Cross of Fire (3 page)

'Why go all that way?' Tweed asked.

'Because I'd left the car in a public car park just outside
Aldeburgh near the marshes. I thought we could just make it before night came. Luckily we had a good start on the
hunters. When we reached the beach at Aldeburgh we had another shock.'

'More coffee.' Monica had refilled her mug. Paula had another drink of the hot, soothing liquid. Eyes half closed, Tweed waited and watched her as she continued.

That peculiar ship had caught up with us. Again it was
lying about half a mile out as we hit the beach. We saw
them lowering dinghies with outboard motors as dusk
came. No one was about. We stripped off our wetsuits,
dropped them on the beach and pulled on our everyday
clothes we'd left there. The dinghies were closing in when we started running for the car park. I glanced back and saw
them scrambling ashore - this time men
wearing Balaclavas
and carrying rifles. No time to get the car open and started. I ran faster than Karin, heading across the marshes for the
copse of firs...'

Sipping more coffee, her voice lowered as she described
the last horrific scenes - Karin making the mistake of fleeing
for a boat, the dreadful scream...

'Shouldn't we stop now till the morning?'

Tweed made the suggestion as Paula paused for a couple of minutes, staring into space.

'No. Ask me questions. Please. I don't went to be alone
yet. It helps me to talk.'

'As you wish. Tell me something about Karin Rosewater.
Why the mix of nationalities in her name?'

'She's married to an Englishman, Victor. He's a captain
with the British Army in Germany. Military Intelligence.
He's liaison officer at a Nato air base near Freiburg in
southern Germany. Has an apartment in Freiburg.'

'And Karin was German?'

'Her mother was French, her father German. She's from
Colmar in Alsace.'

'Everything close to the Swiss border.' Tweed mused.

'What's the significance of that?' Paula asked.

'Probably nothing. Just a geographical comment. Were you close friends?'

'Yes and no. I met her during that holiday I took in Germany. We got on well. Seemed to be on the same
waveband. We agreed to keep in touch.'

'Exactly how and where did you meet?'

Tweed was becoming intrigued. He felt something
important was eluding him.

'At a party at the air base. Lots of people there. Oh, I've just remembered. Otto Kuhlmann was there. We had a long
chat. He explained he was there on duty, but didn't say
why.'

'What about her husband, Victor? You met him?'

'Yes.' Paula pulled a face. 'I didn't like him too much. I'm not sure why.' She stifled a yawn, just not my type, I suppose.'

'And while you were with Karin over here did she tell
you what "authorities" - that was the word you used - had
asked her to investigate the deteriorating situation in
France?'

'No. She didn't refer to it again. And afterwards we were
preoccupied with what happened.'

'When you first met her did you get any inkling whether she had some sort of job?'

'No, I didn't. I thought she was a housewife. I feel I'm
being interrogated. Not that I mind.
But that's how it feels.' She managed a wan smile.

'You
are
being interrogated. You may know more than you think you do. Now, it's late. I really think you ought to go home. Marler, would you escort her?'

'My pleasure. You've really put her through the mill.'

'That's all right.' Paula assured him as she stood up and slipped on her windcheater which had been drying on the radiator where Monica had placed it. 'There's something funny going on, isn't there? I don't just mean the brutal murder of Karin - that is bad enough. But why was she interested in the underwater exploration of a sunken village?'

'You need sleep. Don't worry about it. You've done
wonderfully well in a desperate situation.'

It was unusual for Tweed to pay her such a compliment.
She smiled gratefully, said goodnight, and left the room
with Marler.

'There is something funny about this whole business,' Newman said grimly, repeating Paula's thought.

He was alone with Monica and Tweed, who had resumed
pacing slowly round the large room. He was frowning and
Monica kept quiet, knowing he was thinking hard.

'You're right, Bob,' Tweed said eventually. 'One key
question I'd like to know the answer to - were those killers trying to liquidate only Karin, or Paula as well? The answer to that would tell me not only what happened. But
why.'

'From what she told me in the car they were after both of
them,' Newman responded.

'And the other mystery is what is the link between
Suffolk and France? Karin told Paula she was hired by
authorities to report on the French situation. Also, who
owns that strange ship - and what kind of a vessel could it
be?'

'Lots of questions.' Monica commented, 'and absolutely no answers.'

Tweed paused, looked down at Newman. 'You left Butler
and Nield to cope with the police. What story will they tell them?'

'I covered that carefully, not knowing what we'd got ourselves into. I had to warn them to tell the truth - up to a
point. That Paula and Karin were interested in underwater exploration, that they travelled to Dunwich in the outboard,
went under the sea, were chased by men with knives, fled
back to Aldeburgh where they'd left their car, hadn't time
to use the car so they fled over the marshes.'

'So far, so good. It covers all the evidence the police will unearth. The two wetsuits left on the beach, the abandoned
outboard. Even the car parked near the marshes.'

'I had to think fast and that's the way I thought. But I left out this business of Karin investigating the situation build
ing up in France, that she was working for someone
unknown. You'd better warn Paula in the morning - she's
bound to be interviewed by the
police soon.'

'I'll call her tonight by the time she's just reached her flat in Putney. Just in case they discover her address and tackle
her there.'

Tweed resumed his slow pacing, hands clasped behind
his back. Monica realized he was staring into space.

'What's on your mind?' she enquired after a moment.

'Those men in Balaclava helmets - with guns and savage dogs. That suggests a high degree of organization. I just wonder who is behind all this, who is their employer. Bob, while I'm in Luxembourg City, would you please drive back to Aldeburgh, make a few discreet enquiries. Don't forget Dunwich. The trouble started there. Why?'

'I might take Paula with me. She needs some action to
get her mind off her awful experience.'

'I may need to leave her here.' Tweed paused. 'There is something you don't know. I've sent the new man, Francis Carey, into France to nose around.'

'After only six months with the SIS?' Newman sounded doubtful. 'Has he enough experience in case he walks into a dangerous situation? What qualifications has he for such a mission?'

'His father was English but his mother French. He spent part of his childhood in Bordeaux. He can pass easily for a
Frenchman. He's cautious by nature, but persistent. He's
attractive to women - Paula would confirm that. So he'll
probably pick up a girlfriend. A couple is less conspicuous
than a single man.'

Theoretically, it sounds a perfect choice.' Newman shook
his head. 'But I've met him, talked to him. In an emergency I think he could panic.'

'I wish you hadn't said that...'

'Which means you don't disagree.'

'Well, he's there now with a transmitter. He's sent several coded reports from the Bordeaux region. There are serious
and growing riots - over the issue of deporting foreign
immigrants. Someone is stirring up hatred of the Algerians, for a start. There is a lot of talk in the bars that men high up are plotting a coup. I might just know when I get back from
Luxembourg City. In the meantime we'd better get some
rest. Tomorrow may hold some unpleasant news. I just have
that feeling...'

Chapter Two

The following evening it was bitterly cold in the old city of Bordeaux, a port situated inland on the wide Garonne river. In the Bar Miami Francis Carey looked at his watch. 10.30 p.m. Soon he'd be able to go off duty and hurry back to his cheap apartment.

He had got himself a job as barman at the Miami, which was always crowded, after making casual enquiries about the place in his fluent French. It was one of several bars he'd checked out before taking the job. He had heard this bar was popular with low-ranking officers of the French Army who regularly patronized the Miami.

At that hour - and because of the weather - the long
room parallel to the bar was packed. Every chair and stool was occupied, many stood with their drinks. The noise was
deafening as Frenchmen talked and joked. Carey, a thin
man in his late twenties, with dark hair and a long lean face,
polished glasses rapidly for new customers as he mentally wrestled with two problems.

He had found himself a French girlfriend, Isabelle
Thomas. She had a job in an advertising agency, long titian hair, a pallid complexion, a good figure she liked to display to advantage. She appeared to have fallen for him heavily,
which had not been his hope when he picked her up as
good cover. And any moment now she would walk in so he could take her out for a quick meal. He dreaded her arrival.
And he wanted to postpone their date.

Returning to his modest apartment in a large old block
on the rue Georges Bonnac after a shopping trip that morning, he'd detected traces of the place being searched. The
compact transmitter he used to send coded signals to Park
Crescent had been concealed inside a battered old suitcase hidden on the top of the huge museum piece of a wardrobe.
Before leaving for the supermarket in the Meriadeck Centre Commercial, a vast newish concrete complex, he'd attached
a hair to the suitcase. When he returned he'd had trouble opening the door. His first suspicion that something was
wrong.

A closer check on the apartment inside confirmed his suspicions. The hair half-inserted inside the suitcase had
vanished. At first he'd assumed Madame Argoud, the mean old biddy who ran the
pension,
had been nosy. But Argoud
was short and fat. Carey was tall and still had had to stand
on a chair to reach the suitcase pushed out of sight on top
of the wardrobe.

Now he was wondering whether he should have packed
up, left the
pension
that morning and moved to another part of the sprawling city. All his training with SIS had empha
sized this point.
You never take one single unnecessary risk in
hostile territory. You act to remove the risk instantly...

Had he left it too late? Continuing to polish glasses at speed, he checked over the crowded room again. No one who seemed out of place. And had he been wise to trust Isabelle to send the message if anything happened to him?
'If I disappear and don't phone you,' as he had put it.