Cross of Fire (30 page)

'I don't understand. They're identical.'

'Not quite. There's a tiny scratch on the inside of one
ring. That's the original. The Engine Room worked for
thirty-six hours - including through the night - creating the twin. You see, I have to hand the original to Chief Inspector
Buchanan - but I wanted a copy. Find the finger that wore it and we may have found our murderer.'

'Why
may?'
Newman asked aggressively.

'Because nothing is conclusive. Just as we can't assume yet that Dawlish is linked to de Forge. We need more solid evidence - and urgently. Which is why, Marler, I think you
should get moving on that special mission in France I described to you.' He held up a hand, looked round his
audience. 'No, only Marler and I know about it.'

'First things first,' Marler entered the conversation for the
first time. 'I have to explore that factory in the forest on the
road to Orford ...'

'And I go with him,' Newman said firmly.

'Nothing doing,' Marler said emphatically.

'Hold it, both of you,' said Tweed. 'You both just sur
vived your previous trip into that
area. No argument.
You explore that factory together. Armed. Then, Bob, we'll
turn our attention to France, launch a major expedition
to find out what de Forge is really up to - and what
this
Siegfried
business is about in Germany. It will be dangerous.'

'What about my fox?' Newman asked.

'Collected for immediate delivery to the top veterinary
pathologist in the country, Robles. Hours ago. .And I gave
them the keys to your car because Robles wanted to examine
the boot too. Now, I think we ought to go to lunch in small groups. Maybe there will have been developments even by
the time we get back ...'

Tweed realized Monica was excited as soon as he returned to his office with Paula, Newman, and Marler. She waited
until he had taken off his coat and settled himself behind
his desk. Outside there was a cold November drizzle, a raw biting wind.

'The courier arrived from Lasalle with the photos you
asked for. He left them and went straight back to Heathrow to board a flight for Paris.'

'And?'

Newman sat in the armchair close to his desk and Paula
perched herself on one arm. Marler adopted his usual
stance, leaning against a wall. Monica brought over an
envelope, placed it in front of Tweed with a smile of smug
satisfaction.

'You're going to be interested.'

'Sounds as though I'd better be.'

Tweed extracted the glossy prints. He laid them out
across his desk. There were three copies of each print. On
their backs Lasalle had written names in his own neat
writing. Josette de Forge. De Forge himself. Major Lamy. Lieutenant Berthier. Jean Burgoyne.

Tweed handed a set of copies to Paula, another set to
Newman. He began examining them himself. Glancing up
at Monica, now behind her own desk, he saw her watching
him with anticipation. He went on looking at the pictures,
then stopped and reached for his magnifying glass. He
looked up at the others.

'I thought I'd seen that signet ring before.'

He held up the photograph he had been studying. In
Paris he had spotted the ring without the aid of a glass. He was holding up a photo of de Forge's Chief of Intelligence, Major Lamy.

'So,' Newman said after an interval of silence, 'we've found Kalmar, the assassin. Nice work.'

'Not necessarily,' Tweed warned.

'But it's conclusive,' Newman protested. 'His ring was found under the boat where Karin was strangled.'

'And how do you think a man like Major Lamy flew
here, stayed somewhere, and was available for murdering
her? Bearing in mind his job, the danger of being recognized
in England. Also does anyone know he speaks English
fluently?'

'He might. He might be able to slip over here, back again
without being spotted.'

'"Might" isn't good enough,' Tweed rapped back. 'It
remains a possibility - no more at this stage.'

'He looked like a nasty piece of work when I met him.' Newman said and relapsed into silence.

'You're forgetting earlier events,' Tweed said cryptically.
He picked up a sheet of paper with Monica's handwritten
notes. 'But this is conclusive, may well interest both you and
Marler. We know how your fox died. Ready?'

'Very.'

'Robles phoned a preliminary report to Monica while we
were out at lunch. He suspects the fox was killed by some type of nerve gas mixed with the smoke that helicopter
ejected.'

'Nerve gas?' Marler was startled out of his normal cool
ness. 'So if Newman and I had breathed in any of that
smoke...'

'You'd be as dead as the fox.' Tweed completed his
sentence. 'Nerve gas. That really is sinister.'

'And.' Monica interjected, 'my researches turned up the fact that Dawlish Chemicals has a high security laboratory
in the factory complex on the road to Orford.'

'Robles.' Tweed went on, 'is taking the carcase in a refrigerated truck to a friend of his who works at Porton Down, the chemical warfare establishment. Then he'll be
able to tell us the precise type of nerve gas used.'

'We'd better get back to Suffolk fast - Marler and myself.
Time we took a closer look at Dawlish's conservation activi
ties.' Newman suggested.

'Agreed.' said Tweed. 'The sooner the better - Marler has to go to France. But take great care.'

'We do know now we're not dealing with pussycats.'
Newman retorted. He left the room with Marler.

The phone rang. Tweed waited while Monica took the
call. She asked someone to wait just one moment, nodded
to Tweed's phone.

'It's Lasalle in Paris. Wants to talk to you urgently.'

'More problems, Rene?' Tweed enquired. 'Yes, I'm on
scrambler...'

'I've had a call from the Prefect of Bordeaux, a man I can rely on.' Lasalle stressed. 'He had an anonymous phone call
- thinks it was from a girl - who gave him the address of
an apartment block here in Bordeaux. Told him he'd find
the two fake DST men who were involved in the murder of Henri Bayle. Your agent found at the Gare St Jean. He went
to the address himself. Incidentally, the girl said he'd find the two men unconscious. He found them all right. Dead.
Both of them.'

'How did they die?'

'Hard to say, apparently. Both had fallen two floors. His
men found traces of blood on the door frame of the apart
ment occupied by Isabella Thomas and her mother. Both
women have disappeared. But their descriptions fit what
witnesses at the Bar Miami said about the two men who
took Bayle away - after a little arm-twisting. I'm flying to
Bordeaux to interview General de Forge. With this I can shake him, rattle his cage. He's had it all his own way too
long...'

'Take care.' Tweed warned. 'You're not going down there alone?'

'Yes, I am.' He paused. 'Maybe with a little back-up.'

'One more thing before you go. Do you know if Major Lamy is fluent in English?'

'Speaks your language like a native. An English native.'

In his cramped office Lasalle put down the phone, checked the time. He had an appointment with Navarre, Minister of the Interior. Throwing on his coat and hat - it was sleeting outside - he left the building, walked into the rue du Faubourg St Honore,. turning to the right away from the Elysée Palace.

Normally mild-mannered but tenacious, Lasalle strode along briskly with a grim expression. Reaching the entrance
to the Ministry in the Place Beauveau, he expected the
guards, who knew him well, to usher him straight past the
gates. A guard barred his way.

'Identification, sir.'

'You know me by now ...'

'Orders, sir. Identification, please.'

Lasalle produced his special identity pass, handed it to the guard. After examining it, the guard returned the pass,
waved him on with a salute. So Navarre had stepped up
security, Lasalle thought, hurrying across the spacious yard in front of the ministry building: that's good.

The minister's office is on the first floor, overlooks the
front courtyard. Its occupant rose from behind his desk as
Lasalle was ushered inside. Pierre Navarre was a short
stocky individual with dark hair, thick brows and impatient eyes. Like General de Forge, he came from Lorraine. He shook hands with the DST chief, told him to sit down and,
holding a document in one hand, hauled a chair close to
Lasalle's. He handed him the document which Lasalle read quickly. Scrawled at the bottom of the letter was Navarre's
strong, swift signature.

'That should do it, Minister.' Lasalle said.

Time we put pressure on that bastard.' Navarre
remarked savagely. 'When do you fly to Bordeaux?'

'Within the hour...'

'Report to me what happens. I will be working here a
little late ...'

A little late.
The phrase echoed in Lasalle's mind as he hurried back to his office. Navarre was noted for the hours he kept - often eighteen hours a day. In his office he phoned
a Bordeaux number, gave certain orders, slammed down the
phone and ran to the car waiting in the courtyard to take
him to the airport.

Arriving at Bordeaux Airport late in the afternoon under a murky sky he was met by a DST officer who led him to a
bullet-proof Citroen. Lasalle jumped inside, followed by the
officer. The driver, who had the engine running, raced away from the airport.

'What about the reserves?' Lasalle asked the officer
beside him in the rear.

'Assembled and hidden in a field near Third Corps HQ. General de Forge expects you to come alone?'

'Yes. He's not the only tactician in France...'

Out in the country well away from Bordeaux the driver slowed, pulled up alongside a gated field. A man in a blue
raincoat opened the gate, lifted his arm in a signal, then waved Lasalle's vehicle on. Lasalle glanced back through the rear window as they raced along a straight stretch of road. Behind followed a convoy of eight cars, filled with armed DST men. Behind them followed CRS motorcyclists, clad in black leather coats, automatic weapons slung over shoulders. The huge convoy pulled up in front of the entrance to Third Corps.

A uniformed lieutenant approached the Citroen, frowning. As Lasalle pressed the button which lowered the window he peered inside. Lasalle wasted no time.

'Open the damn gate.' He flashed his identity card.
'Lasalle of DST, Paris. General de Forge is expecting me. I
phoned Major Lamy early this morning
.'

'You were expected alone...'

'Don't argue with me. Open the gate.'