This United State (59 page)

They had all stopped. Paula looked back. Marler held up a hand to keep her where she was. She watched him as he conferred with Butler and Nield briefly. Perplexed, she watched as Butler took a beret from his pocket. He placed it at the end of his Walther. He was standing by the wall.

Paula took her Browning from under her coat as the chug-chug grew nearer and nearer. Keeping his head well clear of the far edge of the wall, Butler eased the beret forward until it perched over the brink. There was a shattering rattle of machine-pistol fire. The beret was shredded, disappeared. Marler, dipping his hand into the holdall slung over his shoulder, took out one of his remaining grenades.

Butler had taken off his scarf. He wrapped it round his Walther. He had twisted the scarf so in the gloom it looked almost like a man's head. Again he eased his weapon close to the edge, then a few inches over the brink. A fresh murderous rattle from a machine-pistol ripped the scarf to bits. It was a long burst and when it stopped Paula guessed the unseen weapon needed reloading.

Immediately Marler looked over the top of the wall, dropped the grenade. Ignoring Tweed's warning, Paula was peering along the waterway. Illuminated by a street lamp she saw the small launch she had seen much earlier, tied to a landing stage. In the launch stood Ronstadt, fiddling desperately with the machine-pistol. With him was a moon-faced man and a third man with a hard bony face. She saw Marler's grenade dropping and jerked her head back. The detonation, although muffled by the walls, still sounded very loud in the silence of the night. Looking back over the wall Paula saw the half- wrecked launch racing towards her. Moonface had been at the controls and had kept the engine running. Now it proceeded along the waterway without any human guidance. Tweed, Newman and Kent were also gazing at it as the launch passed below them. Three crumpled bodies lay in it, motionless.

'It's taking in water,' said Tweed. 'And it's near the sluice.'

They watched, hypnotized, as it entered the narrow sluice of churning, foaming water. The launch slid downwards, toppled over sideways, casting its cargo into the maelstrom. In seconds the corpses had disappeared, swallowed up by the wild water.

'I hope no one has unpacked,' Tweed said as they approached the entrance to the Hotel Regent.

No one had. Tweed was walking quickly as they reached the hotel. He paused for a moment while they were still outside.

'We're leaving immediately,' he told them. 'We're driving now to Paris, then on to London. Get your bags and we meet in the lobby. I'll pay for the rooms.'

Paula waited with him while he explained to the receptionist he had received an urgent message. If anyone wanted to contact him would she please tell them they were on their way to Paris, that they might stay a few hours at the Ritz before going on to London.

He was walking along the first-floor corridor when they heard voices behind a closed door as Newman joined them. Tweed put a finger to his lips and they stopped to listen. Denise's voice was clear and very loud.

'I won't take any more from you. You were a horrible person back at the Embassy...'

'Don't you dare talk to me like that, you friggin' little -traitor,' an unrecognizable voice shouted and roared. 'You've had enough money out of the Embassy funds to put Versace on your rotten little back.'

'You're always pestering me!' Denise screamed back. 'Back at the Embassy I avoided you whenever I could.'

'I'll kill you if you say any more. I'll push you out of a high window, watch you fall, hit the street with a splash of blood!'

'No you won't,' Denise shrieked back. 'From now on I'll take good care there's always a witness with me!'

'A witness! What are you insinuating, you ignorant wretch? You think the organization can't do without you? Who are you, anyway? A small-time adventuress!'

Tweed started walking swiftly towards his room with Paula and Newman. No one said anything until he reached it.

'They were having quite a party, weren't they?' Tweed remarked.

43

Tweed again insisted on driving and Paula was beside him as navigator, a new section of map open on her lap. In the back Newman sat with Keith Kent. Behind them followed Marler, with Nield and Butler as passengers. If Paula had expected Tweed to take it easy along the auto-route to Paris she was soon disillusioned.

He rapidly built up speed until Strasbourg was just a distant memory. Newman leaned down against his seat belt, removed his bandage, felt his ankle, flexed it this way and that. Kent asked him how it was. Newman replied it was OK.

'Tweed,' he called out, 'my ankle is normal now. I can take over the wheel whenever you want me to.' 'Maybe later.'

'Maybe never,' Paula said under her breath. She looked at Tweed. 'I was surprised at the twists and turns of our conversation with Sharon and Ed Osborne in the bar. You came out with some pretty blunt remarks,' she continued, glancing over her shoulder.

'They did so at my suggestion,' Tweed informed her. 'I had a few words with Bob and Keith at the reception counter. They reacted splendidly. And you, Paula, caught on quick and added your own loaded comments. You sensed the rhythm of how things were going very skilfully.'

'Did you learn something from that conversation, then?'

'Let's say I found it intriguing.'

'I thought Sharon held her own very well, bearing in mind that Osborne was present. Who knows how much power that man wields,' Paula said thoughtfully.

'That's what all this spilt blood and upheaval is about,' Tweed told her. 'Power. It's all about power, which can intoxicate people.'

'The only thing you said during the conversation referred to power,' Paula recalled. 'Apart from that you kept absolutely quiet.'

'I was listening, watching.'

'Why,' she asked, 'did you leave details of where we're going at the Hotel Regent reception? Not like you.'

'So that anyone who wants to follow us knows where to head for. We might as well flush out as many of them as we can.'

'So Paris may not be safe.'

'Nowhere is safe now.'

'You're really stepping on the gas,' she said.

'I'm convinced we're almost fatally short of time.'

Rear Admiral Honeywood, known throughout the naval service as Crag, settled himself into his chair on the control deck of the immense aircraft carrier, the
President
. The vast array of escorts were way ahead of their bow, way behind their stern and spread out to port and starboard.

'We'll be on station in the English Channel, I reckon, about two days from now,' he remarked to his Operations Officer.

'That would be my estimate.'

'And so far,' Crag reflected, 'we haven't been seen by anyone.'

'Correct, sir. No submarines have been detected by sonar. We have seen not a single ship which might have reported our presence. And no commercial airliner has passed over the task force.'

'Let's hope it continues that way. The Pentagon is counting on our surprise arrival on their doorstep to stun the Brits out of their skulls.'

'Maybe it's time to report our situation back to the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff. He gets restless if he isn't kept regularly in the picture.'

'Old Stone-Face does just that. Send him another report. Include that worn-out phrase "proceeding according to plan". He'll like that.'

'Can't this buggy move any faster?' Osborne demanded. 'The chauffeur is doing very well. We're going at high speed now,' replied Sharon acidly.

She was sitting in the back of the stretch limo with Osborne by her side. In the front Denise Chatel sat next to the chauffeur, her head down as she studied a file open on her lap. The limo streaked along the auto-route to Paris.

'Guess I could drive the jalopy faster myself,' Osborne grumbled.

'I don't know why you had to come with me as a passenger,' Sharon retorted.

'Simple, lady. Your limo was just leavin' when I needed to. I want to reach the Ritz before Tweed does, to be waitin' for him.'

'Well, I would appreciate it if you would leave the driver to do his job — which he's doing very well.'

'We gotta keep movin', baby.'

'And please do not call me baby. I really have no idea what your position is at the Embassy.'

'Call me an expediter. Hi, Denise,' he called out, 'how is the world goin' with you?'

Denise Chatel kept her head bent over her file. She made no reply. With one hand she shut the half-open section of the glass partition dividing the front of the limo from the rear. Osborne shrugged, waved both large hands in a gesture of resignation.

'If I'm not being nosy,' said Paula, 'why are we going to Paris?'

'I want to see Rene Lasalle, head of the DST. I think face to face, as opposed to talking on the phone, Rene may tell me more about the father of Denise.'

'Her father who was killed with his wife in a car crash somewhere in Virginia a year or so ago?'

'That's right — Jean Chatel. Sent over officially as an attaché, but really a member of the French Secret Service.'

'Why are you so interested in him?' she asked as Tweed overtook a convoy of three large trucks.

'Because he was sent to find out what the Americans were up to - and especially because Jean Chatel and his wife died in a car accident at exactly the same bridge where years before Sharon's parents died in a car accident.'

'I don't see the connection.'

'Neither do I,' admitted Tweed. 'But I have a feeling there is a connection - and that it might be the key to what is going on now. I'm hoping Rene will be able to give me more information.'

'Does he know you're coming?'

'Yes. I called him briefly on Beck's mobile from my room when I went to collect my case before we left the Hotel Regent.'

'We're getting low on petrol,' Paula warned.

'Yes, I had noticed. And I think I see the lights of an all-night service station ahead. While we're filling up I want to call Roy Buchanan.'

'I'll deal with the petrol,' Newman called out.

'I can do that myself,' said Kent. 'I feel like stretching my legs, making myself useful.'

'You've been of invaluable help already, Keith,' Tweed assured him. 'But if you feel like that you can tank us up. Here we are.'

While Kent was filling up the tank Tweed used the mobile to try to contact Buchanan. He was lucky:- The familiar voice, taut and grim, answered immediately.

'Who is this?'

'It's Tweed. Roy, if you can, I'd like you to do something for me. I'm going to see Jefferson Morgenstern when I get back to London. Have you any evidence that the Americans were behind the bombings in London?'

'Yes. A security video in the Oxford Street outrage survived the blast. We have a very clear picture of the man who planted that bomb. A very tall thin man with a hard bony face …'

'A very tall thin man with a hard bony face,' Tweed repeated, looking back at Newman.

'Vernon Kolkowski,' Newman said promptly.

'We know - knew - him,' Tweed reported to Buchanan 'He's dead as the proverbial doornail. Name of Vernon Kolkowski. I'll spell that... Got it? Good. He was probably based at the American Embassy while I was still in London.'

'He was. We secretly photographed him when he re-entered the Embassy. Couldn't do a thing about it. They all carried those diplomatic passports.'

'What I'd like you to do is to compile a file of evidence - including what you've told me, with pics. I'd

like as fat a file as possible to show Morgenstern when I get back:'

'Consider it done. No more bombings. Our drastic security precautions are working. Touch wood,' he added. 'When will you be back?'

'At a guess, within the next twenty-four hours.' 'The file will be waiting for you.'

The connection was broken and Tweed sank back with relief. He smiled as Paula asked the question he'd been expecting.

'Why do you want to talk to Morgenstern?'

'I said quite a while ago that I was convinced that the Americans are operating at two different levels, in watertight compartments. Sharon confirmed that. I don't think the diplomatic side has any idea of what the Executive Action Department lot have been up to, the crimes they've committed. And Morgenstern is greatly respected not only globally but also inside the States. To the American public Morgenstern is Washington.'