by Jack Higgins
'I am also a citizen of France. That makes me neutral.'
'Impossible,' he said calmly. 'Your half-brother, sublieutenant Richard Brindsley, is serving as a helicopter pilot on board HMS Invincible, as you very well know.'
'Stop it!' she said desperately. 'I won't listen.'
'He is serving with 820 Squadron,' Ferguson carried on relentlessly. 'The same squadron as Prince Andrew. Let me tell you what one of his more unpleasant duties is. The Sea Kings are frequently used to act as decoys for Exocet missiles. Prince Andrew and your brother and their comrades act in the belief that an Exocet cannot fly above twenty-seven feet. They hover, present an attractive radar target, protecting the ship of the fleet. The idea is to gain height quickly at the last moment possible, so that the missile passes beneath them. Unfortunately, rogue Exocets have been known to exceed that height. I'll spare you a description of the possibilities.'
She was almost beside herself with rage and fear. 'I won't listen. Leave me alone.'
'And then there's your friend, Montera. A gallant fool if ever I saw one, but the enemy in this war, Gabrielle, make no mistake about that. A man who has flown a Skyhawk with a five thousand pound bomb load to attack the British fleet in San Carlos Water on no fewer than twelve occasions. I wonder which frigate he helped sink?'
She turned away. Ferguson nodded to Fox and went out. Fox closed the door and found him in the lift, his face strained.
'I told you it was a waste of time.'
'Nonsense,' Ferguson said. 'She'll go.' As the lift descended he said, 'She'll need a man, Harry, to back her up. Someone totally dependable and quite ruthless. Do you know where Tony is at this moment?'
'Operating behind Argentinian lines somewhere in the Falklands with the SAS.'
'Exactly. I thought I might need him so I sent a signal last night, utmost priority. I want him pulled out. Picked up by submarine and off-loaded into Uruguay. It's only fourteen hours by plane from Montevideo to Paris. Our people at the Embassy in Montevideo can have the necessary papers waiting for him.'
They went out and down the steps towards the car. He said, 'I know, Harry, don't bother to say it. I'm the great original bastard of all time.'
* * *
Belov and Garcia sat with Donner in the study of his apartment and waited while Wanda poured coffee.
'That's fine,' Donner said to her. 'Any business calls from the corporation in London, you handle and tell Yanni to stand by. I may need him.'
She went out and he said to Garcia, 'So, Colonel Montera arrives tomorrow? You've brought me that file on him I asked for, I trust? I like to know who I'm dealing with.'
'Of course.' Garcia opened his briefcase and produced a small folder which he pushed across.
Donner opened it, studied the photo it contained of Montera, and quickly scanned the details on the sheets.
'Excellent,' he said at last. 'What arrangements have you made as regards accommodation?'
'A hotel didn't seem like a good idea,' Garcia said, 'and certainly not the Embassy. I've leased a small service flat for him in an apartment block on the Avenue de Neuilly by the Bois de Boulogne.' He passed a card across. 'There's the address and telephone number.'
'Good.' Donner nodded. 'I'll make the necessary contact with him once he arrives.'
Garcia said, 'I was wondering when we might have some further details as to exactly what you intend.' There was a kind of exasperation in his voice. 'I mean, you've still given us not the slightest hint where you expect to get the Exocets from.'
'And I don't intend to,' Donner said. 'Not until the very last moment. This is a matter of the utmost delicacy. The fewer people who know my source, the better. I'm sorry but that's the way I work.' He shrugged. 'Of course if you're not satisfied, it would still be possible to pull out.'
'Good God, no,' Garcia said hastily. 'I didn't mean that, not for a moment.'
'I'm glad to hear it. Now, if you wouldn't mind leaving us alone for a moment. You can wait in the next room. I'm sure Wanda can find you some more coffee.'
Garcia went out. Belov said, 'Amateurs. What on earth is one supposed to do with them?'
'Keep them out of harm's way, that's what,' Donner said. 'I've already made it plain to Paul Bernard that under no circumstances does he discuss with Garcia his dealings with me.'
'Who therefore knows nothing about your interest in Ile de Roc?'
'Exactly.'
'And can you trust Bernard?'
'Oh, yes, the good professor has really got the bit between his teeth. Looks upon the whole thing as a kind of crusade. I haven't been explicit, but he obviously thinks I intend to hijack one of the Aerospatiale trucks which transport Exocets by road to the island every so often. Mind you, if he knew my exact intentions, he might not be so pleased. But he has served my purpose very well.'
'And what happens to him afterwards?'
'Something suitably dramatic, I think, like being found dead with a gun in one hand and a suicide note, regretting his involvement in a conspiracy against his own country to obtain Exocets for the Argentine Government. French Intelligence will have little difficulty in establishing that he gave all that technical assistance early in the campaign. According to Garcia, he was on the telephone to Buenos Aires answering queries for lengthy periods on a number of occasions. It should all come out very satisfactorily. France is, after all, a democracy. Three cheers for a free press.'
'You really do think of everything, don't you?'
'I try. Now to something you can help me with. I need an address where I can pick up some muscle.'
'How many men?'
'I'd say about eight, which makes ten with me and Stavrou. Ample for my purposes if they are the right breed. Thorough-going hoods. Nothing fancy about using their brains. The kind of men who will kill if the price is right.'
'There's always the Union Corse,' Belov said.
The Union Corse was the largest crime syndicate in France, a truly formidable organisation whose tentacles reached out everywhere from the judiciary to the government itself.
Donner shook his head. 'I don't think so. They may be gangsters, those boys, but they're inclined to be patriotic. The curse of the French, Nikolai, or hadn't you noticed? Even the communist variety look upon themselves as Frenchmen first.'
'Point taken,' Belov said. 'But we do have other contacts. You could really do with mercenaries rather than ordinary gangsters.'
'Or gangsters who've seen service in the army. God knows, there must still be plenty of those around in France after all those years in Algiers.'
'Leave it with me.'
Donner opened a drawer, took out a sheet of paper and passed it across. 'I'll also need the items on there.'
Belov examined the list and raised his eyebrows. 'You intend to go to war, to judge by this little lot?'
'You could put it that way.'
At that moment, the door opened and Juan Garcia entered. He was trembling with excitement, eyes shining. 'What is it, for God's sake?' Belov demanded.
'Today gentlemen, is the 25th of May, you know what that means in the Argentine?'
'I can't say I do.'
'It is our national day, a day which will go down in our history as one on which we dealt the British navy the most crushing blow of the war. It's on now, a newsflash on television. Come and see,' and he turned and hurried out.
* * *
In the office at Cavendish Place, Ferguson put down the red phone, his face grave.
Harry Fox said, 'Is it bad, sir?'
'You could say that. The destroyer, HMS Coventry, was attacked by Skyhawks while protecting vessels landing supplies at San Carlos. She may also have been hit by an Exocet, we aren't sure yet. At least twenty dead and many wounded. She capsized.'
'My God,' Fox said.
'There's worse, Harry. The fifteen thousand ton container ship, Atlantic Conveyor, has also been taken out. Two Exocet hits definitely confirmed.' He shook his head. 'Because of her size on the radar screen, they pro
bably thought she was one of the aircraft carriers.'
There was silence for a while, only the muted sounds of traffic from outside in the square. Fox said, 'What do we do now, sir?'
'I think that's obvious,' Ferguson told him. 'Don't you?'
* * *
When he knocked at the door of the flat in Kensington Palace Gardens for the second time that day, there was a delay before slow steps approached and the door opened on the chain.
Gabrielle looked out. She stared at them for a long moment, then opened the door and led the way into the sitting room. She was wearing the old bathrobe and looked dreadful, her hair tousled, eyes swollen.
'You've heard the news,' Ferguson asked gently.
She nodded. 'Yes.'
'And?'
She took a deep breath and folded her arms as if holding herself together. 'When do you want me to go?'
'Tomorrow, I think. You still have the apartment on the Avenue Victor Hugo?'
'Yes.'
'Good. Get yourself settled in. You'll be informed what to do by our man in Paris, or if necessary Harry can go over on the shuttle to see you. And there is one more thing.'
She looked incredibly weary now. 'And what would that be?'
'You'll need a back-up man. Someone totally reliable, to be on hand in case you get into trouble.'
It was as if she knew what was coming. Her eyes widened in a kind of horror. 'You've sent for Tony?'
'That's right. He should be here in thirty-six hours at the outside.'
She shook her head helplessly. 'I'd like to kill you, Ferguson. I really would like to see you dead and I've never wished that on any human being in my life. See what you've done to me? You and people like you, corrupt everything you touch.'
'Harry will make your travel arrangements,' he said. 'He'll be in touch. Take a couple of pills, get some sleep. You'll feel better for it.'
When they went outside, it had started to rain. Ferguson paused to button up his coat and Fox said, 'Can she handle it, sir? It's expecting a hell of a lot. I mean, the impression I get is that she's head over heels in love with Raul Montera.'
'Yes, an interesting situation,' Ferguson said. 'But we don't really have any choice, do we?' He glanced up at the rain and raised his collar as he went down the steps. 'All of a sudden I feel old, Harry. What do you think about that? Very, very old.'
* * *
In Buenos Aires, the Plaza in front of the National Congress Building was crammed with thousands of excited people, hundreds of blue and white Argentinian flags waving everywhere.
The crowd roared, above the hooting of car horns: Argentina! Argentina! On a balcony in full uniform, silver hair swept back, arm raised in salute like a Roman emperor, Galtieri took the plaudits of the crowd.
And then the voices changed, became a chorus like the sea rushing in, carrying everything before it and the word that they repeated over and over again like a litany, was Exocet.
* * *
Ferguson was sitting by the fire in the flat toasting crumpets when Fox came in with a signal in his hand.
'Oh, I wanted to see you, Harry. Who have we got at the Paris Embassy who isn't a complete idiot?'
Fox thought about it. 'George Corwin is a possibility, sir. Was a captain in the Green Howards when we recruited him. Did quite well in Ireland. His mother is French, that's why we posted him to Paris.'
'Excellent. He can pick Montera up when he arrives from Buenos Aires. Find out where he's staying and liaise with Gabrielle till Tony gets in. Talking about Tony, what's happening there?'
'I was just bringing this signal to show you, sir. Text of a message from H.Q. at San Carlos via SAS headquarters at Hereford.'
'What's it say?'
'Confirm Major Villiers and Sergeant Major Jackson en route as ordered.'
'I wonder how Tony took it, being hauled out of the action like that.'
'I shouldn't imagine he'd be too pleased,' Fox said.
'Well that would make sense, knowing our Tony,' Ferguson said. 'After all, it's the only war he's got.'
9
On the day previously it had been quiet at first light in the mountains of north Falkland, the only sound a dog barking from one of the hillside farms far, far below in a valley.
The four-man SAS reconnaissance team had been operating behind the Argentine lines for ten days now, having been put ashore by submarine before the British landings at San Carlos on the twenty-first.
The team consisted of Villiers, Harvey Jackson, the radio operator, Corporal Elliot of the Royal Corps of Signals; and the fourth member of the group, a trooper named Jack Korda, a volunteer to the SAS from the Grenadier Guards like Villiers and Jackson.
It was bitterly cold. When Villiers had first awakened he had found his sleeping poncho covered in hoar frost. He stood now in the hollow beside a small cave, not much more than a fissure in the rocks, inside which Korda was heating tea on a small chemical stove.
Villiers, like the others, wore a black woollen balaclava, more against the cold than anything else. His camouflage uniform was soaking wet, his fingers numb with cold as he ate from a mess can with a spoon. Jackson sat cross-legged on the ground, a guardsman to the end, and scraped shaving foam from his chin with a plastic razor.
Villiers' spoon rattled against the bottom of the mess tin. He stowed it away in his pack and accepted the mug of tea Korda passed him.
'I've had enough chicken supreme to last me a lifetime. How about you, Harvey?'
'Oh, it keeps me going as well as anything else, ' Jackson said. 'Food's not all that important. When I was seventeen the food in the guardsmen's mess at the Depot was so awful, I've never been able to take it seriously since.'
Elliot was crouched by the radio and Villiers moved across. 'Everything okay?'
Elliot glanced up and nodded. 'Through in a minute.'
The patrol's task was simple enough: to pick up as much information as possible about Argentinian troop movements in the area. The information would be of the utmost importance when British forces broke out from the San Carlos beach-head.
The equipment Elliot carried was of the latest kind. There was a small typewriter-style keyboard and through this system, messages could be entered and stored in code. When Elliot was ready, the touch of a button was sufficient to send a message of a few hundred words in a matter of seconds. They were on the air so briefly that it was impossible for the enemy to have any hope of tracing them.
Elliot looked up and grinned. 'That's it.' He started to pack his equipment.
Korda crawled out of the fissure with more tea. 'When do we go in, sir? How much longer?'
'Rations for four more days,' Villiers reminded him.
'Which means we can last a week,' Harvey Jackson said. 'Longer, if you don't mind raw mutton. Sheep all over the place. The Argies have been doing very nicely on that diet.'
Before Korda could reply, Villiers said, 'Just a minute. Something coming.'
There was a murmur in the distance that grew louder. Villiers and the others crawled forward cautiously to the edge of the hollow and peered over. They each carried the same weapon, a silenced sub-machine gun.
An Argentinian truck was approaching along the rough track about a hundred yards away, its front wheels spinning on the frozen ground, only the half-tracks at the rear keeping it going.
The driver and the man who sat beside him in the front seat with a rifle across his knees, were muffled up to their ears against the intense cold, scarves bound around their faces.
'Sitting ducks,' Elliot said. 'Even if there's somebody in the rear.'
But the patrol's task was to seek information, not confrontation. Villiers said, 'No, let them go.'
And then the truck slithered to a halt, half-slewed across the track directly below them.
'Watch it!' Villiers said.
They crouched low. The driver jumped down from behind the wheel and Villiers heard him say in Spanish, 'This stinking engine again with the stinking oil that isn't
supposed to freeze and turns into lumps instead. What are we doing in this place?'
He raised the bonnet to examine the engine. His friend got out still holding his rifle, and lit a cigarette.
'Okay, ease off,' Villiers whispered.
As they started to slide back from the rim, Korda put out a hand to steady himself. Rock and soil broke away suddenly and slid down the slope to the track below, gathering momentum.
The two Argentine soldiers cried out in alarm. The one with the rifle swung round, raising it instinctively and Harvey Jackson, having no choice, jumped up and cut him down with the silenced sub-machine gun. The only sound was the bolt reciprocating. The Argentinian's rifle flew into the air and he fell back against the truck.
The driver got his hands in the air fast and stood waiting as the four men went down the slope. Korda banged him against the truck, legs spread, and Jackson searched him with ruthless efficiency.
'Nothing,' he said to Villiers and turned the soldier round.
He was only a boy, no more than seventeen or eighteen and frightened to death.
'What's in the back?' Villiers demanded in Spanish.
'Supplies, equipment,' the boy said, eager to please. 'Nothing more, senor, I swear it. Please don't kill me.'
'All right.' Villiers nodded to Jackson. 'Take a look.'
He lit a cigarette and gave one to the boy whose hand shook as he accepted a light. The fear in him was so strong you could almost smell it.
Jackson came back. 'Must be sappers. Lots of landmines in there, explosives and so on.'
Villiers said to the Argentinian, 'You're with an engineering unit?'
'No,' the boy said. 'Transport. The men I took to Bull Cove last night, I think they were engineers.'
Bull Cove was a place Villiers and the patrol knew well. One of their first tasks on arrival had been to survey the area as a possible site to put more troops ashore behind the Argentinian lines when the push started from San Carlos. The cove had proved an admirable choice; well protected from the sea with a deep water channel through a narrow entrance above which stood a disused lighthouse. Villiers had sent in a favourable report.
'How many of them were there?'
'An officer and two men, senor. Captain Lopez. They unloaded a lot of equipment and then the Captain decided he needed some special fuses.' He took a crumpled list from his pocket. 'See, here it is, senor. He was sending me back to base for these things.'