slammed into his chest. The force of the bullets toppled the thug over the edge. Butler never saw his arms and legs splay in his final fall into eternity. He had swung the Luger's muzzle to where Gary was crouched over a square box with a handle protruding a foot from the top. Gary's clawed hands descended, ready to grasp the handle, to depress the plunger.
Butler shot him twice in the left armpit. Gary jerked upright, blood streaming over his windcheater, staggering above the deadly box. Butler walked forward, used the muzzle of his weapon to shove the reeling American to the brink. He fell backwards and this time Butler saw what looked like a matchstick man plunging into the depths, both arms stretched out like a swimmer. He struck a projecting rock, was thrown off it by his own momentum and vanished into a tangle of deep undergrowth. No sign of Mick. He must have vanished into the same wilderness.
Butler slid the Luger back inside his hip holster, bent over the detonating mechanism. Cardon had trained him in explosives and Butler realized this was a crude improvised effort, reminiscent of photographs he'd seen of similar devices used in the First World War.
He took hold of the handle gently, twisted it slowly. It unscrewed anti-clockwise. He lifted the handle clear of the box, went to the edge of the parapet and threw the handle into the undergrowth which now concealed two bodies.
Paula had taken five of the six sticks of dynamite from Cardon and placed them carefully in the open canvas bag. The danger came from a most unexpected direction.
'Here you are. That's the last one. All OK,' Cardon said as he handed Paula the sixth stick of dynamite.
She had reached out her right hand, had grasped the stick, when the fat cat appeared out of nowhere, leapt up on to her left arm. It must have weighed almost nine pounds and threw her off balance.
She performed several reflex actions at once. Moving her right foot out, ramming it deep into the snow, she stood straddled in a desperate attempt to maintain her balance. Still gripping the dynamite stick in her right hand, she clutched at the great ball of fur and muscle with her left hand, hugging it to her breast. The cat dug its forepaws into the shoulder of her padded jacket, which at least relieved her of some of the weight. For Paula, the last straw was when it began to purr with pleasure.
'I could kill you,' she said in a deliberately affectionate tone which wouldn't disturb it.
'Stay just as you are,' Cardon said. 'I'm going to take the stick out of your hand. I'll tell you when to let go. Easy does it… Now, I've got it…'
Crouching down, he slid the last stick alongside the others, used a collection of chamois cloths he kept inside the bag to separate one stick from another. When he'd zipped the bag closed he looked up.
'I could throw this hunk into that frozen stream,' Paula told him.
The cat, still purring, had closed its eyes. It was going to sleep – unlike Norton who was standing in the main street of Kaysersberg, waiting expectantly.
Norton had been standing patiently outside the entrance to a small bar for over half an hour. He excelled in patience. He had pushed up his fur hat so that it was clear of his ears. His eyes showed no warmth, no particular expression as he waited for the sound of the explosion. He had stepped back from viewing the bridge. It was a sizeable bomb his men had placed under it during the ice-cold night when the streets were deserted.
He stiffened as he heard a vehicle approaching, moved back further out of sight into the entrance. The station wagon, driven by Nield, crawled past him, bumping over the cobbles. The Harley-Davidson, with Butler on the saddle, appeared, overtook Nield, headed west out of the village for the Vosges. Almost at once a grey Espace crawled past, also bumping over the old cobbles. It was moving so slowly Norton had a clear view of Tweed in one of the front passenger seats.
A second motorcycle ridden by Philip Cardon brought up the rear of the convoy. Norton waited until the sound of its engine had died away and the heavy silence of the snowbound morning descended again. Taking out his mobile phone, Norton contacted Mencken who was located high up in the mountains.
'Norton here. Our competitors are leaving Kaysersberg. Their director is a passenger in a grey Espace which is driven by a man and also is carrying two women. Two motorcycles and a station wagon are escorting them. So activate Phase Two. Immediately. Understood?'
'OK. Understood. So OK!' Mencken's rasping voice acknowledged.
Norton slid back the aerial inside his instrument, walked down to a side street where his hired blue Renault was parked. The next stage was to drive towards the Chateau Noir. Long before he reached it Tweed would be eliminated. Norton didn't waste a moment's thought as to why the bomb had not exploded. A faulty detonator? It didn't matter. Mencken was waiting for his target. Norton was indeed a man who excelled in patience.
40
'There will be fresh attempts to ambush us,' Tweed warned as they left Kaysersberg behind and the road spiralled up.
'What made you really suspect that bridge?' Newman asked.
'Sixth sense. Reverse thinking, if you like.'
'What's that?' Paula asked.
'Knowing the route between Colmar and the Chateau Noir the average man would assume the real danger would lie high up in the remote regions of the Vosges…'
'But you're not the average man,' Jennie remarked, leaning her arms on the back of Tweed's seat. 'Do go on.' -
That's right, dear, Paula was thinking cynically, lay on the flattery with a trowel.
'Reverse thinking,' Tweed explained, ignoring the interruption, 'is like looking through the wrong end of a telescope. Turn everything round, and learn from any precedent where you can. We have one – demonstrating Norton's callousness when it comes to loss of innocent human life. The attack on us in the Bahnhofstrasse -where the second killer had a machine-pistol and was about to use it until Bob shot him. Spraying a weapon like that in a crowded city street could easily have caused fatal casualties to bystanders. So blowing up a bridge in Kaysersberg which could have killed several locals bothered Norton not one jot.'
'This is going to be a dangerous journey, then,' Jennie suggested. .
'Well, you were warned before you joined us,' rapped out Paula.
'Oh, I'm not frightened. That man on top of that rock was watching us through something,' she went on. 'I saw the sun flashing off glass, maybe binoculars.'
'Are you sure it wasn't imagination?' queried Paula.
'Check it,' Tweed ordered Newman. 'Jennie may well have seen something…'
Despite its snow tyres, the Espace was rocking as it passed over hardened ruts. Newman slowed to a stop on a steep incline, lowered his window. Arctic-like air flowed into the vehicle. Paula could now see the massive bluffs and high knife-edge ridges of the Vosges very clearly in the glaring sunlight. Cardon appeared at Newman's window, paused astride his machine.
'Something suspicious ahead of us,' Newman began.
'On the top of that ridge,' Jennie said, leaning forward, aiming her extended arm and index finger like a gun. 'I know I saw at least one man.'
'Keep the Espace parked here,' Cardon said as Butler returned and pulled up astride his own machine. 'We'll investigate.' He looked at Paula. 'Those dynamite sticks we collected may come in useful. I've got them in my panniers.' He pointed to the containers slung from either side of his machine. 'See you…'
'He's got grenades,' Tweed commented.
'Saving them for a rainy day,' Paula suggested.
After a brief conversation between Cardon and Butler the two men sped off up the curving ascent, bouncing over the ruts. Newman took out a pair of binoculars and scanned the ridge Jennie had pointed at. No sign of anyone, so maybe Paula had been right in suggesting it was Jennie's imagination.
