Blood Storm (25 page)

'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 they 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.

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 com
partment 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.