It was clause tzt which was the key to the whole agreement. This clause stated that in the furtherance of world peace joint military manoeuvres would be carried out from time to time on the respective territories of the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics and the Republic of France. In simple language it meant that the advance elements of two Soviet armoured divisions now aboard convoy K. 12 would be landed at French Mediterranean ports within the next few days.
`Where will they go to?' inquired Nikolai Suslov, the most intellectual member of the Politburo.
`I will tell you!' It was the immensely broad-shouldered, uniformed and bemedalled Marshal Gregori Prachko who replied. Prachko intensely disliked non-practical intellectuals and especially disliked Nikolai Suslov. 'They will be put ashore at Toulon and Marseilles immediately Florian has announced the pact in Moscow. The date of his visit-23 December-has been carefully chosen. Over their famous Christmas the government ministers of the west all go on holiday, so they will not be behind their desks to react quickly…
Tut where will the troops go?' Suslov persisted.
`To the Rhine border with Germany, of course! As he gets up on Christmas morning to open his presents, Chancellor Franz Hauser will find himself facing Soviet troops to the east -and to the west! The whole of western Europe will fall under our control-including the powerhouse of the Ruhr-which will enable us to win any confrontation with China…'
PART THREE
CHAPTER ONE
Any experienced policeman knows it: you can throw a cordon round an area, set up road-blocks, and three times out of four you are too late. Gruber set up a cordon and caught nothing but irate motorists and truck-drivers. The Mercedes, which had been hired in Kehl, was found a week later inside a copse at the edge of the Black Forest. Four of the six policemen who had been getting out of the truck when the petrol tanker detonated were lucky; most of the blast went the other way, travelling across open fields. The other two policemen were badly burned, one of them with first-degree injuries which required plastic surgery later. The petrol tanker driver died from the fumes which filled his cab before he could escape.
Lanz and Gruber searched Wohl's house, looking for the war diary which Lennox had seen, and found no trace of the diary or the manuscript. Brunner's dead body was taken to the police mortuary and examination of his clothing and pocket contents revealed very little. He was carrying a large sum of money- two thousand deutschmark-and a French identity card in the name of Emile Bonnard 'Which will undoubtedly prove to be false,' Gruber commented. Underneath his German hat and coat Brunner was wearing a French suit and underclothes. Apart from this there was very little to prove who he really was -until the preliminary results of the medical examination came through.
`My colleague has come up with something interesting,' the medical examiner reported to Gruber who was sitting in a hotel bedroom eating dinner with the BND chief and Lennox. `He is a dental technician and according to him the dental work and teeth fillings were definitely carried out in eastern Europe-probably in Russia…'
Lanz phoned Marc Grelle direct from police headquarters at Freiburg. Strictly speaking, any such call should have been made to the Surete, but whereas Lanz knew Grelle well and trusted his discretion, he neither liked nor trusted the Director-General who was Commissioner Suchet's superior. As Lanz explained to Grelle, he had two reasons for informing him of this development. The assassin Lennox had shot dead-and Lanz was careful not to mention the Englishman in any way- was travelling with French papers in the name of Emile Bonnard. Also-and here again Lanz phrased it carefully-he had reason to believe the Commando had recently come from France and might well have re-crossed the border back into that country…'
`You have solid grounds for saying an assassination Commando, possibly Soviet-controlled, is on the move?' Grelle inquired.
`Yes,' Lanz replied firmly. 'Without going into details, I'm pretty sure of it. And perhaps it would be helpful if we both keep in touch…'
Grelle had just put down the phone when Boisseau came into his office with a routine report.
`Lesage has just called in. That Algerian terrorist, Abou Benefeika, is still holed up in the derelict apartment building in the Goutte-d'Or. No sign of his pals coming to collect him yet. We let him go on fermenting?'
`Continue the surveillance…' Grelle took a bite out of the sandwich he would have to make do with for his evening meal. Normally he dined at Chez Benoit, an exclusive little restaurant in the old Les Halles district where you had to phone for a table; he was beginning to miss the place. 'I have just had a call from Peter Lanz of the German BND,' he informed Boisseau. `He played it very cagey but somehow he has found out that a Soviet assassination Commando is at work. This evening they killed an ex-Abwehr officer in Freiburg.' He paused. 'The name of the Abwehr man was Dieter Wohl…
`One of the three names on Lasalle's list…'
`Exactly. So now it looks as though this Commando has been sent with the express purpose of wiping out everyone on that list-and they've done it, for God's sake. All avenues through which we might have seen a little light are closed…'
`The surveillance on Roger Danchin and Alain Blanc is producing nothing?'
`Nothing…' The prefect frowned as his phone rang. He checked his watch. 10 pm. Only recently returned from his flight to Marseilles when he had accompanied the president while he delivered his most bitter anti- American tirade so far, Grelle was feeling very tired. Who the hell could it be at this hour? He picked up the phone, swallowing the last of his sandwich. It was Alain Blanc.
`No, Minister,' Grelle assured him. 'I have not dug up any connection between the president and Lucie Devaud as yet… We now know her father was Albert Camors, a wealthy stockbroker who died a few months ago and left her his apartment in the Place des Vosges… . No, we do not know any more… Yes, she must have been illegitimate… No, no connection at all with the Elysee…'
Grelle shrugged as he replaced the receiver. (He worries about a scandal, that one. As I was saying, all avenues seem closed to us, so all we can hope for once more is the unexpected break. And yet, Boisseau, I feel that somewhere I am overlooking something-something under my nose…'
`Something to do with the Commando? Incidentally, we may as well cancel the alert on the man the German police shot in Freiburg. Did Lanz give you a name?'
Grelle consulted a notepad. 'Emile Bonnard,' he replied. `And I do not expect we shall ever see the other two men- Duval and Lambert. They have done their job. They will never return to France.'
Carel Vanek and Antonin Lansky approached the checkpoint to cross back into France the following morning, Wednesday, 22 December, which was the deadline day Borisov had given them in Tabor to complete their mission. They were on their way to visit Annette Devaud. They came up to the passport control counter separately with half a dozen people between them and Vanek presented himself for inspection first.
`Papers…'
The passport officer took the document Vanek handed him, opened it after studying the Czech's face and then compared it with the photograph. The name he had already noted. Vanek waited with a bored look on his face, chewing a piece of chocolate while he studied the extremely attractive girl waiting next in line. He grinned at her engagingly and after a moment's hesitation she smiled back at him.
`You have been to Germany on business?' the passport official inquired.
`Yes.'
The official returned the passport and Vanek moved on, to be joined a few minutes later by Lansky. Vanek had presented the third set of papers he had brought from Tabor, papers made out in the name of Lucien Segard, papers which carried a photograph of him without a moustache. Only the previous night in Kehl he had shaved off the moustache in the station wash-room before accompanying Lansky to a small hotel where they had spent the
