The Cabal had waited until they returned from lunch to talk about their visitors, and were seated at the three-sided table. Nelson set the ball rolling.
'I don't think we're going to get Tweed to join us…' 'No doubt about that,' agreed Benton. 'So the next item on the agenda is: how do we stop him cold?'
'By elimination,' Noel decided. 'I'll be thinking about the best method to deal with them – Paula has to go too – while I'm flying out to Aix. Best thing would be if they both disappeared for ever. Bodies never found. I've set the wheels in motion in case it comes to this.'
'Won't involve Fitch, I hope,' mused Benton.
'I'm the Planner,' snapped Noel, glaring at Benton. 'So you leave the problem to me. You don't want to know.'
19
Tweed was in a hurry. Monica had warned him they should leave soon or miss the Air France flight. He gave orders to Pete Nield to see Coral Flenton again, to extract more information from her – about the Parrot, about her friendship with Viola from their schooldays on.
'Harry,' he called out. 'You are coming with us to Aix, flying tonight. At the special late request of Philip.'
'Now we're in April,' Paula told him, 'it's warmer. I have checked Provence. It's warmer still down there. So in that bag you'll find lighter-weight clothes.'
Monica walked over, handed Harry an envelope. 'There's a return ticket for you also,' she said. 'So make sure you come back.'
'Thanks for the vote of confidence,' he replied.
Within minutes they were all inside Newman's Range Rover, on their way to Heathrow. Tweed told Newman to park in Short Stay. Crossing the bridge from the car park to the airport they met Jim Corcoran.
'You go aboard first,' he told them. 'Get a move on. I'll be with you until you're aboard…'
At the check-in desk Paula became aware of a passenger behind her who appeared to have survived a car crash. He was a tall man, smartly dressed, but his head was covered with a bandage. He gazed round through dark tinted glasses. As Paula presented her ticket he muttered something like 'wrong check-in…'
As he walked away Newman watched him and Paula did the same. The bandaged victim was standing near the exit talking into a sophisticated mobile. Newman grunted, smiled.
'A spy reporting the flight we're on. Maybe a reception committee waiting for us.'
'That was Mugger Morgan,' Harry said. 'Forgot to bandage his jaw. I broke it once.'
They settled in their seats. Very quickly the engines built up power, they were rolling towards the departure slot, straight on to the runway, then taking off.
Newman found two cushions, slipped one behind Paula's back, seated in front of him, the other behind her head. She rested her head, fell fast asleep. It was almost dark but in the seat beside her Tweed remained alert. He hated sleeping when flying.
Paula woke suddenly, looked out of the window. A moon cast a luminous glow over a landscape with rows of sticks on a south-facing slope. Vineyards were beginning to show signs of life. The plane was dropping rapidly. She'd slept during the whole flight.
'That man at the airport,' she whispered to Tweed. 'I wonder what will happen at Aix's airport?'
'Philip will have foreseen that development. Never misses a trick. I don't understand his late request for Harry.'
He kept his voice very low since Harry was seated across the aisle.
'He'll have a reason,' she replied, gazing out of the window.
In the distance she could see several new buildings. Beyond them nothing but a flat endless plain. Marignane was in the middle of nowhere. We have no weapons if there's trouble, Paula thought. Leave it all up to Philip.
They disembarked down the staircase and walked to the airport buildings. Paula was immediately aware it was much warmer. Philip met them the moment they entered. He was accompanied by a small Frenchman in an elaborate uniform.
'Armand,' Philip introduced. 'Chef du Securite. We must keep moving. Good flight?'
'Must have been,' said Paula, trotting to keep up with the two men. Tweed by her side, Newman and Harry guarding their rear. Armand unlocked a door, led them down a long corridor well away from the arrivals hall. Outside again, Newman shook hands with Armand, hustled them inside a grey people-carrier with small windows. No one had checked their tickets or the small bags they were carrying.
Behind the wheel, Philip Cardon smiled at Paula. He drove at speed along a narrow road, emerged on to an autoroute, pressed his foot down. Now they were really moving. Tweed, who had again given Paula the window seat, grunted.
'When we stop somewhere I'll catch my breath.'
'Soon,' Philip called back, 'we will stop briefly. So I can hand out cutlery, the weapons you're all used to.'
'So it's that sort of a trip,' Harry called out behind Paula. 'I guessed it might be when I was hauled in at the last minute. Fair enough…'
Paula gazed out of her window. The vineyards had disappeared. In their place were dense forests of evergreens. Between gaps she caught sight of high rolling hills, everything glowing in the luminous moonlight. Philip slowed down, glanced again in his rear-view mirror, then swung off the main road up a cutting fenced in by trees, arrived at a concrete circle. He turned round it, stopped, switched off headlights, engine.
After telling everyone to stay in their seats, Philip pressed a button. The door opened and a small fat man with an automatic weapon slung over his shoulder appeared. Philip called down in French, which Paula caught the gist of.
'Pierre, everything clear? Nothing suspicious.'
'You see no bodies. I haven't shot anyone yet tonight.'
'Everyone out,' Philip ordered in English.
He was delving into a large bag when they surrounded him. He carefully brought out what to Paula looked like the first of several metal pancakes.
'Limpet mines, special type,' Philip explained. 'We'll need them later in Paris.'
Paris? Paula thought.
'They are switched off?' Harry asked as he took the first mine.
'Of course,' snapped Philip. 'Turn that lever to the right and they're active.' He showed Harry three more mines, put them back in the leather bag with thick cloth between each one. From the next container he brought out a Browning, shoulder holster, a Beretta, a leg holster, spare mags. Handed them to Paula, grinned.
'Feel dressed now?'
'I do. What about registration?'
'Don't worry. Dollars satisfy many officials. As they did Armand at the airport. Now, Tweed…'
When he had finished distributing the 'cutlery', Harry also had a large automatic weapon and spare mags, concealed inside a golf bag; Newman had his beloved Smith amp; Wesson with holster and ammo. Philip handed Pierre two fat envelopes which Paula guessed were stuffed with banknotes, then clapped his hands.
'All aboard. Must keep moving.'
They had just settled in their seats when Philip was driving them down the side road back on to the main route. Paula was savouring the perfume from some plant on the side road. It had seeped into her clothes. She took deep breaths.
'Be in Aix soon,' Philip called out. 'Tweed, you won't be staying at the Violette, which I know you favour. It's too obvious a place where Noel's friends might check to find you. Instead you're at the swish Negre-Coste on the famous Cours Mirabeau. They won't expect you to choose that. Both you and Paula have rooms overlooking the cours. A treat. Food's wonderful.'
'So Noel has arrived?' asked Tweed.
'Came in a few hours ago. Staying at a pokey little joint in the old town. Thinks it makes him inconspicuous. But it doesn't.'
