folded letter of introduction Lasalle had given him. A hand snatched it over his shoulder. The gun stayed pressed into his spine. Then the invisible man spoke in French again.
'Stand quite still while I check you.'
'Check away. I rarely carry a weapon.' Tweed said in French.
A hand expertly patted him in all the right places. He felt the gun leave his back, turned round cautiously. A six foot tall, well-built man in his thirties faced him. Fair-haired, with humorous eyes, he wore a trenchcoat with a blue pinhead in the lapel.
'I was expecting you.' he greeted Tweed. 'Can't be too careful. De Forge's men are everywhere. I have to leave now you've got here. A job to do. How many of you in the Espace?'
'Five men and two women, excluding myself.'
'You should be all right. There are eight decent bunk beds in the foc'sle. A well-equipped galley, a ton of food, and plenty to drink.'
'Before you go, could I have a glass of water?'
Tweed had a horror of ships and the sea. Everything was always moving unpredictably. Even inside the creek he didn't trust the cruiser: the bassin was tidal. Before bringing the others aboard he swallowed a Dramamine with some water. Better be safe than sorry...
Five minutes later Pierre had gone, after telling Tweed he had sole use of the vessel. Tweed had hustled his team aboard with their kit and they were settled in. Paula offered Isabelle the lower bunk at the end of the sleeping quarters but Isabelle insisted she would take the upper one. They hurried into the galley, together checked the food supplies, the cooking arrangements. Newman noticed how well they were getting on together. Tweed then summoned them into the saloon, asking Nield to keep guard on deck and seating the others at the long table. He sat at the head, his expression grim.
'There are rules. One, no one leaves this vessel without my permission. Two, I will establish a guard roster...'
'Which will include us.'
&n
bsp; Isabelle and Paula had spoken together. Tweed glared.
'I'll decide that later. Lasalle will be coming to take me somewhere just before dusk. Newman will come with me. In our absence Egon Stahl will be in charge. Three, we take meals at regular hours ...'
'We shall want to know the times in advance,' Isabelle said firmly.
'Well in advance if we're cooking,' Paula agreed.
'Why.' Newman asked, 'have you assembled us all together here?'
'Because the time has come for me to have complete control. And Isabelle's apartment had been used long enough.'
'Those are the only reasons?' enquired Stahl.
It was a shrewd question. Tweed had swiftly summed up the German as capable and resourceful. He must be to have survived in Bordeaux so long. Before Tweed could answer Newman put a question which had been intriguing him to Stahl.
'How on earth did you penetrate de Forge's GHQ?'
'Planning.' Stahl gave his infectious smile. 'I travelled inside the van which delivers daily bread to the officers. Hid inside the back, unknown to the driver. Locating where he loaded up took some research, but forget that. While he was delivering I left the van. Earlier in Bordeaux I picked the pocket of a fake DST officer who was checking my papers. I took his identity card.'