night-glasses Tweed had loaned her. Then a headless trunk caught in the blazing inferno illuminating the wreckage of the bridge. The dawn light was red with fire. One half of the vehicle dropped into the river. Paula heard a brief hiss as water absorbed the red-hot metal. Then a sudden silence.
'That worked rather well,' Philip commented.
'I think a long way off I can see headlights. The second coach?' suggested Paula, her mouth dry.
'Probably,' Philip agreed. 'They have night-glasses so they'll see what's happened. They'll have to make a long diversion to reach the autoroute. That means we arrive in Paris before them. Ready to sort out that lot.'
Sort out? Paula, her mind still full of the massacre on the bridge, wondered how Philip would manage this. He always seemed so calm, so matter-of-fact in the face of the most murderous danger.
Well along the autoroute, Philip pulled in to a remote lay-by. He stood up, turned to address them.
'I want you to hand in all your weapons now. We could be stopped by a patrol car.'
He even collected the three remaining slim landmines from Harry. Everything was secreted inside a special compartment in the side of the carrier. Harry was indignant.
'I thought I'd be using those to polish off the thugs inside the second coach.'
'No, you won't,' Philip said firmly. 'Change of plan. I've been thinking. I can do that job by myself. There'll be a large barge-like vessel with a sail drifting off the lie St-Louis on the Seine in the middle of Paris. They plan to use small boats with engines to ferry the Slovaks aboard the Yvette, the barge. Then their idea is to sail it up the river to the port at its mouth. There they'll transfer their inhuman cargo to a larger shipping vessel, take them to an isolated part of the British coast. I'll see they never leave Paris alive.'
He sat behind the wheel, waited until the autoroute was quiet, drove back on to it and headed at speed for Paris.
They had entered the Paris suburbs when Tweed made a suggestion. 'Philip, I could phone Loriot, Chief of the DST. He's an old friend. Tell him what is happening, where to go.'
'No!' Philip spoke over his shoulder. 'By now he'll have heard about the explosion at that bridge near Aix. And all the mangled bodies in the fields and floating down that river. He'll check all the hotels for names.'
'We had false passports,' Tweed objected. 'I told you that earlier.'
'Makes no difference.' Philip was authoritative. 'He'll be concentrating on short-stay visitors. He'll ask for their descriptions. Some of those concierges are observant. Now you'll have an hour to amuse yourselves – I'll drop you near the Place Vendome and the Ritz. Then take a cab to the Gare du Nord. You'll arrive in time to catch the Eurostar. I don't think Noel will use it. He'll fly back – as he came in…'
Near the Place Vendome Philip practically pushed out Tweed, who wanted to thank him for all he'd done. Standing on the pavement Tweed called up to Philip behind the wheel, who still had the engine running.
'Take good care of yourself. Call me – more frequently.'
'When I've something to report. Look after yourself, Paula.'
The automatic door closed and they were left standing as the carrier drove east. Towards the lie St- Louis.
They walked along the Rue St-Honore, the main street with its fabulously expensive shops. It was early afternoon and the sky was full of menacing clouds drifting very low.
Tweed and Paula walked ahead with Newman and Harry bringing up the rear. They were still performing their role as guards. Tweed took them into a cafe where they consumed coffee and delicious cakes. Paula was ravenous.
'I'll leave you for a couple of minutes,' Newman said, standing up. 'We passed a shop selling the most glamorous scarves. I'll get one for Roma.'
'Getting serious, are we?' Paula teased him.
'She's nice and very intelligent. Be back in minutes.'
They were leaving the cafe to wait for Newman. Paula went out first, paused to glance in both directions. She backed into the cafe, bumping into Tweed, pushing him back. Grabbing his arm she returned them to their table, which was at the side of the cafe with a view of the door.
'What was that about?' Tweed demanded.
'Radek. He's coming this way down the street.'
'Are you sure?'
'Yes, I bloody well am. I studied his photo. See him in a minute. Let's pray he doesn't come in here. We've given up our weapons…'
Harry sprang up from the table, concealing a leather-covered sap. He walked swiftly across to a table on the far side, ordered coffee, insisted on paying for it. They were the only occupants of the cafe. The waitress placed coffee in front of Harry, smiled at the tip, went out of sight through a door at the back.
Radek, wearing a dark coat, a black hat, wandered in. As he walked straight to their table the sneer on his Slavic features was prominent beneath his curved moustache. One hand reached inside his coat and he took off his hat with the other. He bowed briefly to Paula.
'You will tell me, Mr Tweed, where the others are and what they are doing otherwise I shall shoot Miss Grey.'
He spoke very rapidly, excellent English but with an accent. For once in his life Tweed was uncertain. He opened his mouth to say something, anything to delay the killer. That was the moment when Harry appeared behind the Slovak and hammered his sap hard on the back of his hatless head.
Radek's eyes opened very wide, then he collapsed backwards. Harry caught him, lowered him to the floor as the waitress appeared again. Paula stood up, spoke quickly to her in French.
'This poor gentleman has collapsed. Could be a heart attack. Call an ambulance. We have to go but we'll be back.'
As they hurried out of the cafe the waitress rushed to the phone.
Outside Newman appeared, carrying a beautifully wrapped package. He stared at their obvious haste. Paula hailed an oncoming cab.
'Gare du Nord, please,' said Tweed, handing the driver a large tip. 'And hurry, or we're going to miss our train.'
Paula repeated the request in French, seeing the driver's stare of incomprehension. They piled into the back, Tweed and Paula occupying the main seat while Harry and Newman used the jump seats. They were moving.
At the Gare du Nord, Tweed found an empty coach. The Eurostar was on the verge of leaving. They had just settled in their seats when it glided out of the terminus.
Tweed told Newman what had happened. Newman stood up and carefully placed his wrapped gift with their small bags. He didn't comment until he sat down.
'How the devil did Radek reach Paris so quickly?'
'By busting the speed limits on the autoroute, would be my guess,' Tweed told him. 'When we were parked in the lay-by while Philip collected our weapons I noticed a car going over the limit. Two people inside – the driver and one passenger. Too quick to identify anyone.'
'Did you kill Radek?' Newman asked Harry.
'Definitely not. That would have brought the police. He will be out for about an hour and then recover – with the mother and father of all headaches.'
'What puzzles me,' said Paula, 'is how he spotted me, knew who I was.'
'We've taken photos of people,' Tweed reminded her. 'So why shouldn't someone from the Cabal have done the same thing? Then Noel, the hyper-efficient Noel, takes the prints with him.'
No one said any more until they emerged from the tunnel into Kent. Paula peered out of the window, heaved a great sigh.
Unlike in Paris, the sun was shining brilliantly out of a duck-egg-blue sky. Not a cloud in sight. She savoured the green fields which, early, were beginning to sprout, the orchards coated in a green fuzz.
'I'm glad to get out of France,' she said. 'So glad to get back to England and peace.'
'Don't count on peace,' Tweed warned. 'We have a savage murder to investigate and a battle to crush the merger of all the security services.'
'Do shut up,' Newman told him. 'She's had a rough ride. Your problem is you never appreciate the finer things of life.'
'Sorry. You're right, Bob. Paula has had a nerve-racking trip most of the way. I do realize that.'
