Cross of Fire (79 page)

They crept forward through the trees, Newman in the
middle, Paula on his left, Stahl on his right. Behind followed
Butler and Nield. All held their weapons in their hands. The
forest ended suddenly. They were out in the open and
below the leaden sea stretched away, its surface ruffled with
the endless waves rolling in.

Paula almost gasped with horror, clapped her left hand
to her mouth. They were on an elevated bank of fine sand.
Beyond, dunes spread away to the south, those in the
distance rising to a considerable height. The tide was out
and a belt of freshly washed sand edged the swirling surf
from the gentle waves. It was the scene on the beach below which had startled Paula.

A lieutenant stood erect, blindfolded, facing north, his hands tied behind his back to a wooden stake rammed into the beach. Twenty feet away from him, facing south, were ten soldiers holding rifles. Well back, and midway between
the target and the men with rifles, stood a hunched figure,
also in uniform, a pistol in his hand by his side.

'My God!' Paula whispered. 'It's a firing squad. They're going to shoot Lieutenant Berthier.'

'And that creep with his back to me is familiar. Sergeant
Key. He's going to administer the
coup-de-grace.
After that
squad has shot him.'

'Can't we stop them?'

As she spoke Rey raised his weaselly voice, attempting
to assume a commanding posture.

'Take aim...'

The rifles were rising when Newman's voice bellowed
out. At the same moment Stahl aimed his sub-machine-gun.

'Don't move, Sergeant Rey! We can shoot you all down
in seconds. Here is a demonstration...'

Stahl pressed the trigger and the sub-machine-gun spat
tered the beach, spraying close to the feet of the squad.

Fine sand spurted up in the soldiers' faces. In the act of
raising their rifles they froze. It was like a waxwork tableau.
Newman bellowed again.

'Sergeant Rey! Order them to drop their rifles. Now!'

Stahl aimed his sub-machine-gun again. Bullets sprayed the beach a few feet in front of Rey. He stiffened and gave the order. Ten rifles fell to the beach. For the third time
Newman shouted an order.

'Sergeant Rey! Drop your pistol. Now!'

Still not daring to turn round, Rey obeyed. Newman gave
him a fresh instruction.

'Order your soldiers to lie on their stomachs in the shape
of a fan. A wheel - like the spokes of a wheel. One man
facing outwards, the next towards the hub. Get on with it.'

Rey gave the order. The soldiers had to be told three
times what was wanted. Newman's tactic was to have the
face of one man between the boots of his companions. No communication could then be passed between them.

'Get rid of their weapons, Pete,' Newman whispered to
Nield. 'And keep well clear of Stahl's line of fire - just in
case someone gets lively.'

Nield collected Rey's automatic pistol first, ejected the
magazine, fired the bullet up the spout towards the sea. He
then gathered up the rifles, piling them away from the
spreadeagled soldiers and near the surf line. Picking up
each rifle, he extracted the cartridges, used a piece of hard
wood he'd found among the brushwood littering the sand. He used it to damage the breeches. Then, one by one, he
hurled each weapon as far out to sea as he could.

'Check Rey for other weapons,' Newman called out.

'Clean.' Nield reported after checking the gnome whose
face twisted with hatred.

'Rey.' Newman ordered, 'you will now release Lieutenant
Berthier from that barbaric stake. Nield, accompany him and keep your gun at the ready.'

As the two men reached the prisoner a strange silence
fell over the scene, broken only by the peaceful sound of the
surge of the sea. Freed, Berthier eased the ache out of his
hands, flexing them, stretched his arms and walked with
surprising firmness to Newman.

'Keep Rey where he is.' Newman ordered Nield.

He couldn't understand the furtive expression which had come over Rey's evil face. As though he were waiting for something. Berthier stood in front of Newman.

'Thank God! You saved my life. They turned on me when I was in one of the dinghies. They've dragged them into the undergrowth to avoid surveillance from the air. I managed to phone Paris.' he continued in a low voice, 'just before we embarked. Said I was calling my girlfriend. Then I delayed the passage of the dinghies down here before they grabbed me. I kept pretending to see lights of vessels - which meant we had to put out our lights and stop.'

'You phoned Paris? Who did you contact...'

Newman got no further. Rey shouted at the top of his
voice.

'Don't move. Drop your weapons or you'll be shot down like the trash you are.'

As he completed his threat Rey dropped flat to the beach.

Newman glanced behind them. Twelve more French
soldiers had emerged from the forest, most of them carrying automatic weapons aimed point blank at Newman's team. Two had shovels sloped over their shoulders.

Stahl stiffened, Newman warned him quickly.

'Don't, Egon. We'll be cut down. Drop it. We're
outgunned.'

Newman was cursing himself for carelessness. As they'd
hurried across the graveyard he'd noticed signs of recent
disturbance of the humps. He had hardly registered the fact,
so urgently had he wanted to reach the beach.

Obviously - now - another section of troops had been
beginning to remove the evidence when they had heard
Newman's team approaching. They must have retreated
into the forest to observe who was coming. And Rey was now wearing the uniform of a captain. The gnome swag
gered after Nield who joined the others with his hands in
the air. Rey was grinning, exposing bad teeth, as he stared
at Paula.

'We'll have some fun with you before six more corpses
are sunk at sea. Your death, Berthier, may be prolonged.'

At the Atlantique in. Arcachon Moshe Stein's bedroom door
flew open and two grim-looking men in trenchcoats stared
at him. The smaller man had a Luger pistol aimed at Stein's chest. The taller, more heavily-built man seemed to be in
charge.

'DST. Moshe Stein? You're wanted for questioning.'

'Where? And why, if I may ask?'

'You may not.' The taller man strode forward and hit
him across the face with his clenched fist. The ring on his finger cut Moshe's lip. 'You just come with us, you filthy Jew, and keep your dirty mouth shut.'

Both men gripped an arm, hauled him to the door and
down the staircase. The staircase was narrow so the tall man
went first, keeping hold of one arm, while his companion
followed, also gripping an arm at an awkward angle. The
descent was painful. No duty clerk behind the desk, Moshe
noted. They frog-marched him into the street towards a
waiting car.

Chapter Fifty-One

In Dunwich no one would have recognized the well-known figure of Lord Dawlish as he walked along the beach at half
the pace of his normal vigorous stride. He wore gumboots,
a pea-jacket underneath his oilskin with the hood pulled
over his head.

He had disguised himself as a seaman on his way to the
waiting large dinghy hauled up on the sand. No local would
realize he was going on board, as he often did before the
departure of the
Steel Vulture.

Seeing his expression, none of the crew aboard the
dinghy spoke to him as he settled himself at the stern. The
outboard was started after several hefty seamen had pushed
the dinghy into the sea and jumped aboard.

The dinghy purred across the calm surface while drizzle
continued to fall. The atmosphere was so murky it was several minutes before the catamaran hove into view -
weather conditions which gave Dawlish great satisfaction. After dark the
Vulture,
sailing illegally without navigation lights, could depart without anyone in Dunwich realizing it had left its station.

He summoned Captain Santos to his cabin as soon as he
went on board. Taking off his dripping oilskin, he thrust it
at the skipper.

Take that and get it dried off. You will be ready to sail
tonight? By God, the answer had better be yes this time.'

'Señor, I am most happy to report the loading is almost complete...'

'Almost?'

'That
it will be complete by this evening. Most definitely, Senior. I give you my word ...'

'And I'll give you the destination when at long last
you've got your act together. Get out of here and kick a few
backsides to make them work faster...'

Alone when Santos had hurried away, he opened the wall safe. Stripping off the pea-jacket, he removed the fat money
belt strapped round his waist. He began taking out French
and Swiss banknotes in stacks, all high-denomination bills. When he closed the safe it was holding a fortune.

He next took from his wallet the message he had already encoded before leaving Grenville Grange. Making himself comfortable in front of the transmitter, he sent the signal which passed from the aerial alongside the complex radar above the bridge. Decoded, the message was simple.

Expected consignment will arrive agreed destination tomorrow
positively. Equipment and finance. ETA 0800 hours. Oiseau.

'Just in time for breakfast in Arcachon,' Dawlish said to
himself.

At his GHQ General de Forge read the decoded signal Lamy
had just handed him from
Oiseau.
He folded his strong
hands and stared at his Chief of Intelligence without speaking. Lamy forced himself not to shift about in his chair. It was another favourite tactic of de Forge's - to use silence to intimidate his subordinates. He had a maxim he sometimes
liked to utter at meetings of the
Cercle Noir.
And the final
meeting would take place this evening. The maxim was
typical of the General: 'There are two ways of ruling men. Through love or fear. I prefer fear.'

'Lamy,' he said eventually, 'you'll have to reply with our
own signal. Warn him that we have observed French aircraft
patrolling offshore. He should make a broad sweep well out
in the Bay of Biscay. We move tomorrow.'

Newman was in a cold fury. The troops were eyeing Paula
in anticipation. Rey saw his expression and grinned again,
his eyes glowing with lecherous malevolence. He tapped Newman on the arm.

'You can watch. Before we shoot you. Then her.'

Newman glanced at Berthier and almost frowned. Rey
was deciding which soldier should take Paula first. Berthier
had glanced surreptitiously at his watch. Then his
expression went blank.