This United State Part 50

'I'm convinced we're almost fatally short of time.'

Rear Admiral Honeywood, known throughout the naval service as Crag, settled himself into his chair on the control deck of the immense aircraft carrier, the President President. The vast array of escorts were way ahead of their bow, way behind their stern and spread out to port and starboard.

'We'll be on station in the English Channel, I reckon, about two days from now,' he remarked to his Operations Officer.

'That would be my estimate.'

'And so far,' Crag reflected, 'we haven't been seen by anyone.'

'Correct, sir. No submarines have been detected by sonar. We have seen not a single s.h.i.+p which might have reported our presence. And no commercial airliner has pa.s.sed over the task force.'

'Let's hope it continues that way. The Pentagon is counting on our surprise arrival on their doorstep to stun the Brits out of their skulls.'

'Maybe it's time to report our situation back to the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff. He gets restless if he isn't kept regularly in the picture.'

'Old Stone-Face does just that. Send him another report. Include that worn-out phrase "proceeding according to plan". He'll like that.'

'Can't this buggy move any faster?' Osborne demanded. 'The chauffeur is doing very well. We're going at high speed now,' replied Sharon acidly.

She was sitting in the back of the stretch limo with Osborne by her side. In the front Denise Chatel sat next to the chauffeur, her head down as she studied a file open on her lap. The limo streaked along the auto-route to Paris.

'Guess I could drive the jalopy faster myself,' Osborne grumbled.

'I don't know why you had to come with me as a pa.s.senger,' Sharon retorted.

'Simple, lady. Your limo was just leavin' when I needed to. I want to reach the Ritz before Tweed does, to be waitin' for him.'

'Well, I would appreciate it if you would leave the driver to do his job - which he's doing very well.'

'We gotta keep movin', baby.'

'And please do not call me baby. I really have no idea what your position is at the Emba.s.sy.'

'Call me an expediter. Hi, Denise,' he called out, 'how is the world goin' with you?'

Denise Chatel kept her head bent over her file. She made no reply. With one hand she shut the half-open section of the gla.s.s part.i.tion dividing the front of the limo from the rear. Osborne shrugged, waved both large hands in a gesture of resignation.

'If I'm not being nosy,' said Paula, 'why are we going to Paris?'

'I want to see Rene Lasalle, head of the DST. I think face to face, as opposed to talking on the phone, Rene may tell me more about the father of Denise.'

'Her father who was killed with his wife in a car crash somewhere in Virginia a year or so ago?'

'That's right - Jean Chatel. Sent over officially as an attache, but really a member of the French Secret Service.'

'Why are you so interested in him?' she asked as Tweed overtook a convoy of three large trucks.

'Because he was sent to find out what the Americans were up to - and especially because Jean Chatel and his wife died in a car accident at exactly the same bridge where years before Sharon's parents died in a car accident.'

'I don't see the connection.'

'Neither do I,' admitted Tweed. 'But I have a feeling there is a connection - and that it might be the key to what is going on now. I'm hoping Rene will be able to give me more information.'

'Does he know you're coming?'

'Yes. I called him briefly on Beck's mobile from my room when I went to collect my case before we left the Hotel Regent.'

'We're getting low on petrol,' Paula warned.

'Yes, I had noticed. And I think I see the lights of an all-night service station ahead. While we're filling up I want to call Roy Buchanan.'

'I'll deal with the petrol,' Newman called out.

'I can do that myself,' said Kent. 'I feel like stretching my legs, making myself useful.'

'You've been of invaluable help already, Keith,' Tweed a.s.sured him. 'But if you feel like that you can tank us up. Here we are.'

While Kent was filling up the tank Tweed used the mobile to try to contact Buchanan. He was lucky:- The familiar voice, taut and grim, answered immediately.

'Who is this?'

'It's Tweed. Roy, if you can, I'd like you to do something for me. I'm going to see Jefferson Morgenstern when I get back to London. Have you any evidence that the Americans were behind the bombings in London?'

'Yes. A security video in the Oxford Street outrage survived the blast. We have a very clear picture of the man who planted that bomb. A very tall thin man with a hard bony face ...'

'A very tall thin man with a hard bony face,' Tweed repeated, looking back at Newman.

'Vernon Kolkowski,' Newman said promptly.

'We know - knew - him,' Tweed reported to Buchanan 'He's dead as the proverbial doornail. Name of Vernon Kolkowski. I'll spell that... Got it? Good. He was probably based at the American Emba.s.sy while I was still in London.'

'He was. We secretly photographed him when he re-entered the Emba.s.sy. Couldn't do a thing about it. They all carried those diplomatic pa.s.sports.'

'What I'd like you to do is to compile a file of evidence - including what you've told me, with pics. I'd like as fat a file as possible to show Morgenstern when I get back:'

'Consider it done. No more bombings. Our drastic security precautions are working. Touch wood,' he added. 'When will you be back?'

'At a guess, within the next twenty-four hours.' 'The file will be waiting for you.'

The connection was broken and Tweed sank back with relief. He smiled as Paula asked the question he'd been expecting.

'Why do you want to talk to Morgenstern?'

'I said quite a while ago that I was convinced that the Americans are operating at two different levels, in watertight compartments. Sharon confirmed that. I don't think the diplomatic side has any idea of what the Executive Action Department lot have been up to, the crimes they've committed. And Morgenstern is greatly respected not only globally but also inside the States. To the American public Morgenstern is Was.h.i.+ngton.'

He glanced in his rear-view mirror. Marler's Audi was parked behind them while Butler filled up its tank. Kent reappeared out of a large cafe attached to the petrol station. Paula lowered her window as he handed her two large paper bags. He leaned into the car.

'Mineral water in one bag, fresh croissants in the other. Most of the customers sitting inside are truckers. Their vehicles are parked out at the back. In France bakeries work through the night to produce fresh croissants. The French insist on them, as you may know. In the morning housewives make a trip to the nearest source of supply. Must have fresh croissants for breakfast.'

'Keith, you're an angel,' Paula purred.

She leant out of the window, kissed him on the cheek. At that moment Marler strolled up to Tweed's window. He was stretching his arms.

'Got a moment?' he asked.

'A few minutes only. Think I'll get out and flex my muscles...'

Paula was drinking water out of the bottle. When she'd quenched her thirst she wiped the neck of the bottle with a clean handkerchief. Then she handed the bottle to Newman.

'Excuse my unladylike manners. When you've had a drink I'll pa.s.s you some croissants. Don't forget Keith,' she went on as Kent got back in beside Newman.

'While I was marooned back at the Schwarzwalder Hof in Freiburg,' Marler began, 'I went out, found a public phone, called Alf.'

'Alf?'

'Alf Rudge. Top man in that c.o.c.kney mob I once mentioned to you. In my spare time, for several weeks I've been training them as a reserve. Tough lot. All cab drivers. Took them out into the wilds of the Chiltern Hills. Seven of them, including Alf. Set up a makes.h.i.+ft shooting range in the middle of nowhere. Trained them with handguns, grenades, and machine-pistols. Three of them already knew their stuff - veterans of the Gulf War. They're all pretty much crack shots now.'

'Could come in very useful,' Tweed mused. 'The Americans have unlimited manpower. How can they afford the time if they're cab drivers?'

'Easy. They all own their cabs. Alf has one or two Americans as friends, but like the rest of his mob he does not like the Yanks. Can I tell you quickly a story about Alf?'

'In five minutes - at the outside - we must head for Paris again.'

They were walking about, working their legs in the glare of lights. Nield, a grenade concealed in one hand, his Walther in the other, was outside, watching the highway.

'Alf,' Marler explained, 'flew to LA for a change. One night he's out for a walk when three thugs approach him, demand his money. He takes out his wallet, shows them it has only a single one-hundred-dollar bill. Tells them he has more back where he's staying nearby. If they promise not to harm him they can have all the money. Leads them back to the run-down hotel where he's staying, up to his room. The chief thug has a gun barrel pressed into his neck, the other two stay downstairs in case police appear. Alf says if the chief thug takes the gun off his neck he'll tell him where to get the money. The thug obliges, Alf tells him to open a heavy drawer. The thug does so, Alf jams his hand inside, ramming the drawer shut. Alf slams him one on the jaw, the thug collapses, semi-conscious. Alf calls down to the others. They arrive, Alf uses the chief thug's gun to hammer their heads. He topples all three down the stairs, out into the street. Sleazy owner turns up, Alf pays his bill, tells him he's going to Malibu. Packs his case, flags down a cab, goes to the airport, catches the first flight home.'

'Alf can take care of himself,' Tweed commented. 'I see Butler, like Kent, has taken a bag of goodies to your car. Now, we get moving. Fast.'

'Shove your ruddy foot down,' snarled Rupert. 'This car's moving like a snail.'

'Some snail, my dear chap,' replied Basil, behind the wheel. 'I'm driving right on the speed limit.'

'To h.e.l.l with the speed limit. I wanna get to Paris.' 'That's where we're going, dear boy.'

'Don't you "dear boy" me. We're the same flaming age. Thirty-two. In case you've forgotten,' he sneered.

'I had not forgotten. Exceed the speed limit and a patrol car nabs us. We end up in the Sante Prison in Paris. Heard of what it's like inside there, have we? They shove you inside and throw away the key.'

'I'll take over the wheel. Stop the car,' Rupert raged.

'Not sure that would be a frightfully good idea. Not after how much you consumed in the bar at the Hotel Regent. What's all this hurry to reach Paris?'

'I wanna drink.'

'I think you want to have a go at Newman. Not a good idea. He can look after himself in a mean way.'

'Not interested in Newman. A has-been fifth-rate reporter. I wanna drink. Couldn't get one to bring with me at that crazy bar. Closing as early as that.'

'It was the middle of the night,' Basil pointed out. 'What's that got to do with it? I should have brought a bottle.'

'Well, I fear you didn't - because you couldn't. You did drink five times as much as me.'

'You were counting, were you?' Rupert sneered once more. 'Just the kind of thing you would do.' He waved his hand about. 'I know you won't mind if I say you're one lousy driver.'

'We're getting closer to Paris now. Why don't you have a nap?'

'Don't wanna a nap. Wanna a drink.'

'While I think of it, Rupert. You phoned your late father's lawyer from the Colombi in Freiburg,' said Basil in a perfectly sober voice. 'You told me he'd agreed to advance you some money. I'm desperately short of that commodity. I could do with a loan very urgently. I'm sure you could spare ten thousand pounds.'

'I suspect we're not too far from Paris,' said Tweed. 'You're right,' Paula agreed. 'We'll soon be seeing the outskirts. Why? Are you getting tired?'

'No, just impatient. I have a feeling we should get back to London as fast as we can, that time is running out.'

'I've just remembered something important,' Newman called out from the back. 'Back at Schluchsee, when I was nearly knocked down by Ronstadt when he was fleeing in his car. There were four men in that car. But when Marler dropped his grenade into the launch in Strasbourg there were only three men in it. One is still missing.'.

'Maybe the Phantom,' Paula joked. 'He seems to live a charmed life.'

'You could be right,' Newman replied seriously. 'So far as we know he's still on the loose.'

'If he isn't dead,' Tweed remarked. 'I hope he appears sooner or later. He has:to be wiped out - the number of people he's killed up to now.'

'When you've finished your business in Paris how do we get home?' Newman enquired.

'It all depends on which is the quickest way back,' Tweed answered. 'It could be by Eurostar or flying back from Charles de Gaulle airport. Lasalle will know the answer.'

'It's beginning to get light,' said Paula. 'With a bit of luck we'll reach the Ritz before the horrendous rush hour starts in Paris.'

A faint glow of light was rising in the east. Gradually it spread across the cultivated fields on either side of the auto-route. The clear sky was a pallid blue. There was a promise of a fine day on the way.

'A bit different from the Black Forest,' Paula said cheerfully.

'The weather forecast predicted a brighter fresh day for this area,' Tweed recalled. 'Makes a change. And I was just wondering how Howard is coping. He's had to run the whole show himself under very difficult circ.u.mstances ...'

Many hours earlier - it was mid-afternoon of the previous day - Howard had decided he must drive down to the Bunker to see for himself how they were getting on. It was a gloriously sunny day but Howard had to force himself to make the trip. He'd had hardly any sleep for the past forty-eight hours and was concentrating as best he could behind the wheel of the car.

By himself, he had pa.s.sed through the village of Parham. He had given a brief thought to calling at Irongates on Sir Guy Strangeways, but had decided he'd better keep going while he was still awake.

His eyes kept wanting to close and he nearly missed the turn-off from the road south of Ashford to Ivychurch. Now all his concentration was called for as he negotiated the narrow, twisting lanes. Half the time, the spiky hedges, waiting for spring to come into leaf, blotted out his view of what lay beyond the next bend.

'I'm driving a lethal weapon, he said aloud. 'I must look out for other people.'

Normally he would have been alerted by the beat-beat of a helicopter approaching. In his exhausted state he a.s.sumed it was a traffic-checking machine. He drove very slowly as he approached the automatic farm gate which would be operated by Mrs Carson. He could still hear the chopper when Mrs Carson ran out into the yard and gestured to him furiously to drive on inside a large barn with its door open. He did so. Getting out of the car, he nearly stumbled. As soon as he was outside Mrs Carson slammed the barn door shut.

'Get inside the house. Quick!' she shouted.

Once he was inside she shut the door immediately. He slumped into an armchair. He knew that if he wasn't careful he'd fall fast asleep.