struck her as off-key, as did the manner and appearance of the two men. The man outside the waiting-room was shorter and bulkier than his companion, and chewed gum as he kept glancing along the empty corridor.
'May I see your identity card?' she asked.
She was already moving. The bony-faced man was not in her way and she kept edging steadily towards the doorway.
'I don't have to identify myself in here. Hey! Where are you going
… Andre!'
Louise slipped into the corridor and headed for the main exit.
Andre was the next barrier to be eluded. He moved back towards the doorway and she didn't think she could get into the street before he caught up with her. She turned as he came forward, raised her steel-tipped heel and ground it deliberately down his shin. Andre choked off a scream with his hand.
Louise ran, threw open one of the outer doors and fled into the warmth and freedom of the open air. There was no-one about in the early evening, and the Mercedes was still parked by the kerb. She had the key in her hand as she reached it but froze as she heard Andre shout. 'I'm shooting — she resisted arrest.'
She thrust the key into the lock, swung the door open and ducked down behind the wheel, slammin g the door behind her. Only then did she look back at the police headquarters and while she did so she was slipping the key into the ignition lock and firing the motor.
The short, bulky Andre, hobbling with pain, was outside the entrance door endeavouring to aim a pistol with a bulging muzzle. The tall man was struggling with him, forcing the gun up into the air.
'No shooting, Andre. Pietr will stop her.'
Pietr? He had to be the man who had given her the parking ticket outside the Banque du Nord because now he was parked in his Renault a short distance behind her. The Fiat was parked immediately in front of the Mercedes, blocking her in. Except that behind her Pietr had left a gap to make things look less obvious? and was now starting up his own engine to drive forward and sandwich her.
She backed the car. Behind her Pietr saw the Mercedes ram towards him and panicked. He backed out of her way at speed and hit a stationary truck. Andre and his companion were half-way across the sidewalk. She drove out into the street and slammed her foot down on the accelerator. She had to get away before they could start their pursuit. As she came up to the first intersection the lights were in her favour. She turned left into heavy traffic as the lights changed. Neither car could find or catch up with her now. But would Jules' apartment be safe?
*
'I'm afraid you can't go in, sir.'
Beaurain took a tighter grip on the case the Baron de Graer had given him. His smile concealed his dismay at the uniformed policeman's reply. He had not really believed what de Graer had said. You may well be refused admission to the conference. He considered shouldering the gendarme aside, but the latter unbuttoned the flap of his holster, exposing the butt of his pistol. Beaurain had known the man for fifteen years, a reliable plodder with neither initiative nor imagination.
'You value your retirement pension, Georges?' he asked casually, and watched the man, whose eyes could no longer meet his, shuffle his feet uncomfortably as though his shoes were too small.
'I have my orders.'
'Whose orders were they?'
'Commissioner Voisin himself posted me at these doors.' Beaurain snatched the pistol from his holster with his left hand and pushed the guard aside with his right, bursting into the large room beyond and slamming the door closed behind him.
The conference room was furnished with a long, wooden table seating about a dozen people. Commissioner Camille Voisin, large in body with a wide thin mouth and small eyes which moved restlessly like his plump hands, was in the chair. Beaurain glanced round at the others, all of whom he had known for years, high-ranking security officials from Western Europe, and Ed Cottel of the CIA.
'My apologies for arriving late,' Beaurain began smoothly, noting there was no place for him, 'but I got held up.'
'You are not included in this meeting, Beaurain.'
It was Voisin who had spoken, rising from his chair to show his displeasure and more of his gross figure. He stared at Beaurain and made one of the obvious comments he was notorious for.
'You have a pistol in your hand.'
'Brilliant! It belongs to the idiot outside who tried to refuse me admission.'
'Exactly as ordered.'
'My invitation came direct from the Minister, Voisin. Do you wish to contact him?'
Voisin's pudgy hands fluttered aimlessly, conveying to his colleagues how impossible life was. There was a phone on the table but he made no attempt to call the Minister.
'Jules, come and sit next to me!' His old friend Ed Cottel had collected a seat from by the wall and placed it next to his own. Beaurain opened the door and shoved the pistol back into the holster of the guard standing disconsolately outside. 'Do be careful not to lose this again,' Beaurain said severely. As he sat down next to the American he exchanged salutations with the others.
Rene Latour of French counter-espionage, an odd note in a gathering of policemen. Harry Fondberg from Stockholm, chief of Sapo, the Swedish secret police. Peter Hausen, the shrewd chief of Kriminalpolizei from Wieshaden, sat in another chair. Voisin stared at him, and he decided to go on the offensive.
'I appreciate being asked to attend this meeting, but perhaps I could be briefly informed of its subject?'
'Voisin couldn't be brief if the doubling of his salary depended on it,' Cottel commented loudly.
'There are two subjects on the agenda,' Voisin snapped. 'The first is the location and destruction of Telescope, the private army of terrorists operating inside Western Europe and the United States. We have been instructed by my Minister to identify the top man in this subversive organisation, to locate their base and their sources of finance.'
' You may have been instructed to do this by your Minister,' Cottel interrupted, But his instructions hardly apply to Washington or, I should have thought, to any representative of any other country present. Furthermore…' Cottel rolled on as Voisin opened and closed his mouth, 'furthermore I have to challenge your description of Telescope.'
'I was not, of course, suggesting that anyone else is bound by my Minister's instructions…' Voisin began hastily.
'I have to challenge your description,' Cottel continued, 'because during the past two years the Telescope people, as they call themselves perhaps because they see further than some of us have been responsible for knocking out at least forty-five top terrorists, during airport hijacks, embassy sieges and kidnap rescues. There are colleagues of mine who unofficially approve of Telescope for what it has achieved.'
'You suggest nothing be done about these pirates?' Voisin was angry at the murmurings of approval which had greeted Cottel's opinion. The American ignored the question.
'Commissioner, shouldn't you tell Jules Beaurain the second item on our agenda?'
'It is a coordinated discussion on whether another:; criminal organisation known as the Syndicate exists.'
'Of course it exists. We all know it,' Cottel said with disgust, 'but we don't like admitting it. We do know that millions of dollars have moved to Western Europe to help finance it. We suspect that several American multi- national corporations have transferred vast sums to the Syndicate. Furthermore…' He raised his voice at Voisin again, who closed his mouth. 'Furthermore,' he repeated, 'the sums of money at the Syndicate's disposal are so enormous that whoever controls it wields power almost without precedent. Gentlemen, I suggest the first priority of this meeting is not Telescope it is to co-operate in tracking down and destroying the Syndicate.' He looked at the Commissioner. 'I have finished, M. Voisin for the moment at any rate.'
'I agree with Mr. Cottel,' said Peter Hausen.
'Commissioner Voisin, I agree with my colleague, Peter Hausen, and, therefore, with Mr. Cottel,' the French counter-espionage representative added crisply.
'Shall we have a show of hands?' enquired Beaurain gently.
