Cross of Fire (45 page)

Another thing which irked de Forge was finding Jean at
the Villa Forban. In her assumed absence he had come there
to search her possessions, to go through the place with a
fine-tooth comb. He checked his watch again. Would it work
- his masterstroke?

In his large office overlooking the courtyard and the Place Beauveau beyond, Pierre Navarre, Minister of the Interior, got down to business without any formality. Tweed was impressed by the drive and determination of the lean-faced dark-haired Frenchman.
Formidable -
as the French said.

'Your plan is working, Tweed,' Navarre began. 'As I imagine you already know.'

Navarre looked at Lasalle, raised his dark brows, and
Lasalle nodded agreement. Three people sat in chairs
arranged in a crescent round the Minister's desk. Paula sat
to one side, Tweed faced Navarre across the desk, Lasalle occupied a chair on Tweed's right. Paula risked a question.

'Minister, why is France so suddenly in a ferment? I have
always regarded your country as stable. Now we have riots,
this horrible eruption of the Ku-Klux-Klan mob attacking
the Jews.'

'A good question.' Navarre leaned forward in his chair
behind the Louis-Quinze desk, his piercing dark eyes fixed
on hers. 'Under the surface France is desperate to become
itself
again. Certain elements hanker for the time of de
Gaulle - when France bestrode Europe like a colossus. The
unification of Germany has increased this hankering. De
Forge is exploiting this nostalgia to the full, putting himself forward as a new de Gaulle. It is naked ambition.'

'Surely he can't get away with it,' Paula persisted.

Navarre made a Gallic gesture, spreading his hands.

'I don't think he can. But he is cleverly appealing to this
unspoken desire on the part of certain Frenchmen - for
France to make a great
impact
on Europe, on the whole
world later.'

'I'm still not sure.' Tweed intervened, 'why you've asked for my support.'

'Simple!' Navarre made the same gesture. 'We are sub
merged in the situation. So perhaps we do not see it as
clearly as we should. You are insular - no criticism intended,
rather the reverse. But you therefore see the crisis through
detached eyes. What you have already suggested may confuse the enemy. General Charles de Forge.'

'I am fearful.' Tweed responded. 'I sense de Forge is just
waiting for what I call the trigger. An event which will give him an excuse to act.'

'The President of France stands between de Forge and chaos.' Navarre replied in his rapid French. 'He may hesitate. He listens too closely to that poodle of de Forge's -Janin, the Minister of Defence. But the second riot in Lyons has, I know, stiffened the President's determination. And soon I expect another visitor who will give us the German point of view. Chief Inspector Otto Kuhlmann is flying here at my request. With the full authority of the Chancellor of Germany...'

General de Forge, an expert tactician, a man not liking to
waste time, had decided he might as well take advantage of his visit to the Villa Forban he could no longer search. He went to the bathroom as Jean Burgoyne, clad only in a short
slip, perched on the rumpled bed and slid on her tights.

She was again fully dressed when de Forge emerged,
buttoning up his uniform. It seemed a good moment to chat
to him as she brushed her mane of golden hair.

'Who is really behind all these terrible riots, Charles?'

'How would I know?'

'Major Lamy should have been able to tell you. That is what Chiefs of Intelligence are for.'

'The French people are getting fed up with the foreigners who infest France, who take their jobs, who pollute the streets by their very presence.'

'And yet I saw a report in
Le Monde
that the so-called
mobs operate with military precision. And if they were
ordinary people why wear these Balaclavas? It seems to be
very important not a single person is identified?'

'I suppose they're worried the police might be able to
pick them up if they knew who they were.'

De Forge spoke in an off-hand manner as he studied his
appearance in a wall mirror. Jean knew that manner, that
tone of voice: he was covering up. He'd just enjoyed himself
so maybe he'd talk.

'You haven't convinced me, Charles. And what about that horrible massacre of the Jews near Tarbes? The killers wore Ku-Klux-Klan robes. Again, masked men - and again the reporter they temporarily kidnapped to witness the horror used the phrase "an assult carried out with military precision".'

De Forge adjusted his képi, turned slowly to face her. His hands were on his hips as he stared at her with his hypnotic eyes. She stared back. His voice was quiet, menacing

'What are you suggesting, Jean?'

'I'm not suggesting anything. But I am waiting for you to suggest an explanation for strange, sinister events.'

'The people are rising up to express their fury - their fear - at the emergence of an all-powerful Germany.'

'I see.' She sounded quite unconvinced, switched to a
different topic. 'Is your wife, Josette, still indifferent to our friendship?'

'Josette remains loyal to me - to my position as the
leading soldier in France.' de Forge said cynically. 'She has gone back to our apartment at Passy in Paris. She feels the time has come to hold some more of her famous salons. A lot of influential people attend them.'

'I also get the impression,' Jean remarked, 'that you are
waiting for some important news. I felt that while we were
in bed.'

De Forge shrugged, another giveaway gesture. 'You have
too lively an imagination.'

All de Forge's instincts of danger close to him surfaced.

He was careful not to look at Jean. She had a way of
inveigling herself into his mind. Had he told her too much?
She was very curious about his activities, his future plans,
had recently asked some dangerous questions.

'I must go.'

He hugged her tightly. Out of her line of sight his eyes
were ice-cold. Had the time come to take precautions?
Perhaps she was another assignment for Kalmar?

Or for
Manteau?

The phone began ringing insistently.

The Paris-Bordeaux Express had stopped at Angouleme,
well north of Bordeaux. Newman and Moshe Stein had alighted, were moving fast. While Stein went to collect the
hired car Newman found a public phone, called Lasalle's
office in rue de Saussaies.

He was told Lasalle was not available. Newman used all
his powers of persuasion to convince the man at the other
end that Lasalle was expecting his call. He was asked to
give his number, to wait...

Moshe Stein drove up in a Renault, parked on the
opposite side of the street, pretended not to see Newman. It was late afternoon, the sky was a storm of low dark clouds.
It would soon be night and they still had a long drive to
Stein's villa in the Landes. After they had visited Arcachon
en route.

Before leaving Paris Newman had purchased a complete
outfit of new clothes. He wore a beret, a French windcheater,
French trousers and shoes. He fretted as he waited. Would
anyone ever call him back? The phone began ringing...

Lasalle, still in Navarre's office with the three English visitors, answered, grasped that Newman was in a call box, put Tweed on the line.

'We've reached Angoulgme.' Newman reported, speak
ing fast. 'I'm running out of coins. Arcachon next stop. Then
on to the Landes with Moshe.' He was careful not to use the name Stein. 'In an emergency you can leave a message with Isabelle. I forgot to give you her number. It is. Moshe has told me things which make me suspect we may be a target. Strange things happen in the Landes. Nearest small place to
his villa is St Girons. He
gave us a false address in Paris.
Villa is close to the sea. St Girons is on the D42 - which cuts
off west from the N10. Phone number...'

'Got it,' Tweed replied. 'Paula is coming south - may
need a bolthole. Have you one more minute? I'll put her on
the line...'

'Do it.'

'Bob ...' Paula spoke clearly, quickly. 'Don't say too
much. Could Isabelle be my bolthole?'

'Yes. I'll warn her you're coming. "Gruyere cheese" is
your password ...'

'Thanks, Bob. That's all.'

'Paula! Don't come. Moshe has told me things during our
trip so far. Down here is a greater danger zone than round
the Brudenell.'

'Then take care. Won't hold you.'

The connection was broken before he could protest any
further. He stood in the box for a minute longer, thinking.
God! There was a mistrust, danger everywhere. Moshe had
given a false address inside the DST! A second before Lasalle had answered Newman had heard a girl operator
say 'Ministry of the Interior ...' Even in that stronghold of
French security Tweed had listened, had said very little.
Paula had said
Don't say too much.
She
had used Isabella's
first name but not her surname. And his call had passed
through the Ministry's switchboard.

Had he said anything directly linking Isabella with Arca
chon? He recalled his conversation. No, he hadn't. It all
amounted to something quite terrifying - treason, treachery, paid informants in the highest places.

He left the box as it began to drizzle, a cold, raw drizzle of rain like a mist. Walking swiftly across the street he got into the passenger seat beside Stein. His suitcase was in the back. Stein, who knew the way, was behind the wheel.

'Let's move, Moshe...'

A long way south Newman saw in the night, in open
country in the middle of nowhere, a petrol station illumi
nated like a glowing torch. He asked Moshe to stop for
petrol.

'We're still well-tanked.'

'Stop for petrol.' Newman insisted.

He got out with Moshe and wandered round the inside
of the cabinlike shop attached while Moshe had the Renault
filled to the brim. Newman had seen plenty of Second World
War photos and on a shelf he recognized an old German
jerrican with a capacity for many litres.

The old boy who ran the station stared as Newman
strolled out, holding the jerrican. Newman grinned.

'Wartime souvenir?'

'I have several,' the old boy responded as he held the
nozzle from the pump. 'A truck driver threw them out
when he was fleeing back to Germany.'

'Mind filling it up? So we have a spare supply? I'll pay
whatever you want for the souvenir.'

The old boy, having filled up the car's tank, carefully filled the jerrican, Newman handed over the agreed price, placed it carefully in the back of the car under a rug after making sure the cap was well screwed down.