Renard halted his car and then backed into a convenient parking place behind the restaurant building. He switched off and gazed about him. There were a dozen other cars parked and, apart from one Volkswagen, they were expensive vehicles among which his Mercedes was not out of place. Among them was a large shiny black Daimler bearing Parisian number plates in which a uniformed chauffeur sprawled, reading a magazine and munching a sandwich. Renard smiled and glanced at his watch. It was ten minutes after the appointed hour. His man was already inside. It was always good psychology to arrive a little late for a luncheon appointment. He climbed out of his car, stretched, locked the door and headed towards the restaurant foyer.
A girl in a black dress and white apron came forward as he entered and took his coat. She smiled as she recognised him as a regular. Then Gaspard, the maître d’hôtel, came bustling forward.
‘Bonjour, M’sieur Renard. It is good to see you again. You are keeping well?’
It put Renard in a good humour to be recognised and made to feel as if his personal custom was all the restaurant cared about. ‘I am well, Gaspard,’ he replied.
Gaspard was holding open the door into the main dining room.
‘Your guest has already arrived, m’sieur. He is at the bar.’
‘Excellent. We will have an aperitif.’
‘Bien, m’sieur. Would you like to look at the menu while you are at the bar?’
Renard nodded absently.
Gaspard conducted him to the small cocktail bar, separated from the main restaurant by a decorative partition of pot plants. There was only one customer there, a tall man in his late forties. His raven-black hair was straight, with no hint of grey, and it made his pale features seem a trifle anaemic. He rose from his seat as Renard came up.
‘Monsieur Brisset?’ Renard held out his hand.
The man’s grip was firm.
‘I am delighted to make your acquaintance, M’sieur Renard.’ Gaspard motioned to the barman who left his post to hover by their table. Renard gestured to Brisset’s nearly empty glass.
‘Thank you,’ replied the man to his unasked question. ‘Another Byrrh Frappé.’
‘And for you, m’sieur?’ queried the barman.
‘A Tom Collins for me, but with Bourbon not gin.’
‘At once, m’sieur.’
Gaspard now moved forward and placed the menus on the table.
‘The chef’s speciality today, m’sieurs, is the Noisettes des Tournelles … fillets from the saddle of lamb, sautéed, covered with a little onion purée and then glazed under the grill and served with vermouth, sherry and butter.’
Renard nodded and Gaspard, with a hint of a bow, merged into the background as the barman brought their aperitifs.
‘Did you have a good journey from Paris, M’sieur Brisset?’ The dark-haired man nodded. Renard knew Brisset was appraising him and he went on: ‘Perhaps, if it is not rushing, we should get our orders out of the way first … ?’
‘An excellent idea.’ Brisset glanced at the menu. It did not take him long to decide. He announced that he would start with asparagus followed by Truites Soufflées de Chez Garin, a dish of trout stuffed with mousseline of pike flavoured with truffle. Renard, of course, knew the menu well and decided on a pâté of duck’s liver flavoured with Armagnac, followed by the chef’s speciality of lamb fillets. Gaspard appeared at his elbow a fraction of a second before Renard began to turn to indicate they had made up their minds. Renard gave the order, adding: ‘And wine, would a bottle of Chablis Grand Crus suit you?’
Brisset smiled agreement.
‘And now … ’ Renard settled back in his chair and took a sip of his Tom Collins.
‘Now. M’sieur Renard.’ Brisset let a smile play around his thin, almost bloodless lips. ‘You are doubtless wondering why I have requested this meeting and asked that we meet in a discreet rendezvous.’
‘It has obviously crossed my mind,’ agreed Renard solemnly.
‘Monsieur le President is very interested in your airship project, m’sieur.’
Renard raised his eyebrows very slightly.
Brisset’s eyes glanced around. It was the merest flicker but the action was not lost on Renard.
‘Tell me, are you interested in politics, M’sieur Renard?’ Brisset’s voice dropped a tone.
Renard’s mouth quirked cynically.
‘I am interested in making money, M’sieur Brisset. In so far as a particular government or a particular party is able to help me in this matter, then I am interested in their politics.’
‘You would tend to be conservative in your politics rather than a radical?’
‘Radical?’ Renard grinned, amused. ‘I am a businessman.’
‘There are many businessmen who claim to be radicals.’
‘Then one should question who is paying their percentages. But, seriously, why does this question arise?’
Brisset leant forward a little.
‘You will forgive me, m’sieur. I just wanted to hear your attitude from your own lips. We have, in fact, been a little deceptive in that we have made a careful scrutiny of you and your project.’
Renard stared at the man in surprise.
‘You have investigated me?’
Brisset raised a pacifying hand.
‘Just a precautionary measure, nothing more.’
‘For what reason?’ Renard began to feel indignant.
‘Shall we say for a reason that could work to our mutual advantage?’
‘Mutual advantage? To whom? For what?’
To yourself, of course, and to Monsieur le President and his administration.’
Renard stared at Brisset and then finished his Tom Collins, regarding his empty glass thoughtfully for a few moments.
‘I think you’d better explain yourself fully, M’sieur Brisset.’
Gaspard appeared and advised them their table was ready. The two men fell silent as they followed the maître d’hôtel into the main dining-room. Renard was thankful to see it was half-empty and that Gaspard had placed them at a comer table, near the window which gave them an uninterrupted view of the scenery of the Vire valley, away from the other guests.
The hors d’oeuvres were brought and the white wine served.
‘Well?’ prompted Renard.
‘As you say, M’sieur Renard, you are a man of business and a political realist. Your rise to the chairmanship of the company you now run is proof of your capabilities. In three months Monsieur le President will have to go into an election to seek a further term of office. This time he will face some stiff opposition from ultra-left dissidents and far right extremists. It is the ultra-left that concerns us. They have formed a loose conglomerate of opposition groups to present a united front in an effort to oust him. They could create havoc in the primary elections. A dangerous situation could arise. Monsieur le President requires all the help he can get to win the election.’
Renard looked helpless.
‘I don’t understand what this is leading up to.’
‘Monsieur le President requires your help.’
‘I still do not understand. What help can I give?’
‘By continuing exactly what you are doing at the moment,’ Brisset smiled. ‘I am, as you are probably aware, Monsieur le President’s aide and adviser on matters pertaining to public relations. We must never underestimate the power of public manipulation. You will agree? Very well. If, just before the election, some historic event occurred to make France honoured in the world community, then that in itself would enhance the President’s image not only in the eyes of France but in the international community. Such an event would be of tremendous help to the President when entering an election.’
‘What historic occurrence?’ asked Renard, still puzzled.
‘Why, the successful Transatlantic flight of your airship the Charles de Gaulle,’ smiled Brisset. ‘If your airship could make that flight before the Americans — yes, we know all about the Anglo-American project — then it would be
a tremendous propaganda boost for French technology and business achievement. Not only would your company’s prestige be enhanced: France too would be honoured and Monsieur le President is the embodiment of France. What could be better for his image at a particularly vital time? Do you follow?’
Renard looked at Brisset’s thin smile and found himself nodding.
‘So that’s it? The President wants to use my airship as an election gimmick?’
Brisset winced.
‘Please, M’sieur Renard. That is a rather crude way of expressing it.’
Renard grinned cynically.
‘That’s the essence, isn’t it? You have told me what I can do for Monsieur le President but you have yet to explain how this can work out to our mutual advantage.’
They were silent while their plates were cleared and the main course was served.
‘Should this happen,’ went on Brisset, after the waiters had left, ‘should your airship achieve the first trans-Atlantic crossing and should Monsieur le President be equally successful in the election, then you could apply for government sponsorship for the expansion of your company with very favourable results.’ Renard smiled broadly.
‘As simple as that?’
‘Certainly. As simple as that.’
Renard signalled for a second bottle of Grand Crus to be brought.
‘What guarantees would I have?’ he asked after a short silence.
‘Guarantees?’
‘Yes. I could apply and be rejected and then what?’
‘Such agreements can never be committed to paper,’ replied Brisset. ‘There would be nothing beyond my word here and now; a private, unwritten assurance.’
‘I can appreciate that. But I would like something more tangible. Would, for example, the government help me out should problems arise before the Charles de Gaulle is ready to make the flight?’
‘Within reason,’ agreed Brisset.
‘And afterwards, you say the government would help me expand my company to produce airships for them on a commercial basis?’
‘Yes. The government have been following the British feasibility study for the military use of airships. The government would be interested in placing an order for an airship fleet with your company, the airships being suitably modified for military use. I understand airships seem to be suitable for roles requiring long endurance at low speeds and therefore have a potential for anti-submarine and counter-mine warfare, fishery protection, logistics support, and could even be used for missile launch and missile guidance systems.’
Renard nodded during the recital. He had spent long hours with his designers discussing the potentialities of his product. ‘The government would guarantee a fairly big order?’
Brisset smiled.
‘Unofficially, of course. The financial grants could be made to expand both military and civilian sides of the operation.’
‘Government long-term loans at a moderate rate of interest?’
‘Exactly.’
‘And all I have to do … ?’
‘ … is ensure that Monsieur le President is able to bask in the publicity and prestige of an all-French achievement in opening the airways to airship traffic before the election.’ Renard grinned broadly.
‘You may reassure the President on that.’
Brisset returned his smile thinly.
‘He will be delighted to hear it. Do you have any immediate problems?’
‘Everything is on schedule,’ Renard assured him. ‘We are awaiting a shipment of helium from America and as soon as we get it we can inflate the gas bags of our airship and begin our air tests.’
‘Excellent. But what of the American project?’
Renard let his mouth droop.
‘I am keeping a close eye on developments. Anglo-American Airships are too cautious. They are taking too long. I cannot see them completing their tests on their craft in time. Also, did you see the item in Le Monde yesterday?’
‘What was that?’
‘Anglo-American’s chief test pilot was killed in an air crash.’
Brisset pursed his lips.
‘Does that mean a substantial setback for them?’
‘Trained airship pilots are at a premium,’ observed Renard. ‘I have made sure that I have three crews under training. The Americans, however, only had two such pilots. Westbrook, the pilot who was killed, was their chief test pilot and they won’t be able to replace him in a hurry. It will take several months to train a pilot to Civil Aviation Authority regulations standard.’
‘It is bad for them, eh?’
‘But gives us an edge. We will be the first airship across the Atlantic. The President need have no doubts about that.’
Renard felt decidedly happy as he pushed away his empty plate.
His famous luck was holding. When he had gone into his office yesterday morning he had been in a black mood. The problems seemed insurmountable. Now Villemur had backed down over the safety regulations and Brisset had materialised with his offer of financial security once the Charles de Gaulle was launched. Renard would be able to pull through, he was certain of it.
. Gaspard appeared.
‘Have you enjoyed your lunch, m’sieurs? Bien. A sweet or coffee and liqueurs?’
Renard smiled.
‘I think I will have a sweet today, Gaspard. How about you, M’sieur Brisset? Gaspard has a really special Millefeuille Prince Albert, it is … ’
He raised his fingers to his lips and kissed them with a resounding smack.
Brisset nodded.
‘Good,’ Renard said. ‘And after the Millefeuille, coffee and brandy.’
Chapter Nine
Terrasino thrust the report away from him and sat back in his chair, gazing from Harry Maclaren to Hayes and Vambrace.
‘I think the conclusion is fairly obvious,’ he said after a pause.
Maclaren grimaced and turned to the FBI agent.
‘Do you agree with Terrasino’s conclusion?’
Hayes did not answer at once but lit up a Lucky Strike and frowned.
‘I think it is too early to make a definite statement, but we cannot overlook the possibility.’
‘Hell,’ snorted the chief of security, ‘Budmeyer is in hospital with the bridge of his nose smashed. He interrupted someone fiddling about with the back-up computer systems. The spaghetti that the guy was rummaging about in was all to do with the back-up controls. I had Kurt Nieman go over it this morning and he tells me that it will be at least five days’ work to get it back in place. It’s lucky there was nothing irreparable but I hate to think what would have happened if Budmeyer had not come along.’
‘And Budmeyer didn’t recognise the man?’
Terrasino shook his head.
‘He says it all happened so fast and it was fairly dark. Not a chance.’
‘Why are you reticent, Hayes?’ asked Maclaren, turning back to the FBI agent.
Hayes exhaled smoke.
‘It’s an uncertain leap from the saboteur who beat up your security man, Budmeyer, to the saboteur who killed the Westbrooks.’
Terrasino frowned.
‘Are you saying we have two saboteurs on our hands? That’s a hell of a coincidence.’
‘No; at the moment I’m not leaping to any conclusions. We’ve got to take this thing carefully. We are running through the computer all the various bits of information you have given us, such as the batch of oddball letters which have been sent to your company since the project was announced in the press. So we’re checking on groups who have beefs about airships — the environmental nuts and so on. Frankly, it’s a long shot. However, this business relies on checking and re-checking. We can’t afford to leap to conclusions.’
‘But,’ sighed Maclaren, ‘you do agree that someone tried to sabotage the Albatross?’
‘Yes, of course. But I am not prepared, at this stage, to make the definite assumption that he and the killer of the Westbrooks are the same person.’
‘I see.’ Mac
laren looked across to his security chief. ‘How about the security angle, Terrasino?’
‘I’ve tightened up procedures and doubled the security guards around the airship. My office is also fully co-operating with the FBI and FA A.’
Maclaren brushed his forehead with his palm.
‘Any ideas of what else we can do?’
Terrasino glanced a little defiantly at Hayes.
‘I think we have to start checking out our rivals.’
Maclaren stared at him for a moment.
‘Are you talking about possible industrial espionage … sabotage?’ he asked slowly.
‘Let’s put it this way,’ Terrasino said. ‘There are some powerful people in the aviation world who would like to see us take a bath over the Albatross project.’
Maclaren half-nodded in agreement.
‘You may be right, but who the hell would go to the length of sabotage?’
‘Desperate and ruthless men.’
Hayes and Vambrace were looking interested. Maclaren glanced apprehensively at them.
‘Look,’ said Vambrace, ‘if you have any ideas, spill them.’
‘Alright,’ agreed Maclaren. ‘Let’s be open, Terrasino. Do you have a specific idea?’
Terrasino paused and then nodded.
‘Charles Renard has a reputation for ruthlessness and it’s common knowledge on La Bourse that he has sunk all his money into his airship project. He’s bankrupt, penniless, unless he can get his airship flying before the Albatross takes to the skies.’ Hayes was looking puzzled.
‘Common knowledge — where?’
‘La Bourse, the Paris Stock Exchange,’ explained Terrasino.
Airship Page 7
