humidity had hazed the air and turned the sea from Mediterranean blue to a dull pewter color that merged with the sky.
Still, the long curving strip of shore that lined the bay beyond the old town was crowded. Oiled vacationers lay packed like sardines on the blistering sand. The water was busy with swimmers, windsurfers and pleasure boats. It seemed a far cry from the murderous exchanges less than twelve hours ago at La Rocaille.
Bolan intended it to be. Of the handful of passengers who had left the diesel railcar at the station, none, as far as he could see, had followed him to the beach. And he was sure no one had followed him when he boarded a bus bound for Bandol, farther along the coast. But there were such things as walkie-talkies and phones. He had already been tailed from Lyons to the gas station ambush and noticed nothing. And he still didn’t know how many different teams might be gunning for him.
But today it was vital that none of the hoods, that nobody at all, knew of his rendezvous.
He left the bus at Bandol, dodged through a crowded fruit market and installed himself at a sidewalk cafe. There he ordered and paid for a drink, walked through to the men’s room and left by a back entrance without returning to his table. After that he threaded his way around two floors of a department store and jumped another bus as the doors were closing.
The bus took him back to Aubagne, on the outskirts of Marseilles. From here he took a cab to Aix-en- Provence.
Telder was waiting for him in the fossil room of the city’s natural-history museum. “Chamson’s too well- known in these parts,” the Swiss Interpol chief said. “We agreed that I should come alone.”
“Good,” Bolan said. “I’m pretty sure I wasn’t tailed. But if I was, I think I lost him.”
He glanced around. Bolan and Telder were the only visitors professing interest in the glass display cases.
“I’ll give it to you straight,” Bolan murmured. “There’s a KGB plot to weld all the world’s Mafia families into one supersyndicate of international crime, armed, funded, supplied — and probably directed eventually — by Moscow.”
Telder pursed his lips in a soundless whistle. “To what end?”
“To undermine the power of all the Western police forces, of shooting and bombing and looting every country into a state of total anarchy. With the resulting chaos and panic... well, they figure the whole system will collapse, making way for a Red takeover.”
“And the four murders we were investigating?”
“Gang bosses who didn’t want to play ball. They were killed in a hurry to stop them from forming some kind of rival, non-KGB coalition.”
Telder’s eyes widened, but he remained silent. He was pretending to take notes from a caption inside one of the showcases. “What are the mafiosi supposed to get out of the partnership?” he finally asked.
“Money,” Bolan said. “More than they ever dreamed of, even in their slime-bucket business. And I think they’re dumb enough to believe they’ll be allowed to exist, even to warrant special treatment, after the takeover!”
“Stupid asses,” Telder said. “They’d get special treatment, all right. A private room in the Lubyanka. Can you imagine the comrades setting up a directorate for social-realist crime? Hell, they don’t even admit they
“They’ve got crime,” Bolan said soberly. “For export only. It’s labeled KGB.”
The Swiss smiled faintly. “Very well. What do we do about it?” he asked.
“There’s nothing
“Done how?” Telder queried. “Killing all the family chiefs who are in on the deal? Even unofficially, I can’t give a go-ahead on that.”
Bolan shook his head. “They would be replaced, anyway. Same goes for the Russian masterminding the scheme. No, the only way is for the Mob as a whole to be unwilling to go through with it. That would choke off the KGB, make them see it’s a no-go situation.”
“But you said the Mafia already had agreed?..”
“Sure, for the moment. But to make it work, they have to be solid for this one-Mob, one-leader routine. Like the Nazis under Hitler. Without that, the KGB won’t play. So the way I figure it, the Mob must be disunited.”
“But how?” Telder asked again.
“Play one family against another. Arrange it so they’re gunning for each other rather than the law. There were enough dissenters left to raid La Rocaille, even without leaders. It shouldn’t be too difficult to play on existing rivalries and find a few more. It’s been done before, back home. Working from the inside, I think I can do it here.”
“But it’s got to be quick. The whole deal has to fall apart while Antonin’s still down here.”
“You’ll need help, then,” Telder said. “What can we do?”
“There is something,” Bolan said. “I have to keep my nose clean with my new boss. I already know of several contracts that Sondermann’s been hired for. But I don’t want to take out innocent guys just to keep my cover secure.”
The Swiss was still looking at him expectantly.
“They’ll have to disappear all the same,” Bolan said. “It has to look as if I really did zap them. But I can’t fake gunning them down, maybe in front of witnesses. If I handed them over to your people, could you keep them under wraps, totally out of circulation, until the ball game’s over?”
“It’s strictly illegal, but... yes. We could even arrange news items reporting that the bodies had been found floating in the river, out at sea, whatever.”
“Great. That should keep my hardman image intact. And if the victims don’t like being held incommunicado, you can tell them they’re damned lucky not to be incommunicado forever.”
“I think you can leave the details to us,” Telder said.
Bolan said, “As for the rest... well, I’ve made enemies already inside the organization. I can make more. Then it’s just a question of pitting one group against the other.”
“We are aware of the risks you run,” Telder said. “We are most... appreciative.” His voice sank to a more conspiratorial note. “When you want us, you know the number to call.” He nodded briefly, turned and walked out of the room.
Ten minutes later Bolan emerged from the museum and made his way toward the railroad station.
“Well, well. If it isn’t the big man himself! And what are you doing in a dusty old museum in Aix?” a voice exclaimed just behind him.
Bolan swung around... and found himself face-to-face with Coralie Sanguinetti.
8
Bolan sat with the girl at a cafe table drinking
“I could ask you the same question,” he said.
Bolan wondered if she had been ordered to shadow him.
“I’m studying philosophy,” Coralie said. “Here at the university in Aix.” She was friendly again now. Bolan didn’t have the time to figure out why. “I’m not just a poor little rich girl, you know. I shall have to earn my own living sometime.”
“Not taking over Daddy’s business?”
“Do I look like that kind of person?”
“Frankly,” Bolan said, “I’m not exactly sure what business your father is in. We’re kind of sheltered up in northern Germany.”
She flashed him a suspicious look. “He has the biggest machine-tool factory in Italy,” she said. “He has controlling interest in a company that manufactures digital watches and calculators in Alsace. He imports computer
