Here Be Monsters

''Doc' - M'sieur Doc, to be exact - that's what the locals call him - ' He massaged the steering wheel' - but that's funny, you know. Because Dale said it didn't have anything to do with him being Doctor Thomas - ' le est professeur' , is what they say, if you push them.

Like, in Italy, we say professore, not dottore. So I don't know why he's 'M'sieur Doc'.'

Audley grinned at her, with sudden pure wicked pleasure. 'Haddodt, son of Cymbeline, or Cunobelin, King of the Brigantes and Enemy of Rome, before Queen Cartimandua handed him over to the Romans, Elizabeth - remember?'

Caractacus - Caradoc - Caradog - Craddock - Haddock… and finally M'sieur Doc, in his final metamorphosis, thought Elizabeth. 'So what do the locals say about him, Mr Richardson?'

'Nothing to his shame, Miss Loftus.' Richardson leaped over all Audley's nonsense to come to the point. 'They think the world of the old devil, as a matter of fact.'

'Old devil?'

'I merely quote Andy Dale. The old boy first came there on his honeymoon, and he's owned the cottage for donkey's ages. It seems his wife died young, but he still used to come down every summer, and sometimes in the spring too. So he's pretty much part of the scenery. Goes every morning to get his bread and his two-day-old Times, and every dummy2

evening for his drink with the lads - he likes his drink… Chats up the women - likes them too… Waves at the girls, and they wave back.' Richardson paused. 'In his younger days he did more than wave, apparently.'

Audley gave her an 'I-told-you-so' look.

They think the world of him, anyway: 'the famous English professor'.'

'Does he have visitors?'

'He has lots of visitors. That is, apart from his local cronies who crack bottles with him regularly. It seems his old pupils call on him quite often. And there are parties of boys from his old school come in the summer. Usually half-a-dozen, plus a master. The boys camp out in his little garden. The word in the village is that they talk together in Latin and Greek, and he tells them tales of Jules Cesar and his great wars in these parts.' He stared at her in his mirror. 'Real subversive stuff, eh?'

'Recent visitors?'

'No boys at the moment. There was an elderly American a week or so ago - ' professeur Americain' , according to the locals, Dale says. Stayed one night at the Vieille Auberge. Name of Parker. Visited him in the evening. Left next morning.'

'Name of Parker?' Audley shook his head at her. 'It just doesn't make any sense, Elizabeth.

Even if Parker was running scared - if he knew the CIA was on his heels - one side or the other - '

The CIA?' Richardson gave a start. 'Oh Christ, David! Not them too!'

'Does he have a phone?' snapped Audley.

'Yes, he does - Christ! David - us and the Other Side… and the Yanks! You'll never get away with it -

'Parker could have phoned.' Audley ignored Richardson. 'They could have met somewhere safe perfectly easily. He didn't need to leave tracks a mile wide, Elizabeth - right to Haddock's door.'

'Haddock?' Richardson waited in vain for an explanation. 'I was going to suggest that we might just pass you off as another visiting professor, David. And if you go in and out like greased lightning, and get what you want from the old devil and then run like hell… But if dummy2

the entire intelligence population of Western Europe has been sniffing round St Servan - no wonder Andy Dale abandoned ship!'

It was worse than that, thought Elizabeth. If they hadn't been on to Parker when he'd visited Haddock Thomas, the French would surely have been on to him after the Pointe du Hoc. So they were damn well bound to be in St Servan - she should have expected that even without Dale's confirmation. So they would be driving into a trap now.

Audley was looking at her. 'Well, Elizabeth?'

'Our turn-off is about ten kilometers ahead,' said Richardson. 'But I can turn left, into Avignon, instead of right. And if there's anyone on our tail, they won't be expecting that.

Or, even if they are, I can run them around and zip into the underground car park in the piazza by the papal palace - they'll have to be bloody good to follow us there before we can ditch this car and run. And Dale's man in Avignon will split us up and get us out from there.' He shrugged. 'I can come back to the car, if you like, and make like I'm waiting for you.' He shrugged again. 'If they made me at the airport then I haven't got anything to lose.

And I haven't actually done anything… except chauffeur a three-time loser a few miles. So they'll just hold me for a day or two, and maybe lean on me a bit, and ask me for my name and number.' Another shrug. 'Or with any luck they'll just follow me back to the Italian frontier, and see me off the premises.'

What should she do? wondered Elizabeth desperately.

'It's less than five kilometers now, actually,' said Richardson. 'And counting.'

She wanted to ask Audley what to do. But if she did then she'd never be able to make a decision again without remembering that she hadn't measured up, this first time.

'They might not be following us, of course.' Richardson thought aloud for her benefit. They could be so sure of