Cross of Fire

by Colin Forbes

  'The Cat,' Dawlish said with an expression of overweening pride. 'Short for a great marine technological advance. The twin-hulled catamaran. Instead of bouncing over waves - like previous vessels - it pierces waves, cuts through them. Top speed forty-two knots. I call mine Steel Vulture. The for'ard view - aft or port - seen from another vessel, looks like a vulture slicing the waves.'

  Paula watched, trembling inside, as Dawlish pressed a different button. The model reversed back to its previous position on the left. Dawlish set it moving again. More waves heaved on the 'sea'. The Steel Vulture sailed across to the right.

  'Its beam is very wide,' she remarked quietly.

  'It can carry over one hundred people,' Dawlish rambled on proudly. 'Plus a number of heavy vehicles. It's like a car ferry. They have a bigger one in operation on the ferry run from Portsmouth to Cherbourg. But the Vulture, built in Norway, has more advanced refinements.'

  Almost hypnotized, Paula watched the twin wakes slushing from the stern. She forced herself to go on talking.

  'Where do you berth such a vessel?'

  'Down at Harwich when she's not at sea.'

  'And you said you use it for the Dunwich exploration?'

  'Frequently. She's the mother ship for the divers who go down to map the town beneath the sea. Maybe you'd like a trip aboard my latest toy?'

  'Yes, I think I could use that in my article,' Paula agreed automatically. 'You could get me by calling the editor of Women's Eye. I rove around a lot.'

  'So you'll make my underwater exploration the theme of your piece? The last time Dunwich was investigated under the sea was by some aqua clubs in 1979. I'm doing the job on a much larger scale. I can afford the equipment...'

  As he rattled on enthusiastically Dawlish pressed the buttons, returned the model to its original start point, closed down the sliding panelling which concealed the mobile diorama. Paula walked back to the couch, sat down, said something which transformed the previous friendly atmosphere.

  'Apart from the underwater thing, which costs you a lot of money, I'm sure, I gather you make a fortune out of your armaments factories. Does that ever bother you? Being a merchant of death?'

  He strode across the room, dropped his weight next to her, grasped her wrist with one hand in a grip which felt like a steel handcuff. His expression was ugly.

  'What the hell made you ask that question?'

  Paula wondered where Newman and Marler were, wished to God they hadn't left so early.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Newman had driven away from the Iken peninsula at speed. Beside him sat Marler as they drove along a hedge-lined road with fields beyond still crusted with a white coating of frost. The sun was a blurred disc and white mist like a slow-moving curtain drifted among the trees.

  'Care to take a shufti at Dawlish's armaments set-up in the forest on the way to Orford?' Marler drawled.

  'How do you know it is armaments?'

  'What would be your guess? Out in the wilds. Closed off with a high wire fence - electrified. Guards with dogs patrolling behind the wire. Think he's running a marshmallow factory, chum?'

  'If you're that keen, why not?' Newman agreed. Guide me.'

  'Left at the top here, then later left again when you hit the main road to Snape Maltings. Then a country road to Orford.'

  'We're being followed.'

  'I know. Saw it in the wing mirror. Ford Sierra -I didn't even see where Butler and Nield sneaked out after us.'

  'So they're pros. How do you think the party went - and you're one lousy shot when you want to be.'

  'I wanted to be,' Marler commented. 'And you lit some fuse under Dawlish. Did you have to stir him up quite so much?'

  'That was the general idea. When a man gets uptight he sometimes gives away more than he intends.'

  'Far as I could see, the only thing he gave away was us. Push off or be escorted.'

  'I achieved my objective. I rattled him. To prepare the way for Paula. You saw her arrive, of course. And after Dawlish told us to get to hell out of it he eager-beavered his way towards her. He'll run into a wildcat if he tries pawing her.'

  'But you could have queered her pitch,' Marler protested. 'He'd be in a bad mood.'

  'Which she'll spot and play on skilfully. Bet she gets back with some intriguing data.'

  'Just so long as she does get back...'

  Five minutes later Newman had negotiated an awkward turn left and they were driving through even lonelier country towards distant Orford. It was incredibly silent and still when Newman paused, parked for a minute, switching off his engine. On both sides forests of evergreens - firs and pines -spread away across rolling heathland. They had already passed one sandy track leading off the road into the wilderness, the track vanished round a curve. Marler lit a cigarette.

  'The entrance to skull-and-crossbones is just beyond two more bends,' he remarked.

  'And how do you know this place is anything to do with Dawlish?'

  'Because I'd make a good detective.' Marler smiled cynically. 'At the bottom of one of the warning plates attached to the fence there's printing in small letters. Dawlish Conservation Ltd. Some kind of conservation project with all the defences I've told you about.'

  'I heard the sound of an engine in the sky just now.'

  'Sounded like a chopper floating around. Unlikely to be Traffic Patrol out here. Could be a Coastguard machine.'

  'Could be something else.' Newman started up his engine. 'Let's get moving and see what happens.'

  'Out here? I'd say nothing ever happens out here in broad daylight.'

  Newman was suddenly very conscious of the fact that they carried no weapons to defend themselves. Was it the atmosphere of brooding menace which seemed to hang over the wilderness? The utter solitude of this part of the world? They hadn't seen a vehicle since leaving Iken.

  He found himself crawling along the winding road, glancing at the undergrowth bordering the road on both sides. Newman had a hemmed-in feeling. They rounded the first bend and another stretch of deserted road opened up, disappearing round another bend a hundred yards away.

  'Might as well get out and walk,' commented Marler who seemed oblivious to any danger.

  'Who is behind the wheel?' Newman snapped. 'And we're pretty close now, aren't we?'

  'One more bend and Dawlish's private little world is on our left...'

  Newman continued to let the Merc crawl. He frowned, pressed the switch which slid back the roof above their heads. Marler tapped ash from his cigarette into the ash tray.

  'Want us to freeze? It's damn cold in these woods...'

  'Shut up! Listen!'

  Newman could hear the sound distinctly now. The chug-chug of the helicopter coming back from a different direction. They drove round the second bend. The road now stretched straight as a ruler for some distance and the forest had retreated on either side with a band of open heath beyond the low hedges. To their left a high wire fence appeared with metal plates attached to it at shoulder height.

  The fence was about two hundred yards long and in the middle was a double gate, also constructed of wire. Beyond the gate a wide gravel track ran away towards copses of trees. Just visible were single-storey buildings constructed of concrete and without windows. Newman found it sinister that there was no sign of the guards, the dogs, Marler had described earlier when he had driven past this outlandish place.

  He parked opposite the closed gates, leaving his engine running. Marler jumped out, walked up to the gate, then paced methodically back the way they had come until he'd reached a concrete post. He strolled back to the car. Above the open roof Newman could hear the chopper much closer. It sounded to be circling the area out of view.

  'What the devil were you playing at?' he asked as Marler sank back into his seat.

  'Checking the place to fuse the electrified fence with a wooden-handled screwdriver in the dark.'

  'Why, if I may ask?'

  'You just did, old boy. Answer, in case I decide to come back
and take a closer look at that establishment by night.'

  'I wouldn't advise it. Not on your own...'

  Newman was staring up the track. Its surface was rutted where heavy vehicles with wide tyres had driven over it. He still didn't like the lack of any sign of human life. It was as though someone had sent an order for all the guards to withdraw out of sight. And he couldn't rid himself of the feeling that unseen eyes were observing them.

  'Finding it all a bit creepy?' Marler enquired.

  'Well, it's not the place I'd choose for a picnic.'

  'Ever thought Dawlish could have taken away the guards to reinforce Grenville Grange? There was quite a pack of visitors there this morning.'

  'I don't think that's the explanation,' Newman said slowly, looking everywhere. 'Dawlish is a millionaire. He has the funds to employ as many security men as he wishes...'

  He broke off as the silence was murdered by the onset of a deafening roar. For a minute or so the chug-chug of the helicopter had faded. Now it sounded to be on top of them. Newman pressed the switch which closed the roof, released the brake, sped forward. At that moment men with shotguns rose out of the gullies which had concealed them behind the wire. A hail of buckshot peppered the road in front of, behind, the Mercedes. Newman noticed nothing hit the car. They were being encouraged to move forward along the straight stretch of road.

  'Ahead of us ...' Marler warned.

  Something darted across the road twenty yards in front of the car. A fox, startled by the roar, was taking cover. Beyond it the grey chopper suddenly appeared, skimming the treetops. The pilot changed course, flew towards them, immediately above the road. As it hurtled forward something dropped from the machine, landed on the road. There was a brilliant burst of blinding light. Newman screwed up his eyes, swung the wheel, just avoided the blaze. The machine swept over them.

  'Magnesium flare.' Newman said tersely. 'One of those hits us, or I drive over it, and the petrol tank goes up.'

  'He'll be back.' Marler replied, twisting round in his seat.

  'And next time could be bull's-eye...'

  Newman pressed his foot down further, wishing to heaven now that the road was winding. The endless straight stretch made them a perfect target, the pilot able to calculate their likely position in advance.

  'It's gone.' Marler reported.

  'Ready for another run.' Newman foresaw.

  He had hardly finished speaking when they saw the chopper appear again well ahead of them, flying along the avenue of death towards the Mercedes. That was when Newman saw in his rear-view mirror the Ford Sierra racing up behind them full tilt.

  Nield was behind the wheel in the Ford. Beside him Butler had wound down his window, unfastened his seat belt. Now he was leaning out of the window, back pressed against his seat, both hands gripping his Walther. The road surface was good which helped him hold the gun steady.

  The chopper was approaching Newman's vehicle ahead of the Ford. This time there was no magnesium flare. Instead smoke, turgid black smoke, began to streak from the rear of the machine. The smoke drifted down swiftly, heavily. The helicopter was still about three hundred yards away from Newman's Merc. Like a crop sprayer, it jetted the smoke along the road surface. Newman's mouth tightened. He slowed down, reduced speed more and more.

  'What the hell are you playing at?' Marler demanded.

  In the Ford Butler aimed his Walther for the pilot's cabin. It would be a chance in a million if he scored a direct hit but it was the only chance he had. Pressing the trigger, he emptied the magazine, his knuckles white with the strain of holding the weapon on target.

  A different kind of smoke began to drift out of the helicopter. Whereas previously it had held an arrow-like course the machine began to quiver, wobbling. Suddenly it veered away from the road, flame flared, it vanished over the treetops. The Shockwave of a distant boom! shuddered both cars. A column of oily smoke climbed above the forest, then there was silence as Newman stopped his car short of the eddying smoke. Behind him Nield slowed, stopped close to the Mercedes. Another fox darted out, started to run through the fringe of the smoke. Abruptly it stopped running, reared up almost vertically, flopped on to the road and lay still.

  'And that.' said Newman, 'was why I slowed

  He got out of his car, followed by Marler and Butler, who had reloaded. Newman approached the animal slowly, waited for the smoke to dissipate. Only then did he go close to the animal. The fox sprawled on its side, its long brush tail flat and still as the body. Its eyes were starting out of its head, its jaws wide open. Newman touched it with his foot. It was like touching a rock: the corpse was stiff, unyielding.

  'I want to take this back in the boot for expert examination.'

  'What on earth for?' Marler enquired.

  'Because that was no ordinary smoke that chopper sprayed - tried to spray us with. It contained some element which, as you see, was lethal...'

  He went back to his car, explained briefly to Butler, and took a roll of hessian cloth from the boot. Then he put on a pair of old sheepskin gloves. They walked back to where the dead fox lay.

  Butler, who was wearing gloves, helped him to place the fox on the cloth they had spread across the road, to roll up the corpse and carry it back to the car. When it was safely stacked in the boot Newman stripped off his gloves, tossed them on top of the bundle.

  'I'd advise you to do the same,' he told Butler.

  He shut the boot when both pairs of gloves had been dropped inside. Then he clapped a hand briefly on Butler's shoulder.

  'Thanks for saving us, Harry. We'd be like that fox now but for you.'

  'Part of the job,' Butler replied typically. 'Where to now?'

  'Back to the Brudenell. Tweed left early this morning so we'll probably settle our bills, get back to London.' He looked at Marler who was standing close by. 'Well, it worked.'

  'What did?'

  'My stirring up Lord Dane Dawlish. That chopper attack was a blunder, a major giveaway. Tweed will be interested.'

  Chapter Seventeen

  During his morning drive back to Park Crescent in the Ford Escort Tweed was worried. Too many people were descending on Lord Dawlish for his shooting party. And besides Newman and Marler, Paula had chosen the same morning for her interview with the millionaire.

  His anxiety grew as he drove into London. By the time he parked close to his HQ he'd decided what to do. Hurrying up the stairs to his office, he opened the door and spoke to Monica before even taking off his coat.

  'Urgent.' He checked his watch. 12.30 p.m. And Paula's appointment had been for noon. 'Very urgent. Look up the number of Lord Dane Dawlish at Grenville Grange near Aldeburgh. Write it down and give it to me quickly.'

  He opened a file after taking off his coat and sitting behind his desk. He hardly saw the papers he was looking at. Monica was having trouble obtaining the unlisted number. After speaking to the operator she broke the connection, called a friend of Tweed's in Special Branch.

  A few minutes later she slammed the phone down, scribbled on a sheet of paper, tore it off the notepad, and took it to Tweed.

  'Sorry it took so long ...'

  'I've got it. That's the main thing. I'll dial the number myself. I may have to crash through a screen of underlings...'

  *

  Paula had shown cool outrage when Dawlish grabbed her by the wrist.

  'If you don't let go of me I'll walk out on you now. And you won't like the article. Headline? Lord Dawlish Manhandles Women. Won't do your image a power of good, I'd have thought.'

  Dawlish released his grip. Still red-faced he repeated his question more quietly.

  'Who the hell put you up to asking that question about armaments? Someone else threw me the same sidewinder not ten minutes ago.'

  'I'm not someone else. For your information I happen to operate independently. And it was rather an obvious subject to bring up - you do control armament factories. I do my homework before I interview anyone. Or would you prefer to dodge the issue?'r />
  'No issue to dodge, as you put it. I also control whole chains of supermarket stores in North America. Which is my main source of income.' He leaned towards her. 'I feed people. Armaments is a sideline. I suppose, like all reporters you're looking for a sensational angle.' he sneered.

  'A balanced report is what I aim at. You have a really wide spread of activities. That's the way the article will read. Supermarkets, financing underwater exploration of a sunken village. I think I'll concentrate on the latter. It's unusual.'

  'Do I have your word on that?' Dawlish barked.

  'Look, are you deaf? I've already told you once what I'm going to do.'

  'I like a girl with guts.' Dawlish became amiable. 'I spend half my time pushing thickheads into carrying out my instructions correctly. Only way I've got where I have. You're very intelligent. Shouldn't have lost my temper. There was an incident outside just before I met you. My apologies.' He grinned. 'Why not join me in a glass of wine to show no hard feelings? Then later I can show you round the house. Some interesting pictures upstairs.'

  Upstairs? Bedrooms. Here we go again, Paula thought as she shook her head. 'If you don't mind I'll stay with coffee.'

  'Coffee can be served upstairs.' Dawlish persisted. 'I have a Rubens up there. That would be something for your article.'