Cross of Fire

by Colin Forbes

  'Where did you learn to pick pockets?' Paula asked.

  'Oh, that's how I started out in life.'

  It took Paula a moment to realize he was joking. Stahl patted her hand, went on.

  'I was stopped by a sergeant behind a cabin. I showed him the DST card, knocked him out, tied him up with rope, hid him in a large rubbish bin, which seemed appropriate. Then I waited a long time near General Charles de Forge's office. When he rushed out I marched inside. I told you the rest.'

  'Interesting,' said Tweed.

  'And you haven't answered my question,' Stahl reminded him. 'The other reason why you brought us all here?'

  Tweed paused. He looked all round the table. He wanted his reply to have the desired effect: to make them more alert.

  'Because when I was flying over Arcachon in the Alouette which brought me from Paris I saw Kalmar.'

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  Lasalle arrived in a large powerboat half an hour before dusk. The craft edged its way up the creek, filling with the incoming tide, bumped against the hull of L'Orage V. There were already several DST men aboard, armed with automatic weapons. Lasalle was impatient.

  'Join us quickly,' he called up to Tweed. 'We are on a tight time schedule. Berthier, you come too ...'

  'Newman is coming as well.' Tweed told him.

  The powerboat turned round beneath the hull of the cabin cruiser, raced out of the creek. Paula was standing on deck, anxiously watching the wake of the craft heading for the lie aux Oiseaux. Butler took her by the arm.

  'Below decks. Now. You're a target out here.'

  'I sense it's a dangerous mission they're going on.'

  'Probably.' Butler followed her down the companionway. 'But surely you always realized when it came to a climax it would be just that. Dangerous ...'

  Thanking heaven that he'd taken Dramamine, Tweed hung on to the rail as the powerboat whipped over the waves which were now rolling in. A storm was imminent.

  Reaching the island, Lasalle bundled them aboard a waiting Alouette. It took off almost before they had time to fasten their seat belts, put on their headsets. The machine headed east - inland and away from Arcachon.

  'Is this when I meet de Forge?' Tweed asked.

  'That's part of the idea.' Lasalle replied. 'In fact you're going to meet the whole of the Cercle Noir - now assembled for its final meeting at the Villa Forban.'

  'How do you know that?'

  'Berthier informed me.'

  'From a phone inside GHQ?' Tweed queried.

  'No. He phoned from a call box in a small village. That last call which nearly cost him his life told me de Forge was massing his Second Armoured Division at GHQ. This raid will be a complete surprise. We grab the lot...'

  As they flew at top speed further inland Tweed, peering out of the window, saw other Alouettes rising up out of small clearings in woods, from inside huge barns. Beyond his window a whole fleet of Alouettes was flying at the same height. Another small armada could be seen through a window on the other side.

  'Who is aboard those machines?' Tweed asked.

  'Heavily armed, reliable units of the CRS. De Forge will be thinking any CRS are still stationed in the trucks at the Bordeaux Prefecture. In fact they were all flown down in Alouettes which made the trip one by one, landing in preselected sites chosen by a DST deputy who knows the area. I think I can see the lights of the Villa Forban.'

  Dusk, a smoky grey dusk, had descended. The Alouettes were circling. Ahead Tweed could see a walled estate, a winding drive leading to a large villa with lights on. As they drew closer he saw limousines drawn up in front of the villa. Where poor Jean Burgoyne had spied.

  The swoop from the sky had been well organized. Tweed watched large numbers of the choppers moving ahead of their machine, landing on all sides of the estate. The Cercle Noir was surrounded.

  *

  'No one can escape this cordon.' Newman remarked.

  'And they've neutralized the guard at the gate.' Tweed pointed out.

  As their machine flew below tree-top height he had seen guards - uniformed soldiers - holding up their hands at the entrance. An Alouette equipped with a swivel-mounted machine-gun had touched down on the grass verge opposite the closed gates.

  Lasalle's Alouette landed in front of the villa next to the parked limousines. Pistol in one hand, keys in the other, he was the first out of the machine, followed by several CRS men in leather jackets who had sat at the rear of the chopper. Tweed, Newman, and Berthier jumped out and followed him to the door. Lasalle inserted and turned each key, nodded to the CRS.

  'Where did he get those keys?' Tweed whispered.

  'I gave him a bunch of keys I found in Jean Burgoyne's handbag.' Newman told him. 'Two were engraved with the Cross of Lorraine - like the emblem on the door...'

  Lasalle had rushed inside the large hall. He seemed to know just where to go. Aiming his pistol he threw open a door to the left. Inside everything was confusion.

  Tweed recognized General Masson, Chief of the Army Staff, hastily stuffing papers into a briefcase. General Lapointe, commander of the force de frappe, standing erect by a chair. Louis Janin, Minister of Defence, ashen-faced, sat petrified at the long table. Dubois, dressed again in a rumpled black suit, soiled white tie, shaggy hair awry, looked desperate.

  But what attracted Tweed's attention was the chair at the head of the table, pushed back. And no sign of General Charles de Forge. Lasalle, standing at the near end of the table as CRS men crowded in, weapons aimed, addressed Masson.

  'Where is de Forge?'

  'General Charles de Forge, do you mean?'

  Masson's manner was cold, brusque. He stared at Lasalle with undisguised contempt.

  'I repeat, where is de Forge?' Lasalle snapped. 'You are all under arrest. The charge? High treason. And that applies to Charles de Forge - who was sitting in that chair. Where is he?'

  'The General has never been here. Who are you? Address me as General...'

  'Lasalle, Chief of the Paris DST...'

  'You won't hold that job much longer!' Masson stormed. 'I will personally see you are thrown into the street...'

  'You are a liar. Come with me this instant. All of you.' Lasalle ordered.

  He went to a side door halfway along the room, opened it, walked into the next room which was furnished like a study with a large desk. Newman and Berthier watched as two CRS men had to grab Masson by the arms. He raged as they frog-marched him into the study.

  General Lapointe, thin and grave-faced, needed no encouragement to do as he was told. With a certain dignity he moved into the study: he struck Newman as the most intelligent man in the Cercle. Dubois also offered no resistance. He pulled at his untidy moustache as he slouched after Masson with dropping shoulders. Lasalle was seated behind the desk, had used a key to open a deep bottom drawer. Newman glanced inside: it held a modern tape recorder. Lasalle had pressed the rewind button and the reels were spinning. The members of the Cercle were lined up against the wall as he pressed the play button, sat back, listened.

  'Gentlemen, I will not waste words. Tomorrow we take Paris. I shall send the Austerlitz signal to destabilize the capital early in the morning...'

  De Forge's crisp commanding voice. Unmistakably.

  'Are you quite certain Austerlitz will work? Only that gives us the excuse that you are needed to restore order.'

  Masson's voice, showing a trace of nervousness.

  'Masson, you really must trust me. There can be only one commander of an operation. I, General de Forge, am that commander.'

  Masson's normally ruddy face had lost colour. He stood like a frozen statue as the tape continued to relay the conversation.

  'Of course we all accept you as commander of the operation, General. Soon I shall be addressing you as President. But how soon can we remove Navarre so I can take over his position?'

  The oily voice of Dubois. His eyes shifted uncertainly from the CRS man on his left to the one on his right. Lasalle stopped the tape, s
tared at the three men.

  'Do I have to play any more? I said high treason, Masson. You have only one alternative, not open to the others...'

  While he had played the tape Newman had moved to the other side of the room, walled with glass-fronted bookcases. He noticed one case where the books inside had toppled. He ran his fingers down the hinges of the glass-fronted door. As he pressed one hinge there was a click. The edge of the bookcase slid an inch or so open all the way to the floor like a door. He hauled at it and the concealed door opened, exposing a flight of stone steps.

  The Smith & Wesson was in his hand as he ran down the steps and down a long corridor under the house. He was stopped by a steel slab he couldn't shift. He ran back and Lasalle turned in his chair.

  'De Forge got away through an escape tunnel,' Newman reported. 'I've no doubt it comes out well beyond the walls round the estate. Probably had a car waiting for him.'

  'Pity. Our troubles are not over.' Lasalle gave the order to one of the CRS men. 'Handcuff the prisoners, escort them to separate helicopters. They will be flown to Paris.'

  'This is outrageous.' Dubois protested.

  General Lapointe made no protest. He simply extended both hands, wrists close together. Lasalle shook his head as the DST man next to Lapointe produced handcuffs.

  'No cuffs for General Lapointe. Simply escort him.'

  Tweed had kept quiet up to now. This was, after all, Lasalle's affair, but he was curious about Lapointe. He asked his question as Masson was shown into another room and Dubois was taken away.

  'General, your voice is on that tape?'

  'Yes.' Lapointe smiled drily. 'You'll find you have the evidence you need on me.'

  'You supported de Forge's plan?' Tweed pressed.

  'He never told us his battle plan. He is a very careful man.' He paused. 'Oh, well, it is on the tape. I urged him to do nothing rash, to go and see Navarre to get his view. I still take full responsibility for my actions. Good evening, gentlemen...'

  'Now for Masson.' Lasalle decided, jumping up.

  'Before that how did you know about this tape recorder?' Tweed asked. 'You installed it yourself?'

  'It was Jean Burgoyne's idea. A wire runs from the recorder under the carpet here.' Lasalle went to the wall adjoining the room where the Cerde Noir had always met. He pulled aside an escritoire. 'One of my technicians drilled a hole in the wall. A small powerful microphone was inserted - voice-activated. It picks up everything said in there. Jean always knew when they'd be meeting - de Forge would invent an excuse for her not to be here during the evening. She put on a fresh tape. Later she sent the tapes to me. One reason why I knew so much. Bless her. I came here earlier today with a new tape. Now for Masson...'

  They entered the living room where Masson sat gazing at the wall. Lasalle drew up a chair, facing the general.

  'You have two options. Proposed by Navarre. You will be guarded night and day in Paris - a rumour will be spread that Manteau has said he is going to kill you. You keep your present post until this problem is settled. You make only public statements sanctioned by Navarre. Later you retire -for reasons of ill health - on a full pension.'

  Lasalle paused. He stared at Masson who gazed back with an icy expression.

  'The other option.' Lasalle continued, 'is public disgrace, a court martial, maybe even a prison sentence.'

  'I will co-operate.' Masson said immediately.

  There was a strange gleam in his eyes. Lasalle smiled to himself: Masson had fallen for it. He was banking on de Forge winning. When Masson had been escorted from the room Lasalle turned to Tweed and Newman.

  'Janin will be offered the same terms. He will accept. We are gambling. Nothing is solved. A great pity de Forge was able to escape. He will move fast. The final crisis is imminent. You had better fly back with me to Paris. Navarre has agreed to the laying of old mines.'

  'Not yet.' said Tweed. 'We are staying in Arcachon for the moment. I want to see what Dawlish does. And I'd say now is the time for Kuhlmann to round up Siegfried - before they break loose.'

  Kuhlmann's dragnet - spread out all over Germany - struck at 1 a.m. the following morning. Police units stormed into addresses in Hamburg, Frankfurt, Munich, and many other cities. The addresses supplied by Helmut Schneider, Rosewater's informant.

  They surprised the Siegfried organization everywhere. By 3 a.m. in Paris Kuhlmann had received reports of several hundred pounds of Semtex, bombs with timer devices, large numbers of rocket launchers, and an armoury of weapons being seized.

  'Enough to start a small war.' he remarked to Lasalle who had returned to Paris.

  'And the men who were going to use this equipment?'

  'Mostly from Alsace. Presumably because they can speak some German down there. Even members of a crank movement which wanted Alsace taken over by Germany. The media has no idea of what happened. A model operation.'

  'Austerlitz in Paris will be different.' Lasalle commented grimly.

  The Steel Vulture had sailed from Dunwich as soon as it was dark. Instead of riding the rollers in Biscay the twin hulls sliced through the waves like a knife through butter.

  Dawlish was on the bridge as Santos - for the umpteenth time - checked the sophisticated radar himself. No sign of any vessel ahead. Earlier he had briefly registered aircraft flying out from the French coast but they had turned away, mere blips a long way off.

  The Vulture, on Dawlish's direct orders, was completing its great sweep across the Atlantic without navigation lights. Santos had expressed reservations.

  'I have never sailed without them before.'

  'So it's time you learned to live dangerously.' Dawlish had snapped. 'We have radar. Best in the world.'

  'No radar is foolproof...'

  'Then make sure no fool is using it. Check yourself. That is what a skipper is for. No more crap. That is, if you want that promised bonus ...'

  Santos had shrugged. And he did want that large tax-free bonus paid in cash. Now they were approaching Arcachon and the first blood-red streaks of dawn were splashed across the eastern sky. Santos stood alongside Dawlish on the bridge when the wireless operator dashed up the companionway. He looked scared out of his wits, was waving a piece of paper.

  'Captain! I've just received this signal from the shore. There are old wartime mines which have appeared! We are ordered to turn round immediately before it is too late.'

  'My God ...!' began Santos.

  'Bluff.' Dawlish barked. 'Sheer bluff. Mines, my foot. It's a Navarre trick. Maintain your present course ...'

  'But if they are right...' Santos began again.

  'I said maintain your present course, damn you!'

  Aboard L'Orage V the tall DST officer they had met when they arrived on the vessel stood crouched over a powerful transceiver. Crowded behind him were Tweed, Newman, Paula and the others. The DST man looked at Tweed. 'They've sent the warning signal repeatedly. No reply.' 'And there won't be.' Tweed replied. 'I know Dawlish. He will try to bring in the Vulture. He'll think it's just a trick. Nothing gets in the way of Dawlish. I'm going to take a look...'

  With binoculars looped round his neck he ran up the companionway. On deck he climbed to the roof of the wheelhouse, then mounted the ladder alongside the radar mast. Below, Paula watched anxiously: Tweed had been known to suffer from vertigo.

  Perched at the top of the mast, Tweed could see beyond the entrance to the bassin the Vulture cutting through the waves with its twin hulls. He kept the night glasses pressed to his eyes. It really was an amazing vessel. Could it, with the luck the wicked so often possessed, dodge the mines and make its owner's landfall?

  Dawlish walked to the port side of the bridge. He stared down. A metal sphere with protruding prongs was drifting a yard or so away from the hull. He left the bridge, ran to the small aircraft aft of the bridge where a pilot was always at the controls.

  Climbing the ladder to the inside of the machine, he shouted his order. At the same time he pressed the button which automatical
ly retracted the ladder, slammed the door shut.

  'Lift off! Get this bloody toy in the air before we are blown to pieces. Course? I'll tell you later. Get her up now, for Christ's sake!'

  Watching through his glasses, Tweed saw the Vulture slowing down prior to entering the bassin. He pursed his lips. It looked as though Dawlish was going to make it. Nerve gas in the hands of a man like de Forge. The mere threat would clear the way straight into Paris.

  Then he saw the small aircraft appear, jumping clear off the deck, climbing vertically, and he guessed Dawlish was escaping. One hundred feet up, the machine hovered above the vessel below, ready to fly away.

  Seconds later the Vulture detonated the mine. There was a dull thudding b-o-o-m! which echoed round the bassin. An immense geyser of water rocketed upwards to a great height, carrying with it huge chunks of metal debris. It enveloped the hovering aircraft, which briefly vanished in the dense spray cloud. The geyser sank back. The aircraft sank with the geyser, toppling with a slow windmilling motion. Below, one of the twin hulls split off, skidding across the ocean surface. The other hull went down like a high-speed elevator. As the tumbling aircraft hit the deck the vessel fragmented. Massive pieces of the hull and bridge were hurled out to sea. There was an ear-splitting dull roar as the relics of the Vulture dived beneath the waves. The missiles had exploded. A new eruption of water soared upwards, a gigantic fountain infested with the wreckage of what had been one of the most advanced vessels in the world. Tweed consoled himself with the knowledge that nerve gas would swiftly disperse in the ocean, would become harmless. He braced himself and the Shockwave shook the mast. Then silence. He climbed down, looked at his team.