The Stone Leopard (26 page)

The heavy 9-mm slugs penetrated the side of the tanker with a series of thuds. Vanek began running towards the Mercedes, followed by Brunner. Behind them someone shouted, a muffled shout, succeeded by a muffled boom. The petrol tanker flared, a sheet of flame consumed the mist and behind the two running Czechs someone started screaming and went on and on. Billowing black smoke replaced the mist and a nauseating stench drifted on the night air. Vanek reached the car where Lansky, white-faced, sat behind the wheel with the motor ticking over.

`What the hell was that . .'

`Get it moving,' Vanek snarled. 'Slam your foot down—if we hit something we hit it. . .'

The Mercedes accelerated, not to high speed but very fast for the mist-bound road. Brunner, who had wrenched open the rear door, was still only half-inside the vehicle when it moved off with the door swinging loose beside him. A few metres further along the road Lennox had heard the shots and then what sounded like an explosion. He was standing on the grass verge when the Mercedes's blurred headlights rushed towards him with the rear door still open and someone only half-inside the car. Behind it a police siren had started up. He fired twice as the car roared past him and both bullets penetrated Brunner's arched back. The Czech's body spun out of the open door and thumped down in the road as the Mercedes vanished in the mist, still picking up speed.

CHAPTER FIVE

`THE STAR of the most corrupt and power-mad Republic the world has ever seen is fading.. .. America, that mongrel-mix of the debris of a score of nations is now a ferment of internal decay. . . . Withdrawing her troops from Europe when she no longer had the strength to rule the world, she is now dissolving into chaos. . . . One thing above all we must ensure! That never again can she lay her greedy hands on the lands of other people—on Europe !'

It was President Florian's most vicious attack yet and it was made in a speech at Marseilles where the French Communist party is never far below the surface. A massive audience acclaimed the speech, showing the enormous support Florian enjoyed in the south where once, so many years earlier, a Republique Sovietique du Sud had almost been established at the end of the Second World War.

Afterwards there was a huge parade along the Canebiere, the main thoroughfare of the turbulent French seaport where thousands of people broke ranks and tried to surge round the presidential Citroen. On the direct orders of Marc Grelle, who had flown to the city, CRS troops drove back the milling crowd, which later almost caused a confrontation between the president and the police prefect.

`You spoiled the whole spontaneous demonstration,' he raged. 'There was no need . .

`The spontaneous demonstration was organized by the Communist party,' Grelle said sharply. 'And my reaction is, you are still alive. Do you or do you not want me to protect your life ?'

The sheer vehemence of the prefect startled Florian, who changed direction suddenly, putting an arm round Grelle's shoulders. 'You are, of course, right. Nothing must happen to me before I fly to Russia. We have peace within our grasp, Grelle, peace. . .'

The Soviet convoy K.12 had now passed through the Dardanelles and was proceeding south across the Aegean Sea. It was proceeding slowly, at a leisurely pace which puzzled the naval analysts at NATO headquarters in Brussels. The team of analysts was under the control of a British officer, Commander Arthur Leigh-Browne, RN, and on Tuesday, 21 December— the day when Florian made his violent attack on the Americans at Marseilles—Browne circulated to all western defence ministers a routine report.

'K.12'S most likely destination would appear to be the Indian Ocean, making passage in due course through the Suez Canal —except for the fact that the aircraft carrier, Kirov, is too large to pass through the canal. . .

`Other possible destinations are the newly-acquired naval facilities granted by the Spanish government at Barcelona. . .

`The factor we find most difficult to equate with either of the above two conjectures is the presence of the fifteen large transports (contents as yet unknown). . .

As Browne put it to his German second-in-command after the report had been sent off, 'At the moment, it's all hot air. I haven't a clue what they're up to. We'll have to play the old game of wait-and-see. . .'

Guy Florian made his speech in Marseilles at noon. At the same equivalent time in Moscow an enlarged meeting of the Politburo which had been called unexpectedly was listening to a brief speech by the First Secretary. Among those present were the Foreign Minister of the Soviet Union and Marshal Gregori Prachko, Minister of Defence. It was these two men—forming a quorum of three with the First Secretary—who had earlier sanctioned the despatch of the Soviet Commando to the west.

Revealing for the first time to the enlarged meeting the identity of the Frenchman he called 'our friend', the First Secretary went on to give details of the Franco-Soviet pact which would be announced while President Florian was in Moscow. 'The President of the French Republic has, of course, under the French constitution, full powers to negotiate and conclude treaties with foreign powers,' he continued.

It was clause tzt which was the key to the whole agreement. This clause stated that in the furtherance of world peace joint military manoeuvres would be carried out from time to time on the respective territories of the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics and the Republic of France. In simple language it meant that the advance elements of two Soviet armoured divisions now aboard convoy K.12 would be landed at French Mediterranean ports within the next few days.

`Where will they go to ?' inquired Nikolai Suslov, the most intellectual member of the Politburo.

`I will tell you!' It was the immensely broad-shouldered, uniformed and bemedalled Marshal Gregori Prachko who replied. Prachko intensely disliked non-practical intellectuals and especially disliked Nikolai Suslov. 'They will be put ashore at Toulon and Marseilles immediately Florian has announced the pact in Moscow. The date of his visit—23 December—has been carefully chosen. Over their famous Christmas the government ministers of the west all go on holiday, so they will not be behind their desks to react quickly. . .

Tut where will the troops go ?' Suslov persisted.

`To the Rhine border with Germany, of course! As he gets up on Christmas morning to open his presents, Chancellor Franz Hauser will find himself facing Soviet troops to the east —and to the west ! The whole of western Europe will fall under our control—including the powerhouse of the Ruhr—which will enable us to win any confrontation with China. . .'

PART THREE

The Police Prefect of Paris

December 22-23

CHAPTER ONE

ANY EXPERIENCED POLICEMAN knows it: you can throw a cordon round an area, set up road-blocks, and three times out of four you are too late. Gruber set up a cordon and caught nothing but irate motorists and truck-drivers. The Mercedes, which had been hired in Kehl, was found a week later inside a copse at the edge of the Black Forest. Four of the six policemen who had been getting out of the truck when the petrol tanker detonated were lucky; most of the blast went the other way, travelling across open fields. The other two policemen were badly burned, one of them with first-degree injuries which required plastic surgery later. The petrol tanker driver died from the fumes which filled his cab before he could escape.

Lanz and Gruber searched Wohl's house, looking for the war diary which Lennox had seen, and found no trace of the diary or the manuscript. Brunner's dead body was taken to the police mortuary and examination of his clothing and pocket contents revealed very little. He was carrying a large sum of money— two thousand deutschmark—and a French identity card in the name of Emile Bonnard 'Which will undoubtedly prove to be false,' Gruber commented. Underneath his German hat and coat Brunner was wearing a French suit and underclothes. Apart from this there was very little to prove who he really was —until the preliminary results of the medical examination came through.

`My colleague has come up with something interesting,' the medical examiner reported to Gruber who was sitting in a hotel bedroom eating dinner with the BND chief and Lennox. `He is a dental technician and according to him the dental work and teeth fillings were definitely carried out in eastern Europe—probably in Russia. . .'

Lanz phoned Marc Grelle direct from police headquarters at Freiburg. Strictly speaking, any such call should have been made to the Surete, but whereas Lanz knew Grelle well and trusted his discretion, he neither liked nor trusted the Director-General who was Commissioner Suchet's superior. As Lanz explained to Grelle, he had two reasons for informing him of this development. The assassin Lennox had shot dead—and Lanz was careful not to mention the Englishman in any way— was travelling with French papers in the name of Emile Bonnard. Also—and here again Lanz phrased it carefully—he had reason to believe the Commando had recently come from France and might well have re-crossed the border back into that country. . . .'

`You have solid grounds for saying an assassination Commando, possibly Soviet-controlled, is on the move ?' Grelle inquired.

`Yes,' Lanz replied firmly. 'Without going into details, I'm pretty sure of it. And perhaps it would be helpful if we both keep in touch. . .'

Grelle had just put down the phone when Boisseau came into his office with a routine report.

`Lesage has just called in. That Algerian terrorist, Abou Benefeika, is still holed up in the derelict apartment building in the Goutte-d'Or. No sign of his pals coming to collect him yet. We let him go on fermenting ?'

`Continue the surveillance. . .' Grelle took a bite out of the sandwich he would have to make do with for his evening meal. Normally he dined at Chez Benoit, an exclusive little restaurant in the old Les Halles district where you had to phone for a table; he was beginning to miss the place. 'I have just had a call from Peter Lanz of the German BND,' he informed Boisseau. `He played it very cagey but somehow he has found out that a Soviet assassination Commando is at work. This evening they killed an ex-Abwehr officer in Freiburg.' He paused. 'The name of the Abwehr man was Dieter Wohl. . .

`One of the three names on Lasalle's list. . .'

`Exactly. So now it looks as though this Commando has been sent with the express purpose of wiping out everyone on that list—and they've done it, for God's sake. All avenues through which we might have seen a little light are closed. . .'

`The surveillance on Roger Danchin and Alain Blanc is producing nothing ?'

`Nothing. . . .' The prefect frowned as his phone rang. He checked his watch. 10 pm. Only recently returned from his flight to Marseilles when he had accompanied the president while he delivered his most bitter anti-American tirade so far, Grelle was feeling very tired. Who the hell could it be at this hour ? He picked up the phone, swallowing the last of his sandwich. It was Alain Blanc.

`No, Minister,' Grelle assured him. 'I have not dug up any connection between the president and Lucie Devaud as yet. . . . We now know her father was Albert Camors, a wealthy stockbroker who died a few months ago and left her his apartment in the Place des Vosges. . . . No, we do not know any more. . . . Yes, she must have been illegitimate. . . . No, no connection at all with the Elysee. . .'

Grelle shrugged as he replaced the receiver. (He worries about a scandal, that one. As I was saying, all avenues seem closed to us, so all we can hope for once more is the unexpected break. And yet, Boisseau, I feel that somewhere I am overlooking something—something under my nose. . .'

`Something to do with the Commando ? Incidentally, we may as well cancel the alert on the man the German police shot in Freiburg. Did Lanz give you a name ?'

Grelle consulted a notepad. 'Emile Bonnard,' he replied. `And I do not expect we shall ever see the other two men— Duval and Lambert. They have done their job. They will never return to France.'

Carel Vanek and Antonin Lansky approached the checkpoint to cross back into France the following morning,Wednesday, 22 December, which was the deadline day Borisov had given them in Tabor to complete their mission. They were on their way to visit Annette Devaud. They came up to the passport control counter separately with half a dozen people between them and Vanek presented himself for inspection first.

`Papers. . .'

The passport officer took the document Vanek handed him, opened it after studying the Czech's face and then compared it with the photograph. The name he had already noted. Vanek waited with a bored look on his face, chewing a piece of chocolate while he studied the extremely attractive girl waiting next in line. He grinned at her engagingly and after a moment's hesitation she smiled back at him.

`You have been to Germany on business ?' the passport official inquired.