Exocet (v5) (8 page)

'Some of the time. I aim to please.'

As always, she stirred him physically, which wouldn't do at all for this was neither the time or place. He kissed her once and turned away.

'Right, show me St Martin. Is it possible to see Ile de Roc?'

'On the horizon and only if the weather's good.'

'Let's get going then.'

He went out. As she turned to follow, she was aware of Stavrou, watching her as he always seemed to do, that enigmatic face, and the eyes, so cruel and with something in them especially for her. She hurried past him quickly and he followed her out.

* * *

St Martin was a simple enough place. There were no more than five or six hundred inhabitants, narrow cobbled streets, cottages roofed with red pantiles, a small harbour enclosed by a single break-water in which thirty or forty fishing boats of the smaller variety were moored.

There was also an army landing craft painted olive green and moored to the jetty; little more than a steel shell, with great steel bow doors as a beaching exit. An army truck stood inside and, as they watched, the craft moved away from the jetty and out to sea.

'So that's their means of transportation to the island,' Donner said.

Wanda nodded. 'Apparently.'

'According to Paul Bernard, the commanding officer out there also has a fine motor launch which is his pride and joy.'

'That's right. It was moored down there for a while yesterday.'

'Good. That's really excellent.'

They drove on, up out of the town, following a narrow coast road until finally Stavrou, under Wanda's direction, turned in through two stone pillars and bumped across a field track.

Donner and Wanda got out and she handed him a pair of Zeiss fieldglasses as they went forward to the edge of the cliffs. There was a bay far below and the path down was no place for the faint-hearted, zigzagging across the face of granite cliffs, splashed with lime, seabirds crying, wheeling in great clouds, razorbills, shags, gulls, shearwaters and gannets - gannets everywhere.

Ile de Roc was a smudge on the horizon that came to life only when he focussed the glasses. It was well named, massive cliffs rising steeply from the sea, only a hint of green on top. There were no installations to be seen, but he already knew they were on the western side of the island.

He lowered the glasses. 'Good, let's go.'

They returned to the Citroen, got in, and Stavrou reversed and drove away.

* * *

On the way back, they passed Maison Blanche again. A few hundred yards on, as they turned into the road leading to Lancy, Donner leaned forward and touched Stavrou on the shoulder.

'Stop a minute. What have we got here?'

In the meadow beside the trees, three wagons were parked around a fire. They were old and battered with patched canvas tilts, and a depressing air of poverty hung over everything from the clothes worn by the four women who squatted by the fire drinking coffee from old cans, to the rags on the children, who played by the stream where three bony horses grazed.

'Gypsies?' Donner said.

'Yes, the agent said there were some in the neighbourhood. Claimed they were no trouble.'

'He would, wouldn't he?' Donner nodded to Stavrou. 'Come on, Yanni, this may work out quite well.'

As they walked down into the hollow, the women looked up curiously, saying nothing. Donner stood there, hands in pockets, then said in French, 'Where's the head man?'

'Here he is, Monsieur.'

The man who had appeared from the trees was old, at least seventy. He had a shotgun crooked in his right arm. He wore a tweed suit which had been patched many times, and white hair showed beneath the blue beret. His face was the colour of oak, wrinkled and covered with stubble.

'And who might you be?' Donner enquired.

'I am Paul Gaubert, Monsieur? Is it permitted to ask you the same question?'

'My name is Donner. I'm the new tenant of Maison Blanche. I think I'm probably right in saying you're camped on my land.'

'But Monsieur, we stay here every year at this time. Never before have we had a problem.'

The young man with him was of medium height with a weak, sullen face. He badly needed a shave. His clothes were as shabby as Gaubert's and black hair poked from beneath a tweed cap. He not only carried a shotgun in his right hand, but a brace of hares in his left.

Donner looked him over and Gaubert said hastily, 'My son, Paul.'

'With my hares, I think? What would the local gendarmes in St Martin have to say about you lot, I wonder?'

Old Gaubert flung his arms wide. 'Please, Monsieur, everywhere we go it is the same. Filthy gypsies, they say. They spit on us while our children go hungry.'

'All right.' Donner took out his wallet. 'I don't need the sob story. You can stay.' He took out a couple of thousand franc notes and stuffed them into Gaubert's breast pocket. 'That's to be going on with. I don't like strangers, understand?'

The old man took out the notes, examined them and smiled broadly. 'I think so, Monsieur.'

'Just keep an eye on things till I'm back down again, or Monsieur Stavrou here.'

'You can rely on me, Monsieur.' Old Gaubert said, and kicked his son on the leg for gawping at Wanda.

They went back to the Citroen, and as they drove away she said, 'Now what?'

'Paris. I've got to make arrangements about this Argentine pilot, Montera. Garcia tells me he's flown twelve missions to the Falklands and survived.'

'An authentic hero,' she said. 'I thought they'd gone out of style.'

'So did I, but this guy is for real and he's going to suit my purpose admirably. By the time I'm finished with him, he'll be world-famous.'

He slipped an arm about her shoulders and leaned back in the seat.

8

At that time, because of the Falklands situation, unusually large crowds had started to congregate in Downing Street and the police had been compelled to take action, cordoning off most of the street.

When Ferguson showed his special pass, his car was allowed through and dropped him outside Number 10, five minutes early for his appointment with the Prime Minister. The policeman on duty saluted, the door was opened even before Ferguson reached it, and he passed inside.

The young aide who greeted him, said, 'This way, Brigadier, the Prime Minister is expecting you.'

Ferguson followed him up the main staircase, not for the first time in his career, past the portraits of previous Prime Ministers, Peel, Wellington, Disraeli, Gladstone. It always filled him with an acute sense of history and he wondered whether the woman who held the most august office in the land, was similarly affected. Probably so. If anyone had a sense of history and destiny, she did. He doubted whether the Falklands venture could have gone forward without her strength of purpose and courage behind it.

In the top corridor, the young man knocked on a door, opened it and ushered Ferguson inside. 'Brigadier Ferguson, Prime Minister,' he said and left, closing the door.

The study was just as elegant as when Ferguson had last seen it, with pale green walls and gold curtains and comfortable furniture in excellent taste. But as always, nothing could have been more elegant than the woman behind the desk in the neat blue suit and white blouse, the blonde hair perfectly groomed.

She looked at him calmly. 'The last time we had dealings, Brigadier, was in connection with a possible attempt on my life.'

'Yes, ma'am.'

'Your efforts on that occasion were not conspicuously successful. If the would-be assassin had not thought better of the matter here in this very room...'

She let her words hang for a while and then carried on. 'I see that the Director-General of Intelligence has seen fit, in his wisdom, to place you in charge of all matters relating to the Exocet question.'

'Yes, ma'am.'

'I understand that the Libyans had intended to provide the Argentinians with additional supplies, but thanks to pressure from our friends in the Arab world, this is no longer likely?'

'That is correct, Prime Minister.'

'Is there any possibility that the Peruvians might try to help?'

'That contingency has already been taken care of ma'am. We...'

'Please, Brigadier, spare me the details. Which only leaves the French, and I have Monsieur Mitterand's personal assurance that the arms embargo will stay in force.'

'I'm pleased to hear it, ma'am.'

She stood up, walked to the window and looked out. 'Brigadier, if one Exocet hits either
Hermes
or
Invincible,
the entire course of this conflict is changed. We would almost certainly have to withdraw.' She turned. 'Can you assure me that there is no possibility of further Exocets reaching the Argentine from any source whatever?'

'No, ma'am, I'm afraid I can't.'

'Then I suggest you do something about that, Brigadier,' she said calmly. 'Department Four has full power - total authority from this office. Use it, Brigadier, use it any way you can, for the sake of our men in the South Atlantic, for all our sakes.'

'Thank you, Prime Minister. I'll do my best, I can assure you of that.'

Ferguson got the door opened and went out. The eyes of those previous Prime Ministers seemed to follow him as he went down the stairs. He wondered if he'd just secured himself a small niche in history, but decided probably not. Even if it all works perfectly, it was the kind of thing they'd all deny had happened. He chuckled to himself as the aide bowed him to the front door and showed him out.

* * *

As Harry Fox and Ferguson went up in the lift at Kensington Palace Gardens, Fox said, 'We're wasting our time, sir. When I tried to speak to her on the phone, she just told me to get lost.'

'We'll see,' Ferguson said.

He pushed open the lift door, went around the corner to Gabrielle's flat and knocked. After a while the door opened on the chain and she peered out.

'What do you want?'

'To talk to you.'

'Well I don't want to talk to you. Clear off!'

She started to close the door and he pushed his foot in. 'Not even about Raul Montera?'

She stared blankly at him, then took off the chain and turned away. Ferguson followed her in and Fox closed the door behind them.

She went and stood by the fire and lit one of her rare cigarettes. 'Well, get on with it.'

She looked magnificent in her anger, eyes full of hate, and Ferguson decided to go in with both feet.

'Raul Montera arrives in Paris tomorrow to liaise with a man called Felix Donner who the Argentine Government believes can procure them an additional supply of Exocet missiles. I need to find out what they're up to and stop them. I want you to go to Paris, make contact with Montera again, and do whatever is necessary to help us stop them cold.'

'You must be crazy. I'll never work for you again. Never.'

'It's your duty. You're still a British citizen.'

'I am also a citizen of France. That makes me neutral.'

'Impossible,' he said calmly. 'Your half-brother, sublieutenant Richard Brindsley, is serving as a helicopter pilot on board
HMS Invincible,
as you very well know.'

'Stop it!' she said desperately. 'I won't listen.'

'He is serving with 820 Squadron,' Ferguson carried on relentlessly. 'The same squadron as Prince Andrew. Let me tell you what one of his more unpleasant duties is. The Sea Kings are frequently used to act as decoys for Exocet missiles. Prince Andrew and your brother and their comrades act in the belief that an Exocet cannot fly above twenty-seven feet. They hover, present an attractive radar target, protecting the ship of the fleet. The idea is to gain height quickly at the last moment possible, so that the missile passes beneath them. Unfortunately, rogue Exocets have been known to exceed that height. I'll spare you a description of the possibilities.'

She was almost beside herself with rage and fear. 'I won't listen. Leave me alone.'

'And then there's your friend, Montera. A gallant fool if ever I saw one, but the enemy in this war, Gabrielle, make no mistake about that. A man who has flown a Skyhawk with a five thousand pound bomb load to attack the British fleet in San Carlos Water on no fewer than twelve occasions. I wonder which frigate he helped sink?'

She turned away. Ferguson nodded to Fox and went out. Fox closed the door and found him in the lift, his face strained.

'I told you it was a waste of time.'

'Nonsense,' Ferguson said. 'She'll go.' As the lift descended he said, 'She'll need a man, Harry, to back her up. Someone totally dependable and quite ruthless. Do you know where Tony is at this moment?'

'Operating behind Argentinian lines somewhere in the Falklands with the SAS.'

'Exactly. I thought I might need him so I sent a signal last night, utmost priority. I want him pulled out. Picked up by submarine and off-loaded into Uruguay. It's only fourteen hours by plane from Montevideo to Paris. Our people at the Embassy in Montevideo can have the necessary papers waiting for him.'

They went out and down the steps towards the car. He said, 'I know, Harry, don't bother to say it. I'm the great original bastard of all time.'

* * *

Belov and Garcia sat with Donner in the study of his apartment and waited while Wanda poured coffee.

'That's fine,' Donner said to her. 'Any business calls from the corporation in London, you handle and tell Yanni to stand by. I may need him.'

She went out and he said to Garcia, 'So, Colonel Montera arrives tomorrow? You've brought me that file on him I asked for, I trust? I like to know who I'm dealing with.'

'Of course.' Garcia opened his briefcase and produced a small folder which he pushed across.

Donner opened it, studied the photo it contained of Montera, and quickly scanned the details on the sheets.

'Excellent,' he said at last. 'What arrangements have you made as regards accommodation?'

'A hotel didn't seem like a good idea,' Garcia said, 'and certainly not the Embassy. I've leased a small service flat for him in an apartment block on the Avenue de Neuilly by the Bois de Boulogne.' He passed a card across. 'There's the address and telephone number.'

'Good.' Donner nodded. 'I'll make the necessary contact with him once he arrives.'

Garcia said, 'I was wondering when we might have some further details as to exactly what you intend.' There was a kind of exasperation in his voice. 'I mean, you've still given us not the slightest hint where you expect to get the Exocets from.'

'And I don't intend to,' Donner said. 'Not until the very last moment. This is a matter of the utmost delicacy. The fewer people who know my source, the better. I'm sorry but that's the way I work.' He shrugged. 'Of course if you're not satisfied, it would still be possible to pull out.'

'Good God, no,' Garcia said hastily. 'I didn't mean that, not for a moment.'

'I'm glad to hear it. Now, if you wouldn't mind leaving us alone for a moment. You can wait in the next room. I'm sure Wanda can find you some more coffee.'

Garcia went out. Belov said, 'Amateurs. What on earth is one supposed to do with them?'

'Keep them out of harm's way, that's what,' Donner said. 'I've already made it plain to Paul Bernard that under no circumstances does he discuss with Garcia his dealings with me.'

'Who therefore knows nothing about your interest in Ile de Roc?'

'Exactly.'

'And can you trust Bernard?'

'Oh, yes, the good professor has really got the bit between his teeth. Looks upon the whole thing as a kind of crusade. I haven't been explicit, but he obviously thinks I intend to hijack one of the Aerospatiale trucks which transport Exocets by road to the island every so often. Mind you, if he knew my exact intentions, he might not be so pleased. But he has served my purpose very well.'

'And what happens to him afterwards?'

'Something suitably dramatic, I think, like being found dead with a gun in one hand and a suicide note, regretting his involvement in a conspiracy against his own country to obtain Exocets for the Argentine Government. French Intelligence will have little difficulty in establishing that he gave all that technical assistance early in the campaign. According to Garcia, he was on the telephone to Buenos Aires answering queries for lengthy periods on a number of occasions. It should all come out very satisfactorily. France is, after all, a democracy. Three cheers for a free press.'

'You really do think of everything, don't you?'

'I try. Now to something you can help me with. I need an address where I can pick up some muscle.'

'How many men?'

'I'd say about eight, which makes ten with me and Stavrou. Ample for my purposes if they are the right breed. Thorough-going hoods. Nothing fancy about using their brains. The kind of men who will kill if the price is right.'

'There's always the
Union Corse,
' Belov said.

The
Union Corse
was the largest crime syndicate in France, a truly formidable organisation whose tentacles reached out everywhere from the judiciary to the government itself.

Donner shook his head. 'I don't think so. They may be gangsters, those boys, but they're inclined to be patriotic. The curse of the French, Nikolai, or hadn't you noticed? Even the communist variety look upon themselves as Frenchmen first.'

'Point taken,' Belov said. 'But we do have other contacts. You could really do with mercenaries rather than ordinary gangsters.'

'Or gangsters who've seen service in the army. God knows, there must still be plenty of those around in France after all those years in Algiers.'

'Leave it with me.'

Donner opened a drawer, took out a sheet of paper and passed it across. 'I'll also need the items on there.'

Belov examined the list and raised his eyebrows. 'You intend to go to war, to judge by this little lot?'

'You could put it that way.'

At that moment, the door opened and Juan Garcia entered. He was trembling with excitement, eyes shining. 'What is it, for God's sake?' Belov demanded.

'Today gentlemen, is the 25th of May, you know what that means in the Argentine?'

'I can't say I do.'

'It is our national day, a day which will go down in our history as one on which we dealt the British navy the most crushing blow of the war. It's on now, a newsflash on television. Come and see,' and he turned and hurried out.

* * *

In the office at Cavendish Place, Ferguson put down the red phone, his face grave.

Harry Fox said, 'Is it bad, sir?'

'You could say that. The destroyer,
HMS Coventry,
was attacked by Skyhawks while protecting vessels landing supplies at San Carlos. She may also have been hit by an Exocet, we aren't sure yet. At least twenty dead and many wounded. She capsized.'