Cross of Fire (52 page)

Martine spat on the ground. 'De Forge eliminates those
who do not support him. I told you about my nephew...'

'Yes. Suspected of being a spy. But what about all the others? They can't all have been spies.'

'Some objected to digging the graves. They were shot.'

'How do you know that?' Newman pressed.

'I saw, heard one man throw down his shovel, protest to
his officer. He was shot immediately.'

'How could you see them without their seeing you?'
Newman demanded, still unconvinced.

'I sat in the undergrowth at night when I heard activity.
You don't believe Old Martine? Watch.'

She moved away, dressed in black, suddenly vanished
into thin air. Newman had been watching her and was
disconcerted. He looked round carefully, then called out.

'Martine, where are you?'

'Over here.'

Newman, followed by Moshe, walked in the direction
her voice had come from. He damned near stumbled over
the huddled form crouched at the foot of a thick tree trunk.
He was convinced. He told Moshe he was going down to
the beach for a moment. Newman was not taking any
chance of infection after messing about with corpses. He threw his gloves out to sea: the tide was receding. Bending
down, he washed his hands thoroughly in the surf.

When he was making his way back to Moshe he saw
Martine in the distance, moving
north up the beach, gathering more brushwood.

'We must hurry back to the villa,' he told Moshe. 'You know where Martine lives?'

'In a tiny abandoned villa on the outskirts of St Girons.
She keeps herself warm with brushwood fires and logs from
the forest. She sells the excess, uses the money to feed
herself.'

'How some people live.'

'At least she is alive.' Moshe waved a hand towards the
hideous burial ground. 'Troops from de Forge's army land
in rubber dinghies from the sea. I sometimes heard the
crackle of rifle fire. I thought it was target practice. I never
dreamt I was hearing firing squads.'

'Talking about survival, we have to make certain prepa
rations as soon as we reach the villa. This is what we will
do...'

The attack came a little earlier than Newman had expected. They were settled inside the cabin with only lights switched
on illuminating the verandah when they heard the distant
chant coming closer.

'Death to all Jews! Death to all...!'

Since returning to Moshe's home both men had been working non-stop. Moshe had oiled the rear barred widow
so it slid open noiselessly. Newman had obtained cleaning
cloths from Moshe, had torn them into strips. Then he
attended to the mineral bottles he'd obtained from Isabelle.
He divided them up - ten for himself, ten for Moshe. The
bottles,
caps screwed on, were distributed in the pockets of
Newman's trenchcoat, tucked down inside his belt. Moshe
wore a jacket with large pockets, similarly stuffed with
bottles; more inside his own belt. Newman gave him his spare lighter as the chant grew in volume. They were very
close now.

'I still think you should leave,' Moshe began arguing. 'If you go now you could probably escape.'

'It's my war as well as yours. My job is to help stop de
Forge. Those are his men coming to get you. I'll bet ten
thousand pounds on it.'

'I think you ought to leave.' Moshe persisted. 'I wish I
had never agreed to let you come.'

'Don't you want vengeance? Isn't that the same chant you heard at Tarbes just before your friends were all incinerated?'

'The very same chant...'

'So it could be some of the same men. Don't you want revenge?' Newman repeated.

'We cannot just lie down and die again as once we did.'

'So what the hell are you grumbling about?'

'I wasn't grumbling,' Moshe protested.

Newman grinned in the dark. 'You were giving a very
good imitation of it...'

He stopped speaking as he heard the chanting increasing
in venom. They sounded to be inside the clearing which
surrounded the villa now. He crept to a window as a glow
of light lit up the interior of the cabin, creating sinister
shadows on the walls. He sucked in his breath.

The leader of the attacking group holding aloft a cross of
fire - the Cross of Lorraine adopted by General de Gaulle
during the Second World War. Newman stared at this
ghastly perversion of a sacred symbol. The leader was flanked by four men spread out like a military wing on
either side, advancing on the cabin. All nine men wore
terrifying white sheets which came to a peak at the tops of
their invisible heads. All the flankers carried flaming torches
as they chanted the same dirge over and over. It was pure
Ku Klux Klan.

'You must go now, Bob.' Moshe whispered.

Two of us will leave here alive - or two of us will be left
here dead,' Newman said calmly. 'You know the plan.'

'Yes, I can do it. Is it time?'

'Let them get a little closer. The bastards are enjoying
themselves, want to make the terror last a little longer.'

'They will burn the villa to the ground.'

'That is
their
plan. Now we operate ours ...'

They left the villa by the rear window, closing it behind
them. Newman led the way, crawling swiftly along the
gully below the level of the surrounding ground. He had
already made one trip earlier to make sure they could ease
their way swiftly through the culvert pipe. He emerged
from the end of the stuffy gully and smelt the aroma of
pines. Moshe clambered out behind him. As planned, Newman moved to the right of the villa, Moshe to the left.

Newman had a bottle in his hand, uncapped it and the
pine aroma was replaced by the stench of the bottle full of petrol from the jerrican - fed inside with the aid of Isabelle's funnel. He pulled out a short length of the strip of cloth he
had stuffed in the neck, came round the end of the villa to
face the two outer flankers on his side. Using his lighter, he
ignited the cloth, hurled the bottle. It landed between the
flankers, exploded into flame. Greedily, the flame set light to the sheets of both men and they became human fireballs,
screaming.

Newman lit a second fuse, threw it at the leader holding
the obscene fiery cross. The bottle exploded at his feet,
swept a sheet of flame over his strange clothing. The cross
wobbled, fell on to the ground and the leader fell into the
inferno, shrieking with terror. Newman threw a third bottle. It exploded just before it landed, firing the white sheets of
two more attackers. They dropped the torches and this
added to the conflagration.

Over to his left Moshe was hurling his own fire bottles.
His aim was accurate. Four attackers were in flames, run
ning a short distance as they shrieked, then collapsing. Hell
that night was flames soaring into the night. The chanting
was replaced with the shouts and shrieks of the men who
had come to murder Moshe Stein, to burn him to death.

There was a sudden silence. The only sound was the
dying crackle of fire burning itself out as an unpleasant
stench began to drift through the Landes. Two men had
rolled on the ground in a futile attempt to save themselves,
and their action had extinguished the fire more quickly compared with the others now burnt to a cinder.

Newman walked over to these two dead men. The sheets
had been destroyed but their clothes had miraculously
survived as they lay motionless. Under the sheets they had been wearing French Army uniforms. Newman calmly took out his camera, recorded five photos of each corpse.

'It is horrible.' said Moshe, hurrying up behind Newman.

Hardened by his experiences a few years before behind the lines in East Germany during the days of the Cold War,
Newman's hand was steady as a rock as he took his pic
tures. He put away the camera, emptied his pockets of
unused bottles.

'It was them or us. Now I have evidence. I suggest we
pack at once and drive straight back to Arcachon. I have to
make contact with Paris ...'

Chapter Thirty-Four

At 8.30 a.m. in Arcachon smoke-coloured clouds pressed
down on the resort like a lid. It was bitingly cold as Paula stepped out of the Renault near the entrance to the apart
ment block where Isabelle Thomas lived.

Butler stepped out of the rear to escort her. Pete Nield
remained at the wheel - to guard the car, to watch the
entrance ahead of him. Both Butler and Nield carried small
walkie-talkies. At any sign of danger approaching while
they were inside, Nield would warn Butler.

Paula had phoned Isabelle from the hotel before they set out. The French girl had not sounded enthusiastic about the
arrival of Paula, but had agreed to see her. Butler had
insisted on accompanying Paula to the apartment.

Isabelle opened the door on a chain. She peered out and studied Paula.

'Yes?' she enquired.

'I'm Paula Grey. I wonder if you have any Gruyere
cheese?'

'Who is the man with you?'

'My minder.' Paula smiled. 'A friend and a professional bodyguard. He has me on a tight leash.'

Isabelle released the chain, opened the door, closed and replaced the chain, locking the door when they were inside. She led them across the dining-living room to a sitting area. Butler said he wouldn't intrude, was there somewhere close by he could wait?

'You would like coffee?' Isabelle asked.

'Yes, please. Black, no sugar,' Paula responded.

Five minutes later Isabelle returned with coffee, leaving
Butler in the kitchen. Again she studied Paula from tip to
toe, unsmiling as she sat opposite her with the table between
them. Paula sensed an underlying hostility and realized its source with Isabelle's next question.

'You are a very close friend of Bob Newman's?'

'I work for a security organization. Mr Newman helps us
from time to time. He knows the world so well from his
experiences as a foreign correspondent. I know him well but
I wouldn't say he's a very close friend.'

Paula saw the relief in Isabelle's eyes she tried to conceal.
So it was jealousy. She could understand Newman being
attracted: Isabelle was not only an extremely good-looking girl, she was also very intelligent. It explained the enthusiasm with which Newman had described her. Paula charged
the subject quickly.

'Do you feel safe here? You've suffered some ghastly
experiences.

'There's something I should tell you, Paula. May I call you Paula?' Her mood had
changed, had become animated. 'Good. I'm Isabelle. Bob told me to do any shopping early in the morning. To keep under cover here the rest of the time. I've done exactly as he said.'