Exocet (v5) (7 page)

Which Lami Dozo did as briefly as possible. When he was finished he said, 'Well, what do you think?'

'I think the world has gone mad,' Raul Montera told him. 'But who am I to argue.'

'It could win us the war, Raul.'

'Win us the war?' Montera laughed harshly. 'We're back with old movies on television, General. We've lost this war already. It should never have started. But by all means send me off to Paris to play games while these boys here continue to die.'

The waiter returned with the tray at that moment and Montera poured himself a cup of tea with hands that shook slightly.

He raised the cup to his lips and drank. 'Much better for you than coffee,' he said and smiled, remembering that morning in Kensington, a thousand years ago, in the bath with Gabrielle.

Lami Dozo looked concerned. 'You've done too much, old friend. You need a rest. Come on, let's go.'

'You think I'm going over the edge.' Montera swallowed the rest of his tea. 'You're quite wrong. I'm already there.'

As they stood up, Major Munro came in. He glanced about the mess, saw Montera and smiled. 'Good news, Raul. Young Ortega - they've picked him up. Badly shot up, but he'll survive. They say it was the coldness of the sea that saved him. Stopped him bleeding to death.'

He recognised the General in the same moment and saluted.

'His luck is good,' Lami Dozo commented.

'Let's hope mine is,' said Raul Montera.

* * *

A little under four hours later, he was following Lami Dozo into Galtieri's private study at the Residencia del Presidente.

Galtieri came round the desk to greet him warmly, hand outstretched. 'My dear Montera, a great pleasure. Your efforts on behalf of the cause have been heroic.'

'I've done no more than any other pilot in my command, General.'

'Very commendable, but not quite true. However, General Dozo has briefed you, I'm sure, on the importance of this new mission. We're all counting on you.'

'I'll do my best, General. May I have permission to visit my mother before I leave?'

'But of course. Give Donna Elena my humble duty. And now, I'll detain you no longer.'

He shook hands again and Montera and Lami Dozo departed. When they had gone, Galtieri flicked the intercom and told Martinez to come in.

The young captain presented himself and Galtieri passed across the report from Garcia in Paris. 'This one is highly sensitive, Martinez. Get your book and I'll dictate a brief account of the affair so far, my discussion with General Dozo and the action we have taken.'

'Copies for General Dozo and Admiral Anaya, General, as usual?'

Galtieri shook his head. 'General Dozo knows already and the Admiral doesn't deserve to know. One copy for my personal file.'

'Very well, General.'

* * *

Carmela Balbuena was a formidable lady in her fifties. Her husband, an army captain, had been killed seven years previously during the so-called dirty war waged between the government and the back-country guerrillas. She had been on the staff at the Presidential Palace ever since and was now senior secretary.

The report on the Exocet affair was handed over to her by Martinez personally. 'I think you'd better do this one yourself, then straight into his personal file, no copy,' he said.

She took a pride in her work, typing it out meticulously on three sheets of paper, making one carbon copy in spite of what Martinez had said. She took the report and showed it to him.

'Excellent, senora, you've excelled yourself. You can file it later when he's out.'

'I'll put it into the office safe until morning,' she said. 'May I go now? I don't think there's anything else.'

'Of course. See you tomorrow.'

She went back into the other room, tidied her desk, took the copies of the three sheets she had made, folded them neatly and put them into her handbag. Then she left, closing the door behind her.

* * *

Carmela Balbuena had never been able to have children and had lavished all her affection on her nephew, son of her only brother. A socialist in her ideas, but no communist, she disliked Galtieri and the military regime that kept him in power, disliked a government that had caused so much repression and had been instrumental in bringing about the disappearance of so many thousands of ordinary people. Like her nephew, for example, who appeared to have been wiped off the face of the earth since his arrest at a student rally three years previously.

And then she'd gone to a cultural evening at the French Embassy and had met Jack Daley, a fresh-faced young American who reminded her so much of her nephew. Daley had been more than attentive, taking her to concerts, the theatre, gradually drawing her out, encouraging her to talk of her work at the Palace.

By the time she discovered he was a Commercial Attache at the American Embassy and probably much more, she didn't really care. Anything he wanted she gave him, which included any information of value from the office.

She phoned him at the Embassy from the first public phone box she came to on her way home and met him an hour later in the Plaza de Mayo where Juan Peron had been so fond of speech making in the old days.

They sat on a bench in one of the gardens and she passed him a newspaper containing the copy of the report.

'I won't hold you,' she said. 'I've read that thing and it's dynamite. I'll see you again.'

Jack Daley, who was in reality an agent of the CIA, hurried back to the Embassy to read the report in peace. Having read it, he didn't waste any time. Twenty minutes later it was being encoded and forwarded to Washington. Within two hours of being received there, it was passed on to Brigadier Charles Ferguson in London by order of the Director of the CIA himself.

7

Raul Montera moved out on to the terrace of the house at Vicente Lopez Floreda and took in the gardens below with a conscious pleasure. Palm trees waved in the slight breeze, water gurgled in the conduits and fountains, and the scent of mimosa was heavy on the air. Beyond the perimeter wall the River Plate sparkled like silver in the evening sun.

His mother and Linda were sitting at a table beside a fountain on the lower terrace and it was the child who saw him first. She cried out in delight and came running towards him, arms outstretched, dressed for riding in jodhpurs and a yellow sweater, hair tied back in a ponytail.

'Papa, we didn't know! We didn't know.'

She clutched him and he held her tightly and she smiled up at him, fierce and proud. 'You were on the television at Rio Gallegos with General Dozo. I saw you. So did all the girls at school.'

'Is that so?'

'And the Skyhawks at Death Valley, we saw that too and I knew you must be flying one of them.'

'Death Valley?' He stopped short. 'How did you know about that?'

'Isn't that what the pilots call it, the place where they make their run on the British fleet? Two girls in my class at school have lost brothers.' She hugged him again. 'Oh, I'm so pleased you're safe. Will you be going back?'

'No, not to Gallegos, but I'm going to France in the morning.'

They reached the table. His mother sat watching him calmly, cool, elegant, perfectly groomed as usual, looking fifteen years younger than her seventy years.

'I'm supposed to be going riding,' Linda said. 'I'll cancel it.'

'Nonsense,' Donna Elena told her. 'Run along now. Your father will be here when you get back.'

Linda turned to him. 'Promise?'

'On my honour.'

She hurried up the steps and Montera turned and reached for Donna Elena's hands. 'Mother,' he said formally as he kissed them. 'It's good to see you.'

Her eyes took in every aspect of the face, so finely drawn, the haunted eyes. 'Oh God,' she whispered. 'My dearest boy, what have they done to you?'

She was, by nature, self-sufficient, controlled, had learned many years before never to give too much of herself away. The result was that they had always enjoyed a highly formalised relationship.

She tossed all that out of the window now, jumped to her feet and flung her arms around him. 'It's so good to have you back safe and well, Raul. So good.'

'Mama.' He hadn't used that term since he was a little boy and felt hot tears of emotion cloud his eyes.

'Come, sit down. Talk to me.'

He lit a cigarette and sprawled back, letting everything go. 'This is wonderful.'

'So, you're not going back?'

'No.'

'I must thank the Virgin for that in some suitable way. A man of your age flying jet planes. What nonsense, Raul. A miracle you are here.'

'Yes, it is, when you come to think of it,' Montera said. 'I'd better light a few candles to someone myself.'

'To the Virgin or to Gabrielle?' He frowned warily, and she said, 'Here, give me a cigarette. I'm not a fool, you know. I've seen you on television three times now in that Skyhawk of yours. One can hardly miss the inscription just below the cockpit. Who is she, Raul?'

'The woman I love,' he said simply, repeating the words he had used to Lami Dozo.

'Tell me about her.'

So he did, pacing up and down the terrace beside her restlessly. When he was finished, she said, 'She sounds a remarkable young woman.'

'An understatement,' Montera told her. 'The most extraordinary human being I have ever met. Extraordinary for me, that is. I plunged head first in love with her the very first moment. It isn't just her quite astonishing beauty; there's a joy to her that goes way beyond physical passion.' He suddenly laughed out loud and the lines seemed to vanish from his face and he no longer looked tired. 'She's so bloody marvellous in every way, Mama. I always had faith that there was something special about life and she's it.'

Donna Elena Llorca de Montera took a deep breath. 'There's no more to be said then, is there? I presume I'll be introduced in your own good time. Now, tell me why you're going to France.'

'Sorry,' he told her. 'Top secret. All I can say is that it's for what our President is pleased to call the cause. He also believes that if I'm successful, it could win us the war.'

'And will it?'

'If he believes that, he'll believe anything. The cause.' He walked to the edge of the terrace and looked out across the river. 'We've lost half our pilots so far, Mama. Half. That's what the newspapers don't tell you. The crowds cry out, wave flags; Galtieri makes speeches; but the reality is the butchery at San Carlos Water.'

She stood up and took his arm. 'Come on, Raul, let's go inside now,' and together they went up the steps.

* * *

At Cavendish Place, Ferguson was seated at the desk, working his way through the CIA signal for the umpteenth time, when Harry Fox came in carrying a couple of files.

'All here, sir. Everything on Felix Donner.'

'Tell me, is Gabrielle still in town or has she gone back to Paris?'

'Still at Kensington Palace Gardens. I was having dinner at Langans last night and she was there with some friends. Why?'

'I should have thought it obvious, Harry. She was considerably smitten by Raul Montera's charms and he with her. We can put that to good use.' He looked at Fox's face and raised a hand. 'Don't start getting moral on me, Harry. This is war we're playing at now, not patty fingers.'

'Yes, well there are days when I definitely would rather be doing something else.'

'Never mind that now. Donner. Tell me about him. Just the salient facts.'

'Multi-millionaire. The Donner Development Corporation has a vast range of interests. Building, shipping, electronics, you name it.'

'And Donner himself?'

'Very popular media figure, as you can see from the file. Started in property development in a very small way. Really took off in the boom of the sixties.'

'And never looked back?'

'That's it, sir. In the circumstances and considering the size of his bank balance, it seems odd that he would involve himself in an affair like this, even for a couple of million pounds.'

'Exactly.' Ferguson sat looking at the file for a while, frowning. 'I really do smell stinking fish here in a big way. First of all there's the Russian connection. How was Nikolai Belov so certain after being approached by Garcia that Donner was the man who could help?'

'True. So what are you saying, sir?'

'That Felix Donner was an orphan which is very convenient. That every other man who served with him and was taken prisoner in Korea died in captivity. Also very convenient.'

There was a long silence. Fox asked, 'Are you suggesting what I think you are, sir?'

Ferguson got up and walked to the fire and stood there, looking down into the flames.

Fox said, 'He's a highly respected businessman, sir. It doesn't make sense.'

'Neither did the Gordon Lonsdale affair, remember? Also a highly respected business man. A Canadian, to all intents and purposes. Even now, after all these years, there's some doubt as to his real identity.'

'Except that he was a Russian. A professional agent.'

'Exactly.'

'Are you suggesting that Donner could be another Lonsdale?'

'It's a possibility, that's all we can say for the moment. All right, so he could just be a thoroughly unscrupulous business man, out as our American friends would say, to make a buck. We'll have to see.'

'So what do we do, sir, pull him in?'

Ferguson went back to his desk. 'Difficult while he's in France. Oh, I could pull strings at high levels, but if we went public it would create one hell of a stink and we might lose considerable long-term advantages. If we could catch him properly, Harry, we might be able to bring down one hell of a house of cards. All his KGB connections in this country. But only if he is what I think he might be.'

'That's right.'

'And we don't even know what he's up to. Even Garcia has obviously been kept in the dark there. All he can say is that Donner has guaranteed him Exocets by next week. No, what we need now is someone right on his tail who can keep us informed day-by-day.'

Fox said, 'And how on earth can we do that?'

'I should have thought it obvious. The key to this affair is Colonel Raul Montera and our link with Montera is Gabrielle Legrand.'

There was silence between them and then Fox said. 'On the other hand, Gabrielle doesn't like us very much, sir.'

'We'll have to see, won't we? You'd better pull her in.'

At that moment, the red phone buzzed. He picked it up quickly. 'Ferguson here.' He listened, face grave, then said, 'Of course, sir,' and replaced the receiver.

Fox said, 'Trouble?'

'That was the Director-General. It seems the Prime Minister wants to see me.'

* * *

Donner did not, as a rule, enjoy flying in small aircraft - they were noisy, uncomfortable and lacking in the more obvious amenities - but he could find no fault with the plane Stavrou had arranged. It was a Navajo Chieftain with an excellent cabin and tables that one could sit at in a civilized way.

They took off from a small private airfield outside Paris at a place called Brie-Comte-Robert. The pilot was a man called Rabier, a dark, thin-faced man in his early thirties who, according to Stavrou's information, had left the French Air Force under a cloud. He now ran a small air transport firm and didn't ask questions when the money was right. Exactly what they were looking for.

They came in towards the coast over the Vendee, well south of St Nazaire. Donner had moved up next to the pilot and Rabier said, 'Here's where we land. Place called Lancy. It was a Luftwaffe fighter base during the Second World War. Someone tried to run a flying school from there which failed. Since then, it's been deserted.'

Donner pointed to a notation on the map. 'What's that mean?'

'Restricted air space. There's an island out there off the coast, Ile de Roc. Some sort of military testing range. All it means is keep away. Don't worry, navigation is my strong point.'

They landed at Lancy twenty minutes later. There were four hangars and the watchtower was still intact, but the grass between the runways was waist-high and there was an air of desolation to everything.

A black Citroen was parked in front of the old operations building and Wanda Brown got out as the Navajo taxied toward her. She wore jeans and a leather hunting jacket, her dark hair tied back in place with a silk scarf.

Donner descended the airstair ladder, slipped an arm about her shoulders and kissed her. 'Where did you get the car?'

'Hired it from a garage in St Martin. And I think I've found just the place you're looking for. Five miles from here and about as far from the coast.' She took some keys from her pocket. 'The local estate agent entrusted them to me. I explained that my boss didn't like to be bothered with such matters. I'm certain he thinks I'm setting up a love nest for weekends.'

'Looking at you, what else would he think?' Donner asked her. 'Anyway, let's get moving. You drive, Yanni.'

Stavrou sat behind the wheel and Wanda got into the rear. Donner turned to Rabier, who was peering out from the Navajo.

'A couple of hours at the most, I think, then back to Paris.'

'Fine by me, Monsieur.'

Donner got in to the car beside the girl and they drove away.

* * *

The house was called Maison Blanche and nestled amongst beech trees in a hollow. It was quite large and had obviously been imposing once, but now, there was an air of decay to things.

Donner got out of the Citroen and stood at the bottom of the steps, looking up at the front door under the portico with the green paint peeling rather noticeably.

'Fourteen bedrooms and a stable block at the rear,' Wanda said. 'There's reasonably modern central heating and the oil tanks are full. You could manage here for a few days, I think.'

'What's the story?'

'The owner is in the colonial service in the Pacific. His mother died two years ago and as he wants to retire here eventually, he won't sell. It's fully furnished. The agent lets it off for occasional holiday lets in the summer, otherwise it stands empty.'

She unlocked the door and led the way in. There was a slight musty smell, typical of a house not lived in for a long time, but also a kind of faded magnificence to everything: mahogany panelling and furniture, and good Persian carpets on the floor.

They moved into a drawing-room with a huge fireplace and a chandelier hanging from the ceiling. Wanda opened the French windows and then the shutters, allowing light to flood in.

'All the comforts of home. Imagine it with central heating going and a log fire. Haven't I done well?'

'Excellent,' Donner said. 'Take it.'

'I already have.'

He pulled her into his arms. 'You're a clever little bitch, aren't you?'