Cross of Fire (6 page)

'And you let him get away with it? Not like you.'

'I realized we'd get no more out of them at this stage. We'll leave them alone for a while, let them think we
swallowed it, hook, line and sinker.'

'What about the mysterious men in Balaclavas carrying rifles? Sounded a load of codswallop to me.'

'There you could be wrong. It's so bizarre I do believe it
happened. I think we may have stumbled on to something big. We'll go back to the Yard, you pick up your own car,
then we drive back to Suffolk. Separately, we scour the area,
ask questions - especially
about underwater exploration.
Even with the two of us we'll have our hands full. It's a very large area ...'

'Well, that went well,' Newman commented after their visitors had left.

'You think so?' Tweed queried. 'Buchanan wasn't fooled.
He'll be back. What we've gained is a breathing space so we
can get to the bottom of what is happening - here and in
France. Where were you yesterday, Bob?'

'Marler and I went to Aldeburgh. We avoided the marshes where the police have cordoned off the killing
ground. And someone is financing a new expedition to explore that sunken village of Dunwich. Ever heard of Lord Dane Dawlish?'

Tweed ticked off items on his fingers. 'Self-made million
aire. Has armament factories in Scotland, at Thetford in
Norfolk, in Belgium, and at Annecy in southern France. Made his original fortune out of the property boom in the
eighties. A tough ruthless character. I suppose he had to be to get where he has. That's it.'

'I think I ought to try and get an interview with him.' Newman suggested.

'I might do better at that,' Paula intervened. 'I hear he
has a soft spot for girlfriends.'

'How could you present yourself?'

'I know the editor of
Woman's Eye.
I could go as a reporter
to write an article on his achievements.'

'Hold off, Bob.' Tweed advised. Tor the moment. I'll
decide who goes when I get back from Geneva - and Paula
is coming with me. One step at a time. I want to hear what
is disturbing the Germans first.'

The phone rang, Monica answered it, saying it was
General & Cumbria Assurance. She listened for a short time,
then put her hand over the receiver and looked at Paula.

'Could you take this? It's a girl. Speaking in French.'

Paula took the receiver, perched herself on the edge of
Monica's desk. She spoke in French.

'This is General & Cumbria. Who is this?'

'My name is Isabelle Thomas.' There was a choking sound. 'I'm sorry about that. I'm upset. Do please excuse
me. Did you know Henri Bayle?'

Paula put her hand over the receiver. 'Henri Bayle?'

'Francis Carey, the undercover man I sent to the south of France.' Tweed confirmed.

'Sorry.' Paula continued, 'the line crackled. You did say
Henri Bayle? Yes, I work with him. I know all about him. I'm the General Manager...'

'Henri is dead ...' Isabelle's voice broke again. 'It was
awful. He's been murdered ...'

'Isabelle, where are you speaking from?' Paula enquired
quickly.

'From the main Post Office.'

'That's all right. Sorry to interrupt. Do go on,' Paula said in a businesslike tone. 'This is appalling news. I need to know as much as you can tell me.'

She listened while Isabelle, calmer under Paula's con
trolled reaction, related her story, starting from the arrival
of the DST men at the Bar Miami. Paula was scribbling in shorthand on a pad Monica had pushed in front of her. The
room had gone quiet. Everyone sensed the tension in the
conversation as Paula encouraged the French girl to go on. Eventually she started checking Isabelle's story.

'You did say two DST men? Your
Direction de la Surveil
lance du Territoire
?'

'Yes, it was them. I was close enough to Henri in the
crowded bar to catch what they said. I don't understand
why they would...' Another choking sound. 'I was in love with Henri.'

'So you're very upset - as I would be.' A vital question:
'Have you informed the local police?'

'No. Should I?'

'Under no circumstances. Don't do that. Tell no one.'

'I haven't even told my mother. I'm so confused.'

'I can understand that. I may know what happened,'
Paula lied. 'Whatever you do, tell
no one.' she repeated. 'We will try and send someone to meet you. He will introduce
himself as
...
Alain Dreyfus.' The first name which came
into her head. 'Have patience, Isabelle. It could be a short
time before we can contact you. Now, would you give me
your address and phone number?'

She wrote the details down carefully, asked Isabelle to repeat the address to make sure she had it down correctly.

'Isabelle, have you got a job? I see. Don't throw it up.
Carry on your life as usual - as far
as you can, considering the terrible bereavement you have suffered. And no police.
Why was Henri working for an insurance company? He was
checking on a suspicious death where a claim for insurance
had been made.'

'I must get back to my job now.' Isabelle said in a
lacklustre voice. 'I have at least done what Henri asked me
to if something happened to him.'

'You did the right thing. We will investigate. But, don't
forget, no police...'

She put down the phone and sighed heavily. She was
wearing a white blouse with a pussy bow. She fiddled with the bow before she looked at Tweed.

'God! I hope I handled that reasonably well. You do
realize what has happened?'

'With no time to think you reacted brilliantly. And am I right in assuming Francis Carey is dead?'

'Yes. Murdered through the agency of two DST men who
took him from a bar to the Gare St Jean late in the evening
yesterday. In Bordeaux ...'

She gave a terse account of what Isabelle had told her. Tweed listened with an expressionless face. When she had
finished he drummed the fingers of his right hand lightly
on the desk top and looked at Newman.

'I fear you were right. Carey was too inexperienced to
send him on that mission. My deadly mistake.'

'Rubbish!' Newman snapped. 'Not too long ago Harry
Masterson, an area chief in Europe, experienced as hell, was
also murdered. It's part of the risk run by anyone belonging to SIS. I'm sure you warned Carey before he agreed to go.
So stop blaming yourself.'

Tweed was suddenly galvanized into action. 'Two DST men? It's unbelievable. Monica, try and get me René Lasalle on the scrambler now. We'll soon find out the truth...'

There was silence as Monica dialled the number. Paula sat at her desk, plucking at the pleats of her skirt, playing
back in her mind the conversation with the distraught
Isabelle. Monica nodded to Tweed, indicating the DST chief
in Paris was on the line.

'René,' Tweed began in a decisive tone, 'Tweed here on scrambler ... You are too? Good. I sent an agent to the south of France as we agreed. I've just heard he was murdered last night in Bordeaux - at the main station. After being hustled out of a bar by two men who said they were DST. . .'

'Good God! You did say DST? That's impossible. No DST
men are operating in the Bordeaux area. I should know.'

'Then they were impersonators...'

'That I will not tolerate. As soon as this call is ended teams will be flown to Bordeaux to investigate. But I need more information, if you are willing to reveal that.'

'Certainly. The agent was masquerading - with papers -under the name Henri Bayle. He was working as a barman
at some dive called the Bar Miami. From the timing I was
given the murder must have taken place something in the
region of 11 p.m. Apparently in some underground entrance
which is reached by a ramp. Someone other than the two
fake DST officers actually committed the murder.'

'And who told you this?'

'An informant whose name I would sooner not give. The
informant sounds reliable. Carey was due to transmit a
radio signal last night and nothing came. I assumed it was
inconvenient.'

'And you heard this news when?'

'Five minutes ago.'

'My teams will be flying there immediately. Tweed, I would appreciate it very much if you could fly to Paris to
see me. There are developments you should know - and
they may be linked with this assassination. I send you my
sympathy. But, most important, can we meet?'

'Yes. Very soon. I have to fly elsewhere in Europe first. May I call you as soon as I can come on to Paris?'

'Please do.' Lasalle's tone became grim. 'Events here are
taking a desperate turn. A crisis is upon us. Hurry, my friend.
Au revoir...'

Tweed stared into the distance after putting down the
phone. He seemed to have forgotten the presence of everyone else in the room.

'Any instructions?' asked Monica.

'Yes. I've decided Paula is coming with me to Geneva
and to Paris. Book another room at the Hotel des Bergues in
Geneva, get her a ticket on my flight. Get us both open air tickets to Paris. Book two rooms at that small hotel in Paris, the Madeleine. It's fairly close to the rue des Saussaies - to
Lasalle.'

'What is this Lasalle business?' Newman asked.

'The second man who has used the word crisis in the past few days. First Kuhlmann, now Lasalle. Something explosive is building up in Europe.'

'I've just remembered something Karin said,' Paula
reported. 'It was while were hurriedly changing into our
clothes after hitting the beach at Aldeburgh with those men coming after us. Drove it out of my mind.'

'What was it?' Newman asked.

'She said the French Army was the danger. The units
stationed in the south. In our anxiety to escape it completely slipped my mind. I was never able to ask her what she meant.'

'My next objective.' Newman decided. 'While Tweed is
haring over Europe.'

'What objective?' Tweed asked.

'To interview the commander of that army ...'

Chapter Four

Gun barrels. Row upon row of lethal firepower projecting menacingly from the huge assembly of tanks Newman was escorted past by a French Army lieutenant.

He had driven from Bordeaux to the heavily guarded
entrance of the Third Corps. After flying to Bordeaux
he had been surprised by the speed with which the
commander of this great battle array had agreed to an
interview.

'You represent
Der Spiegel,
Mr Newman? Then I am sure
the General will be pleased to see you,' the suave voice had responded. 'I am Major Lamy. You are in Bordeaux? Shall
we say 2 p.m? Yes, today. That is agreed...'