Cross of Fire (78 page)

Wherever possible they were laagered inside evergreen woods. This meant they were invisible to observation from
aircraft. It was now a matter of waiting for the orders to
come over the walkie-talkies.

News of the fiery crosses burning in the south, of the crowds
massing and chanting had reached Paris. Lights were burn
ing late in the Ministry of the Interior which Navarre had
now made his emergency HQ.

For one thing, the ministry was heavily guarded. For another it was equipped with the most sophisticated com
munication facilities in France. Navarre, in his shirt sleeves, had called a meeting in his large office. Round the table sat
Tweed, Kuhlmann, and Lasalle. The only men he could fully
trust.

'I have.' Navarre began, 'informed the Cabinet it will
meet next in three days' time.'

'Why?' asked Lasalle.

Navarre smiled grimly. 'It is a trick. Within three days
the crisis will be settled. One way or the other. I am sure de Forge has already heard the news. He will think we believe we have plenty of time, that no action will be taken against
him in the meantime.'

'Are the measures we talked about being activated?'
Tweed asked.

'The measures you suggested,' Navarre corrected him. 'Yes. Both with the farmers and the drivers of a whole fleet of petrol tankers. The trouble is we need to know the route de Forge's forces will take.'

'The N20,' Tweed said. 'The direct route to Paris. But I emphasize that is my educated guess. We need the data Stahl compiled, the data Jean Burgoyne obtained. And my people, who have the documents, are on their way to the Landes. That was a mistake, but I can't blame them. I'm sure they want to give us a complete package - including a witness we can put on TV.'

'Time is running out,' Lasalle said quietly.

'You still have an informant inside de Forge's camp?'
Tweed enquired. 'Even after the murder of Jean Burgoyne?'

'That murder I mourn,' Lasalle replied. 'She was a brave
woman. To answer your question, yes I still have one
informant. I received a brief message early this afternoon.
The
Cercle Noir
is holding one final meeting just after dusk
today. That is why I say time is running out.'

'I think we must do something about that.' Navarre
decided. 'At the Cabinet meeting General Masson said he would be away from Paris visiting a unit.'

'I think I would suggest that we do two things if you are agreeable. A double-pronged attack. Plus more psychological warfare. The first prong of the offensive should be ...' Tweed elaborated.

Arriving in Arcachon, Sergeant Rey worked quickly. He had
little time before he had to join Lieutenant Berthier's seaborne landing in the far south.

Rey dressed as a fisherman. He wore an oilskin with the
hood pulled well down over his face. He trudged in a mist
of drizzle, plodding in his gumboots, carrying a fishing rod. Over his shoulder was slung a canvas bag, presumably for his catch. Inside the bag was the time bomb.

He had earlier sat on a stone jetty, fishing line in the
water dappled with the rain, watching the
Typhoon IV.
He
saw no sign of activity and the curtains were drawn over
the cabin windows. The owner was undoubtedly enjoying
an afternoon nap.

Rey made no sound as he stepped from the shore on to
the wet deck. He took one final look round to make sure he was not observed. Extracting the limpet-shaped bomb, he pressed a button, activating the magnetic legs. Crouching
down, he attached it to a band of metal running round the
outside of the cabin. He pressed a second button. The timer was now operating, the silent clock ticking away. Rey had five minutes to get clear.

He walked rapidly to his car as though fed up with the
drizzle which had developed into steady rain. Dumping his fishing rod with the canvas bag on the back seat, he climbed behind the wheel, started his engine, waited.

He had parked his car in a position where he could see
Typhoon IV,
moored by itself. He was several hundred yards
away from his target. He checked his watch. One more
minute...

The explosion was muffled by the rain but still loud. The
Typhoon IV
was ripped apart. The hull soared above the
bassin.
It shattered into pieces which fell back into the water,
some pieces causing huge eruptions of water like fountains. Smoke rose from the portion of the hull still at the mooring point. Flame flared briefly, was quenched as the remains of the vessel disappeared.

'Another job dealt with.' Rey muttered to himself
callously.

He drove off to the rendezvous with Berthier at a lonely
point on the coast south of Arcachon. They should reach the
Landes by mid-afternoon.

Aboard another cabin cruiser, his reserve base, Rosewater saw the explosion. He had expected something like this. All
essential equipment had been moved to the cruiser he
watched from through binoculars.

Earlier, while transmitting his brief message to Oscar in Wiesbaden, he had watched through the net curtains mask
ing the windows of his cabin. He had seen Brand appear
suddenly, hurrying along the waterfront. Too suddenly after Rosewater had scanned the area for any sign of activity.

It could have been a coincidence, but Rosewater had
survived so far by never believing coincidences. And wher
ever he was stationed even for a few days he always had a
second secret base. As the fountains of water vanished he shrugged his shoulders. He was not disturbed - his occupation assumed risks all the time.

Newman was driving the Renault Espace through the night. Paula sat beside him, checking her map. Behind them were seated Stahl and Nield. And in the back, staring constantly through the rear window, was Butler.

Taking a risk - because they had lost so much time -
Newman was racing down the N10, the main highway towards the Spanish border. He had stopped at a truck
drivers' cafe earlier to check the situation. Strategically
situated by the side of the N10, the eating place was filled
with the smoke of cheap cigarettes; so much so he paused
inside the entrance of the long cabinlike structure to get
used to the blue haze, the stench of overcooked food mingling with beer fumes.

Drivers from the trucks parked outside occupied all the tables. Others were standing. He pushed his way to the bar,
ordered a Pernod, started chatting to a burly driver in
French.

'We're on our way to the border from Paris on holiday.
I'm wondering whether to turn back. Bloody Army seems
to be everywhere.'

'Keep going south.' the driver advised. 'I'm up from San
Sebastian. The tanks have all gone north. You'll meet
nothing. You think this Dubois is any good? Don't believe a
word he says. He's after a fat job in the Cabinet - to keep him quiet. That's politics for you.' He spat on the straw-covered floor. 'You take your holiday, mate ...'

They drove on, reached the Landes, the sinister walls of
the forest closed in on both sides. Here and there a massacre
had taken place. Trees chopped down, the headlights of the Espace swept over vast clearings with ugly tree stumps left like the amputated limbs of giants.

Dawn was not so far away when, guided by Paula,
Newman turned off the N10, swung west on to the D42 at
Castets. Soon they reached St Girons, the village where their
witness, Martine, lived. It took them a while to locate her
tiny cottage on the edge of the village as Moshe Stein had
described. Newman was disturbed to see lights in every
window of the dwelling.

The first grey streaks of dawn filtered from the east as he took Paula with him and pressed the ancient bell. He heard
nothing inside so he hammered on the woodwork. A shuf
fling sound like someone walking in clogs approached the
door. It was opened on a heavy chain. Martine, fully
dressed, peered out.

'Remember me?' Newman asked quietly. 'This is Marie. We have other friends outside.'

'Are you armed?'

The question shook Newman, unsure which answer
would reassure her. Then he realized she was frightened.

'Yes we are ...'

'Come in!' She couldn't open the door quickly enough
and talked non-stop in an urgent gabble. 'You may be in
time. You may be too late.
Can
you remember the way to the graveyard? They are going to kill another one ... They landed from the sea ... I was collecting brushwood when I
saw them coming.'

'Saw who coming?' Newman asked.

Paula looked round the living room-cum-kitchen. It was
spotless. An ancient stove stood against one wall and a
welcome glow of heat met her. It was freezing outside.

'Their rubber boats with engines...' Martine clutching
Newman's arm. 'One man had his hands tied behind his
back. It's another firing squad. The swines are going to
murder another one, then bury him. Hurry! You might be in time. I have just got back. They were just coming in to
land when I hurried back...'
We'll go immediately.'

Newman had to abandon the Espace after driving a short distance when he came to where the path leading into the
forest was too narrow. The light was growing stronger but
it was still not dawn as they ran flat-footed among the trees to prevent stumbling on the soggy earth.

They were very close to the sea: they could hear a surge of incoming waves slapping on a beach and the tang of salt
air was strong in their nostrils. This was mixed with the
aroma of pine and fir and, normally, Paula would have
revelled in the scent. Now she was only hoping they would not be too late.

There had been a brief argument outside the cottage
when Newman had told Paula to stay with Martine and she
had insisted on coming. Newman had made a mistake in
how he worded his suggestion.

It might be better if someone stayed to guard Martine -
and in any case it would be much safer if you waited for us
here.'

'Safer!' she flared up. 'You think I'm just a passenger? Someone you can drop off the train as soon as the journey
looks tricky? You're damn well wasting time - and I am
coming with you...'

Newman found he could remember the way along the path he had previously trod and led the way. Behind him Paula followed and behind her Stahl, nursing his sub
machine-gun. Butler and Nield completed the small column.
They had reached firmer ground, were threading their
course through the immense tree trunks towering above,
when Newman held up a hand to stop them.

'We have reached the graveyard.'

'Is it those humps?' Paula asked, gritting her teeth.

'Yes. I think I heard someone over to the right. A voice,
I'm sure.'

'Then whoever it is must be on the beach,' Paula com
mented. 'We'd better riot waste a second...'