Cross of Fire (68 page)

'The new Beaujolais.' he shouted and tossed a bottle out
of the window.

He had thrown it over the heads of the troops near the car and there was a mad scramble as one soldier caught it
in mid-air. Newman was again singing and the refrain was
taken up by the soldiers who a moment earlier had been
shivering in the icy mist, bored to tears with the task of manning the checkpoint.

Isabelle threw her bottle. She flashed a smile at the men near her. They stared at her lecherously and then jostled to grab the bottle. She picked up another as Newman hurled a
fresh one well clear of the car.

'The new Beaujolais!' he roared in drunken tones.

'It's a bit late in the season this year.' Isabelle whispered and giggled nervously.

Newman threw another bottle, repeating the well-known
slogan and Isabelle hurled a bottle from her side. The troops
were standing further back to have a chance of catching the
bottles. Newman, grinning drunkenly, began honking his
horn for them to remove the barrier so he could drive on.

'We're in a hurry,' he shouted good-humouredly.

'You won't be a virgin much longer,' a soldier shouted at
Isabelle.

'Obscene lout,' she muttered, smiled, threw out another
bottle.

Newman kept his hand on the horn, leaned out of the
window, hurled a bottle at a soldier close to the gates. The soldier caught it in mid-air. Several soldiers were already drinking the wine, passing bottles round. The soldier close to the gate opened it, waved them on, bottle in his his hand. Newman grinned, saluted, sped across the bridge to the far side and Isabelle guided him through side streets.

He began to recognize where he was - in the vicinity of the Meriadeck office and shopping complex. A concrete horror which was more like a fortress. He checked his rear-
view mirror and saw an Army jeep with four soldiers
following him. He told Isabelle. Then told her the mist had blotted it out.

Turn right!' she said.

He swung into a narrow side street. In the murk Bor
deaux looked even more dreadful. Wrecks of old buildings, with Cinzano posters on the end walls, smeared with grime and peeling at the edges. Again he had the impression of a city which had been bombed.

'Turn left quickly!'

He found himself in a narrow street with battered cars
parked on both pavements. Isabelle was leaning forward staring through the gloom. Newman looked in the mirror.
No sign of the jeep.

'Grab that slot! We're nearly there.'

Newman swung the Renault on to the pavement, swiv
elled the wheel, crawling, straightened up an inch from the
car parked in front. He backed a few inches, stopped,
switched off the engine. Even in London no one would have
regarded the space he occupied as a feasible slot.

He'd noticed the Citroen backing down the street
towards him as he'd swung in so swiftly. The car stopped
as he stepped out and nearly slipped on a patch of solid ice.
The air on his face was cold as the Arctic. A smartly dressed
woman jumped out of the Citroen, came up to him, her face distorted with fury.

'That was my slot. Didn't you see me backing? I want that slot,' she raved.

Newman reopened his door, reached in, brought out the
only vintage bottle of Beaujolais. He bowed, presented it to
her with a flourish.

'We've just got married. A present to celebrate our happiness. Please.'

She grabbed the bottle, turned it round, peered at the
vintage. Glancing at Isabelle who stood on the pavement,
she tossed her head.

'I suppose it is some compensation. God knows where I'll get another slot. The bloody troops have surrounded a
building just up the street. Their jeeps have five slots. It's
disgusting...'

Without a word of thanks she returned to her car, backed it past the Renault. The vehicle disappeared into grey mist. Newman looked at Isabelle, spread his hands in a gesture of
resignation.

'I thought it best to keep her quiet.'

'She'll keep quiet, the greedy harridan. While she was telling you about the troops I saw the gleam in her eye. It was the vintage, wasn't it?'

'Yes. And she may have done us a favour. I don't like the sound of those troops surrounding a building. How far is it to the passage?'

'About a hundred yards further along this street.'

Newman put his arm round her and they walked slowly,
more interested in each other
apparently than where they were going. He thanked God he'd taken the precaution. As
the mist drifted away they saw ahead the military jeeps
parked either side of the street on the pavements. Two cars, which had presumably occupied slots the Army needed, lay on their sides in the middle of the street.

Newman sidled them into the deep alcove of a doorway.
On both sides troops with automatic weapons were sta
tioned. All were staring at the building on the same side as
Newman and Isabelle. A familiar figure was crouched by
the entrance, packing something against the base of the
door. Newman recognized the evil gnome-like Sergeant Rey.

'Could that be the building we're going to?' he asked
Isabella.

'Yes, it is. The Passage Emile Zola is just a few yards
from here. It runs down the side of the building.'

'The troops are preparing to assault it. De Forge's booby-
trap expert is packing what I imagine is explosive by the door to blow it open.'

'We've arrived in the nick of time.'

'Or just too late.' Newman replied, thinking of the poor
devil, Stahl, holed up inside.

Chapter Forty-Four

Tweed took the call from Paula in his office at the Ministry of the Interior. His first concern was to ask whether it was a
safe line.

'Quite safe.' she assured him. 'I've taken precautions. I've had time to think about your request for me to return to see
you.'

'I'm listening,' Tweed coaxed her when she paused.

'I've read certain documents Jean Burgoyne was carrying.
I think I should bring them to you at once aboard the
chopper Lasalle is sending. Jean risked her life -' she gulped
- 'lost her life to get these to me. And they're really
important. That's one thing.'

'And the other?' Tweed enquired concealing his relief.

'I think it's awful the way Jean is lying out you know
where. Out in the cold and the damp. I know it doesn't make any difference to her...'

'Stop worrying.' Tweed interjected. 'A team of DST men was dispatched by Lasalle from Bordeaux to take her away,
fly the body back to Paris. The machine bringing her is already in the air.'

'Thank God. There's one more thing.'

'Which is?'

'I'm only returning to Paris on the understanding I can come back here very quickly. You know who I have to
locate.'

Kalmar, Tweed thought. He was careful not to tell her Lasalle was very upset about the murder of Burgoyne. He was thinking quickly about her request.

'I agree to your suggestion.' he decided.

'And the condition laid down?'

'The request you made.' Tweed corrected her.

'Of course, I'm sorry. It was a request.'

'I agree.'

'And that DST team.' she persisted. 'They did know
where to find her?'

'Newman was very specific when he phoned me earlier. About the location. I repeat, she is already in mid-air. We
look forward to seeing you. Now please put Butler on the
line...'

He had put down the phone when Kuhlmann came into
the office. In his hand he held a folded fax sheet. He handed it over to Tweed.

'Just came in from Wiesbaden. You were right. Damn it, you always are.'

At the Atlantique they had devised a simple system of
making sure the duty clerk - who also handled the small
switchboard - didn't listen in while someone was making a call. Nield had made friends with the day and night clerks.

Both smoked. The day clerk favoured Gitanes, the night
man Gauloises. Nield always had a spare pack to give them,
plus an onerous tip for services like sending up sandwiches
and coffee.

He made it a habit to stroll down and engage them in
Conversation whenever a call was being made. So they
wouldn't suspect his intention he also stopped by for a chat
when no call was being made.

When Butler had finished speaking to Tweed, Paula asked him what had been said. Butler punched her arm gently.

'If you must know everything, Pete and I have to accom
pany you to the dawn chopper, see you safely aboard. When
you come back from Paris we're not to let you out of sight for a second. Tweed was pretty ferocious about that.'

'I have the feeling Tweed knows a lot more than he's
telling us. It's almost as though I'm a target and he knows that,' Paula mused.

'Tweed knows what he's doing.' Butler checked his
watch. 'You've had no sleep and you have to meet that
Alouette at dawn. How about some kip?'

'You're right.' She sat perched on the edge of her bed
with a worried look. 'I suppose I
ought to flop out now.'

'You look bothered about something.'

'Recently I've remembered something very weird that
happened in Aldeburgh. Don't ask me what - I need to
think it through. And I wonder how Bob is getting on in
Bordeaux?'

'There may be a rear entrance to that building in the Emile Zola passage,' Isabelle said. 'Like there is to my mother's
apartment here.'

'Then I'd better risk it.' Newman decided. 'Before those
troops storm the building.'

'We
had better risk it,' Isabelle said firmly. 'Using a
different version of the trick which came off at the Pont de Pierre. Don't argue. I know that passage.'

She gripped his arm, pressed herself against him after making sure her white scarf was draped over her shoulders,
gazed up at him with adoring eyes. They walked slowly and when a soldier turned to look at them Isabelle pulled
Newman's head down and kissed him full on the mouth.
The soldier grinned, turned away as they drew level with
the entrance to the passage.

They slipped inside the narrow alley unchallenged. There
was a smell of rancid rubbish, Isabelle wrinkled her nose as she hurried Newman to a door near the end of the alley. He noticed that at one time there must have been an exit at the
other end but the outline of an arch was blocked up. Pity.
No alternative escape route. Isabelle aimed a pencil flash
Newman had lent her. The light showed the name plate
below the entryphone, the grille smeared and rusty.