and was waiting to see Danchin. The Elysee, of course, sees everything that concerns Col Lasalle,' Merlin explained.
The prefect grunted and drank the rest of the cup of coffee Merlin had provided. 'Do you think I could have a word with the monitoring section?' he suggested.
Among the cluster of radio masts which rise up from the roof of the Ministry of the Interior in the Place Beauvau is the antenna used for monitoring radio signals transmitted by foreign embassies. At 4 pm on 14 December the technician on duty inside the monitoring unit recorded a long signal emanating from the Soviet Embassy at 79, rue de Grenelle. The tape-recording of the signal was handed to the Russian section who went through the routine motions of studying the coded signal-routine because no one expected to be able to unravel the stream of ciphers.
The Russians use the one-time code, which is unbreakable. Codes are broken by discovering a pattern; only a fragment can unlock the key. But when each element of a code is linked to a particular book-often a novel (in the past the Russian encoders have favoured Dickens)-there is no way to break the code without knowing which of the thousands of books published over the past hundred years has been used. And as the same book is never used twice it is literally a one-time code which is employed.
It was cryptographer Pierre Jadot who had studied the signal transmitted, and he immediately recalled the incident when Grelle asked him about any Soviet signals transmitted on that day. 'I made my usual routine report in a memo to the Minister,' he said, 'and I remember suggesting that one section of the signal could have been a list of names and addresses…'
`You are sure about that?' Grelle asked casually.
`By no means-it is no more than an educated guess. And there is no way of cracking the Soviet codes.'
`Can you give me any idea of how long it might take the Soviet encoder at this end to prepare that signal for transmission? Even a guess would be helpful.'
Jadot took down a file, extracted his copy of the signal and studied it for a few minutes. 'At a guess-it can be no more than that-I would say between one and two hours. Probably nearer two hours. ..
Thanking Jadot, the prefect left the Ministry and called at the Elysee on his way back to the prefecture. Again he asked to see the visitors' register, and again he concealed what he was really looking for by glancing at several pages. Then he drove straight back to his office and called in Boisseau. It took him only a few minutes to explain. 'The point is, Leonid Vorin, the Soviet ambassador, left the Elysee to return to his embassy at 1.45 pm. Allowing for the traffic, he must have got back say half an hour later-at 2.15 pm. That gave the Soviet encoder just under two hours to prepare the signal for the transmission which began at four o'clock-which fits in with the time Jadot estimated it would take. A signal which may well have contained Col Lasalle's list of names and addresses…
`Which brings us back to the men who knew about the list and who saw Ambassador Vorin,' Boisseau replied gravely. `Danchin and..'
`The president,' Grelle added. 'I have the feeling that daylight is beginning to break through this business.'
`Or the blackest night,' Boisseau commented.
It was six o'clock in the evening when Alain Blanc came up to Grelle's office at the prefecture looking grim and despondent. The Stanislas express with Annette Devaud on board was now racing through the night on its way to Paris. At Charles de Gaulle Airport mechanics were busily servicing the Concorde which would fly President Florian to Moscow within a few hours. Blanc came into the office with a savage expression as he closed the door and flopped into a chair.
`You've heard about the Soviet convoy, of course?' the Minister of National Defence inquired. 'It is now inside the Sicilian Narrows and its destination could be either Barcelona or even Lisbon.'
`What is worrying you, sir?' the prefect asked quietly.
`Everything!' Blanc threw up his hands in an expressive gesture. 'The Russian convoy. The persistent rumours of an imminent coup d'etat in Paris. By whom, for God's sake? And half an hour ago I hear for the first time that the president made a secret flight to Germany on Monday-to the French army GHQ, at Baden-Baden!'
Grelle stared at the minister in astonishment. 'You didn't know he had flown to Baden-Baden? He didn't inform you? The Minister of National Defence? I thought you knew-I made the arrangements myself with GLAM…'
GLAM-Groupe Liaison Aerien Ministeriel-is the small air fleet which is reserved for ministerial and presidential usage.
`What on earth is going on?' the prefect asked.
`That I would like to know myself,' Blanc said grimly. 'And I have just heard also that our two armoured divisions in Germany, the 2nd and the 5th, are moving through the Ardennes on their way back to France, which will leave no French troops on German soil. When I phone the Elysee to request an immediate appointment I am told that the president is busy with the Soviet ambassador…'
`And he leaves for Moscow tomorrow.'
`Precisely,' Blanc snapped. 'Recently he has been acting as though I don't exist-a total change of mood and method I cannot even begin to understand. It is almost as though he were trying to provoke my resignation. He may succeed-I may have to resign…'
'Don't do that,' Grelle said quickly. 'We may need you yet. You've discussed this with other ministers?'
`They are supine!' Blanc exploded. 'They think he is God and they are the apostles! I am the only one who has started to ask questions, to demand what the hell is going on. I tell you, I shall have to resign if this goes on…'
`Don't do it. We may need you desperately,' Grelle repeated.
Only a few minutes after Blanc had left, Grelle was told he had another visitor waiting to see him and he asked his secretary to repeat the name, sure she must have got it wrong. But no, it was Commissioner Suchet, his old enemy of the counter-espionage service. Apologizing for calling without an appointment, Suchet squeezed his gross bulk into a chair and came straight to the point. 'These coup d' etat rumours are coming from the Red Belt suburbs-from Billiancourt. Certain agitators are very active today saying that soon the people may have to defend the Republic. Coming from that scum, it's a great joke, but I'm not laughing-I'm worried stiff. An hour ago some of my agents uncovered an arms dump at Renault. I thought you ought to know. Someone must act…'
Grelle took decisive action at once, first phoning Roger Danchin to obtain his approval, then issuing a stream of orders. Guards were trebled on all public buildings. A special detachment was sent to key points like the telephone exchanges and the television transmitters. Tough CRS troops were drafted from the barracks outside the city into Paris to guard the bridges over the Seine. With a minimum of fuss Paris was moving into a state of siege. Then at 7.30 pm. Grelle made what appeared to be a routine visit to the Elysee to double-check security ready for the drive to the airport the next day.
Arriving at the palace, it didn't particularly surprise Grelle to discover that Soviet Ambassador Vorin was not only not there; he had not been anywhere near the Elysee since the morning. Someone had been instructed to keep ex-paratrooper Blanc away from the place until Florian's departure on the following day. Admitted to the palace by an usher who opened the plate-glass doors for him, the prefect wandered towards the back of the building, opening and closing doors in what appeared a random way. He was looking for Kassim, Florian's dog.
He found him outside in the walled garden where the dog spent so much of its time-and where the president was accustomed to strolling with Leonid Vorin when the Russian visited the Elysee. As Grelle appeared, the Alsatian barked and romped forward through the dark, jumping up to his full height and perching his forepaws over the prefect's shoulders while it panted happily in his face. Grelle reached up and fondled the animal for a short while round the studded collar which encircled its powerful neck. Then he gave Kassim a hard slap to make him get down and went back inside the palace.
From there he walked quickly to the near-by rue des Saussaies and up on to the fourth floor of Surete headquarters. The electronics expert he had earlier sent there from the prefecture was waiting and he gave him certain instructions before returning to the Elysee to collect his car and drive back to his office.
It had been easier than he had expected, and this was one decision he did not inform Boisseau about. One career at stake was quite enough.
The prefect had just attached a tiny transmitter to the inside of Kassim's studded collar. The words of anyone who spoke close enough to the dog would be relayed to the receiver linked to a tape-recorder inside the locked room at the rue des Saussaies, only a few dozen metres away from the Elysee Palace.
