Cross of Fire (80 page)

It was at this moment when Newman's acute hearing
caught the sound of engines approaching at high speed.
Within seconds the surge of the sea was drowned with the roaring chug-chug of a whole fleet of helicopters. The Alouettes appeared over the treetops like a cloud of metal
birds. Several vanished out of sight, descending into a
clearing, Newman assumed.

More choppers were flying south parallel to the beach.
They came in very low. Then they were landing on the
sand, spilling out droves of CRS men in leather coats and
armed with automatic weapons.

From the nearest machine a swivel-mounted machine-
gun fired a warning burst, coughing up bursts of sand. A
familiar figure jumped out, ran with an escort of CRS men to where the group was lined up. Lasalle.

'Surrender!' His order was a piercing shout. 'Drop your weapons or every one of you will be shot down.'

Rey suddenly broke away, screened by his recent prisoners, running into the forest. Newman followed him. His feet pounded the earth, surprised at how fleet of foot the horrific gnome was. Ahead other troops were fleeing.

They stopped abruptly. From behind every massive tree trunk - or so it seemed to Newman - appeared a CRS man,
aiming his automatic rifle. The soldiers froze in their tracks.
Rey slowed, stopped, staring round desperately for an
avenue of escape. There wasn't one.

Rey heard the pounding of Newman's feet, turned.
He reached for the pistol, which was no longer in his hol
ster. Newman's fist smashed with tremendous force into
the side of his jaw, breaking it. Rey sagged against a tree trunk.

'You'd do that to a woman!' Newman was beside him
self. He grabbed Rey by the throat, began to strangle him as Rey's fists beat futilely against his chest. Lasalle and Paula caught up with -them. CRS men grabbed hold of Newman, pulled him away from Rey, who collapsed.

'He's not worth creating a storm about,' Paula said in a
chilling voice. 'You've done enough.'

Berthier appeared at Paula's elbow. He shook hands with
Lasalle, thanking him.

'What happened?' Newman asked, breathing heavily.

He remembered then that ages ago he had given Paris
the map reference of the graveyard. Berthier shook New
man's hand.

'I told you I called Paris. I warned Lasalle they were
going to destroy the evidence of the killing ground.'

'And luckily saved yourself - and us,' Newman com
mented, rubbing blood off his knuckles with his
handkerchief.

'You must have smashed the bone,' Paula observed,
staring down at the unconscious Rey.

'All of them, I hope,' Newman said with vehemence.

'We must round up the rest of these killers' Lasalle said. 'And where is your witness?'

'Give us ten minutes and we'll give you the witness.'

'Tell me where.'

'St Girons...'

'So we fly you there in one of the Alouettes. It will pick
up your witness and fly you on to Paris.'

'I want to go straight back to Arcachon with my team.'
Newman said firmly.

'So.' Lasalle spread his hands, 'the Alouette flies you to
St Giron, the witness is put aboard, the Alouette flies you to Arcachon, then proceeds to Paris with the witness Navarre
needs so badly.'

'Agreed.' Newman pointed to the sagging figure of Key who was beginning to stir, groaning. 'What do we do with that? He was going to kill Berthier, was directing a firing
squad when we arrived just in time.'

'He will be flown to Paris for intensive interrogation.
He'll crack. That sort always does. Follow me .. .'

He led the way back to the beach. They passed CRS men handcuffing the hands of soldiers behind their backs. Paula
was relieved to get on to the clean air of the beach. Stahl
had collected their weapons, handed them back to their
owners, including Paula's Browning.

Lasalle ushered them to the Alouette behind the lead
machine he had travelled aboard. He shook the hand of
each man as he climbed into the machine - Berthier, Newman, Stahl, Butler, and Nield. He had kept Paula to the last and hugged her before she joined the others.

'You have had an appalling ordeal.' he told her.

'It was a bit tense.' she admitted.

He felt her trembling as she smiled. Reaction was setting
in. She took one last look south to where the high dunes
rose, where the sea glided in, retreated before another wave
rolled in. An idyllic scene - to hide so much horror. As soon
as she was inside the door was closed, the rotors began to
whirl, the machine ascended.

Outside the Atlantique Moshe Stein had been hustled to the waiting car on the far side of the road. A man inside threw open the rear door. The taller captor took hold of Moshe by the scruff of the neck, prepared to hurl him inside.

There was a sudden screech of burning rubber, of cars braking violently. Four Citroens were parked in a military-style manoeuvre - one car blocking off the car Moshe was about to enter, a second blocking the rear. Two more cars
stopped on the far side of the road and men in civilian
clothes holding automatics dived out. A tall, thin man with
a streak of a moustache and without a gun, hands in his raincoat pockets, called out as he approached the trapped
car.

'DST. Don't move. My men have orders to use their
weapons at the first sign of resistance.'

'We
are DST,' protested the man who had hit Moshe.

The thin man glanced at the coat lapel of the protester.
He grinned without humour as the man produced his
papers. Glancing at them, he held them up to the grey light, shook his head.

'Forgeries. And that is another offence.' He looked at
Moshe's mouth where blood seeped. 'Who hit you?'

'Does it matter? Violence is the only language these
people understand.'

'You're Moshe Stein? Good. And I agree with your
remark. Come with me, please.'

Taking him out of earshot of the fake DST trio, he led
him to the second car on the far side of the road. He opened the rear door, stopped Moshe as he was about to get inside.

'You will be flown to Paris under protective guard. I
understand they need you there urgently as a witness to
atrocities. Talking about atrocities, I insist you tell me who
struck you.'

Moshe shrugged. 'Since you insist, it was the tall one. And perhaps I shouldn't ask but I'm curious. How did you
know those men were not genuine DST?'

'As you're going to Paris, I will tell you. It was the idea
of my chief based in Paris. Knowing there were a number of
men posing as DST he told us all to wear blue pins in our
lapels.'

'Clever.' For the first time Moshe saw the blue pin.

The thin man closed the door, the car drove off. He beckoned to the tall man, opened the rear door of the first
car. The prisoner glared at him viciously, bent his head to
step inside. The thin man grabbed his collar, pulled him
back, then slammed him forward so his face smashed into the top of the car. The prisoner yelped with pain. He had
blood all
over his mouth and chin, had lost three teeth.

Tsk, tsk!' the thin man said sympathetically. He moved
a foot over the wet street. 'It is very slippery. You should be
more careful...'

Marler, carrying his holdall, had disembarked from the
internal flight from Paris. He was walking across the con
course when he saw a group of soldiers stopping two
scruffily dressed youths. He immediately changed direction,
went to a bookstall, bought a newspaper.

He joined a crowd heading for a departure lounge, trailing in their wake. Looking back he saw the soldiers escorting the youths to a bench where their duffle bags were deposited prior to search. The troops were absorbed in their task.

Adjusting his beret, he turned round again, strolled out of
the concourse. The car he had ordered from Paris was waiting
for him. A Peugeot. He showed his papers to the girl, paid
her a generous sum as though needing the vehicle for a few days, drove away.

Earlier, waiting in his room near the rue du Bac, he had received further instructions from Tweed over his mobile phone.

'Increase the pressure to the maximum. We have not much
time left.'

'Don't worry. I have a new idea.' Marler had assured his
chief. 'A very tight turn of the screw ...'

Kalmar sat in his camper concealed in woods outside Arca-
chon drinking coffee. He was studying a map of the port. The
coffee was black and strong and helped him recover his
nerve. He had just experienced a frustrating shock.

He had traced Moshe Stein to the Atlantique and had been
on his way to strangle the Jew. Arriving a short distance from
the hotel, he had carefully parked his motorcycle inside a
small alley. Always station your means of escape within easy
walking distance of the target's home or temporary resi
dence. But not so close that it might be seen and remembered
by a passer-by.

He drew on his Gauloise, recalling the incident. He had been very close to the hotel, wearing the sort of trenchcoat
favoured by the fake DST men crawling round the town. He
had seen his target, Moshe Stein, being dragged from the
hotel and had stopped, bending down as he pretended to tie
an imaginary loose shoe lace. Then the other cars had arrived,
other men had dived out of them.

Kalmar was a professional, so very observant. Before he
turned away his sharp eyes caught the glitter of a blue
pinhead in the lapel of one of the new arrivals. No similar pinhead in the lapels of the men who had hauled Stein out, who appeared to be arrested by the newcomers.

Kalmar had walked away. He knew exactly the right shop
which sold embroidery
equipment. Sure enough, they had a selection of blue pinheads. He had purchased half a dozen.
He was wearing one now in the lapel of his trenchcoat.
Taking another drag at his Gauloise, he folded up the map. His next target was Paula Grey, who had disappeared from Arcachon. His instinct told him she would soon return.

Chapter Fifty-Two

Navarre was holding a battle conference in his office at the Ministry of the Interior. Also present were Tweed and Kuhlmann. The three men were taking final decisions.

'Lasalle has signalled me.' Navarre informed his two
confidants. 'He was brief. The graveyard has been dis
covered and soldiers were there on the verge of removing the corpses. The two witnesss, Moshe Stein and the old
woman, Martine, are on their way here.'

'Old woman?' Kuhlmann queried. 'Will she make a convincing witness?'