Exocet (v5) (14 page)

She leaned forward and kissed him. 'You're such a nice man, Raul. The nicest man I ever knew.'

'Ah, well, you make me that way, you see, I told you once before, you make me better.'

They got up and walked back towards the carpark arm-in-arm. 'What's going to happen to us?' she asked.

'You mean, are my intentions honourable? But of course. I will marry you at the appropriate moment, if only to get my hands on the Monet and the Degas.'

'And in the immediate future?'

'A couple of days, if we're lucky, then I must return to Argentina.'

She made a determined effort to be cheerful. 'So, at least tonight is secure. Let's go somewhere nice where we can dine and dance and be together.'

'Where would you suggest?'

'There's a place in Montmartre called Paco's. He's Brazilian. The music is excellent.'

'Paco's it is then. I'll pick you up at eight o'clock. Is that okay?'

'Fine.'

She glimpsed Tony Villiers by the newstand on the far side of the carpark and anger touched her as she unlocked the door of her car. 'I'll drop you off at your place.'

Which she did, getting out of the Mercedes to stand and talk to him for a moment, before driving away.

On the other side of the road, sitting on a bench reading a newspaper, one of Nikolai Belov's men noted the registration number of the car, got up and walked away as Montera went into the apartment block.

* * *

Back at her flat, Gabrielle paced up and down, waiting for the ring at the door which she knew must come. When it did she went and opened it quickly to admit Villiers. She walked back into the sitting room, thoroughly angry, and turned to face him.

'Well?' he said. 'Anything to report?'

'He's here on business for his government in connection with the arms embargo.'

'That really is a very fair description. Anything else?'

'Yes, I don't want you dogging my heels all the time, Tony. I mean that. This is difficult enough as it is.'

'You mean I'm an embarrassment.'

'Put it any way you please. I certainly don't need you tonight. We're dining in Montmartre.'

'And then coming back here?'

She went and opened the door. 'That's all, Tony.'

'Don't worry,' he said. 'Harvey and I have other fish to fry tonight.'

He went out and Gabrielle turned, went into the bathroom and ran her second bath of the day. When she looked forward to the evening it was with anticipation. Whatever else happened, she was going to have that.

* * *

Donner was in the shower when Wanda came in with the hand phone. 'Belov wants a word with you.'

Donner dried his hands, leaned out and took the phone. 'Nikolai, what can I do for you?' He listened for a while, face inscrutable. 'That certainly
is
interesting. Yes, keep me informed. If they go out anywhere tonight, for example, let me know.'

He handed the phone back to her. 'Trouble?' she said.

'Apparently our war hero has found himself a girlfriend. A spectacularly beautiful young woman according to Belov's information, who lives on the Avenue Victor Hugo.'

'That usually means money.'

'A reasonable deduction. Name of Gabrielle Legrand. Belov's going to keep me informed on the situation. I must say, if she's as good as she sounds, it might be worth taking a look at her.'

'You would,' she said bitterly and put the hand phone down on the small table by the door. 'Do you want anything else?'

'Yes,' he said. 'You can come and scrub my back.'

'If you like.'

She started to undress slowly, thinking already with a certain fear, of a girl she had never met, some strange sixth sense telling her she could be in trouble.

* * *

Montera had brought only one reasonably formal suit with him and wore it now, single-breasted, dark blue mohair with a plain white shirt and black tie.

'You look extremely elegant,' she said as they sat together in the back of the cab.

'I pale into insignificance beside you.'

She was wearing that spectacular silver mini-dress that she'd worn at their first meeting at the Argentine Embassy in London, the sunburst hair brushed out in
La Coupe Sauvage.

'The last time we were out together you introduced me to the romance of the Embankment at midnight. What have you in store for me tonight, I wonder?'

Gabrielle smiled and took his hand. 'Nothing very much,' she said. 'Just me.'

* * *

Donner was watching the latest news about the Falklands on television when Belov phoned again.

'They've gone out on the town,' the Russian said. 'A Brazilian restaurant in Montmartre called Paco's.'

'Sounds interesting,' Donner said. 'Is the food any good?'

'Fair, but the music is excellent. The young woman, by the way, is the daughter of an extremely wealthy industrialist named Maurice Legrand.'

'What's his line?'

'Just about everything. Operates out of Marseilles. If he went bust, so would the Bank of France.'

'Even more interesting,' Donner said. 'All right, leave it with me.' He put down the phone and turned to Wanda who was reading a magazine by the fire. 'Okay, put your glad rags on. We're going dancing.'

* * *

Belov sat beside the phone at his flat for some time after speaking to Donner, a frown on his face. Irana Vronsky brought coffee in from the kitchen on a tray and set it down.

'Something wrong?'

'I don't know. It's this Legrand girl. Something about it doesn't fit.'

'What exactly?' she asked as she poured coffee.

'I don't know,' he said in considerable irritation. 'That's the trouble.'

'Then ease your mind in the obvious way,' she said as she handed him the coffee. 'Run a scale one check on her.'

'An excellent idea. Get started on it first thing in the morning when you go into the office.' He sipped some coffee and made a face. 'Montera was right. Filthy stuff. Is there any chance of a cup of tea?'

12

Paco's was a great success, full of character and life, tables crowded together and the five piece band sensational. They had a booth to themselves from which they could watch the action. She had a whisky sour and he ordered Perrier Water with lime.

She said, 'You're still not drinking?'

'I have to stay fit; keep on top of things. Middle-aged man, younger woman. You know how it is?'

'Keep taking the pills,' she said. 'You're doing all right. Of course, I'm only after your money,'

'No,' he said. 'You've got it wrong. At the present rate of inflation in the Argentine,
I'm
after
your
money. Even the Monteras may feel the pinch when this war is over.'

But the mention of war brought reality back to her and that would not do at all. She took his hand. 'Come on, let's dance,' she said and pulled him to his feet.

The band was plaing a bossanova and Montera led her perfectly, dancing extremely well.

As the music finished, Gabrielle said, 'That was good. You should have been a gigolo.'

'Exactly what my mother used to say. A gentleman shouldn't dance too well.' He grinned. 'I always adored it. I haunted all the tango bars when I was a boy. The tango, of course, is the only real dance for an Argentinian. It mirrors everything. Political struggles, depressions, life, love, death. You do dance the tango?'

'I've been known to.'

He turned to the bandleader and said in Portuguese, 'Heh, compadre, what about a real tango? Something to move the heart like Cambalache.'

'Which means the senor is an Argentinian,' the bandleader said. 'I thought I recognised the accent. A long way from home, especially now, so this is for you and the lady.'

He went to the back of the stage and returned with an instrument slightly longer than a concertina. 'Ah,' Montera said in delight. 'We're going to get the real thing. That, my love, is what we call a bandoneon.'

'Sounds good,' Gabrielle commented.

'Wait and see.'

The bandleader started to play, accompanied only by piano and violin, and the music touched something deep inside her for it spoke of the infinite sadness, the longing of love, that knowledge that all that makes life worth living is in the hands of another, to give or withhold.

They danced as one person, together in a way she would never have thought possible. No domination from him, no leading. He danced superbly, but also with the most enormous tenderness. And when he smiled, his love was plain, an honest gift, making no demands on her.

It was a performance that fascinated many people, not least Felix Donner, who was sitting at the bar with Wanda.

'Dear God in heaven,' he said. 'What a creature. I've never seen anything like her.'

Wanda knew panic then, as she had never known it before, at the look on his face and in his eye.

'Anybody can look good in a dress like that.'

'Fuck the dress,' Donner said simply. 'She'd look good in anything - or nothing.'

As the music faded, several people applauded, but Montera and Gabrielle stayed together for a moment, oblivious.

'You really do love me very much,' she said softly, a wonder in her voice.

'I have no choice,' he said. 'You asked me why I fly. I told you it's what I am. Ask me why I love you. I can only give the same answer. It's what I am.'

The feeling of certainty, of serenity that flooded through her, was incredible. She took his hand. 'Let's sit down.'

At the table, he ordered a bottle of Dom Perignon. 'Yes, tango is a way of life in Buenos Aires. I'll take you to San Telmo, the old quarter. The best tango bars in the world. We'll go to El Viejo Almacen. They'll turn you into an expert there in one night.'

'When?' he said. 'When does all this happen?'

'Well, I'll be damned,' Donner said. 'Senor Montera. What a pleasant surprise.'

He stood there looking down at them, Wanda at his side, and reluctantly Montera got to his feet.

* * *

It was raining when Paul Bernard alighted from the cab on the corner of the street beside the Seine and paid off the driver. It was an area of offices and tall warehouses, busy during the day, but deserted by night. He moved along the pavement, searching for the address Garcia had left for him in the phone message he'd received in his office at the Sorbonne earlier that evening.

He found what he was looking for, a sign over a warehouse that said
Lebel & Company, Importers.
He tried the small judas gate in the main entrance. It opened to his touch. He slipped through. The warehouse inside was in darkness but there was a light on in the glass-walled office high above.

'Garcia?' he called. 'Are you there?'

He saw a shadow behind the frosted glass of the office, the door opened, a voice said, 'Up here.'

He mounted the rickety wooden steps cheerfully. 'I haven't got much time. One of my post-graduate students, a girl of rather interesting proportions, has asked me round to have supper and check her thesis over with her. With any luck it should take me till morning.'

He went in through the door and found Tony Villiers sitting at the desk in front of him.

'Who are you?' Bernard demanded. 'Where's Garcia?'

'He couldn't make it.'

The door closed behind Bernard and he turned to find Harvey Jackson there. For the first time, he knew a certain fear.

'What's going on here?'

Jackson grabbed him by the shoulders and shoved him into a chair. 'Sit down and speak when you're spoken to.'

Villiers took a Smith & Wesson from one pocket, a Carswell silencer from another and screwed it in place. 'That means it won't make a sound when I fire it, Professor, but then I'm sure you know that.'

'Look, what's all this about?' Bernard demanded.

Villiers laid the Smith & Wesson down on the desk. 'It's about the size of your phone bill to the Argentine. Cabbages and Kings, Exocet missiles. Oh, and people called Donner.'

Bernard was still frightened, but also angry. 'Who are you?'

'Until three days ago I was in the Falklands so I've seen the dead. I'm an officer of the British Special Air Service Regiment.'

'Bastard!' Bernard said, his anger overflowing.

'That's it. As someone once rather unfairly put it, we're the nearest thing to the SS the British Army has. I don't know about that. What I do know is that if you don't tell me what I want to know, I'm going to blow your left kneecap off with this.' He picked up the Smith & Wesson. 'Very nasty trick we picked up from the IRA in Ulster. If that doesn't work, I'll go to work on the right. That should put you on sticks for the rest of your life.'

There was a pottery vase with a plant in it on the top shelf at the other end of the room. His hand swung up holding the Smith & Wesson, there was a slight cough, no more than that, and the vase disintegrated.

It was enough. Bernard said, 'You know who Donner is?'

'That's right. I also know he's promised to provide several Exocet missiles to Argentine agents in this country within the next few days. Where's he getting them from?'

Bernard said, 'He hasn't told me. In fact, to the best of my knowledge, he hasn't told anybody.' Villiers raised the gun as if to take deliberate aim and Bernard said hastily, 'No, listen to me.'

'All right, but you'd better make it good.'

'There's a place off the Brittany coast called Ile de Roc where they test Exocets. The nearest port is St Martin. Donner has taken a house near there. I think his intention must be to hijack one of the Aerospatiale trucks as it passes through to St Martin carrying Exocets for shipment to the island.'

His face was haggard, beaded with sweat; he was obviously telling the truth as he knew it. Villiers nodded calmly and said to Jackson. 'Okay, Harvey. Go and wait for me in the car.'

Jackson didn't argue. He went out, closing the door, his footsteps descended the wooden steps. There was silence.

Villiers put the Smith & Wesson on the desk, lit a cigarette and stood up, hands in the pockets of his raincoat.

'You don't like the English very much, do you? Why would that be?'

Bernard said, 'You ran in 1940 and left us to the Boche. They shot my father, burned our village. My mother ...' He shrugged, the despair of years on his shoulders.

Villiers turned and walked to the other end of the office, and examined the notice board. Bernard looked nervously across at the Smith & Wesson on the other side of the desk.

'My father was in SOE during the war,' Villiers said. 'The French section. Dropped into France by parachute three times to work with the Resistance. Finally, he was betrayed, arrested and hauled off to Gestapo Headquarters in the Rue des Saussaies in Paris. A good address for a bad place. He was interrogated for three days with such brutality that, to this day, his right foot is badly crippled.'

He turned, hands still in the pockets of the raincoat and found Bernard sitting, but now clutching the Smith & Wesson.

'Oh, but you must let me finish, Professor. I've saved the best to last. His torturer was a Frenchman in the pay of the Gestapo. One of those fascists you find everywhere.'

Bernard cried something unintelligible and fired. Villiers was already dropping to one knee, his hand emerging from the front of the raincoat holding a Walther PPK. He shot Bernard in the centre of the forehead and the Frenchman was hurled backwards, still seated in the chair.

Villiers retrieved the Smith & Wesson, switched off the light and went out. He descended the stairs, crossed to the judas gate and stepped into the night. Car lights turned on further up the street and the Citroen slid into the kerb, Jackson at the wheel. Villiers got into the passenger seat.

'Did you give him a chance?' Jackson asked.

'Of course.'

'I can imagine. Why not just shoot the poor sod in the first place and get it over with? Why pretend? Did it make you feel better? Every man deserves a chance to draw, just like a fucking western?'

'Just drive, Sergeant Major.' Villiers said and lit another cigarette.

'Deepest apologies,' Jackson told him. 'I trust the major will forgive me. I was forgetting he was a moralist.'

He moved into gear and drove away.

* * *

Donner ordered another bottle of champagne. 'You're not drinking,' he said to Montera, and tried to fill his glass.

Montera put his hand in the way. 'No thanks. Champagne doesn't agree with me.'

'Nonsense,' Donner said. 'A man who is tired of champagne is tired of life; wouldn't you agree, Mademoiselle Legrand?'

'Actually, a nonsensical proposition. No substance to it at all,' she said.

He laughed. 'That, I like. A woman who says what she thinks. Just comes right out with it. Now Wanda here, she never says what she thinks. What she tells you is what she believes you'd like to hear, isn't that so, Wanda?'

The girl's humiliation was plain. Her hands were trembling so much that she clutched her sequined evening purse tightly. Gabrielle opened her mouth to speak, her anger evident. Raul put a hand on hers and leaned across the table.

'Please, Miss Jones, it would give me the greatest of pleasure to show you how we dance the tango in the Argentine.'

There was astonishment on her face for a moment, then she glanced at Donner. He ignored her and poured more champagne into his glass. She made her decision and stood up.

'I think I'd like that,' she said, and walked on to the floor.

'I shan't be long,' Montera said to Gabrielle, and smiled. 'If he annoys you, this one, let me know and I'll give him what the bearded one got.'

'Do you think you could guarantee that?'

He leaned over, kissed her as if Donner wasn't there, and joined Wanda on the floor.

'Very nice,' Donner said. 'I like a good show. Do I get to dance, too?'

Gabrielle sipped a little champagne. 'I couldn't imagine any circumstance in which I would agree to dance with you, Mr Donner. You see, it's really very simple. I don't like you.'

Donner's anger showed only in his eyes, the rest he managed to control. 'I'm very persistent. I could grow on you.'

'Men.' She shook her head. 'The arrogance of you. That stupid male arrogance. You're all the same. Selfish, demanding. You treat women with contempt, you know that? Your interest is actually an insult.'

He managed to stay good humoured on the surface. 'I see, so it's men you don't like, not just me? Where does that leave our gallant colonel? He's different, I suppose?'

'He's himself. He doesn't take, he gives.' It was as if she was saying this to work it out for herself, and there was a kind of joy on her face. 'Which may seem a contradiction to you, but makes perfect sense to me.'

Before Donner could reply the head waiter appeared at his side. 'Monsieur Donner?'

'That's right.'

'You left your name at the bar in case there was a phone call. Someone is on the line now.'