Blood Storm (24 page)

Gem was the right word, she thought. There was not
much traffic at this hour, and locals were strolling,
gazing
at
the mansions, the older ones remembering the grander
days, she thought. Philip parked by the kerb outside a large
imposing building.

'Journey's end,' Philip announced. 'The Negre-Coste.
I've booked front rooms overlooking the cours for Tweed and Paula. Very expensive. Let's explore.'

The rooms were huge. Refurbished, as Philip explained, it
still retained some of the character of the original mansion.
Inside her first-floor room Paula revelled in the luxury as
she swiftly unpacked her few things, including one evening
dress protected with tissue.

She walked to the windows, opened them, gazed down at
the cours. They were double-glazed, probably to muffle the
sound of daytime traffic. After showering, she dressed
quickly, sat in front of an elegant mirror and applied the
minimum of makeup. A tap on the door sent her to unlock it and Tweed, in a smart suit, walked in.

'You look terrific,' he said and kissed her on both cheeks.
'It's lucky we all keep small cases packed at Park Crescent
ready for instant departure. You have money?'

'A stack of dollars. I tipped the chap who brought up my
bag with a twenty-dollar bill and he was pleased. He doesn't
like euros, said they were only good for lighting fires!'

'Philip gave me this for you,' he said, producing an
envelope from his pocket. 'Take a quick look.'

She extracted a photo and pulled a face of distaste.
'Don't like the look of him. Who is he?'

'Radek, boss of the fifty Slovaks Noel hopes to smuggle
into Britain. Favours a knife for killing.'

She studied the photo again. A small but well-built man,
Slavic features, prominent cheekbones, dead-looking eyes,
sharp nose, a pointed jaw. He had thick black hair, a
curving moustache, a sneering expression.

'Keep it in case you ever spot him. I've got a copy, so have
Newman and Harry. Philip thinks of everything. Now we'd
better get down to dinner . . .'

The dining room was spacious and only a few of the large
tables were occupied. Out of season. Philip complimented
her on her dress and beauty, kissing her hand. It was
something she normally disliked but with Philip she liked it.
They drank aperitifs while studying the enormous menu.

They had a table in the corner, so when they were eating
and the waiters were distant, they could talk frankly. It was
Tweed who got down to business.

'Philip, how were you able to obtain this valuable information about the Tatra training camp?'

'Oh, simple. I have a trustworthy contact who knows the
Tatra well. We've skied quite a lot up there. My contact
had a Slovak mother and a French father. The info cost
me two thousand dollars - part of the funds you sent me
months ago. Incidentally, their villainous chiefs name
isn't really Radek. No idea of what his real name is.
Doesn't matter.'

After the meal, Philip, seated next to Paula, suggested
she might like a short walk since it would still be warm
outside. 'Freak weather,' he remarked.

'We'll go north just a bit,' he said as they strolled in the
cours. 'That's where the original houses are still standing.
Just a bit, not far.'

'I love the big fountains,' Paula said glancing down the
cours.

'They have them where we're going. Smaller efforts but I
find the sound of running water soothing.'

Down a side street they plunged into a different world.
Narrow streets twisting and turning. Some illumination
from ancient lamps but long dark areas of shadow between
them. Paula was beginning to wonder whether this was a
good idea. The occasional Arab in a long white gown
drifted past them.

They reached a deserted square and again there was the
sound of running water. Paula darted away from Philip to
see a small fountain spraying in from a stone well in the corner of the square.

She never heard him coming or where he had been
hiding. One arm wrapped round her breast from behind
and a large knife just touched her throat. She glanced up,
saw an Arab with only one
eye grinning horribly at her. She
was terrified. She had no chance of reaching for the
Browning under her armpit, even less chance of hauling the
Beretta from the holster strapped to her right leg. Any
movement and this beast would slash her throat open.
Where the hell was Philip?

Philip appeared in front of them out of nowhere. In his right
hand he held a revolver with a silencer attached. Pointing
his weapon, Philip said something in Arabic.

Her assailant's response was to move the blade closer in. Paula could feel the razor edge touching her skin. For some
idiotic reason she wanted to sneeze. She suppressed it.
Philip was speaking in Arabic again. The Arab replied, his
tone vicious.

Philip smiled, waved both hands as though accepting he
could do nothing. Oh God, she thought. Philip's next
movement was so swift she hardly saw it happen. Then he was pressing the tip of his weapon against the Arab's good
eye. He snarled something in Arabic. She felt the Arab
shudder. Then he removed the knife and stood back behind her.

She was much smaller than her attacker so from where
Philip stood his neck and head loomed well above Paula's.
Phut! Philip had shot him in the head. The man fell over
backwards, lay still on the cobbles.

'You'd better take this gun for a moment,' Philip said, speaking quietly but rapidly. 'I have to dump the body in that huge rubbish bin over there. Just in case some of his
chums arrive.'

'I'm armed.'

She had already grasped the Browning so Philip could see
it. He nodded, stooped, grasped the corpse round the waist,
began to hurry towards the bin. She followed him. Without
being asked, she lifted the lid. It was heavy, but she
managed to hold it high up.

A foul smell drifted up from the interior, half full of
rubbish. Philip heaved the body inside. She lowered the lid slowly to avoid a noise. Philip was already running away from her after a quick searching glance round the square.
He had a glove on his hand as Paula ran after him, unwilling
to be alone for another moment. Picking up the long blade by the handle, he dropped the knife down a nearby drain,
then grabbed her arm.

'Back to the cours now!'

'How did you manage that?' she asked as they hurried.

'He had one precious possession, his one good eye.
Without that he'd be at the mercy of other Arabs. The
thought of a bullet through it made him release you
instantly.'

'Quick thinking, thank God,' she replied. 'You saved my
life.'

'No, I endangered it with my stupid idea of showing you
the old quarter. I'll never forgive myself. There's the cours.
Pause just for a second.'

He unscrewed the silencer, dropped it down a drain,
holstered his weapon. She was puzzled as they entered the
cours and civilization - as it seemed to Paula.

'Why throw that away?' she wondered.

'Silencers are tricky. One shot, OK. Then a silencer can
jam a gun. I have more. Back to the hotel. You must tell
Tweed what happened.'

'I wasn't going to say a word . . .'

'I insist. Promise me. He's my chief. He trusts me. So
he's entitled to know everything that
happens.'

*

Tweed was sitting in an armchair near the main reception
area. Philip sent Paula off to brief him while he had a drink
in the bar. She was beginning to feel rattled, her nerves
playing her up. She was familiar with this reaction. With the
Arab's knife at her throat she had been scared stiff but in control, staying quite still. When a danger was behind her, her nerves played her up.

Tweed nodded as she sat on a chair close to his. He
waited until the glass of Chardonnay he had ordered was placed before her. There was no one else in the room. He looked straight at her, his tone grim.

'What went wrong while you were out?'

'Nothing dramatic. Why do you ask?'

'Because I'm observant,' he continued in the same
serious tone, unsmiling. 'I know something did because
your face has lost colour. Added to which Philip has gone off to the bar so you can talk to me.'

'Philip saved my life,' she said, beginning on what she
hoped was a positive note. She then told him of the
incident. He gazed straight at her, the same expression on
his face. When she had finished he drank the rest of his
wine.

'So, he saved your life after putting it in terrible danger. I thought the two of you were just walking down the cours.
Now I know he ventured with you into the north side,
which is to be
avoided at all costs. You know I was here some years ago, staying at the Violette hotel in the north. There were a few Arabs creeping about in those days. So when I walked down through that area I had a gun in my hand. Any Arab who saw me disappeared immediately. Because of the gun. Now there are many more Arabs.'

'You're not going to have a row with Philip?'

'Of course not. We are dependent on him while we are
here. Also, he is the most valuable agent I have abroad.
Here he comes.' Tweed stood up. 'Hello, Philip. Could the three of us take a stroll along the cours?'

Paula admired Tweed's masterful self-control. She
sensed he was seething with anger, but nothing showed in the amiable way he greeted Philip. They left the hotel and
wandered down the cours. Tweed was in the middle with
Paula on his right, Philip on his left. Paula was drinking in
the atmosphere of the famous street. Tweed kept his
comments to himself. So much had been modernized,
including the Negre-Coste. Still a magnificent hotel but
without some of the character he recalled. Even the bathroom in his room had been 'upgraded'. The French
had been influenced by the American fetish for advanced plumbing. Aix he'd visited once before to meet a contact.

'Dreamy,' enthused Paula.

'Unique,' said Tweed.

'I've paid your hotel bills,' Philip said suddenly. 'We
leave tomorrow, which may be an exciting day.'

'How exciting?' Tweed asked.

'Noel is moving his fifty Slovaks to Paris tomorrow, on their way to Britain. They're travelling in two separate grey coaches. I was talking to Harry earlier. You remember that
old stone hump-backed bridge we crossed - where the road
was rough?'