Blood Storm (23 page)

'Maybe I could get a word in edgeways,' Monica piped
up. She brought over a thick envelope, dropped it on
Tweed's desk. 'Return tickets for you, Newman and Paula. To Marignane on your way to Aix. Phoned Jim Corcoran.
He'll be on the lookout for you - to slip you past security.'

'Economy,' Tweed replied. 'Thank you.'

'Well, Newman told me Philip had warned us Noel
Macomber was on his way to Aix. If he's delayed he might
be on the same flight. I'm gambling that, if he is, he'll hide himself in economy.'

'Clever lady. What would I do without you?'

'Get the paperwork in a proper mess,' she joked.

'So where is Newman?' he asked.

'Back at his flat in bed with Roma, would be my guess.
She has lasted longer than any of her
predecessors.'

The Cabal had waited until they returned from lunch to

talk about their visitors, and were seated at the three-sided

table. Nelson set the ball rolling.

'I don't think we're going to get Tweed to join us . . .'
'No doubt about that,' agreed Benton. 'So the next item

on the agenda is: how do we stop him cold?'

'By elimination,' Noel decided. 'I'll be thinking about the

best method to deal with them - Paula has to go too - while
I'm flying out to Aix. Best thing would be if they both
disappeared for ever. Bodies never found. I've set the
wheels in motion in case it comes to this.'

'Won't involve Fitch, I hope,' mused Benton.

'I'm the Planner,' snapped Noel, glaring at Benton. 'So you leave the problem to me. You don't want to know.'

19

Tweed was in a hurry. Monica had warned him they should
leave soon or miss the Air France flight. He gave orders to
Pete Nield to see Coral Flenton again, to extract more
information from her - about the Parrot, about her friend
ship with Viola from their schooldays on.

'Harry,' he called out. 'You are coming with us to Aix, flying tonight. At the special late request of Philip.'

'Now we're in April,' Paula told him, 'it's warmer. I have
checked Provence. It's warmer still down there. So in that
bag you'll find lighter-weight clothes.'

Monica walked over, handed Harry an envelope.
'There's a return ticket for you also,' she said. 'So make
sure you come back.'

'Thanks for the vote of confidence,' he replied.

Within minutes they were all inside Newman's Range
Rover, on their way to Heathrow. Tweed told Newman to
park in Short Stay. Crossing the bridge from the car park to
the airport they met Jim Corcoran.

'You go aboard first,' he told them. 'Get a move on. I'll be with you until you're aboard . . .'

At the check-in desk Paula became aware of a passenger
behind her who appeared to have survived a car crash. He was a tall man, smartly dressed, but his head was covered
with a bandage. He gazed round through dark tinted glasses. As Paula presented her ticket he muttered
something like 'wrong check-in . . .'

As he walked away Newman watched him and Paula did
the same. The bandaged victim was standing near the exit
talking into a sophisticated mobile. Newman grunted,
smiled.

'A spy reporting the flight we're on. Maybe a reception committee waiting for us.'

'That was Mugger Morgan,' Harry said. 'Forgot to
bandage his jaw. I broke it once.'

They settled in their seats. Very quickly the engines built
up power, they were rolling towards the departure slot, straight on to the runway, then taking off.

Newman found two cushions, slipped one behind Paula's
back, seated in front of him, the other behind her head. She
rested her head, fell fast asleep. It was almost dark but in the
seat beside her Tweed remained alert. He hated sleeping
when flying.

Paula woke suddenly, looked out of the window. A moon cast a luminous glow over a landscape with rows of sticks on
a south-facing slope. Vineyards were beginning to show
signs of life. The plane was dropping rapidly. She'd slept
during the whole flight.

'That man at the airport,' she whispered to Tweed. 'I
wonder what will happen at Aix's airport?'

'Philip will have foreseen that development. Never misses
a trick. I don't understand his late request for Harry.'

He kept his voice very low since Harry was seated across the aisle.

'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, every
thing 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
& Wesson with holster and ammo. Philip handed Pierre two
fat envelopes which Paula guessed were stuffed with bank
notes, 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.'