Cross of Fire (42 page)

'This comes under the heading of suppressing evidence in a murder ...' Buchanan began, staring at Rosewater.

Tweed's clenched fist crashed down on his desk. 'Now
you listen to me - and don't forget where you are. You have
been given the ring. Voluntarily. In case you've forgotten, you're at the headquarters of the SIS. And, in case you've
overlooked it, Captain Rosewater is a member of Military
Intelligence. I happen to know that he is involved in a
matter of the utmost importance to national security. There
will be no questions asked, no accusations made, without
my agreement. I will not have you adopting an overbearing manner in my office.'

He sank back in his chair, his expression furious and his mouth tight-lipped. Paula was staring at him.

'So that's the way you're going to play it,' Buchanan
observed calmly, stretching out his legs, crossing his ankles.

'I'm not
playing,
as you put it!' Tweed leaned forward again. 'Men have died outside this room. One of them my
agent. Abroad. Where you have no jurisdiction. I can and do operate abroad,' he snapped. 'If you want information which may help you in
your
investigation, then you will
cease and desist. Now!'

'My main concern is who murdered this gentleman's
wife, strangled her in cold blood on those marshes where this ring was found.'

Buchanan's manner was still mild. He might have been
conducting a friendly conversation in a pub. In contrast
Tweed still appeared to be in a controlled rage.

'You've got the ring. You've heard the circumstances
under which it was found.' His voice rose. 'But I am
concerned with the cauldron boiling up in Europe, a situ
ation which is worsening by the hour, hi case you don't
know what I'm talking about, read the papers.'

'I realize you have grave responsibilities. Perhaps it
would be better if we came back
when you are less fraught.
And I would like to ask Captain Rosewater a question...'

'No!' Tweed stood up. 'Captain Rosewater is directly
involved in what is happening in Europe. I know you will
not think me impolite if I say I do not have the time to
prolong this discussion. I'm under pressure. A major confla
gration is building up in Europe.'

'I think I have what I came for.' Buchanan stood up, the
signet ring held in his hand covered with a surgical glove
he had slipped on before accepting it. He dropped it inside
a plastic bag Sergeant Warden held out. 'But I may need to
see Captain Rosewater at the Yard...'

'Sorry, Chief Inspector,' Rosewater interjected, 'but I
expect my job to take me back to Germany today. Where
I'm based.'

'But you'll have time to come and make a statement.'

'I'm afraid not. Tweed has described what happened very precisely. I'll be on the first available flight.'

'Bon voyage,'
Buchanan replied ironically and left the room.

'You saved me a tough inquisition,' Rosewater said as
soon as they were on their own. That Chief Inspector is one bright cookie.'

'I didn't want him trying to penetrate your role in France
and Germany. You'll be based in Freiburg if I need to
contact you?'

'Mostly.' He looked at Paula. 'If you can coax your boss
into being generous, maybe you'd come and visit me. I gave
you the address.'

'I may be waiting on your doorstep,' Paula joked.

Rosewater stood up. 'I meant what I said to Buchanan. I'm leaving for the continent now. If you can't get me in
Freiburg, contact Kuhlmann. He may be able to reach me. We're keeping in close touch.'

Take care.' Tweed warned, watching him,
'Siegfried
is
deadly. I gather you're having trouble tracking them.'

'They've organized themselves into independent cells, each with a mission when the balloon goes up in Germany. Sabotage and assassination on a large scale. That much I have learned. Strictly between these walls I'm trying to infiltrate agents inside
Siegfried.
It's a race against time -before their controller gives the signal. He could be Kalmar...'

'Why,' asked Paula when Rosewater had gone, 'haven't you
told Buchanan about Major Lamy and Lieutenant Berthier?
Both were in Aldeburgh. Even Sergeant Rey?'

'Because.' Tweed explained, 'I'm letting them run on a
loose rein, giving them plenty of rope. Meantime you and I are leaving for Paris. You have your usual case packed here for emergency take-offs? Good. Monica has booked three seats on the Paris flight today.'

'Three?'

'I'm expecting Newman to arrive here any moment. He's
going in via Paris. The Bordeaux Airport is closely watched.
And you'd better ask Lasalle for a weapon - we're moving into the cauldron.'

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Major Lamy, wearing his normal French civilian clothes, disembarked from the Air Inter Flight at Bordeaux Airport.
He did not know it but later that same day Tweed would
fly to Paris. Lamy was met by a chauffeur in a civilian
uniform, escorted to the waiting Citroen.

Half an hour later he entered the large room where
General de Forge was studying the newspaper accounts of
the devastation caused by the fresh Lyons riots. De Forge
neatly folded the paper he was reading, added it to the pile, waved to Lamy to sit opposite him.

'Did you get
Oiseau
to agree?' he demanded.

'Mission accomplished.' Lamy sat erect, aware this was a formal interview.
'Oiseau
agreed to supply double the original number of missiles with nerve gas warheads.'

'When?'
De Forge fired back at him.

'He said he would send a signal from the transmitter
aboard the
Steel Vulture
giving the delivery date. I had the impression it would be soon.'

'Soon? Oiseau
wants to learn military precision. We may
need those weapons within
one week from now. Have you
heard the President is thinking of travelling to Lyons to
inspect the damage? Because he dislikes flying he'll go there aboard the TGV?'

Lamy's expression showed no sign of his surprise, that
he hadn't known: de Forge expected you to know everything
that was going on. The TGV — the
Train de Grande Vitesse —
famous for its bullet-like speed of up to 150 m.p.h.

'That concerns us?' he enquired.

'I will give you orders soon. Urgent orders. This may be our opportunity. Have you also heard the Prefect of Paris -
the man who might have got in our way when we focus on Paris - has been assassinated?'

Lamy nodded. 'Kalmar has delivered again ...'

'Kalmar! Are you sure you know it was him? I had a
phone call on my private number from a man calling himself by the codename
Manteau.'

He watched Lamy closely as the Intelligence chief stared
back, sitting more erect. Lamy found himself still thinking
in English, a mental habit he'd easily slipped into during his
trip to Aldeburgh.
Manteau
meant
Cloak.

'What did this
Manteau
say?' Lamy asked.

He hardly had the words out of his mouth before de
Forge exploded.

'He said he had shot the Prefect. He gave me a detailed
description of how and where and when - which has not appeared in the press yet. I ordered Berthier to phone our contact inside Lasalle's DST. He gave exactly the same
details of the assassination.
Manteau
has asked for a fee of
half a million Swiss francs. He said that if I refused that was
all right, but he would expect my next commission.'

'How the devil could he know we wanted the Prefect
eliminated?' wondered Lamy.

'Because there has to be a leak inside my own GHQ.' de
Forge shouted back. 'You had better discover that leak fast.
Whoever it is must be shot in the Landes. His body disposed
of in the usual way.'

De Forge was gazing closely at Lamy as he spoke. Aware
of the scrutiny, Lamy gazed back without blinking. Then he
changed the subject quickly, opening the briefcase in his lap.

'I will carry out the investigation myself.' He took a large fat envelope out of the case.
'Oiseau
has supplied the funds requested. Three million Swiss francs. He gave them to me without hesitation.' He placed the envelope on the desk.

'Why aren't you already conducting that investigation?'
de Forge stormed.

Lamy was hurrying out of the long room to change into
his uniform when de Forge called out for him to wait a
moment. His voice was dangerously quiet. Lamy was well accustomed to his chief's unpredictable changes of mood,
knew he was treading on tricky ground. He turned.

'Yes, my General?'

'Did you organize that Ku Klux Klan-style attack on the Jews in the south before leaving for England?'

'Yes. It was to take place last night. I'm sure you'll hear
news of it today. And a reporter with a gun in his back and
a camera in his hand will have recorded it.'

Tweed, Paula, and Newman met a grim Lasalle when they
had arrived at rue des Saussaies in Paris. The Frenchman greeted them courteously, ordered an aide to bring coffee,
waited until the four of them were alone.

'What's happened now, Ren
é?'
Tweed asked quietly as
he sat down, sensing his host's disquiet.

'This newspaper has just been flown to me by courier
from Bordeaux by the chief of my team in the city. It is the most hideous atrocity.'

He spread the newspaper over his desk facing them, said
nothing, knowing they could all read French. The front page
carried a huge picture, one of the most sinister Paula had
ever seen. The headline screamed:

'ANTI-SEMITES GO BERSERK AT TARBES. TWENTY JEWS BURN.

The photograph was weird, macabre. Figures clad in
what appeared to be white sheets from head to toe carried blazing torches. The sheets were shaped so they rose to the point of a triangle above the invisible heads with slits for the eyes. Each figure carried a flaming torch in one hand, a long knife in the other. The group of roughly forty men was formed into a triangular formation. At the apex - in front of the white-sheeted figures - the leader carried the Cross of Lorraine blazing with fire.

It was not the only thing blazing. Men, mostly bare
headed in the night, were running as flames enveloped them. One desperate fugitive wore a skull cap. Tweed
turned to the next page which was covered with photos. Corpses burnt to a cinder littered the ground. Paula swal
lowed, stiffened herself.