Cross of Fire (56 page)

'What about me?' asked Nield.

'You stay with the car - and turn it in the opposite
direction for a quick getaway. This won't be any pleasure
trip.'

'The other way?' Nield repeated. 'That means about an eight-point turn. Thanks a lot...'

Butler checked his Walther, got out of the car, gripped
the strong branch, swung himself over, paused to view the
estate. Trees forming a screen by the rear wall - useful.
Through the bare branches he saw a few acres of lawn, the back of the villa. He scrambled down the tree.

Paula, dressed in denims, a windcheater and trainers
under her trench coat, followed. First she took off the coat, folded it, threw it over the wall. Agilely she scaled the tree, dropped beside Butler who helped her on with the coat. The silence inside the wall was eerie, unsettling.

'I'll go ahead, check the ground,' Butler said.

'But Jean said she was alone ...'

'And could have been speaking with a pistol held to her skull.'

Marler settled himself comfortably in position where he had a wide range of view. The Peugeot was concealed beneath a
copse of evergreens: impossible for anyone to catch sight of
it.

Crouching low on the knoll behind dead undergrowth he adjusted the focus of his field-glasses. Slowly he systematically swept the lenses searching for anyone - anything - he
had missed. He spotted nothing.

It was very quiet. No birdsong. No wind. Dead silence.
Patiently he waited - inactivity he was long accustomed to.

Chapter Thirty-Six

Tweed was seated at the desk in his temporary office in the Ministry of Defence when the phone rang. He recognized
Monica's voice.

'Go ahead.' he urged.

'I told you I was going to try and get information on the
structure of the
Steel Vulture
which was built at a Norwegian
shipyard. Our Oslo contact has reported back. He apologizes
for the delay. He wanted you to have the complete picture.'

'Which is?'

'Dramatic. The yard where the ship was built was burnt
to the ground soon after they'd dispatched the
Vulture
to
Britain. It was a catastrophe. The workers who had built the
ship were celebrating in a shed with the doors closed. The
building went up in flames and no one survived. The police
suspected arson, but no one was ever arrested.'

'Deliberate, ruthless, and horrific ...'

'I haven't finished yet. Our Oslo contact went to the office
of the marine architect who designed
Vulture -
to get a copy
of the plans. They'd had a break-in just about the time of
the shipyard fire. A lot of plans had been stolen - including
those of
Vulture.'

'Naturally...'

'I'm still not finished. Our contact asked where the
marine architect lived. He apparently skidded in his car on an icy road in the mountains - ended up at the bottom of a
deep abyss. Dead.'

'Of course. Thank you very much, Monica. And do not
hesitate to phone me again...'

Tweed put down the phone, leant back in his chair. He was now totally convinced there was something danger
ously unorthodox about the
Steel Vulture. So
vital that it had to be kept secret at all costs. Even at the price of incinerating
the whole workforce of a shipyard - and faking an acciden
tal death of the marine architect who had designed her.
Brutal murder.

He sat playing back in his mind from memory the report Paula had dictated of her horrific experience off Dunwich, followed by the equally terrifying pursuit across the Aldeburgh
marshes, ending in the strangulation of Karin Rose
water. He wasn't going to leave it alone until the significant fact in her account sprang at him.

At the Villa Forban, Butler found the rear door unlocked.
He opened it quietly but as he pushed it slowly open it creaked. He was holding the Walther in his hand while he pressed it wide open and stepped inside an ultra-modern
kitchen. He found himself staring into the muzzle of a
7.63mm Mauser.

Behind the automatic pistol a woman with long blond
hair stood, gripping the butt with both hands in a most
professional manner. Butler spoke in English, whispering as
his eyes swept the kitchen.

'Can I write a message on that pad?'

As he spoke he carefully laid down his Walther on top of a working surface. He had noticed the pad with a pen lying
beside it. The woman, who was beautiful, nodded, still
aiming the weapon. Butler tore a sheet from the pad, turned
it over, placed the sheet on the cardboard back, wrote a quick
message. He then held up the sheet so she could read it.

Are you alone in this place? Paula Grey is waiting at the
bottom of the garden. I'm her escort.

'Thank God! I'm Jean Burgoyne.' She had lowered the gun. She looked badly shaken. 'I caught a glimpse of you
through the window. A strange man with a gun. I thought
de Forge had sent someone to kill me. Please ask Paula to
come in. I'll make coffee. Do you take milk?' She managed
a wan smile. 'Isn't it ridiculous? One moment I'm scared
witless, the next I'm asking if you take milk. Do you? And
sugar?'

'Black for me.' Butler replied calmly. 'And for Paula. Can
I take my gun? Thanks. I'll fetch Paula ...'

He went back outside and beckoned to Paula who came
running from behind a tree trunk. He stopped her before
she went inside, told her briefly what had happened. Fol
lowing her into the villa, Butler inwardly felt the tension
draining out of his system.

First, he'd thought maybe hidden men had forced Bur
goyne to confront him. Second, he'd noticed how her finger
was on the trigger: one squeeze and that would have been
that. He needed the coffee.

'I'll watch the front of the villa while you two talk
somewhere else,' he suggested. 'Then if anyone turns up
unexpectedly we'll leave by the rear door. I'd just as soon
you left it unlocked.'

'Gladly.' Jean gave him a warm smile. 'I'm so sorry I
startled you. You must have had an awful shock.'

'All in a day's work...'

Butler left the kitchen, checked the layout of the ground floor, took up a position behind a curtain in the living room where he could watch the drive leading to the grille gates.

'... and I'm so glad to see you.' Jean went on as she
poured coffee. 'I'm a bit jittery. We can talk in the study at the back after I've taken your escort his coffee.'

She was back very quickly and led the way to the study which overlooked the large garden at the back. Paula sat in
an armchair, noticed Jean's hand shaking as she drank her
coffee. This seemed a perfect moment to tackle her host on a dangerous topic, to try and get her to talk frankly.

'Jean.' she began, 'Harry told me you thought de Forge
had sent someone to kill you. Why would he do that?'

Burgoyne seemed to close in on herself. Her mood
became wary. She smoothed down her long thick hair. Paula
kept up the barrage gently.

'You've reached the stage where you have to talk to
someone about it. I sense that you've been under strain for
months. And my job is actually security.'

'National security?' Jean enquired casually.

'It can impinge on that.'

Jean smiled. 'I think I told you my uncle in Aldeburgh was in Military Intelligence ...'

'And still has contacts with the MOD?' Paula interjected.

'I didn't quite say that, did I?' Jean studied her cup. 'But
after you'd been attacked and I'd driven you back to the
Brudenell, what do you think he said when I got back?'

'I couldn't even guess.'

'Uncle said that girl is something to do with Intelligence. I always know, he went on.'

'So, let's suppose he wasn't a mile away from the truth. Pure supposition on my part, of course.'

'Of course.' Jean smiled her warm smile again. 'You may have guessed I've been de Forge's mistress for more months than I care to count. Not for the pleasure of it, either.'

'And what have you discovered? That man is a bloody
menace to France - to the world,' Paula said vehemently.

'He plans to make himself President of France,' Jean said,
staring at the wall. 'He is secretly co-operating with Dubois,
the fanatic who heads the
Pour France
movement. He is
plotting to create so much chaos the ordinary women and
men will see him as a saviour.'

'But exactly how will he go about it?' Paula pressed.

'I don't know whether I should tell you.' Jean hesitated, but only briefly. 'He left his dispatch case here one day for a short time on a table in the living room. While he had a
bath I went through it - there were plans for a military
coup. Details of the units to be used, the routes to be
followed for a swoop by his Third Corps on Paris.'

'What details?'

'I memorized them at the time. After he'd gone I wrote
them down. I'd give you the notes I made but it would put
your life in danger.'

'Leave here now with me and my escort. Bring the notes
with you.'

'Where are you staying?' Jean asked.

'In Arcachon.'

'It shouldn't be too difficult for me to drive there, to hand
the notes to you. Here we are
too close to the Third Corps
GHQ. It's my responsibility. Where can I get in touch with you in Arcachon?'

Paula decided it would be useless to press her further to hand over the notes. Jean Burgoyne was a strong-willed
woman. The exchange would have to take place in
Arcachon.

'I'll be staying at a small hotel. The Atlantique. A silly
name for such a small place, hardly more than a
pension ...'

She looked up as Butler walked swiftly into the room,
grabbed her by the arm. Something had gone wrong. He
hustled her towards the door, speaking quickly in a low
voice to Jean.

'Trouble has arrived at the front. De Forge, I think. And
a heavy escort...'

'See you in Arcachon,' Paula whispered.

They hurried to the back of the villa, out of the door
which had been left unlocked. As Paula took off like a marathon runner for the rear wall Butler paused to shut the door quietly. He then tore after Paula. When he reached the wall Paula had already shinned up the tree, dropped out of sight on the far side. Butler paused again for a second astride the wall top, glanced back at the villa. No sign of life. He dropped to the ground from the overhanging branch, ran to the Renault.