Cross of Fire (74 page)

Tweed followed Buchanan's Volvo until they reached the
A12. Here Buchanan turned south for London. Tweed
swung right, accelerated along the highway. North for
Dunwich.

'Satisfactory, sir?' Hamilton asked when they had driven
many miles.

'I think so.'

Tweed said no more, concentrating on maintaining the
maximum speed along the highway which was comparatively free of other traffic. Impatiently, he had to slow down when he turned off east along the country road to Dunwich. Arriving at the coast, he left his Escort in the car park next to the Ship Inn.

Getting out of the car, Tweed took a deerstalker hat from
the rear seat, crammed it on his head. He looped a pair of
binoculars round his neck. It gave him the appearance of a
man on holiday, probably a birdwatcher. He looked at
Hamilton.

'Try and look more relaxed. We're tourists.'

Hamilton's reluctant concession to Tweed's request was
to shove both hands inside the pockets of his trenchcoat. He liked his right hand free to grab for the Colt. Tweed led the
way out of the car park, turned right and made his way up
a steep winding path past a signpost.
Cliff Path.

'You've been here before, sir?' Hamilton enquired.

'A long time ago. It's one of the few places which never changes.'

Tweed hustled up the difficult path, emerged on to a grassy plateau on top of the cliffs. A wooden seat stood
facing the rippled grey of the calm sea, as though waiting
for someone to sit on it. Tweed saw what he wanted to see
without binoculars, but he pressed the lenses to his eyes,
focused them.

The
Steel Vulture
came up clear as described by Paula,
motionless about half a mile out. Tweed swept the vessel with
his glasses. A lighter was moored to the platform suspended
just above the water - presumably for carrying supplies. A
large dinghy with an outboard motor was attached to the
lighter. Was it the dinghy which had carried men in Balaclavas
in their cold-blooded pursuit of Paula and Karin? He pressed the lenses closer to his eyes, adjusted the focus with care.

Aft of the bridge was a strange-looking aircraft. No one
had reported that. So, once aboard, Dawlish had great mobility. Tweed saw several men descending into the dinghy, probably prior to coming ashore.

'We'll get away from here fast...'

He had hardly completed the brief instruction before he
was hurrying back down the winding path back to Dunwich.
Hamilton had trouble keeping up with him. Tweed already
had the car engine started as he dived into the passenger seat
beside him. Taking one last look at the anchored vessel
beyond fields spreading down a slope towards the beach,
Tweed drove off.

He was speeding back down the A12 when he suddenly
slowed, turned on to a wide grass verge and stopped, leaving
the engine running. He sat like a man in a trance, hands quite
still on the wheel. Hamilton glanced at him, saw his glazed
look, was careful to keep quiet.

Butler had once warned Hamilton that if he was with Tweed when this happened he should keep quiet. It meant
that something of great significance had struck him.

Twin-track.

That was the phrase Howard had quoted the PM as using in their conversation. Two different units in the field - and
Tweed hadn't been told which other unit was operating. It
simply confirmed to Tweed that he had been right about the
identity of Kalmar, the assassin.

He resumed the drive to London at top speed.

'Have you had anything to eat?' Monica asked the moment
Tweed entered his office. 'I thought not,' she said as he shook
his head. 'Ham sandwiches on your desk and a flask of
freshly made coffee.'

'Thank you. Most considerate.'

Tweed checked the time as he sat at his desk. Half an hour
before he had to leave to catch his flight back to Paris. Unwrapping the foil, he bit into a ham sandwich and realized he was ravenous. Monica came over, poured coffee from the flask into a mug.

'You're going to stay in Paris until it's over one way or the
other?' she asked.

'No. To Paris first, yes. Then I fly south to Arcachon to
take charge at this critical moment.'

'Porton Down phoned again,' she said grimly. 'They did find one flask among some rubbish. Their top expert returned from holiday. He says the flask shows positive traces of nerve gas. From Dawlish's factory near Oxford.'

'Which makes my visit to Arcachon even more vital.'

'Won't it be dangerous?' Monica pressed.

Tweed devoured another sandwich. 'Probably. But my
team is in the danger zone. I must be there with them.'

'You know something you're not telling me.' she accused.

'If I do, I haven't told anyone else. Don't feel out of it.'

'General de Forge is about to move, isn't he?'

'Within the next two or three days. He's waiting for one more development. I want to be there when that development happens.'

The phone rang. Annoyed, Monica ran to her desk, picked
up the phone, listened, said she'd see if he was still in the
building.

'Chief Inspector Buchanan on the phone ...'

'Tweed here.'

'I think we make a good team. I detected signs of alarm in
his Lordship. I'm tracing those divers.'

'Good idea. A better one would be to check all the hotel registers in Aldeburgh for the night Karin Rosewater was murdered. Concentrate on the names of the people involved in this thing. Should lead you to the murderer. Sorry, must
go now ...'

Part Three Cross of Fire

Chapter Forty-Eight

'Operation Marengo - the seizure of Paris - has begun.'

General Charles de Forge had taken his decision in the middle of the night. He was poring over a large-scale map
of France spread over his desk. By his side stood Major
Lamy.

'The advance elements of the First Armoured Division are approaching the outskirts of Angouleme.' Lamy reported. 'They are moving at speed under the cover of darkness. Motorcycle patrols have already reached the outskirts of Angouleme. The Division will then proceed north tomorrow night - to outflank Paris and move on the capital from the
north. According to plan.'

'No!' de Forge contradicted. 'That is the official plan. There is a spy in our midst who has to be caught.' He glanced at Lamy. 'From Angouleme the Division, followed up by heavy reinforcements, will turn north-east, racing via Argenton for Chateauroux and beyond up the N20.'

'The plan has been changed?' Lamy asked in surprise.

'No! The plan I have distributed is a cover plan. If
rumours of our movements leak to Paris they will think we
are going to keep west of Paris until we can swoop on it
from the north.'

'And the real plan?'

'Has been handed as sealed orders to each commander -
orders to be opened and acted on only on receiving a
personal signal from me. I have sent the signal.'

'Should I now activate Austerlitz in Paris?'

'Not yet. What you can do, Major, is to contact Kalmar
and tell him to finish the job. Paula Grey. She has to be a
spy. That's it.'

'But Kalmar is pressing for payment - pressing hard.'

'Then pay him.' De Forge's tone was silky. 'I am sure
you can lay your hands on the necessary funds.'

Lamy left the presence, his mind in a whirl of calculation.
De Forge had refused to reveal to his Chief of Intelligence
the real Marengo plan. And only on rare occasions did he
address his subordinate by his rank - instead of by name.
De Forge was distancing himself.

In his office the General continued to study the detailed map. The sealed plans ordered his commanders to continue north up the N20 - to head point blank for Paris by the most direct route. The last strategy Navarre would expect from a
general noted for his devious manoeuvres. He would be in
Paris before the government woke in their beds.

And Austerlitz, the infiltration operation, would throw
the government into a panic when commando groups
started to take over key centres of authority - only hours
before de Forge's advance units entered Paris.

Paula was behind the wheel well south of Bordeaux, head
ing for the Landes, when the catastrophe occurred in
deserted open countryside. At a garage they had exchanged temporarily the Renault for a much more spacious Renault
Espace, leaving the original vehicle and a large sum of
French francs as collateral.

Butler sat beside her, navigating. Immediately behind them were seated Nield and Stahl. Newman was sprawled at the back of the car, fast asleep. At the entrance to an abandoned farm with a large barn the car stopped.

Paula repeatedly turned on the ignition, used the accelerator. It was no use: the engine refused to come alive. Butler
got out to the examine the engine and Stahl followed him.

'I don't know much about these engines,' Butler re
marked.

'That's great.' said Paula, who had also got out.

'But I do,' Stahl told them eagerly. 'I have spent much time in France. I have driven one of these. Let me take a
look...'

They waited half an hour while Stahl checked the engine.
Paula looked round, was conscious of how exposed they
were on the deserted country road. Apparently Stahl had
the same thought.

When the half-hour was up he raised a hand, indicating
they should stay where they were. He trotted off up the
short track leading to the farmhouse which had a crumbling roof, exposing the rafters where tiles had slid away.

The barn was made of stern stuff. The roof was intact
and the huge doors swung outward, held firmly on hinges, as Stahl opened the barn, investigated the interior briefly,
ran back to the road.

'We must push the Espace into that barn so I can work
on the engine. Paula, you handle the wheel. Get out,
everyone.'

'Why?' Paula demanded.

'Because,' Stahl explained patiently, 'I can see it will take
me several hours to repair the engine. I must dismantle,
then put it together again. We were sold a pup. Is that
right?'

'Yes,' Paula snapped impatiently. 'Are you sure you can get it going?'

'Absolutely. But I need the time. And we are in a very
exposed position here. We have already seen tanks in the
distance. Please! We all push.'

Nield was already standing beside Butler but Newman
was unaware of anything. He flopped fast asleep, exhausted.
Paula climbed behind the wheel while Stahl, Butler and
Nield pushed the vehicle up the level track inside the huge empty barn, its floor deep with straw. The glass of windows on three sides was coated with a thick layer of grime. At the
back a ladder led to a loft with an equally grimy skylight.
Stahl closed one door, Butler the other. While Nield held a pencil flashlight, Stahl began work on the engine.