'And who are Noel's friends?' Paula wondered.
'Not to be recommended as dining companions. Bit of a mix,' he went on casually. 'Arabs and Slovaks. Need watching. Cut your throat for sixpence – or the equivalent in dollars.'
'Can't wait to meet them,' said Paula.
'Just pray you don't. We are now entering the ancient city of Aix, first built by the Romans. Getting back to Slovaks, Noel's lot come from the High Tatra mountains in Slovakia. I have been up there in the snow. Tweed, they have a training ground for those selected for the corps d'elite of State Security planned by Noel.'
'What sort of training ground? I don't like the sound of this,' Tweed commented.
'You shouldn't. It's well organized, has been created months ago. They are taught how to kill silently. Also they're taught English. Noel has fifty of them infiltrated inside Aix. I've heard he hopes to transport them to Britain tomorrow. I know the route. Here we are. The Cours Mirabeau.'
Paula peered out of her window, alternating that with staring through the windscreen. She was impressed. The cours was a long wide straight street with plane trees along the pavements on both sides. The warmth was bringing out their leaves. It was a beautiful boulevard with huge old mansions to her right. Philip saw her looking at them.
'Once they housed wealthy families. These days most are converted into company offices. This is the gem of Aix.'
Gem was the right word, she thought. There was not much traffic at this hour, and locals were strolling, gazing at the mansions, the older ones remembering the grander days, she thought. Philip parked by the kerb outside a large imposing building.
'Journey's end,' Philip announced. 'The Negre-Coste. I've booked front rooms overlooking the cours for Tweed and Paula. Very expensive. Let's explore.'
The rooms were huge. Refurbished, as Philip explained, it still retained some of the character of the original mansion. Inside her first-floor room Paula revelled in the luxury as she swiftly unpacked her few things, including one evening dress protected with tissue.
She walked to the windows, opened them, gazed down at the cours. They were double-glazed, probably to muffle the sound of daytime traffic. After showering, she dressed quickly, sat in front of an elegant mirror and applied the minimum of makeup. A tap on the door sent her to unlock it and Tweed, in a smart suit, walked in.
'You look terrific,' he said and kissed her on both cheeks. 'It's lucky we all keep small cases packed at Park Crescent ready for instant departure. You have money?'
'A stack of dollars. I tipped the chap who brought up my bag with a twenty-dollar bill and he was pleased. He doesn't like euros, said they were only good for lighting fires!'
'Philip gave me this for you,' he said, producing an envelope from his pocket. 'Take a quick look.'
She extracted a photo and pulled a face of distaste. 'Don't like the look of him. Who is he?'
'Radek, boss of the fifty Slovaks Noel hopes to smuggle into Britain. Favours a knife for killing.'
She studied the photo again. A small but well-built man, Slavic features, prominent cheekbones, dead-looking eyes, sharp nose, a pointed jaw. He had thick black hair, a curving moustache, a sneering expression.
'Keep it in case you ever spot him. I've got a copy, so have Newman and Harry. Philip thinks of everything. Now we'd better get down to dinner…'
The dining room was spacious and only a few of the large tables were occupied. Out of season. Philip complimented her on her dress and beauty, kissing her hand. It was something she normally disliked but with Philip she liked it. They drank aperitifs while studying the enormous menu.
They had a table in the corner, so when they were eating and the waiters were distant, they could talk frankly. It was Tweed who got down to business.
'Philip, how were you able to obtain this valuable information about the Tatra training camp?'
'Oh, simple. I have a trustworthy contact who knows the Tatra well. We've skied quite a lot up there. My contact had a Slovak mother and a French father. The info cost me two thousand dollars – part of the funds you sent me months ago. Incidentally, their villainous chiefs name isn't really Radek. No idea of what his real name is. Doesn't matter.'
After the meal, Philip, seated next to Paula, suggested she might like a short walk since it would still be warm outside. 'Freak weather,' he remarked.
'We'll go north just a bit,' he said as they strolled in the cours. 'That's where the original houses are still standing. Just a bit, not far.'
'I love the big fountains,' Paula said glancing down the cours.
'They have them where we're going. Smaller efforts but I find the sound of running water soothing.'
Down a side street they plunged into a different world. Narrow streets twisting and turning. Some illumination from ancient lamps but long dark areas of shadow between them. Paula was beginning to wonder whether this was a good idea. The occasional Arab in a long white gown drifted past them.
They reached a deserted square and again there was the sound of running water. Paula darted away from Philip to see a small fountain spraying in from a stone well in the corner of the square.
She never heard him coming or where he had been hiding. One arm wrapped round her breast from behind and a large knife just touched her throat. She glanced up, saw an Arab with only one eye grinning horribly at her. She was terrified. She had no chance of reaching for the Browning under her armpit, even less chance of hauling the Beretta from the holster strapped to her right leg. Any movement and this beast would slash her throat open. Where the hell was Philip?
Philip appeared in front of them out of nowhere. In his right hand he held a revolver with a silencer attached. Pointing his weapon, Philip said something in Arabic.
Her assailant's response was to move the blade closer in. Paula could feel the razor edge touching her skin. For some idiotic reason she wanted to sneeze. She suppressed it. Philip was speaking in Arabic again. The Arab replied, his tone vicious.
Philip smiled, waved both hands as though accepting he could do nothing. Oh God, she thought. Philip's next movement was so swift she hardly saw it happen. Then he was pressing the tip of his weapon against the Arab's good eye. He snarled something in Arabic. She felt the Arab shudder. Then he removed the knife and stood back behind her.
She was much smaller than her attacker so from where Philip stood his neck and head loomed well above Paula's. Phut! Philip had shot him in the head. The man fell over backwards, lay still on the cobbles.
'You'd better take this gun for a moment,' Philip said, speaking quietly but rapidly. 'I have to dump the body in that huge rubbish bin over there. Just in case some of his chums arrive.'
'I'm armed.'
She had already grasped the Browning so Philip could see it. He nodded, stooped, grasped the corpse round the waist, began to hurry towards the bin. She followed him. Without being asked, she lifted the lid. It was heavy, but she managed to hold it high up.
A foul smell drifted up from the interior, half full of rubbish. Philip heaved the body inside. She lowered the lid slowly to avoid a noise. Philip was already running away from her after a quick searching glance round the square. He had a glove on his hand as Paula ran after him, unwilling to be alone for another moment. Picking up the long blade by the handle, he dropped the knife down a nearby drain, then grabbed her arm.
'Back to the cours now!'
'How did you manage that?' she asked as they hurried.
'He had one precious possession, his one good eye. Without that he'd be at the mercy of other Arabs. The thought of a bullet through it made him release you instantly.'
'Quick thinking, thank God,' she replied. 'You saved my life.'
'No, I endangered it with my stupid idea of showing you the old quarter. I'll never forgive myself. There's the cours. Pause just for a second.'
He unscrewed the silencer, dropped it down a drain, holstered his weapon. She was puzzled as they entered the cours and civilization – as it seemed to Paula.
'Why throw that away?' she wondered.
'Silencers are tricky. One shot, OK. Then a silencer can jam a gun. I have more. Back to the hotel. You must tell Tweed what happened.'
'I wasn't going to say a word…'
