No Mercy (26 page)

'Why do we need to be in this hotel?' Paula asked.

'I remember you always asked the key question.' He grinned at her. 'See that second landing stage from here? Now count three boats from the shore.'

'Got it.'

'That's a pretty powerful motor launch,' Tweed observed.

'The suspect freighter calls at the He des Oiseaux
tomorrow. We'll be there to see what it's up to.'

'Why suspect?' Tweed asked.

'Sailed from Algiers named the
Bougie.
Somewhere at sea the name changed to
Oran.
Plus it's carrying too large a crew
for a fifteen-thousand-ton freighter. A very rough crew -
some without sailing experience.'

'So in the morning we sail in that boat down there to the
island?' Tweed asked.

'In a word, yes. Now, if it's OK, I can drive you to
somewhere from which you get a clear view of the island.'

They drove in a different Citroen from the version with the
rams. As Cardon moved carefully out of the entrance a young Arab jumped in front of the car, waving a dirty squeegee on the end of a stick. Cardon leaned out of the
window.

'Yattah!'
he shouted, throwing a crumpled piece of paper
a long distance.

'What does that mean?' Paula wanted to know.

'Shove off- not so politely. I threw a crumpled euro note.
That got him away from us - so he couldn't smear our rear
window with that filthy squeegee.'

'Well, I suppose the poor little devil got something,' Paula
replied.

'Listen,' Cardon told her, 'these days never go east or
south of Suez. To Asia or Africa. Unless it's
South
Africa.'

'I agree,' Marler called out. 'Cut your throat for
tuppence - and steal your clothes.'

'Terrorists?' asked Paula.

'Not necessarily,' called out Butler, seated with Marler. 'A
white face means loot.'

They were driving away from Marseilles along a wide
promenade, calm glittering blue sea on their right, a white
rocky wall on their left. Cardon pointed upwards above the
rock wall.

'That's where we're going. See that church? Notre-Dame
de la Garde. Tremendous view from a platform in front of it.'

Peering up, Paula saw, perched very high, an ancient
edifice which looked large enough to be a cathedral. Cardon
swung the wheel, began driving up a steep winding road, which caused the vehicle to bump about as he kept his foot
down.

Suddenly they were at the summit. Paula changed her
mind about Marseilles as she climbed out. Inland, a bare few
miles away, an immense limestone ridge curved round for
ever. Awe-inspiring, it was like the world's greatest
amphitheatre. She let out her breath. Cardon waited while
she gazed at it, then led the way past the ancient Notre-Dame on to the vast flat platform stretching out in the
direction of the sea.

Arriving at the thigh-high wall, she gazed down the drop
to the promenade road far below. Then she stared at the vast
sweep of the Mediterranean - a turquoise blue sheet with, at
intervals, a white streak of surf. The colour, the immensity of
the sea, fascinated her. She stood still, taking in its vastness
so she'd be able to recall it later. Cardon, next to Tweed, was
pointing as he held binoculars.

'There are the islands. See that one with the sun reflecting off something? That's the well-known Chateau d'lf, the core
of Alexandra Dumas's famous novel
The Count of Monte Cristo.'
He had given the binoculars to Tweed, who was
focusing on the island, a great chunk of limestone rock rising
out of the sea.

'Got it? Good,' Cardon said. 'Hold the lenses on it. Now
move slowly to the right, a bit further out. You're looking for
a triangular-shaped island with steep limestone cliffs.'

'I'm there.'

'Well, that's where we're going today when I get a signal
to tell me the
Oran
has docked.'

'Docked?'

'There's a small harbour on the far side of the island you can't see from here. But we land on this side. At one point
only there's a narrow gulch leading up to the summit.'

'Think I've got it. Doesn't look more than a crevice in the
rock.'

'That's where we climb up to the top, get a good view of
the harbour - the top of the island slopes down to it. I
should warn you we may walk into a firefight. They have
tough Arab guards and automatic weapons. Let's hope the
arrival of the
Oran
attracts them all to the west side.'

Paula was thrilled when Tweed handed her the
binoculars. It took her no time at all to view He des Oiseaux in her lenses. She studied the gulch carefully. Steep, but here
and there were massive chunks of limestone by the side of the gulch. Possible hiding places.

Then she swept the binoculars out to sea, and froze. A
long way out she caught sight of smoke, the vague silhouette below it of a distant ship heading for the islands. She handed
the binoculars to Cardon.

'There's a vessel coming in, still a long way out. Could it
be the
Oran?'

'Yes, it will be,' Garden told her. 'No other vessel is going
to be heading for the islands from so far out. I estimate it
should reach Oiseaux in a couple of hours, We'll get back to
Vieux Port now.'

Turning round, she saw Marler posted a long way back by
the church. His golf bag, unzipped, rested against the wall.
At the other end of the platform Butler was standing with his large satchel open at his feet. They were guarding the rear of
Tweed and his companions. This was Marseilles.

19

They drove straight to Garden's boat in the harbour. It was
a larger craft than Paula had realized. On the bridge a flat
sheet of steel was securely attached to the deck. It was about the height of Paula's neck and she could just see over the top.

'What's that for?' she asked.

'Protection.' Cardon grinned. 'Against a hail of machine-gun bullets.'

'This could be exciting, then.'

'Doubt if we'll need it.' As he talked he was checking parts of the vessel that meant nothing to her. She became aware of
the craft swaying at anchorage, the hull moving up and down.
Large waves were sweeping in through the harbour entrance,
but the sun still blazed down, bathing her neck and arms.

'Change in the weather?' she wondered.

'The heat at this time of the year happens about once in
a decade. It's often accompanied by a strong breeze. It'll be
more bumpy once we've left harbour.'

'Excuse me, I want to find Tweed. He's gone below.'

'First cabin on your right at the bottom of the steps.'

She found Tweed leaning back on a bunk, looking
unhappy and grim. He managed a smile as she closed the
door.

'Even in harbour this thing dances about all over the
place,' he commented sourly.

'It'll be worse when we get on to the open sea.'

'Thanks a lot.'

Tweed had never been happy afloat, complaining once that he didn't like the sea at all. It wouldn't keep still. She
took a small bottle from her shoulder bag, emptied a pill into
her hand, handed it to him, her expression stern.

'Dramamine.' She picked up an opened bottle of mineral
water. 'Don't argue with me. Just swallow it.'

'Seems silly that I suffer from seasickness in this gentle
swell.'

'Lots of people do. The swell won't be so gentle out on the
Med.
Take it!'
she commanded. 'I think we'll soon be
leaving.'

With a grimace he swallowed it, washed down with plenty of water. She sat beside him on the bunk, smiling cheerfully.
'If you're worried about Marin - Cardon, that is - knowing,
I shan't say a word. Now relax. I'm exploring the rest of this
vessel.'

She found her fellow team members, except Cardon, in
the spacious main cabin. They were very occupied. Marler was examining his Armalite rifle, then loading it. The golf
bag in which he'd concealed it was lying on a couch. Butler
was testing his Sten gun, aiming and firing without ammo. Nield had a Glock pistol, which he was tucking inside his belt under his windcheater. Butler dived inside his holdall,
brought out something he handed to Paula.

'An egg. Might come in useful.'

The 'egg' was a hand grenade. She checked it carefully,
then tucked it firmly inside her bag. During her recent
retraining trip, the new instructor had made her throw three
live ones over a wall, had not been satisfied and had handed
her more. Altogether he'd made her throw thirty live
grenades. 'You'll do' had been his final comment. Later
she'd heard from Sarge, the normal trainer who had
returned before she left: 'That's the highest compliment he
ever pays.'

'Where were you, Pete?' she asked Nield. 'You didn't come
with us.'

'Tweed told me to stay behind to keep an eye on all our
rooms. I kept up a walking patrol.'

'I didn't realize he was so nervous.'

'Not nervous.' Pete squeezed her shoulder. 'Typically
careful. Someone could have planted a bomb in your
absence.'

'Doesn't miss a trick.'

'Which is why we survive.'

The engine suddenly started up, making the vessel vibrate.
Paula decided she'd visit Tweed, see how he was. When she
entered his cabin he was standing up, walking about,
slapping his arms round his body. He winked at her.

'You're OK?'

'I'm going up on to the bridge. The
Capulet
is about to
leave harbour.'

'Is that what it's called?'

'Yes, I noticed when we came aboard. Garden has a soft
spot for
Romeo and Juliet.
Want to join me?'

Arriving on the bridge, they saw Harry on the landing stage, releasing the ropes, bow first, then stern. He leaped
aboard agilely as the vessel edged its way into mid-harbour. Paula was always surprised at how agile Harry was with his
stout figure.

'Port master has radioed permission, confirmed the exit
passage is clear,' Garden told them, both hands on the
wheel. He took off one hand, grabbed two yellow oilskins
and threw them to Tweed. 'If both of you are staying up here
you'd better put those on. Sea's a bit choppy out there.'