Cross of Fire (64 page)

'Send a yellow signal to the Austerlitz units in Paris.' he
decided suddenly. 'Immediately...'

When Lamy had left he checked his watch. The next and
final signal would be red: the signal for the saboteur units
to set Paris aflame. He must strike soon before Navarre
established his hold on the government.

Navarre and Lasalle watched Tweed as he took the call
from Newman but could read nothing from his expression. Tweed made brief notes, asked a question now and then, eventually told Newman to hold on. He looked at the two
Frenchmen.

'He's calling from a hotel in Arcachon. Should be a safe
line - he has Butler watching the clerk who operates the
switchboard - but I want quick decisions.'

'Tell us the problem,' Navarre said crisply.

'Newman has photographic evidence of atrocities com
mitted by de Forge's men...' Tersely he told them about
the burial ground in the Landes, the attack on Moshe Stein's villa by men masked as Ku Klux Klan.

'Let me speak to him.' Lasalle said.

'Lasalle here. I'll be brief. You have the film? Good. Do you know the airfield just north of the Etang de Cazaux, to the west of the N652?'

'Yes. I noticed it when Moshe and I were driving up here from the Landes.'

'An Alouette chopper will land there at daybreak. Give
the pilot the films. Codename Valmy for the pilot.'

'I'll be there.'

'Tweed is gesturing, hold for a moment...'

Tweed had been thinking of Newman's shorthand description of the discovery of Jean Burgoyne's body by Paula. He'd decided to pull her out of the area. He told Lasalle quickly about the murder. Lasalle clapped a hand to his head.

'My God! Jean Burgoyne was one of my agents I told you
I had in the area. This is terrible. Now I only have one
left...'

'Give me the damned phone.' Tweed snapped. 'Bob,
where is Paula? With you. Put her on quickly ... Paula, I'm sorry about Jean Burgoyne - it must have been a shock. A
great shock ... Yes. I can see how it brought Aldeburgh
back to you. Now listen, I'm pulling you out. Bob knows
Lasalle is sending a chopper. You're to board it, come back to Paris.'

'No. I'm staying on to try and find this killer. Up to now
he's strangled two of my friends - Karin Rosewater and
Jean Burgoyne.'

'Paula.' Tweed's tone was grim. 'This isn't a request, it's an order. You're to fly back in the Alouette.'

'No,' she repeated with the same firmness, 'I'm staying
here. There's Bob with me - as well as Harry and Pete.'

'I don't think you heard me.' Tweed rasped. 'I am giving
you an order...'

'Which I'm disobeying. You don't like it, you can sack
me later.'

'You're an obstinate woman...'

'When I want to be. And I want to be now. How is
everything there?'

'Put Newman back on the line. Now!'

'Tweed, I'm here.' Newman responded after taking the
phone.

'Paula is being difficult, as you doubtless realize now. So I want her aboard that Alouette - even if you have to carry her into the machine physically.'

'Can't do that.' Newman said laconically. 'You're making a mistake. She'd feel she was running away. Can't say that I
disagree with you in one way. But she's a fully paid up
member of the team. Don't forget that.'

'If you say so.' Tweed's tone was abrupt. 'I'm hoping
that evidence you're providing will give us a powerful lever
to neutralize the enemy. Of course, a witness would have
made all the difference.'

'There is a witness.' Newman told him, thinking of Martine, the old woman who collected brushwood by the shore. 'Getting on a bit, but still with all the marbles there. And could be very impressive on TV.'

'We
want that witness.'

'It means my going back to the Landes. But I can see that
it's important, could tilt the scales.'

'The Landes?' Tweed was alarmed. 'I can't ask you to do
that.'

'You didn't. I've just decided myself I'm going soon as I can.'

'Bob, before you leave promise me you will let me know
- or get one of the others to do it.'

'OK. Promise. Take care.'

'You
take care.' Tweed's tone was urgent. 'I'd better warn you we have reason to believe that all hell is about to break
loose. Prepare yourself...'

As Tweed put down the phone he reflected this was the
critical point in the titanic struggle to save France. After
laying out the situation, Navarre had stood as though gaz
ing into the fog of an uncertain future while he listened to Tweed's phone call. Tweed looked at him first, caught his
expression, guessed his thoughts, then studied Lasalle.
The DST chief was edgy and also unsure. Should he
launch his battalions - the DST, the paramilitary CRS and other forces under his control? If so, in which direction? To the south where de Forge was organizing controlled chaos?
Or should he dig in round Paris?

Only Tweed was certain what was needed. A foreigner
in a foreign capital, he seemed as relaxed as if he were
behind his desk at Park Crescent. He spoke decisively.

'I know what we must do, but first bring me up to date
on the present situation as you see it.'

It was Navarre who answered, still forceful even at this late hour.

'As you know, Masson has bypassed me, has announced publicly the appointment of General de Forge as temporary
commander of the Third Army. That army is now
manoeuvring over the whole of the south of France. Pre
tended objective of the so-called exercise? To repel an
invasion force landing at Marseilles, Toulon, and Bordeaux from the sea and the air. The fictitious enemy is a General All, a dictator based in North Africa - coming to the aid of his persecuted Arabs in France. Which fits in with the anti-Arab propaganda of Dubois.'

'And the real objective?' Tweed asked.

'It gives de Forge the perfect excuse to move his army over a huge area in any direction.'

'We must strike now.' Tweed insisted. 'Without pause,
without mercy. These are evil forces we confront - racist, anti-Arab, anti-German, anti-American.'

He had stood up when Chief Inspector Otto Kuhlmann
hurried into the room. His teeth were clamped tightly on
his unlit cigar. He held a folded sheet of paper in his hand.

'I've just returned from a lightning trip to Germany,' he
informed Navarre. 'May I continue?'

'By all means.'

'Tweed,' Kuhlmann began, 'early in the crisis you advised me to send undercover police to Basle and Geneva. You said that was where Kalmar passed on instructions for the next phase. In neutral Switzerland. And where he got orders.'

'So what has happened?' Tweed enquired.

'Four people we know are involved in this business
visited either Basle or Geneva - or both - recently. Here is a list of their names and destinations.'

Tweed unfolded the sheet. He glanced down the list,
handed it back to Kuhlmann.

'The man we know as Kalmar is on that list. I just can't
prove it. Yet.'

Tweed went straight to his own office, closed the door and sat at his desk. There were urgent phone calls he wanted to make without anyone overhearing him, specific instructions for action he wanted to give.

His first call was to Marler.

His second call was to Newman and he spoke to him for
some time. Then he asked to speak to Butler. His orders
were brief. He asked to speak to Pete Nield. Again the
orders were brief.

He asked Nield to put Paula on the line. Again it was a
long conversation - far warmer than his previous call to her. He had just put down the phone when Kuhlmann came in.

Take a seat, Otto. No, I'm not identifying Kalmar. My
strategy is that the assassin should feel he's safe,
unsuspected.'

'OK by me. I came to talk to you alone. While in Germany
I had a brief radio signal from Stahl. Remember him?'

'Of course. The Hotel des Bergues in Geneva - seems
ages ago. You told Paula and me about him. Your agent
posing as a Frenchman inside Bordeaux. You gave me the
assumed name, his address, his phone number.'

'I said the signal was brief. It was also encouraging - and disturbing. He has valuable information but can't get out of Bordeaux. Can you help?'

'I think so. I have people in the area. The codeword for
identification was Gamelin.'

'Correct. And thank you for your help.'

'I can promise nothing, Otto,' Tweed warned, and the
German left the room.

Tweed reached for the phone, dialled the number of the
Atlantique Newman had given him. He was going to make
it very clear to Newman that it was up to him whether he
ventured into Bordeaux again to rescue Stahl. Newman had had more than his fair share of ordeals so far.

When Tweed had phoned Marler earlier the slim English
man was perched on the edge of his bed in the apartment
near the rue du Bac in Paris. Smoking a king-size, he had a
large-scale map of France spread out and was studying it.
When the phone rang he picked it up and careful not to
give any name.

'Yes? Who is it?'

'Tweed. Another mission. Urgent. Of course. I want to step up the pressure, screw it down tight. We're launching
full-scale psychological warfare. At least, I am. Any ideas?'

'Give me a sec to think.'

Marler blew a smoke ring, watched it float up to the
cobwebbed ceiling of the small scruffy room. The ring
dissolved.

'I've thought of something. Pure psychological warfare.
It means I'll be away from here for a while.'

'Good luck....'

Marler put down the mobile phone inside his small open
case on a chair. He checked his open-flight Air Inter tickets.
He'd used several but there were plenty left. Selecting a
container of face powder with a yellow undertone, he
walked over to the wall mirror and applied some.

It was an innocuous item among his samples. After all he
was posing as a cosmetics salesman. The powder gave his skin the sallow tinge which is common to certain
Frenchmen. He studied himself in the mirror, adjusted his beret to a jaunty angle.

He wore washed-out blue denims and a windcheater. He
had days before tested out his appearance, walking into a
bar, ordering a drink. He had lingered over the one drink
the way Frenchmen in bars do. He had chatted to the
barman, to several customers, complaining about how bad
business was. They had all agreed. More important, they
had all accepted him as one of them.