Cross of Fire (82 page)

Today he had dispensed with the seaman's outfit he
had previously worn. Now he sported a blue blazer with
gold buttons and knife-creased grey slacks under his
trenchcoat. On his head he wore a naval cap rammed down over his forehead. He looked the typical British yachtsman abroad.

He hurried round a corner to where he had parked his
motorcycle. He had been using it to search Arcachon with
great thoroughness. Settling himself in the saddle, he tucked
his trouser ends inside his leather boots, pressed the starter
button, and rode off to continue his search.

The Alouette transporting Newman, Paula, Berthier and the
other passengers, including their witness, Martine,
descended to the almost deserted airfield near the
etang
south of Arcachon. The waters of the lake were seething as the wind increased in ferocity. The pilot showed great skill in landing them. Paula breathed a sigh of relief as the skids touched firm ground.

'We haven't seen a sign of de Forge's troops,' she said to Newman as the rotors slowed to a stop.

'That's because he's massing his forces to the north,' Newman replied grimly.

'It's wonderful to get away from the. horrible Landes,'
she commented.

The door was opened, cold air flooded inside the
machine, the exit ladder was lowered. Approaching the
airfield Newman had observed the Renault Espace parked
at the edge of the perimeter. Once airborne above St Girons,
he had remembered they'd need transport. The co-pilot had
radioed his request to Lasalle who received the signal inside
his own radio-equipped Alouette on the beach.

'What type of transport most desired?' he had radioed
back.

'Preferably a Renault Espace. But any vehicle large
enough to take us all.'

He had been surprised to see it
was
an Espace waiting for
them. Lasalle must have made a great effort to provide him with what he needed. The driver stood outside the vehicle, waving a welcome as they landed.

Newman had joined Berthier at the open door when he stiffened. From their concealed positions a troop of soldiers
was running towards the helicopter. One man aimed an
automatic weapon at the pilot's cabin. Paula, gazing over Newman's shoulder, trembled.

'Oh, my God! Just when I thought we were safe. De
Forge's men...'

Major Lamy drove into Arcachon in the middle of the afternoon. He drove the Citroen slowly along the front,
stopping frequently while he scanned the ships at their
moorings swaying under the impact of the large waves
sweeping inside the anchorage.

He wore the same clothes he had dressed in when
visiting Aldeburgh. A shabby Aquascutum raincoat with a well-worn buckle and underneath an English sports jacket and trousers. His suede shoes were English, as was his tie and his striped shirt. Lamy was a thorough man.

After exploring the front and the port area he drove out
of Arcachon to where a road edged the
bassin,
close to the boathouse where Jean Burgoyne had been strangled. A fleet
of camouflaged canvas trucks, large vehicles, was parked near a wide slipway leading across the marshes to the edge
of the
bassin.
He stopped again. A moment later two soldiers
carrying rifles appeared on either side of his car.

'You can proceed no further,' the soldier next to his
window said in French.

'I am English,' Lamy drawled in that language. 'Sorry,
but I do not understand French.
Anglais.'

'No go. No go,' the soldier ordered in heavily accented
English.

'No go where?' asked Lamy.

'Back.' The soldier waved a hand away from the boat-house. 'You go.
Zone militaire.'

'I'm frightfully sorry.' Lamy smiled from under his deerstalker hat. 'I go back? OK?'

'OK.
Maintenant!'

Lamy reversed his car up the track he had driven down
to the road. Waving to the soldier, who did not respond, he
drove back to Arcachon. He began driving round the town
slowly, patiently criss-crossing Arcachon, slowing even
more when he passed a pedestrian.

On the bridge of the
Steel Vulture,
anchored off Dunwich,
Dawlish was consulting Captain Santos. In his pocket he
had the signal warning him of air patrols.

'Santos, I have reason to believe there will be French
aircraft patrolling off the coast, searching for us. We must
elude them.'

'Elude, Señor?'

'Make sure they don't find us, you damned fool.'

'In that case we do two things. We change course, sail further out to sea. And we sail through night, reaching
Arcachon sometime after dawn, I think. Please wait.'

Santos sloped over with his seaman's roll to his chart-
room. Dawlish followed impatiently. Surely he could calculate a thing like that in his thick head. Santos would not be hurried. He used a ruler to take measurements on his chart,
grunted, tapped the chart with the ruler.

'Yes, but it has to be a rough estimate. We can probably
arrive a few hours after dawn.'

'See that we do.'

Furious with the delay, Dawlish returned to his cabin to compose a further signal, to code it, to transmit it.

*

De Forge swore inwardly when he read the fresh signal from
Oiseau
handed to him by the unattractive Yvette. But his expression showed no reaction. He might have to delay sending the order to his commanders to open their sealed orders, might have to delay Austerlitz. Decide at the last moment he told himself. Looking at Yvette, he had an idea.

'That night you followed Jean Burgoyne to the boathouse.
I recall you said you saw a man and a woman in the
headlights of their car?'

'Yes, General. The man Robert Newman, the foreign
correspondent. I recognized him at once from pictures I
have seen in newspapers. And I had a good look at the
woman.'

'Good enough so you'd recognize both again?'

'Absolutely.' Yvette spoke proudly. 'I have a perfect
memory for faces. I would recognize both of them.'

Then take your old car and drive round Arcachon. Keep
on driving, looking for them. If you spot either - or both -
call me over your radio telephone.' He smiled and she
glowed. 'I am relying on you, Yvette.'

Standing at the open door of the Alouette, gazing down at the soldiers surrounding the machine, Lieutenant Berthier whispered to Newman.

'Leave this to me. I think I can handle them. With a bit of
luck.'

Straightening his kepi, his expression stern, Berthier
descended the ladder slowly. The unit's commander, a
sergeant, looked uncertain as he held his automatic weapon still pointed at the officer.

'You normally point your weapon at an officer?' Berthier
asked quietly. 'If you do not lower the gun at once I'll have
you in the guardhouse, prior to demotion to corporal,
maybe private.'

'Sir, we have been instructed to guard this airfield. To escort anyone landing here to GHQ.' he added nervously.

Berthier decided on the big bluff. He doubted whether
de Forge had spread the news that he was due to be shot by firing squad.

'You mentioned GHQ,' he went on in the same even
tone. 'You have heard of Major Lamy?'

'Oh yes, sir. He is...'

'Chief of Intelligence,' Berthier completed for him. 'I am
Lieutenant Berthier, Major Lamy's aide. I have with me
several very important people I am accompanying to Arca
chon. A secret mission for GHQ. And you are running
counter to orders from the very top.'

'We were not told...'

'Of course not, cretin.' Berthier's tone was harsh. 'I have just told you this is a secret mission. Why do you think the Espace is stationed over there waiting for us? There are checkpoints on the way to Arcachon.'

He made the last statement sound as though it could be
an assertion or a question.

'As you say, sir, there are checkpoints.'

'So your unit, which is sloppily dressed, can serve GHQ some useful purpose. First, have you motorcycles?'

'Yes, sir ...'

'Then four of your unit can act as outriders to escort the Espace through the checkpoints. You will be one of them. Once we have passed through the last checkpoint you turn
round and ride back here. Meantime, withdraw all your
men out of sight. The passengers
aboard are so important they must not be seen. Now, get moving. We are late ...'

When all the soldiers had disappeared Berthier beckoned to the Espace. It drove to the foot of the ladder and the driver looked scared. The passengers filed down the ladder, entered the vehicle. Berthier sat in front beside the driver, told him to make for Arcachon at high speed. The four outriders joined them as they left the airfield - two in front, two bringing up the rear.

'I wonder why I am sweating.' Berthier remarked.

Kalmar sat astride the saddle of his motorcycle parked by
the kerb on a quiet street near the front in Arcachon. He
wore a black leather jacket and a Martianlike helmet. Adjust
ing his goggles, he prepared to continue his search of the
town.

He had been cruising the streets for an hour and had stopped for a rest. A farm tractor crawled along the front.
At the same low speed a Renault Espace followed it, the
driver obviously waiting for the moment to overtake.

Through his goggles Kalmar stared hard. As the Espace
crawled along he saw a woman peer out of the window midway along the vehicle. Paula Grey. He left the kerb,
turned on to the front, keeping well back. The tractor
proceeded further along the front, the Espace turned into a side street.

Kalmar could hardly believe his luck. Once again his
instinct had proved right: Paula Grey had returned. When
the Espace turned again into another side street he overtook it, careful not to glance at the windows. In his wing mirror
he saw it pull up. He slowed down.

Newman jumped out first, helped Paula down, ran to the
entrance to the apartment, inserted the key Isabelle had
loaned him, threw open the door into the lobby. The other
passengers jumped out, filed inside quickly. Newman went
back to the driver who had also jumped out. Locking the
Espace, the driver handed the keys to Newman, walked
away towards the front.

Kalmar watched all this in his wing mirror, counted up
five men, including Newman. One had bushy hair and
another, to his surprise, appeared to wear the uniform of a
French officer.

Newman closed the door as the others climbed to the
first floor. To the side of the lobby the door to the ground-
floor apartment was open a few inches. A woman with
sharp eyes and a beaky nose closed it. She opened it a few minutes later when someone pressed the bell. A man in a
black leather jacket, holding his helmet under his arm and a
package in one hand, showed her a cutting from a news
paper of Newman. He explained he had to deliver the
package to Mr Newman. Which floor?