the Kremlin, the Kremlin probably won’t find out, because it’s got very few other sources of information. As long as this plot has been conceived at a high enough level it wouldn’t be too difficult to keep it quiet.
‘We believe that somebody – probably somebody in Group
‘The problem they had was to make Europe give up without a fight. A Germany or France devastated by war was not what they wanted, which is why they seized on the two-pronged assault. First neutralize the USA by the potent threat of the total destruction of almost every major city in America, using weapons that were already in place, and which could not, therefore, be detected in flight, intercepted or countered. Then, with America out of the fight, threaten Europe with similar devastation, but without the fallout and radiation problems.’
‘Mr Beatty,’ Lacomte held up a hand, ‘I don’t know about my colleagues, but I am getting both confused and worried. I am confused because almost everything you have told us is new to me, and I freely admit that I do not understand all of it, and I do not know if I believe any of it. But I am getting worried because, if what you say is true, then this meeting should be pitched at a much higher level than a mere colonel.’ He looked at Richter keenly, then glanced at his watch. ‘As it is nearly half past one, I suggest we break now for lunch and resume this afternoon at three. I will ensure that the Minister of the Interior or the most senior available member of his staff joins us then. Would that be satisfactory?’
‘Perfectly,’ Richter replied. ‘Could I make two requests for you to discuss with the Minister prior to our meeting this afternoon?’ Lacomte nodded, and poised his pencil over a sheet of paper. ‘First,’ Richter said, ‘I would like the route of the road convoy carrying the weapon destined for London to be watched and its position advised to us at frequent intervals. I presume that would not be difficult?’
‘Not at all,’ Lacomte replied. ‘That can be done on my orders, without bothering the Minister. Can you supply details of the route and identify the vehicles?’
‘The route, yes, but not the vehicles, although I can make an informed guess. I can do that this afternoon.’ Richter paused. ‘The second point might prove more contentious,’ he said.
Lacomte nodded encouragingly. ‘Go on, Mr Beatty.’
‘We have to stop this convoy, and detain all the personnel associated with it. I am requesting permission to utilize a unit from the British Special Air Service to help do this.’ Richter heard Tony Herron’s quick intake of breath, and Lacomte bristled visibly.
‘I do not think the Minister would accept that, not without very compelling reasons. Why would you wish to use the SAS?’
The one thing Richter couldn’t tell Lacomte was that the SAS were the best in the world – French pride would never admit that any non-Frenchman was the best at anything.
‘Three reasons,’ Richter said. ‘First, I will have to direct at least some phases of the operation against the convoy, as I’m the only one who knows exactly what we will be looking for. I believe that the load may be booby- trapped, or worse. I don’t speak French, and I may have to give orders that will be acted on immediately and without question – the SAS would respond instinctively, and far faster, than anyone whose first language is not English.
‘Secondly, the SAS specializes in this kind of operation, and would be able to give valuable assistance to the men you would detail to carry out the assault. I only want a standard four-man patrol unit, comprising one officer and three troopers. I would anticipate using a group of ten to fifteen men to actually halt the convoy, so the SAS men would only be acting in an advisory or supporting role to the French assault team.’
‘Third, if this convoy is not stopped, the weapon will reach London and could conceivably destroy most of the population of the city. That makes it a problem for Britain, and I believe that British forces should have an active role in preventing that happening.’
Lacomte considered this for a moment, then nodded slowly. ‘Yes, Mr Beatty, what you say does make sense. I will recommend that the Minister accedes to your request.’
Richter left the Ministry with Tony Herron and John Westwood. Miles Turner had left immediately for the American Embassy to call Langley and take instructions. The three men walked along the road until they found a reasonable-looking restaurant that had a table free, then sat down and ordered lunch.
‘I hope you know what we’re doing,’ Herron said, as the waiter moved out of earshot.
‘So do I,’ Richter replied, taking a bite out of a slice of baguette.
‘You two know each other, I gather,’ Herron added, looking from Richter to Westwood and back again.
‘We got involved in a chase across France a few years ago,’ Richter said. ‘What are you doing here, John?’
‘I was sent over here to try to find out what the hell’s going on.’
‘And did you?’ Richter asked.
‘No, we didn’t,’ Westwood said. ‘CIA London was told about it by SIS this morning.’
‘What are you going to do?’
‘Back home, I’ve no idea – that’s someone else’s problem,’ Westwood said. ‘As far as I’m concerned, I was told to find out what was going on, which I suppose I’ve done, so now I’m just going to hang on for the ride. Unless Langley tells me any different, that is.’
Richter nodded. The restaurant was busy, and they were able to talk quietly together without being overheard above the hum of conversation. ‘OK,’ Richter said. ‘Now that the pleasantries are out of the way, let’s get back to the job in hand. We’re running short of time. We have to stop that lorry tomorrow, which means we have to get the SAS team over here tonight at the latest.’
‘Suppose the Minister doesn’t approve their use?’ Herron asked.
‘Then they’ll have a very short holiday in France. We just have to assume that he will give approval. Can you get a car and one of your Friends from the Embassy to meet us here before we go back into the Ministry, to get things moving as soon as possible?’
In the peculiar parlance of the clandestine world, a ‘Friend’ is a British Secret Intelligence Service officer, usually one based in an Embassy.
‘Yes,’ Herron said. ‘I’ll call now.’ He pulled out his mobile telephone, dialled a number and held a brief conversation. ‘No problem,’ he said. ‘They’ll be here at two fifteen.’
When the convoy reached the head of the queue, the Czechoslovak Customs officers waved the vehicles through with merely a glance at the passports. The Germans were more thorough.
‘Why,’ the senior Customs officer asked Modin, in English, their only common language, in one of the border post interview rooms, ‘are there three vehicles escorting a lorry-load of furniture across Europe?’
Modin shook his head. ‘This is not an escort,’ he said. ‘The lorry is making a routine delivery of furniture and fittings to our London Embassy. There have been similar deliveries recently,’ he added, ‘to Russian embassies elsewhere in Western Europe.’ He didn’t add that some of these deliveries had included one item which had not appeared on the load manifest.
‘Why does the London Embassy require furniture to be sent out from Russia? Are there no furniture shops in Britain?’
Modin nodded. ‘Of course there are,’ he replied. ‘But you must appreciate the fragile nature of the Russian economy since
The German grunted. ‘I notice that the ruling by Moscow does not extend to the vehicles you are
