Cross of Fire (24 page)

'Be like that.'

The young fop strolled off and Paula looked in the
direction he'd indicated. Newman was talking to a heavily
built man of medium height clad in riding gear. Dawlish was listening with a grim look and suddenly there was a
hush among the crowd spread round the lawn, sensing that
something dramatic was happening. Marler stood behind
Newman, lighting a king-size cigarette. Paula heard the
exchange clearly.

'What was that question you asked?' Dawlish rumbled.

'I hear you have an armaments factory not far from here. I gather that's one of your main sources of income. The end of the Cold War will have to make you find customers for
weapons elsewhere. Or maybe you're glad we just may have peace on earth - even if it eliminates profits from
wars?'

'You were invited here as a guest at my shooting party.'
Dawlish rasped, one hand tucked in the pocket of his
jodhpurs. 'Now you're trying to get an interview out of me,
Newman. For
Der Spiegel,
you said...'

'Don't you want publicity for some reason?' Newman
went on amiably. 'As one of the leading industrialists in the Western world? They say you can sell guns to peoples and places no one else can. You must have contacts at the very
top...'

'The exit is that way.' Dawlish broke in, jerked a thumb towards the car park. 'If you're not off the property in two minutes I can have you escorted.'

'Save your manpower.' Newman suggested jocularly.
'Your hired thugs probably have other dirty work to do ...'

'Thugs?'

Dawlish took one pace closer to Newman. He looked choleric. High blood pressure? Paula wondered.

'Your so called gamekeepers and beaters.' Newman con
tinued, 'in their fancy new gear. Dressed up to look like
countrymen. Professional security guards would be my
guess. Kicked out of respectable security firms?'

'Two minutes ...'

Dawlish turned away, looked round, beckoned to a heav
ily-built man with dark hair, who came running. Paula
realized Dawlish didn't miss much: he was heading straight
for her as the other man joined him. She caught the first
part of Dawlish's instructions.

'Radio the chopper. Tell them to follow Newman. He has
an old blue Merc. Big job. If necessary, they teach him a
lesson. I've been warned about Newman...'

He lowered his voice and even though they were coming
closer to her she couldn't catch the rest of what Dawlish
said. She saw Newman hand his gun to a guard, Marler
hand his weapon to the same man and the two of them wandered towards the car park without a glance in her
direction. She was worried: on her way to Grenville Grange she'd seen no sign of Butler and Nield, recalling that Tweed
had told them to act as protectors. Then it struck her that wherever Butler and Nield were waiting she'd never have
seen them: they were professionals.

'Get on with it now, Brand. They're leaving...'

She heard Dawlish's last order to the heavy-set man who hurried away as the owner of Grenville Grange approached
her with a broad grin. He whipped off his hard hat.

'Paula Grey? You're early ...'

'I like to be prompt.'

Brown eyes like bullets swept over her. A strong hand gripped her right arm as he guided her up steps, across the rear steps, opened a French window, ushered her inside,
locked the door, adjusted the heavy net curtains.

'Let me take your coat, my dear ...'

As he helped her off with the coat his fingers lingered a
few seconds too long on her well-shaped shoulders. He
gestured towards a large deep couch with cushions as he
took her coat, opened a cupboard, slipped it on a hanger
and left it on a hook.

Paula looked round for a single armchair but Dawlish had organized the room well for her reception. Each armchair was occupied with a pile of leather-bound tomes. Which left no alternative but to set herself on the couch at one end. Dawlish offered her Scotch or wine but she chose coffee. He pressed a button in the wall. A manservant clad in black opened a door in the rear of the large room.

'Coffee fo
r my guest, Walters. A large Scotch for me. And
next time knock before you come in. Get on with it...'

Which seemed to be his favourite phrase Paula thought as she glanced round the room while extracting her note
book from her shoulder bag. Except for the windows over
looking the lawn, the other three walls were oak-panelled
from floor to ceiling with bookcases inset at intervals. In the
wall facing her a log fire crackled inside a deep-arched
alcove. The atmosphere was overpoweringly warm as Daw
lish stripped off his riding boots, dumped them in the hearth, slipped his large feet into a pair of handmade
brogues.

'Mind if I strip off my jacket?'

He was doing so while his eyes roamed over her coatless
figure. He sat on the couch close to her, laid a hand on the
right knee of her crossed legs, squeezed it.

'Where do we start?' he asked with a broad smile.

Dawlish emanated an aura of great physical energy
and, despite his bulk, his movements were swift. Like sitting
next to a sexual powerhouse, Paula thought before she
replied.

'We start by your removing your hand off my person.'

'But such an alluring person...'

The nails of her right hand hovered over the hand. She had very tough nails. They dug gently into the back of his
hairy hand when he didn't move.

'I'm quite capable of drawing blood, scratching so you
will be scarred for weeks. Then I'll leave at once - in other words, go to hell.'

'Spirited. I like that.'

But he took his hand away from her knee. Leaning back
against the cushions, he fingered the sideburn closest to her,
studying her as though seeing her for the first time.

'I'm at your service.' he said eventually.

'I understand you're interested in conservation. Also underwater exploration. I hear you're financing the new
expedition to explore the sunken village of Dunwich.'

'The Cat is a dream for that job.'

'The cat?'

Paula, puzzled, stared at Dawlish as there was a knock
on the door. Dawlish, looking pleased with the effect he'd
created, bawled out, 'Come on in...' They waited while
Walters put down a silver tray, poured coffee for Paula, handed Dawlish a cut-glass tumbler of neat Scotch and left the room.

'Down the hatch!' Dawlish said, swallowed half the
drink.

'I'm all at sea,' Paula commented after sipping coffee.

'All at sea!'

Dawlish repeated her words, roared a deep belly laugh.
Before she knew what was happening he looped an arm
round her slim waist, hoisted her to her feet, led her across
the room to a section of wall to the right of the huge
fireplace. He pressed another button.

There was a whirring sound of unseen machinery operating. A large section of panelling slid upwards, revealed what looked to Paula like one of the dioramas she'd seen in military museums. She was gazing at a huge sheet of plate-glass shaped like a porthole. Beyond, a strange model of a vessel perched on a stretch of blue sea. Dawlish pressed the button again. The weird vessel sailed through waves which
suddenly rose up ahead of its prow.

Paula was still carrying her notebook and pen. For a
moment her expression froze. Dawlish watched her with amusement, mistaking her fear for astonishment. Paula was gazing at a model replica of the weird vessel which she'd seen with Karin when they'd surfaced off Dunwich, clambered aboard their dinghy, had fled for their lives from the scuba divers with knives between their teeth. To cover her reaction she scribbled indecipherable shorthand in her book.

'The Cat,' Dawlish said with an expression of overweening pride. 'Short for a great marine technological advance. The twin-hulled catamaran. Instead of bouncing over waves - like previous vessels - it
pierces
waves, cuts through them. Top speed forty-two knots. I call mine
Steel Vulture.
The for'ard view - aft or port - seen from another vessel, looks like a vulture slicing the waves.'

Paula watched, trembling inside, as Dawlish pressed a different button. The model reversed back to its previous
position on the left. Dawlish set it moving again. More
waves heaved on the 'sea'. The
Steel Vulture
sailed across to
the right.

'Its beam is very wide,' she remarked quietly.

'It can carry over one hundred people,' Dawlish rambled on proudly. 'Plus a number of heavy vehicles. It's like a car
ferry. They have a bigger one in operation on the ferry run from Portsmouth to Cherbourg. But the
Vulture,
built in
Norway, has more advanced refinements.'

Almost hypnotized, Paula watched the twin wakes slushing from the stern. She forced herself to go on talking.

'Where do you berth such a vessel?'

'Down at Harwich when she's not at sea.'

'And you said you use it for the Dunwich exploration?'

'Frequently. She's the mother ship for the divers who go
down to map the town beneath the sea. Maybe you'd like a trip aboard my latest toy?'

'Yes, I think I could use that in my article,' Paula agreed
automatically. 'You could get me by calling the editor of
Women's Eye.
I rove around a lot.'

'So you'll make my underwater exploration the theme of your piece? The last time Dunwich was investigated under the sea was by some aqua clubs in 1979. I'm doing the job
on a much larger scale. I can afford the equipment...'

As he rattled on enthusiastically Dawlish pressed the
buttons, returned the model to its original start point, closed
down the sliding panelling which concealed the mobile diorama. Paula walked back to the couch, sat down, said
something which transformed the previous friendly
atmosphere.

'Apart from the underwater thing, which
costs
you a lot
of money, I'm sure, I gather you
make
a fortune out of your armaments factories. Does that ever bother you? Being a merchant of death?'

He strode across the room, dropped his weight next to
her, grasped her wrist with one hand in a grip which felt
like a steel handcuff. His expression was ugly.

'What the hell made you ask that question?'

Paula wondered where Newman and Marler were,
wished to God they hadn't left so early.

Chapter Sixteen

Newman had driven away from the Iken peninsula at speed.
Beside him sat Marler as they drove along a hedge-lined
road with fields beyond still crusted with a white coating of
frost. The sun was a blurred disc and white mist like a slow-
moving curtain drifted among the trees.

'Care to take a shufti at Dawlish's armaments set-up in
the forest on the way to Orford?' Marler drawled.