Mirage

by James Follett

  ‘Looks like only one,’ Grant whispered. ‘There were definitely two in the car.’

  A metallic clink caught their attention. A shadowy shape seemed to be digging in the soft, peaty loam under the fir trees. They edged nearer and conferred in a brief whisper. They separated, Grant moving round in a semi-circle but maintaining the same distance from the camper. The man in the camper appeared in the doorway. He was dragging a body. He called out to the man who was digging who stopped work and joined him. It was the moment McNaill had been waiting for: both men were against the light from the camper’s windows.

  Not knowing if they were armed, he called out: ‘Police! You are surrounded! Throw down your arms and put your hands on your head!’

  The two men did neither but they did jump. They threw themselves flat. A heavy calibre slug zinged into a tree near McNaill. Grant fired twice but the men, though badly startled, had the presence of mind to take cover in the darkness. McNaill fired two shots where he thought they had disappeared. Grant dashed forward. McNaill yelled at him to get down. A flash of light from the darkness near the camper and Grant keeled over. He rolled into a hollow, clutching his arm. Stooping low, McNaill raced to his aid.

  ‘It’s okay,’ Grant panted. ‘I’m not hit. It went through my jacket.’

  There was the slam of a sliding door. The camper’s engine burst into life. The driver gunned the engine and killed the lights. Suddenly the vehicle was heading straight at them, its rear wheels spinning themselves a fifty per cent grip on the grass, its over- torqued tail slewing violently left and right as it surged forward. McNaill and Grant staggered clear just as the camper charged past, heading towards the track that led down the hill to the road. McNaill fired twice at the receding vehicle - one slug through each tyre. They weren’t lucky shots but the result of good training. With their air ripped out, the camper’s rear tyres came close to being torn off their rims as the low clearance back axle chewed furrows into the track.

  The camper slowed but didn’t stop. McNaill ran after it, keeping close to the shadows afforded by a hedge. Panting hard, he eventually drew level with the passenger door. It had been slid open. He grabbed hold of the mirror and jumped on to the narrow boarding step, ready to pump rounds at the strangers. There was no need. Not only was the vehicle empty, but it was gathering speed as the incline steepened. He threw himself across the passenger seat, groped for the handbrake lever and yanked it up. The camper swayed and lurched alarmingly. There was a grating sound from the rear axle as the locked wheels dragged the vehicle to a shuddering stop. Blinding headlights suddenly bathed the camper. With an agility that not even McNaill imagined he possessed, he catapulted himself into the hedge. It was the Rover. The occupants didn’t open fire at the camper. By the time he extricated himself from the undergrowth, the car had dowsed its lights and was disappearing into the night.

  McNaill steadied himself on the camper and doubled up while he got his breath back. He wasn’t built for such stunt work. After a minute his heartbeat slowed. He felt better and went in search of Grant.

  39

  It was like the early days when they had first opened the bar: the sudden, heart-stopping hammering on the door that had them both sitting up in bed. This time it was worse: the banging was on the rear door and it was 5.00am - the favourite time for police raids.

  ‘Stay here, Rac,’ Daniel warned after he had checked that there was no vehicle out the front.

  He was halfway down the stairs when he realized that they had nothing to worry about because there was nothing incriminating on the premises. On the other hand maybe Albert had lost his nerve. Maybe he had gone to the police and confessed everything. A thousand possibilities jostled into his confused mind as he switched on the lights. The banging stopped. He unbolted the rear door, pulled it open and blinked in surprise at the fat stranger.

  ‘Hallo, Daniel,’ said McNaill calmly. ‘Can I come in?’

  ‘Who ... who are you?’

  Tan McNaill. A friend, though you may not think so after what I have to say.’ McNaill pushed himself in without waiting for an invitation. He closed the door and went into the bar. ‘You’d better get Raquel up, Daniel. This is urgent - life and death urgent.’

  ‘Mister McNaill!’ Raquel had followed Daniel down the stairs. She was standing in a nightgown, her eyes glazed with shock.

  ‘You know this guy, Rac?’ He had to repeat the question.

  Raquel tore her stunned gaze from McNaill. She nodded. ‘I used to.’

  Daniel didn’t understand. He opened his mouth to speak but McNaill cut him short. ‘We’ll save the explanations for later. Now listen - listen carefully. The couple who came for the drawings have been murdered in their camper.’ He held up hands for silence as Raquel gasped. Daniel put a comforting arm around her and drew her close as McNaill’s unreal words spilled out like savage little demons.

  ‘We don’t know who murdered them. Not yet. They’ve got away but we’ve managed to hide the camper and we got the film and drawings. Was that the last consignment?’

  ‘We’ve no idea what you’re talking about,’ said Daniel woodenly, realizing that he sounded foolish.

  ‘If I’m to help you, I have to know. Was that the last consignment?’

  ‘It’s all right, Daniel,’ said Raquel in a small voice. ‘He’s a friend - sort of. Yes - it was the last consignment, Mister McNaill.’

  ‘Are they vital?’

  The urgency in the stranger’s voice helped Daniel bring his whirling thoughts under rudimentary control. ‘Yes. Jigs - main spar drawings. They’re vital.’

  ‘Okay. Now listen. We’ve two days at the most before the camper and the bodies are discovered. The police are going to trace it back to you because it’s been parked outside here on a number of occasions

  - everyone in Winterthur will recognize it. You’re both going to have to get out of the country right now and take the drawings and film with you. How much cash have you got?’

  Raquel thought fast. ‘About two thousand francs in takings.’ ‘And the travellers’ cheques,’ said Daniel. ‘Twenty thousand dollars in case we ever had to leave in a hurry.’

  ‘That’s exactly what you’ve got to do now,’ said McNaill. ‘Now get packed - both of you. All your papers - everything. Put a notice on the door that there’s been a sudden illness in the family and that you’ll be away until further notice ... anything to give you a few days before suspicions are aroused. We’ll load everything into that Volkswagen van of yours .... Come on! Move!’

  40

  Light was tinging the eastern sky when Lucky returned in the Rover to where he had left Robbie keeping watch from a spinney. Robbie was leaning against a tree. He lowered his binoculars and looked questioningly at Lucky getting out of the car.

  ‘Anything happened?’ Lucky demanded. He took the binoculars from Robbie and trained them across the valley. They were about three miles from the scene of the recent fracas. Lucky was not a man to give up merely because a few shots had been fired and someone had yelled police. After their escape from the debacle he took a circular six-mile route across country to this wooded hilltop so that they could keep a watch on the scene.

  ‘Car’s still there,’ said Robbie. ‘Now it’s getting lighter, I reckon there’s only one guy there. No sign of the camper. Did you get through to Mr Dumas?’

  ‘Eventually. He didn’t like being woken. Soon as I told him what I was calling about, he sent his butler out to call me back from a callbox. For a complete set of Mirage drawings, Mr Dumas is prepared to open negotiations at around five million dollars.’ Robbie whistled. ‘Who would be his customers?’

  ‘At a guess - South Africa.’ Lucky handed the binoculars back to Robbie and reloaded his .38. ‘Policeman or no policeman - we’re going back to relieve him of the responsibility of looking after those drawings.’ He turned to the car.

  ‘Hold it, Mr Nathan. There’s a car and a white van arrived.’

  Lucky snatched the binoculars from R
obbie. There was more light now. He could see several figures moving hurriedly about. The Volkswagen van was facing them so it was impossible to see if it was marked. Maybe it was a police van. Maybe not. The rear doors were open. A figure emerged from the undergrowth carrying a parcel. Then they were forming a human chain - parcels were passed from hand to hand and tossed into the back of the Volkswagen. He carefully refocused the binoculars on the undergrowth to see where they were getting the parcels from. And then he saw it: the outline of the camper - broken up and almost impossible to discern through the foliage. It had been driven into the hedge.

  ‘No way are they the police!’ he snarled. ‘Police wouldn’t try to hide the camper! They’re taking the drawings back to the bar. Come on!’

  The two men jumped into the Rover. Its momentum as it surged forward was enough to slam its doors as Lucky let in the clutch.

  41

  McNaill stared at Daniel in surprise. ‘What do you mean, you don’t know the route? You must know. Didn’t your father tell you?’

  ‘Last parcel!’ Grant called out.

  Raquel heaved the parcel into the back of the van and slammed its doors shut.

  ‘Why should he know?’ Daniel queried, puzzled. ‘And even if he did, why should he tell me? Jack and Katra never said anything about the route they used home. Just a postcard to let us know that they’d made it.’

  ‘Getting light!’ Grant warned.

  ‘You’d better get moving,’ said McNaill. ‘If you take my advice, you’ll cross into France at Basle. Controls there are a joke in the morning and evening. Head for one of the ports. Try for passage to Israel.’

  ‘With thirty parcels of French drawings on board!’

  ‘That’s something you’ll have to work out,’ McNaill snapped. ‘The important thing right now is to get out of Switzerland! Now beat it!’ He half pushed Daniel into the Volkswagen’s driver’s seat.

  ‘And good luck!’

  42

  Lucky reread the notice pinned to Cinderella’s door and raced back to the Rover. ‘Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!’ He beat his hands on the steering wheel in frustration before starting the engine and hauling the car round.

  ‘What’s up?’ Robbie asked.

  ‘They’re not coming back - that’s what’s fucking up! They’ve left a message on the door.’ He braked suddenly and yanked a road map out of the door pocket, swearing volubly as he struggled with its folds.

  ‘So that’s it then,’ Robbie murmured.

  ‘No it’s not fucking it. We’re going after them ...’

  ‘With respect, Mr Nathan, we don’t know which route they—’

  ‘Of course we don’t know, you dumb pillock! That’s why I’m trying to think! Germany’s no good to them - too far to any ports. Italy - too far to the frontier and half the crossing places are snowbound. Betting is they want to get out of the country fast.... That leaves France ... Basle’s nearest. They’ll cross the frontier at Basle.’ With that Lucky thrust the road map at Robbie and slammed the Rover into gear.

  43

  BASLE

  The birthplace of Erasmus and LSD. At 8.30am its frontier into France is one of the busiest in Europe. Much of the traffic consists of goods vehicles moving from one part of the city to another - usually with the minimum of formalities. The huge volume of cycle traffic comprises workers on the French side with jobs in Basle’s watch factories. Dozens of cyclists passed Daniel and Raquel as they edged forward in the slow-moving queue: shapes materializing out of the driving blizzard, their tyres hissing through the slush of salt-melted snow. For the past hour of the journey they had spoken little - not even when they had stopped just before entering Basle to rearrange the parcels of drawings into a tidy heap. Raquel had told Daniel everything about her involvement with McNaill. She had even confessed to him about the time when she had followed him across Europe to Winterthur. Although she swore that she had never been in contact with McNaill since they had left London, Daniel found it difficult to believe. It was all too much for him to take in. He desperately wanted to believe her; he wanted more time to think before he said anything that they might both regret. For the moment the problem of getting into France dominated all else.

  The huge truck in front of him and the driving snow made it difficult to see what was happening ahead. Leaning out of the window might draw attention to his anxiety. One small comfort - at least the lane they were in was constantly moving, albeit at a crawl. The truck picked up speed. Two uniformed policemen were chatting to each other - their breath mingling with the swirling snowflakes - not even looking at the passing vehicles although one of them was casually gesturing them through with a mittened hand that he blew on occasionally. Raquel had their passports and vehicle documents ready but they weren’t required. The crawling pace was due simply to two vehicle lanes merging into one on the other side of the check point.

  ‘Now for the French controls,’ said Raquel in a small voice; an attempt to make some sort of conversation.

  But there were no more checks. The red barrier arms were permanently up and the Customs building deserted. The only indication that they were in France was not for another mile when they saw a road sign in French directing them out of the suburbs. Raquel covered Daniel’s hand with her own and squeezed it. It was hard to be angry with her now that the hard knot of tension in his stomach was dissolving. They had been through so much together. After a few moments he returned the gesture and gave her a sidelong smile.

  44

  CHERBOURG

  At 10.10am the Assistant Naval Attache at the Israeli Embassy in Paris arrived at Lenny’s house in the Rue Dom Pedro with a powerful HF transceiver in the boot of his car and a Decca Navigator flight log receiver complete with the necessary charts that would enable Lenny to fix his position at sea using Decca’s Western France and Mediterranean chain of fixed ground stations.

  ‘Everything’s going according to plan,’ Lenny reported, unpacking the Decca slave station display unit and lifting it out of its case.

  ‘All the crews have reported?’

  ‘Yes - in twos and threes. They all know exactly what they’ve got to do.’ He grinned. ‘You ought to go into the town if you’ve got time. Bloody Israelis everywhere.’

  The diplomat looked worried. ‘Do you think the locals have noticed?’

  Lenny snorted. ‘Of course they’ve noticed ... I heard someone say that maybe the Cherbourg Peninsula was the new Promised Land and what a pity they’d missed the parting of the Channel.’

  Both men laughed.

  ‘There’s something you’ve got to do,’ said Lenny seriously. ‘These people have been good to us. It’s not fair on all the local hoteliers that they should have a hundred of their guests do a moonlight on them. Someone’s got to go round afterwards and settle the bills. You’ve got the list of all the hotels and lodging houses we’ve used so don’t tell me it can’t be done.’

  ‘We were going to do that anyway, Lenny.’

  ‘Another thing. I’ve not mentioned this before, but if you look at the map, you will see that our route down to Gibraltar and into the Med takes us past an awful lot of French naval ports. Agreed?’ ‘Yes.’

  ‘And French naval ports have lots of warships.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And the warships have mounted on them lots of round bits of steel with holes in them that go bang. Right?’

  ‘I do believe they do - yes.’

  Lenny warmed to his theme. ‘Well, supposing, just supposing, that us clearing off with the boats tomorrow morning and not coming back annoys the French so much that they decide to send their warships out to show us just how loud the bangs are that they can make? I mean, when you think about it, if you’re going to make bets on five little unarmed fast attack craft versus the French Navy - without sounding too unpatriotic - I know who I’d put my money on.’

  ‘They won’t.’

  Lenny was at sea. ‘They won’t what? Lose the bet?’

  ‘Come out to meet you. A
t least, we don’t think they will.’

  ‘Even so,’ said Lenny, ‘I’d feel happier if we had some way of defending ourselves. How about some submachine-guns?’

  ‘That won’t be possible, Lenny.’

  Lenny thought for a moment. ‘We’ve already got plenty of flares, but how about some distress rockets? Big ones. Give us the money and we’ll buy them locally.’

  The naval officer grinned. ‘I don’t see that we can deny you some rockets, Lenny. But I don’t think they will be needed. We have a plan.’

  ‘Already I feel better. So what is this grand plan? Sleeping tablets in their Christmas dinners?’

  The naval officer told him.

  Lenny looked pained. ‘Is that all?’

  ‘We’re certain it’ll work.’

  Lenny patted the HF radio. ‘Well if it doesn’t, at least you’ll be able to hear all about it; I’ll keep the microphone keyed-up.’

  45

  EASTERN FRANCE

  It was 9.30am when Daniel stopped near the junction and steered the van into a lay-by. To the left the road went south towards the Mediterranean; the right turning would take them towards Belfort and central France.

  ‘Rac - did Jack or Katra ever give the slightest indication of their route?’

  Raquel shook her head. Daniel peered through the falling snow at the road sign. ‘So what the hell do we do? Do you know anything about sailings from Marseilles? Are there regular sailings to Haifa?’ ‘You’re the Israeli. Don’t you know?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘I know that Israeli fruit ships call in at Southampton.’

  ‘A lot of use that is. The whole point of getting into France is so that we don’t have to go through Customs. You know what the British Customs are like.’