'I insist. Promise me. He's my chief. He trusts me. So he's entitled to know everything that happens.'
*
Tweed was sitting in an armchair near the main reception area. Philip sent Paula off to brief him while he had a drink in the bar. She was beginning to feel rattled, her nerves playing her up. She was familiar with this reaction. With the Arab's knife at her throat she had been scared stiff but in control, staying quite still. When a danger was behind her, her nerves played her up.
Tweed nodded as she sat on a chair close to his. He waited until the glass of Chardonnay he had ordered was placed before her. There was no one else in the room. He looked straight at her, his tone grim.
'What went wrong while you were out?'
'Nothing dramatic. Why do you ask?'
'Because I'm observant,' he continued in the same serious tone, unsmiling. 'I know something did because your face has lost colour. Added to which Philip has gone off to the bar so you can talk to me.'
'Philip saved my life,' she said, beginning on what she hoped was a positive note. She then told him of the incident. He gazed straight at her, the same expression on his face. When she had finished he drank the rest of his wine.
'So, he saved your life after putting it in terrible danger. I thought the two of you were just walking down the cours. Now I know he ventured with you into the north side, which is to be avoided at all costs. You know I was here some years ago, staying at the Violette hotel in the north. There were a few Arabs creeping about in those days. So when I walked down through that area I had a gun in my hand. Any Arab who saw me disappeared immediately. Because of the gun. Now there are many more Arabs.'
'You're not going to have a row with Philip?'
'Of course not. We are dependent on him while we are here. Also, he is the most valuable agent I have abroad. Here he comes.' Tweed stood up. 'Hello, Philip. Could the three of us take a stroll along the cours?'
Paula admired Tweed's masterful self-control. She sensed he was seething with anger, but nothing showed in the amiable way he greeted Philip. They left the hotel and wandered down the cours. Tweed was in the middle with Paula on his right, Philip on his left. Paula was drinking in the atmosphere of the famous street. Tweed kept his comments to himself. So much had been modernized, including the Negre-Coste. Still a magnificent hotel but without some of the character he recalled. Even the bathroom in his room had been 'upgraded'. The French had been influenced by the American fetish for advanced plumbing. Aix he'd visited once before to meet a contact.
'Dreamy,' enthused Paula.
'Unique,' said Tweed.
'I've paid your hotel bills,' Philip said suddenly. 'We leave tomorrow, which may be an exciting day.'
'How exciting?' Tweed asked.
'Noel is moving his fifty Slovaks to Paris tomorrow, on their way to Britain. They're travelling in two separate grey coaches. I was talking to Harry earlier. You remember that old stone hump-backed bridge we crossed – where the road was rough?'
'I do,' said Paula. 'We went up steeply, then dropped down the other side. It was over a river.'
'We'll eliminate half of them at the bridge,' Philip said casually. 'The twenty-five in the other coach we'll finish off in Paris. Up at six tomorrow for early breakfast. It may not be a joy-ride.'
20
It was dark when they left the hotel for the south side of the town. They were on foot, led by Philip. Paula noticed it was more modern. Down an alley Philip opened an automatic door to a garage. Inside was parked their people-carrier.
As they climbed aboard he remarked: 'Should have told you earlier. All windows are bullet-proof, the sides and roof have been reconstructed with armour plate. So rest easy on our way to Paris.. .'
Harry emerged from underneath the vehicle, gave a thumbs-up sign to Philip.
'No explosives attached underneath. I checked the engine.'
'You're a thorough chap,' Philip thanked him.
'I'm a bloody suspicious chap,' Harry shot back as he got into the car. Philip drove out to the end of the alley, pausing to use his controller to close the garage door. Leaving the alley he turned left. Paula sighed with nostalgia when they moved into open country. Tweed sighed with relief. Place is a death-trap these days, he muttered to himself.
'We're well ahead of the first Slovak coach,' Philip called out. 'They're just loading up. The second one will follow some distance behind. Both with twenty-five killers aboard. We'll take the second one in Paris,' he reminded them.
'How does he know all these things?' Paula wondered aloud to Tweed.
'Contacts,' Philip called back. He riffled his right fingers as though shuffling a wad of banknotes. 'Dollars are more than acceptable.'
'And where has Noel been all this time?' Paula asked from her seat by the window.
'Staying under cover in a dump on the north side,' Philip told her. 'Visited by nice Mr Radek.'
'Radek?'
'The chief of the Slovak mob, remember? I gave you a photo of him. A very nice chap, to watch while he drowns. Noel is driving back to Paris in a hired Citroen, some distance behind the second coach. With Radek for company. The villain had a Slovak mother, a French father. And a Czech uncle who taught him languages, so Radek is fluent in quite a few tongues. We'll soon be at the bridge.'
Tweed observed Harry place a large leather container in his lap. From inside he carefully extracted a large landmine and a trowel. Paula, peering out of her window, didn't see this. It was still dark and Philip's headlights were on full beam as the carrier moved round a series of curves. As the road climbed steeply, Philip slowed, then dropped down the other side. He switched off the headlights, joined Harry and they both left the carrier, walked the short distance back to the bridge.
Not wishing to miss anything, Paula left her seat, moved forward and sat in the driving seat. Through the windscreen she had a good view of what was happening, her eyes now accustomed to the dark which was showing traces of dawn.
Philip reappeared, handed a pair of night-glasses up to Tweed. 'If you'd watch out for their first coach. Warn me when you see its lights.'
Harry was digging a large wide hole in the soft earth at the top of the bridge. He worked quickly, then with care slipped in the landmine. Equally quickly, he scooped loose soil over it to conceal it. As he stood up Tweed called out from the exit.
'Lights in the distance. Looks like a coach. About a mile back, roughly. Difficult to be sure in this light.'
Philip with Harry rushed aboard, closing the door behind them. Harry went back to his seat, as did Paula. Philip told Tweed he could keep the night-glasses.
'Then you can see the fun,' he said.
Jumping behind the wheel he started the engine, turned on the headlights to low beam, drove on a short distance. He swung right off the road up the same small cul-de-sac where he had parked on their way in to distribute weapons.
At the top he moved round the small concrete circle so he was facing the exit. He suggested to everyone that they got out with him. Paula was surprised when he pointed how clearly they could see the bridge now silver bands of dawn were shafting across the eastern sky. Philip borrowed the night-glasses from Tweed, stared east, handed them back.
'Coach is coming too fast. Slovak at the wheel, they're mad drivers…'
It was chilly. Paula, now wearing her denims and windcheater, buttoned it up to the neck. The coach was racing along, its headlights on full beam. She half-expected it to drive into the wall and off the bridge. At the last moment the man behind the wheel slowed, crawled up on to the top of the bridge.
The explosion was devastating. A blinding flash coinciding with a deafening roar. The vehicle soared into the sky, broke in half. Body parts were hurled in all directions. She thought she saw a leg as she gazed through the
