Cross of Fire (16 page)

'Did I say so?' Lasalle raised his eyebrows. 'Now, we will
take some lunch at a Swiss restaurant near the edge of the
Place de la Madeleine. Afterwards I will tell you about the
Black Circle...'

In her bedroom at the Villa Forban Jean Burgoyne sat in
front of her dressing table, clad in only a silk dressing gown,
unbelted at her slim waist. De Forge, she guessed, was
about to engage in some frenetic activity.

It was only midday and his second visit to her bed in
twelve hours - always a sign that something big was under way. It was as though he felt the need for her in times of crisis. On a drum table by the window lay his leather dispatch case.

De Forge emerged from the shower, completed towelling
his lean frame. He dressed quickly in his uniform and then
his eyes fell on the dispatch case. He froze for a second, then
completed his dressing.

Normally he handed the dispatch case to Major Lamy
before entering the villa. But it had started snowing when
he arrived this time and he'd hurried inside, depositing the
case on the table. He walked slowly to the dressing table,
his hypnotic eyes staring at hers in the mirror. She ignored
his gaze after a second, continued applying face cream. His
hands gripped her shoulders, slithered the gown off them,
exposing her well-rounded breasts as the cloth slipped to
her lap.

'Not again, Charles,' she said in her slightly husky voice.
'Time you went. And I'm flying home for a few days in
England. Today.'

The grip on her shapely shoulders tightened. Jean never showed any fear of de Forge, a quality she suspected added to her attraction for him. His voice was dangerously quiet.

'I left my dispatch case on the table over there. It is not exactly in the position I.left it. I have an eye for detail...'

'Your eye must be slipping.'

The grip tightened more, his fingers pressing through the white flesh to the bone.

'You looked at the papers inside while I was in the
shower.'

Take your hands off me, you fool,' she replied with
equal quiet. 'You think I'm interested in your stuffy papers?
You're becoming bloody paranoid - spies everywhere. And,'
she continued calmly, 'if you hit me again I'll sock you with
this brush...' Her right hand
grasped the handle. 'Now
push off with that creep, Lamy, and play your silly war
games.'

'Why are you flying to England?' he demanded as he
released his grip, stood back away from her.

'Because I want to, Charles.'

This time she had insisted on using the shower first. Now
she pulled on her tights, dropped a slip over her head, put
on a black form-hugging knee-length dress, tucked her small
feet into court shoes, fastened a string of pearls round her
neck. All in record time.

'Why do you want to go back to England?' de Forge
persisted. 'You're always flying off somewhere - like a dragonfly. I may need you here.'

'Because I like to visit my uncle, to see my home. You
will just have to contain your desire. If you're desperate you could pay Josette a visit. How long is it since you've seen
your wife? And when you do go to her apartment do you take that damned dispatch case there, darling?'

De Forge's mouth tightened. He moved towards her with a deliberate step. Again, she held up a minatory finger.

'Remember what I said when you struck me last time. I meant it. And why do you always choose women whose
names begin with the letter "J"?'

De Forge asserted his natural will-power, refused to respond to her mockery. He was putting on his képi when someone rapped quietly on the door.

'Come in,' Jean called out to show who was in control.

The door opened slowly and Lieutenant Andre Berthier, fair haired and good looking, his képi tucked respectfully under his arm, stepped into the room, careful to look straight at de Forge.

'Excuse me, General, but Major Lamy sent me in as you asked to be reminded of the time.'

'Maybe the lieutenant would like a glass of champagne?'
Jean suggested, moving towards the ice bucket beside the rumpled bed.

'He would not.' de Forge replied in a cold voice. 'He
is
on duty.'

'You do have some handsome men on your staff,
Charles,' Jean whispered.

She stroked her blond hair across a shoulder, staring at
Berthier. She studied his build, his strong young face. Berthier, aware of her scrutiny, stared at the wall.

'Competence is the only qualification for my choice.' de Forge responded in the same chilly tone.

He marched to the door, picked up the dispatch case.
Her remark about taking his dispatch case to Josette's apartment in Bordeaux had alerted him: he
did
take the case with
him on his occasional visits.

Jean watched him leave with grim amusement. Always arouse a little jealousy when your lover was departing - it kept you in his thoughts. Hearing the outer door close, she
ran to the bedroom door, opened it a fraction. Yes, they had gone. She went to the phone, dialled a number.

Outside it was arctic cold as snowflakes drifted down.
Standing by the bullet-proof limousine, Major Lamy reached
out to open the rear door. It seemed to have iced up. His
large strong hand gave it a powerful twist, the door opened, de Forge brushed flakes off his uniform, sat inside. Lamy
closed the door as Berthier sat in the front passenger seat
next to the chauffeur, ran round the back, climbed in beside
de Forge. The limousine sped down the drive, the wheels
spurting up gravel.

De Forge glanced at Lamy. The Intelligence Chief often
reminded the General of a fox with his long face, his
expression, his pointed jaw. De Forge closed the sliding
glass panel, shutting them off from the front compartment
so Berthier could not hear him.

'Why do you choose Berthier as bodyguard?'

'Because,' Lamy explained, 'he is an expert with machine-
pistols. He has one now by his side. He scores higher than
anyone else on the range.'

'Kalmar did a good job with that spy, Henri Bayle,' de
Forge commented, switching the subject suddenly - a
favourite tactic to keep his officers off balance. 'I wonder who he really is. You must have some idea.'

'No idea.' Lamy gazed out of the window where the
snow had become a white curtain. 'He keeps his identity a
close secret. Communication only by phone - between two public call boxes. Payment in Swiss banknotes. Inside an envelope placed inside a small leather pouch. Always a different drop for the pouch. Always at a remote spot in the
country - a location which can be watched for miles all
round.'

'You'd almost think he had military training,' de Forge decided. 'Still, he does a perfect job. That's all that matters.'

'I have a different problem you might wish to consider,' Lamy said quickly, changing the subject. 'We are running low on the secret projects fund. And we need more of the
special missiles - and the nerve gas they are armed with.'

'Don't worry. I have received a coded signal from our
supplier. More funds are on the way, more missiles, more
nerve gas.'

'When will the ship arrive?'

'Soon. I will tell you when I have a definite date.'

'And the pick-up point is Arcachon? As before?'

'Yes, Lamy, it is. There is one more task calling for immediate action. I want Jean Burgoyne followed when she leaves the villa. Reports on where she goes, who she meets.

A complete rundown. Berthier is fluent in English. Stop the car, give him my orders.'

'Why now, General? How can Berthier follow her in his uniform? She will recognize him.'

'Your brain is getting duller, Lamy...'

De Forge glanced behind the limo where outriders in
uniform had joined the cavalcade to bring up the rear. More
outriders preceded the car. They had taken up station as
soon as de Forge's limo emerged from the entrance to the
Villa Forban. Jean Burgoyne had complained she didn't
want a lot of rowdy motorcyclists on the property.

'She is leaving soon for the airport.' de Forge continued.
'Send one outrider back to stay under cover, watch the villa gates, and follow her discreetly if she drives away. He can use his radio to contact Berthier. What happens to Berthier?
He takes over one of the motorcycles, rides like hell to GHQ,
changes into civilian clothes. I've seen him in mufti. He
wears a hat which hides his fair hair, sports tinted glasses. Give him some money. Stop the car.
Now,
Lamy...!'

The major alighted from the car after telling Berthier to get out. He spoke rapidly to the lieutenant. With his back to
de Forge, he took out his wallet, extracted three 1,000-Swiss franc notes. The equivalent of well over £1,000.

'That's dealt with.' he reported as he sank back into his seat, his face raw from the brief exposure to the elements.

The car with its outrider escort began to move again. De
Forge was thinking he'd also have to arrange to have his
wife, Josette, put under surveillance. In case Paris had
infiltrated Third Corps the answer was more spies.

Chapter Ten

'General Charles de Forge is the most sinister political figure
France has seen this century.' said Lasalle.

Paula look at Tweed, merely nodded, encouraging the DST chief to continue. They had returned from the resta
urant and again sat in Lasalle's cramped office.

Paula had grasped Tweed's tactics. He was still at the
stage of gathering data before returning to London, before deciding how to deploy his forces. A phase now familiar to her.

'He is inflaming French public opinion against Germany.'
Lasalle went on. 'Dubois, head of the
Pour France
party, is his
puppet, the ventriloquist's dummy. It is de Forge who sup
plies the angle for Dubois to take. It is outrageous - Germany
is the most peace-loving nation in all Europe. De Forge is whipping up artificial fear of the new unified Germany.'

'Why?' Tweed asked. 'What is de Forge's objective?'

'To become the next President of France ...'

'Has he a hope in hell? A general?'

Lasalle gave his wry smile. 'There is a precedent -General de Gaulle ...'

'Who took power at a time of national emergency when the government became desperate.'

'Which is precisely the scenario de Forge is successfully
recreating. Disorder, fighting in the streets. Clearly you have
not grasped the significance of what has happened in
Bordeaux.'

'Why Bordeaux?'

'Ah, Bordeaux! There you put your finger on it. You see, Bordeaux was the city which witnessed three French crises
-
and two humiliating defeats at the hands of Germany. In
1871 when Bismarck's armies destroyed us, annexed Alsace-
Lorraine. In 1914 when the Paris government panicked, fled
to Bordeaux temporarily. Above all, in 1940 when, as you
know, the premier, Paul Reynaud, fled - again to Bordeaux -
with his government. And surrendered to Hitler.'