by Colin Forbes
Not wishing to miss anything, Paula left her seat, moved forward and sat in the driving seat. Through the windscreen she had a good view of what was happening, her eyes now accustomed to the dark which was showing traces of dawn.
Philip reappeared, handed a pair of night-glasses up to Tweed. 'If you'd watch out for their first coach. Warn me when you see its lights.'
Harry was digging a large wide hole in the soft earth at the top of the bridge. He worked quickly, then with care slipped in the landmine. Equally quickly, he scooped loose soil over it to conceal it. As he stood up Tweed called out from the exit.
'Lights in the distance. Looks like a coach. About a mile back, roughly. Difficult to be sure in this light.'
Philip with Harry rushed aboard, closing the door behind them. Harry went back to his seat, as did Paula. Philip told Tweed he could keep the night-glasses.
'Then you can see the fun,' he said.
Jumping behind the wheel he started the engine, turned on the headlights to low beam, drove on a short distance. He swung right off the road up the same small cul-de-sac where he had parked on their way in to distribute weapons.
At the top he moved round the small concrete circle so he was facing the exit. He suggested to everyone that they got out with him. Paula was surprised when he pointed how clearly they could see the bridge now silver bands of dawn were shafting across the eastern sky. Philip borrowed the night-glasses from Tweed, stared east, handed them back.
'Coach is coming too fast. Slovak at the wheel, they're mad drivers…'
It was chilly. Paula, now wearing her denims and windcheater, buttoned it up to the neck. The coach was racing along, its headlights on full beam. She half-expected it to drive into the wall and off the bridge. At the last moment the man behind the wheel slowed, crawled up on to the top of the bridge.
The explosion was devastating. A blinding flash coinciding with a deafening roar. The vehicle soared into the sky, broke in half. Body parts were hurled in all directions. She thought she saw a leg as she gazed through the night-glasses Tweed had loaned her. Then a headless trunk caught in the blazing inferno illuminating the wreckage of the bridge. The dawn light was red with fire. One half of the vehicle dropped into the river. Paula heard a brief hiss as water absorbed the red-hot metal. Then a sudden silence.
'That worked rather well,' Philip commented.
'I think a long way off I can see headlights. The second coach?' suggested Paula, her mouth dry.
'Probably,' Philip agreed. 'They have night-glasses so they'll see what's happened. They'll have to make a long diversion to reach the autoroute. That means we arrive in Paris before them. Ready to sort out that lot.'
Sort out? Paula, her mind still full of the massacre on the bridge, wondered how Philip would manage this. He always seemed so calm, so matter-of-fact in the face of the most murderous danger.
Well along the autoroute, Philip pulled in to a remote lay-by. He stood up, turned to address them.
'I want you to hand in all your weapons now. We could be stopped by a patrol car.'
He even collected the three remaining slim landmines from Harry. Everything was secreted inside a special compartment in the side of the carrier. Harry was indignant.
'I thought I'd be using those to polish off the thugs inside the second coach.'
'No, you won't,' Philip said firmly. 'Change of plan. I've been thinking. I can do that job by myself. There'll be a large barge-like vessel with a sail drifting off the lie St-Louis on the Seine in the middle of Paris. They plan to use small boats with engines to ferry the Slovaks aboard the Yvette, the barge. Then their idea is to sail it up the river to the port at its mouth. There they'll transfer their inhuman cargo to a larger shipping vessel, take them to an isolated part of the British coast. I'll see they never leave Paris alive.'
He sat behind the wheel, waited until the autoroute was quiet, drove back on to it and headed at speed for Paris.
They had entered the Paris suburbs when Tweed made a suggestion. 'Philip, I could phone Loriot, Chief of the DST. He's an old friend. Tell him what is happening, where to go.'
'No!' Philip spoke over his shoulder. 'By now he'll have heard about the explosion at that bridge near Aix. And all the mangled bodies in the fields and floating down that river. He'll check all the hotels for names.'
'We had false passports,' Tweed objected. 'I told you that earlier.'
'Makes no difference.' Philip was authoritative. 'He'll be concentrating on short-stay visitors. He'll ask for their descriptions. Some of those concierges are observant. Now you'll have an hour to amuse yourselves – I'll drop you near the Place Vendome and the Ritz. Then take a cab to the Gare du Nord. You'll arrive in time to catch the Eurostar. I don't think Noel will use it. He'll fly back – as he came in…'
Near the Place Vendome Philip practically pushed out Tweed, who wanted to thank him for all he'd done. Standing on the pavement Tweed called up to Philip behind the wheel, who still had the engine running.
'Take good care of yourself. Call me – more frequently.'
'When I've something to report. Look after yourself, Paula.'
The automatic door closed and they were left standing as the carrier drove east. Towards the lie St-Louis.
They walked along the Rue St-Honore, the main street with its fabulously expensive shops. It was early afternoon and the sky was full of menacing clouds drifting very low.
Tweed and Paula walked ahead with Newman and Harry bringing up the rear. They were still performing their role as guards. Tweed took them into a cafe where they consumed coffee and delicious cakes. Paula was ravenous.
'I'll leave you for a couple of minutes,' Newman said, standing up. 'We passed a shop selling the most glamorous scarves. I'll get one for Roma.'
'Getting serious, are we?' Paula teased him.
'She's nice and very intelligent. Be back in minutes.'
They were leaving the cafe to wait for Newman. Paula went out first, paused to glance in both directions. She backed into the cafe, bumping into Tweed, pushing him back. Grabbing his arm she returned them to their table, which was at the side of the cafe with a view of the door.
'What was that about?' Tweed demanded.
'Radek. He's coming this way down the street.'
'Are you sure?'
'Yes, I bloody well am. I studied his photo. See him in a minute. Let's pray he doesn't come in here. We've given up our weapons…'
Harry sprang up from the table, concealing a leather-covered sap. He walked swiftly across to a table on the far side, ordered coffee, insisted on paying for it. They were the only occupants of the cafe. The waitress placed coffee in front of Harry, smiled at the tip, went out of sight through a door at the back.
Radek, wearing a dark coat, a black hat, wandered in. As he walked straight to their table the sneer on his Slavic features was prominent beneath his curved moustache. One hand reached inside his coat and he took off his hat with the other. He bowed briefly to Paula.
'You will tell me, Mr Tweed, where the others are and what they are doing otherwise I shall shoot Miss Grey.'
He spoke very rapidly, excellent English but with an accent. For once in his life Tweed was uncertain. He opened his mouth to say something, anything to delay the killer. That was the moment when Harry appeared behind the Slovak and hammered his sap hard on the back of his hatless head.
Radek's eyes opened very wide, then he collapsed backwards. Harry caught him, lowered him to the floor as the waitress appeared again. Paula stood up, spoke quickly to her in French.
'This poor gentleman has collapsed. Could be a heart attack. Call an ambulance. We have to go but we'll be back.'
As they hurried out of the cafe the waitress rushed to the phone.
Outside Newman appeared, carrying a beautifully wrapped package. He stared at their obvious haste. Paula hailed an oncoming cab.
'Gare du Nord, please,' said Tweed, handing the driver a large tip. 'And hurry, or we're going to miss our train
.'
Paula repeated the request in French, seeing the driver's stare of incomprehension. They piled into the back, Tweed and Paula occupying the main seat while Harry and Newman used the jump seats. They were moving.
At the Gare du Nord, Tweed found an empty coach. The Eurostar was on the verge of leaving. They had just settled in their seats when it glided out of the terminus.
Tweed told Newman what had happened. Newman stood up and carefully placed his wrapped gift with their small bags. He didn't comment until he sat down.
'How the devil did Radek reach Paris so quickly?'
'By busting the speed limits on the autoroute, would be my guess,' Tweed told him. 'When we were parked in the lay-by while Philip collected our weapons I noticed a car going over the limit. Two people inside – the driver and one passenger. Too quick to identify anyone.'
'Did you kill Radek?' Newman asked Harry.
'Definitely not. That would have brought the police. He will be out for about an hour and then recover – with the mother and father of all headaches.'
'What puzzles me,' said Paula, 'is how he spotted me, knew who I was.'
'We've taken photos of people,' Tweed reminded her. 'So why shouldn't someone from the Cabal have done the same thing? Then Noel, the hyper-efficient Noel, takes the prints with him.'
No one said any more until they emerged from the tunnel into Kent. Paula peered out of the window, heaved a great sigh.
Unlike in Paris, the sun was shining brilliantly out of a duck-egg-blue sky. Not a cloud in sight. She savoured the green fields which, early, were beginning to sprout, the orchards coated in a green fuzz.
'I'm glad to get out of France,' she said. 'So glad to get back to England and peace.'
'Don't count on peace,' Tweed warned. 'We have a savage murder to investigate and a battle to crush the merger of all the security services.'
'Do shut up,' Newman told him. 'She's had a rough ride. Your problem is you never appreciate the finer things of life.'
'Sorry. You're right, Bob. Paula has had a nerve-racking trip most of the way. I do realize that.'
'I just want to get home, to have hours of sleep in my own bed. In the morning I'll be a hellcat,' Paula added.
21
Tweed walked into an atmosphere of crisis,
He took off his coat, settled down in his chair, looked round his office. Monica, grim-faced, got up to come over to him. Pete Nield was standing up, arms folded, no sign of a smile. Marler stood against the wall, fiddling with his cigarette holder, which was empty. He stared at Tweed.
Paula, who had been going to leave, sat down at her desk. Newman waited by the door, scanning expressions. It was Tweed who broke the ice.
'Well, what happened in my absence? You all look as though a bomb has gone off.'
'It has, in a manner of speaking,' Monica said, standing stiffly in front of his desk. 'First, General Macomber phoned, told me that under no circumstances must Tweed go anywhere alone. He added he'd just seen the Cabal. Then Benton Macomber bulldozed his way in. Asked to see you urgently. I said you weren't available. "Is he abroad?" Benton asked. I said I'd no idea where you were. He said you must call him the moment you returned, then pushed off. Pete,' she went on, turning to Nield, 'maybe you'd like to describe your experience.'
'Sinister,' Nield began. 'Early this afternoon I saw a large white van stopped across the road. Had TV painted on its side. They were using cameras to photograph this building. So I went out, crossed the main road in front of the van. It started moving, nearly mowed me down. I skipped on to the pavement and it stopped. I opened the passenger door. The thug beside the driver swore at me. I demanded to know what the hell they were doing, who they were. The passenger tried to kick me in the face. I grabbed his leg, hauled him out, repeated my questions. The driver produced an automatic, pointed it at me, ordered me to let go of his mate. I did so. The van drove off.'
'Intimidation,' said Tweed. 'So if they're playing rough we must respond at once. Marler, work out a plan.'
'I already have done. I'll need Harry's help. Now…'
Both men left the office. Tweed, his manner calm, took out a pen and a pad, began doodling. Those remaining waited for his next words.
'Interesting that Benton asked if I was abroad. He knew I was. Was checking your reaction, Monica. You did well.'
'How could he know?' Paula wondered aloud.
'Radek. He'd report our presence to Noel, wherever he was keeping out of sight of violence. Noel would then phone the information to the Cabal. Benton came in about five o'clock this afternoon?' he asked Monica.
'Not far off that.'
'We'd be on Eurostar. Noel probably flew back ahead of us. With Radek. Which reminds me.' He took out a photo Philip had handed him, gave it to Monica. 'Take that downstairs. Ask them to make five copies. Urgent. Then everyone has a copy.'
'Horrible-looking brute,' Monica commented.
'The devil himself,' chimed in Paula. 'Radek.'
'You think he's over here already?' Newman suggested.
'Sure of it. He'd fly back with Noel. We have two choice killers to watch out for. Fitch, now Radek.' He looked at Paula. 'You go back home, escorted by Newman. You won't mind if he sleeps in your spare bedroom tonight?'
'I'd appreciate it, when I do go. I'm wide awake now we have all this to deal with. I find it strange that General Macomber should warn us.'
'Could be he doesn't like the Cabal. Or it could be part of the campaign of intimidation.'
'You can't suspect the General,' she protested.
'I suspect everyone until we've smashed the Cabal. Why, I wonder, did he visit the Cabal when he's supposed to detest his offspring? I sense everyone is lying.'
'Can I tell you about my encounter with my informant yesterday?' Nield enquired.
'Encounter?' Tweed queried. 'Yes, go ahead.'
'I wasn't happy, so I called her and suggested we had dinner. She accepted immediately, said she was worried. This is how it went…'
Nield had arrived promptly at Coral's apartment. When she opened the door she was dressed to kill. Her flaming red hair was piled on top of her head, and she wore a short close-fitting white dress, accentuating her excellent figure.
'Come in and have a drink first, Pete,' she invited him with a glowing smile.
'Unfortunately we haven't time,' he replied, thinking quickly. 'I've booked a table at that restaurant just down the road. If we don't grab it now they'll give it to someone else.'
'OK. Let me get my coat.'
'What are you worried about?' he asked as they walked down the street.
'It can wait until we've had a drink. I need one. Brandy.'
Seated at a corner table, well away from any of the crowd already creating a babble of voices mingled with the clink of glasses, they were able to talk unheard.
'This is good,' she said as she consumed her starter, a mix of sliced melon, oranges and bananas, generously flavoured with brandy. 'My favourite tipple, brandy,' she told him.
'What is worrying you?' he had asked again.
'The Parrot. She asked me out to lunch today, took me to a very posh restaurant. I saw the bill later. Sky high.'
'I thought you were enemies. That's what you said last time we talked.'
'I know, Pete. I thought so too. Now she's all over me. I can't do anything wrong at work. During lunch she said one of the Cabal was after her. Wouldn't say which one. She's not prepared to play ball with him – so she's worried they'll manoeuvre her out of her job.'
'They?'
'The Cabal. They support each other. They're planning something aggressive against Tweed's outfit. Thought you ought to know.'
'But how do you know this? They're in a separate room.'
'I know.' She fluttered her eyes at him. 'You'll think I'm wicked. The hinges between our large room and the Cabal's HQ have been oiled, but the door doesn't shut properly if someone isn't careful. When the Parrot is away I creep over, open it just a bit more and listen t
o what they're saying.'
'Dangerous.'
'I'm very careful. I have a file tucked under my arm. There is a filing cabinet close to that door in our room.'
'Going back to what you said earlier,' Pete said, pausing while the waiter served their main course, 'you referred to some aggressive action planned against Tweed. Any details?'
'Only that Noel, who was away, planned it. Benton said he hoped Noel wouldn't go mad. Then I sidled back to my desk. Just in time. One of them closed the door.'
'Noel was away. Where?'
'No idea
They chatted about other things until they'd finished the meal. When they left the restaurant, Nield walked her to the entrance to her flat. She took out her keys, opened the door, tucked her arm in his. She turned to face him, her eyebrows raised, invited him in for a quiet drink.
'I'd love to,' he lied, 'but before I came over I was dealing with another problem and they will want to hear about it back at Park Crescent. Certain phone calls have to be made this evening. Maybe another time?'
She made a moue as he kissed her on both cheeks. Not best pleased. She said good night, walked in and closed the door in his face.
22
'So,' Nield concluded his narrative, 'I escaped without being compromised. Coral looked furious.'
'I don't believe one word of what that woman says,' decided Paula. 'Why is she twisting and turning the situation in that building?'
'It's possible that she's acting on instructions from one of the Cabal,' Tweed mused. 'But I doubt it.'
'Which one?' Paula asked.
'I have no idea. I rather doubt my theory. Can't think of what she's up to.'
'Maybe she's barmy,' Nield suggested. 'It was someone out of their mind who committed that horrible Viola murder.'
'She's too small to have done it,' Nield said.
'It's like a mosaic,' Tweed ruminated. 'Every piece fits in somewhere. But we're missing the main picture.'
'Oh Lord!' Newman burst out. 'I'm missing one expensive present. I've left the scarf for Roma on the rack on the Eurostar.'