Blood Storm tac-22

by Colin Forbes

  'He'll have a reason,' she replied, gazing out of the window.

  In the distance she could see several new buildings. Beyond them nothing but a flat endless plain. Marignane was in the middle of nowhere. We have no weapons if there's trouble, Paula thought. Leave it all up to Philip.

  They disembarked down the staircase and walked to the airport buildings. Paula was immediately aware it was much warmer. Philip met them the moment they entered. He was accompanied by a small Frenchman in an elaborate uniform.

  'Armand,' Philip introduced. 'Chef du Securite. We must keep moving. Good flight?'

  'Must have been,' said Paula, trotting to keep up with the two men. Tweed by her side, Newman and Harry guarding their rear. Armand unlocked a door, led them down a long corridor well away from the arrivals hall. Outside again, Newman shook hands with Armand, hustled them inside a grey people-carrier with small windows. No one had checked their tickets or the small bags they were carrying.

  Behind the wheel, Philip Cardon smiled at Paula. He drove at speed along a narrow road, emerged on to an autoroute, pressed his foot down. Now they were really moving. Tweed, who had again given Paula the window seat, grunted.

  'When we stop somewhere I'll catch my breath.'

  'Soon,' Philip called back, 'we will stop briefly. So I can hand out cutlery, the weapons you're all used to.'

  'So it's that sort of a trip,' Harry called out behind Paula. 'I guessed it might be when I was hauled in at the last minute. Fair enough…'

  Paula gazed out of her window. The vineyards had disappeared. In their place were dense forests of evergreens. Between gaps she caught sight of high rolling hills, everything glowing in the luminous moonlight. Philip slowed down, glanced again in his rear-view mirror, then swung off the main road up a cutting fenced in by trees, arrived at a concrete circle. He turned round it, stopped, switched off headlights, engine.

  After telling everyone to stay in their seats, Philip pressed a button. The door opened and a small fat man with an automatic weapon slung over his shoulder appeared. Philip called down in French, which Paula caught the gist of.

  'Pierre, everything clear? Nothing suspicious.'

  'You see no bodies. I haven't shot anyone yet tonight.'

  'Everyone out,' Philip ordered in English.

  He was delving into a large bag when they surrounded him. He carefully brought out what to Paula looked like the first of several metal pancakes.

  'Limpet mines, special type,' Philip explained. 'We'll need them later in Paris.'

  Paris? Paula thought.

  'They are switched off?' Harry asked as he took the first mine.

  'Of course,' snapped Philip. 'Turn that lever to the right and they're active.' He showed Harry three more mines, put them back in the leather bag with thick cloth between each one. From the next container he brought out a Browning, shoulder holster, a Beretta, a leg holster, spare mags. Handed them to Paula, grinned.

  'Feel dressed now?'

  'I do. What about registration?'

  'Don't worry. Dollars satisfy many officials. As they did Armand at the airport. Now, Tweed…'

  When he had finished distributing the 'cutlery', Harry also had a large automatic weapon and spare mags, concealed inside a golf bag; Newman had his beloved Smith amp; Wesson with holster and ammo. Philip handed Pierre two fat envelopes which Paula guessed were stuffed with banknotes, then clapped his hands.

  'All aboard. Must keep moving.'

  They had just settled in their seats when Philip was driving them down the side road back on to the main route. Paula was savouring the perfume from some plant on the side road. It had seeped into her clothes. She took deep breaths.

  'Be in Aix soon,' Philip called out. 'Tweed, you won't be staying at the Violette, which I know you favour. It's too obvious a place where Noel's friends might check to find you. Instead you're at the swish Negre-Coste on the famous Cours Mirabeau. They won't expect you to choose that. Both you and Paula have rooms overlooking the cours. A treat. Food's wonderful.'

  'So Noel has arrived?' asked Tweed.

  'Came in a few hours ago. Staying at a pokey little joint in the old town. Thinks it makes him inconspicuous. But it doesn't.'

  'And who are Noel's friends?' Paula wondered.

  'Not to be recommended as dining companions. Bit of a mix,' he went on casually. 'Arabs and Slovaks. Need watching. Cut your throat for sixpence – or the equivalent in dollars.'

  'Can't wait to meet them,' said Paula.

  'Just pray you don't. We are now entering the ancient city of Aix, first built by the Romans. Getting back to Slovaks, Noel's lot come from the High Tatra mountains in Slovakia. I have been up there in the snow. Tweed, they have a training ground for those selected for the corps d'elite of State Security planned by Noel.'

  'What sort of training ground? I don't like the sound of this,' Tweed commented.

  'You shouldn't. It's well organized, has been created months ago. They are taught how to kill silently. Also they're taught English. Noel has fifty of them infiltrated inside Aix. I've heard he hopes to transport them to Britain tomorrow. I know the route. Here we are. The Cours Mirabeau.'

  Paula peered out of her window, alternating that with staring through the windscreen. She was impressed. The cours was a long wide straight street with plane trees along the pavements on both sides. The warmth was bringing out their leaves. It was a beautiful boulevard with huge old mansions to her right. Philip saw her looking at them.

  'Once they housed wealthy families. These days most are converted into company offices. This is the gem of Aix.'

  Gem was the right word, she thought. There was not much traffic at this hour, and locals were strolling, gazing at the mansions, the older ones remembering the grander days, she thought. Philip parked by the kerb outside a large imposing building.

  'Journey's end,' Philip announced. 'The Negre-Coste. I've booked front rooms overlooking the cours for Tweed and Paula. Very expensive. Let's explore.'

  The rooms were huge. Refurbished, as Philip explained, it still retained some of the character of the original mansion. Inside her first-floor room Paula revelled in the luxury as she swiftly unpacked her few things, including one evening dress protected with tissue.

  She walked to the windows, opened them, gazed down at the cours. They were double-glazed, probably to muffle the sound of daytime traffic. After showering, she dressed quickly, sat in front of an elegant mirror and applied the minimum of makeup. A tap on the door sent her to unlock it and Tweed, in a smart suit, walked in.

  'You look terrific,' he said and kissed her on both cheeks. 'It's lucky we all keep small cases packed at Park Crescent ready for instant departure. You have money?'

  'A stack of dollars. I tipped the chap who brought up my bag with a twenty-dollar bill and he was pleased. He doesn't like euros, said they were only good for lighting fires!'

  'Philip gave me this for you,' he said, producing an envelope from his pocket. 'Take a quick look.'

  She extracted a photo and pulled a face of distaste. 'Don't like the look of him. Who is he?'

  'Radek, boss of the fifty Slovaks Noel hopes to smuggle into Britain. Favours a knife for killing.'

  She studied the photo again. A small but well-built man, Slavic features, prominent cheekbones, dead-looking eyes, sharp nose, a pointed jaw. He had thick black hair, a curving moustache, a sneering expression.

  'Keep it in case you ever spot him. I've got a copy, so have Newman and Harry. Philip thinks of everything. Now we'd better get down to dinner…'

  The dining room was spacious and only a few of the large tables were occupied. Out of season. Philip complimented her on her dress and beauty, kissing her hand. It was something she normally disliked but with Philip she liked it. They drank aperitifs while studying the enormous menu.

  They had a table in the corner, so when they were eating and the waiters were distant, they could talk frankly. It was Tweed who got down to business.

  'Philip, how
were you able to obtain this valuable information about the Tatra training camp?'

  'Oh, simple. I have a trustworthy contact who knows the Tatra well. We've skied quite a lot up there. My contact had a Slovak mother and a French father. The info cost me two thousand dollars – part of the funds you sent me months ago. Incidentally, their villainous chiefs name isn't really Radek. No idea of what his real name is. Doesn't matter.'

  After the meal, Philip, seated next to Paula, suggested she might like a short walk since it would still be warm outside. 'Freak weather,' he remarked.

  'We'll go north just a bit,' he said as they strolled in the cours. 'That's where the original houses are still standing. Just a bit, not far.'

  'I love the big fountains,' Paula said glancing down the cours.

  'They have them where we're going. Smaller efforts but I find the sound of running water soothing.'

  Down a side street they plunged into a different world. Narrow streets twisting and turning. Some illumination from ancient lamps but long dark areas of shadow between them. Paula was beginning to wonder whether this was a good idea. The occasional Arab in a long white gown drifted past them.

  They reached a deserted square and again there was the sound of running water. Paula darted away from Philip to see a small fountain spraying in from a stone well in the corner of the square.

  She never heard him coming or where he had been hiding. One arm wrapped round her breast from behind and a large knife just touched her throat. She glanced up, saw an Arab with only one eye grinning horribly at her. She was terrified. She had no chance of reaching for the Browning under her armpit, even less chance of hauling the Beretta from the holster strapped to her right leg. Any movement and this beast would slash her throat open. Where the hell was Philip?

  Philip appeared in front of them out of nowhere. In his right hand he held a revolver with a silencer attached. Pointing his weapon, Philip said something in Arabic.

  Her assailant's response was to move the blade closer in. Paula could feel the razor edge touching her skin. For some idiotic reason she wanted to sneeze. She suppressed it. Philip was speaking in Arabic again. The Arab replied, his tone vicious.

  Philip smiled, waved both hands as though accepting he could do nothing. Oh God, she thought. Philip's next movement was so swift she hardly saw it happen. Then he was pressing the tip of his weapon against the Arab's good eye. He snarled something in Arabic. She felt the Arab shudder. Then he removed the knife and stood back behind her.

  She was much smaller than her attacker so from where Philip stood his neck and head loomed well above Paula's. Phut! Philip had shot him in the head. The man fell over backwards, lay still on the cobbles.

  'You'd better take this gun for a moment,' Philip said, speaking quietly but rapidly. 'I have to dump the body in that huge rubbish bin over there. Just in case some of his chums arrive.'

  'I'm armed.'

  She had already grasped the Browning so Philip could see it. He nodded, stooped, grasped the corpse round the waist, began to hurry towards the bin. She followed him. Without being asked, she lifted the lid. It was heavy, but she managed to hold it high up.

  A foul smell drifted up from the interior, half full of rubbish. Philip heaved the body inside. She lowered the lid slowly to avoid a noise. Philip was already running away from her after a quick searching glance round the square. He had a glove on his hand as Paula ran after him, unwilling to be alone for another moment. Picking up the long blade by the handle, he dropped the knife down a nearby drain, then grabbed her arm.

  'Back to the cours now!'

  'How did you manage that?' she asked as they hurried.

  'He had one precious possession, his one good eye. Without that he'd be at the mercy of other Arabs. The thought of a bullet through it made him release you instantly.'

  'Quick thinking, thank God,' she replied. 'You saved my life.'

  'No, I endangered it with my stupid idea of showing you the old quarter. I'll never forgive myself. There's the cours. Pause just for a second.'

  He unscrewed the silencer, dropped it down a drain, holstered his weapon. She was puzzled as they entered the cours and civilization – as it seemed to Paula.

  'Why throw that away?' she wondered.

  'Silencers are tricky. One shot, OK. Then a silencer can jam a gun. I have more. Back to the hotel. You must tell Tweed what happened.'

  'I wasn't going to say a word…'

  'I insist. Promise me. He's my chief. He trusts me. So he's entitled to know everything that happens.'

  *

  Tweed was sitting in an armchair near the main reception area. Philip sent Paula off to brief him while he had a drink in the bar. She was beginning to feel rattled, her nerves playing her up. She was familiar with this reaction. With the Arab's knife at her throat she had been scared stiff but in control, staying quite still. When a danger was behind her, her nerves played her up.

  Tweed nodded as she sat on a chair close to his. He waited until the glass of Chardonnay he had ordered was placed before her. There was no one else in the room. He looked straight at her, his tone grim.

  'What went wrong while you were out?'

  'Nothing dramatic. Why do you ask?'

  'Because I'm observant,' he continued in the same serious tone, unsmiling. 'I know something did because your face has lost colour. Added to which Philip has gone off to the bar so you can talk to me.'

  'Philip saved my life,' she said, beginning on what she hoped was a positive note. She then told him of the incident. He gazed straight at her, the same expression on his face. When she had finished he drank the rest of his wine.

  'So, he saved your life after putting it in terrible danger. I thought the two of you were just walking down the cours. Now I know he ventured with you into the north side, which is to be avoided at all costs. You know I was here some years ago, staying at the Violette hotel in the north. There were a few Arabs creeping about in those days. So when I walked down through that area I had a gun in my hand. Any Arab who saw me disappeared immediately. Because of the gun. Now there are many more Arabs.'

  'You're not going to have a row with Philip?'

  'Of course not. We are dependent on him while we are here. Also, he is the most valuable agent I have abroad. Here he comes.' Tweed stood up. 'Hello, Philip. Could the three of us take a stroll along the cours?'

  Paula admired Tweed's masterful self-control. She sensed he was seething with anger, but nothing showed in the amiable way he greeted Philip. They left the hotel and wandered down the cours. Tweed was in the middle with Paula on his right, Philip on his left. Paula was drinking in the atmosphere of the famous street. Tweed kept his comments to himself. So much had been modernized, including the Negre-Coste. Still a magnificent hotel but without some of the character he recalled. Even the bathroom in his room had been 'upgraded'. The French had been influenced by the American fetish for advanced plumbing. Aix he'd visited once before to meet a contact.

  'Dreamy,' enthused Paula.

  'Unique,' said Tweed.

  'I've paid your hotel bills,' Philip said suddenly. 'We leave tomorrow, which may be an exciting day.'

  'How exciting?' Tweed asked.

  'Noel is moving his fifty Slovaks to Paris tomorrow, on their way to Britain. They're travelling in two separate grey coaches. I was talking to Harry earlier. You remember that old stone hump-backed bridge we crossed – where the road was rough?'

  'I do,' said Paula. 'We went up steeply, then dropped down the other side. It was over a river.'

  'We'll eliminate half of them at the bridge,' Philip said casually. 'The twenty-five in the other coach we'll finish off in Paris. Up at six tomorrow for early breakfast. It may not be a joy-ride.'

  20

  It was dark when they left the hotel for the south side of the town. They were on foot, led by Philip. Paula noticed it was more modern. Down an alley Philip opened an automatic door to a garage. Inside was parked their people-carrier.

  As the
y climbed aboard he remarked: 'Should have told you earlier. All windows are bullet-proof, the sides and roof have been reconstructed with armour plate. So rest easy on our way to Paris.. .'

  Harry emerged from underneath the vehicle, gave a thumbs-up sign to Philip.

  'No explosives attached underneath. I checked the engine.'

  'You're a thorough chap,' Philip thanked him.

  'I'm a bloody suspicious chap,' Harry shot back as he got into the car. Philip drove out to the end of the alley, pausing to use his controller to close the garage door. Leaving the alley he turned left. Paula sighed with nostalgia when they moved into open country. Tweed sighed with relief. Place is a death-trap these days, he muttered to himself.

  'We're well ahead of the first Slovak coach,' Philip called out. 'They're just loading up. The second one will follow some distance behind. Both with twenty-five killers aboard. We'll take the second one in Paris,' he reminded them.

  'How does he know all these things?' Paula wondered aloud to Tweed.

  'Contacts,' Philip called back. He riffled his right fingers as though shuffling a wad of banknotes. 'Dollars are more than acceptable.'

  'And where has Noel been all this time?' Paula asked from her seat by the window.

  'Staying under cover in a dump on the north side,' Philip told her. 'Visited by nice Mr Radek.'

  'Radek?'

  'The chief of the Slovak mob, remember? I gave you a photo of him. A very nice chap, to watch while he drowns. Noel is driving back to Paris in a hired Citroen, some distance behind the second coach. With Radek for company. The villain had a Slovak mother, a French father. And a Czech uncle who taught him languages, so Radek is fluent in quite a few tongues. We'll soon be at the bridge.'

  Tweed observed Harry place a large leather container in his lap. From inside he carefully extracted a large landmine and a trowel. Paula, peering out of her window, didn't see this. It was still dark and Philip's headlights were on full beam as the carrier moved round a series of curves. As the road climbed steeply, Philip slowed, then dropped down the other side. He switched off the headlights, joined Harry and they both left the carrier, walked the short distance back to the bridge.