Exocet

12

Paco's was a great success, full of character and life, tables crowded together and the five piece band sensational. They had a booth to themselves from which they could watch the action. She had a whisky sour and he ordered Perrier Water with lime.

She said, 'You're still not drinking?'

'I have to stay fit; keep on top of things. Middle-aged man, younger woman. You know how it is?'

'Keep taking the pills,' she said. 'You're doing all right. Of course, I'm only after your money,'

'No,' he said. 'You've got it wrong. At the present rate of inflation in the Argentine, I'm after your money. Even the Monteras may feel the pinch when this war is over.'

But the mention of war brought reality back to her and that would not do at all. She took his hand. 'Come on, let's dance,' she said and pulled him to his feet.

The band was plaing a bossanova and Montera led her perfectly, dancing extremely well.

As the music finished, Gabrielle said, 'That was good. You should have been a gigolo.'

'Exactly what my mother used to say. A gentleman shouldn't dance too well.' He grinned. 'I always adored it. I haunted all the tango bars when I was a boy. The tango, of course, is the only real dance for an Argentinian. It mirrors everything. Political struggles, depressions, life, love, death. You do dance the tango?'

'I've been known to.'

He turned to the bandleader and said in Portuguese, 'Heh, compadre, what about a real tango? Something to move the heart like Cambalache.'

'Which means the senor is an Argentinian,' the bandleader said. 'I thought I recognised the accent. A long way from home, especially now, so this is for you and the lady.'

He went to the back of the stage and returned with an instrument slightly longer than a concertina. 'Ah,' Montera said in delight. 'We're going to get the real thing. That, my love, is what we call a bandoneon.'

'Sounds good,' Gabrielle commented.

'Wait and see.'

The bandleader started to play, accompanied only by piano and violin, and the music touched something deep inside her for it spoke of the infinite sadness, the longing of love, that knowledge that all that makes life worth living is in the hands of another, to give or withhold.

They danced as one person, together in a way she would never have thought possible. No domination from him, no leading. He danced superbly, but also with the most enormous tenderness. And when he smiled, his love was plain, an honest gift, making no demands on her.

It was a performance that fascinated many people, not least Felix Donner, who was sitting at the bar with Wanda.

'Dear God in heaven,' he said. 'What a creature. I've never seen anything like her.'

Wanda knew panic then, as she had never known it before, at the look on his face and in his eye.

'Anybody can look good in a dress like that.'

'Fuck the dress,' Donner said simply. 'She'd look good in anything — or nothing.'

As the music faded, several people applauded, but Montera and Gabrielle stayed together for a moment, oblivious.

'You really do love me very much,' she said softly, a wonder in her voice.

'I have no choice,' he said. 'You asked me why I fly. I told you it's what I am. Ask me why I love you. I can only give the same answer. It's what I am.'

The feeling of certainty, of serenity that flooded through her, was incredible. She took his hand. 'Let's sit down.'

At the table, he ordered a bottle of Dom Perignon. 'Yes, tango is a way of life in Buenos Aires. I'll take you to San Telmo, the old quarter. The best tango bars in the world. We'll go to El Viejo Almacen. They'll turn you into an expert there in one night.'

'When?' he said. 'When does all this happen?'

'Well, I'll be damned,' Donner said. 'Senor Montera. What a pleasant surprise.'

He stood there looking down at them, Wanda at his side, and reluctantly Montera got to his feet.

It was raining when Paul Bernard alighted from the cab on the corner of the street beside the Seine and paid off the driver. It was an area of offices and tall warehouses, busy during the day, but deserted by night. He moved along the pavement, searching for the address Garcia had left for him in the phone message he'd received in his office at the Sorbonne earlier that evening.

He found what he was looking for, a sign over a warehouse that said Lebel & Company, Importers. He tried the small judas gate in the main entrance. It opened to his touch. He slipped through. The warehouse inside was in darkness but there was a light on in the glass-walled office high above.

'Garcia?' he called. 'Are you there?'

He saw a shadow behind the frosted glass of the office, the door opened, a voice said, 'Up here.'

He mounted the rickety wooden steps cheerfully. 'I haven't got much time. One of my post-graduate students, a girl of rather interesting proportions, has asked me round to have supper and check her thesis over with her. With any luck it should take me till morning.'

He went in through the door and found Tony Villiers sitting at the desk in front of him.

'Who are you?' Bernard demanded. 'Where's Garcia?'

'He couldn't make it.'

The door closed behind Bernard and he turned to find Harvey Jackson there. For the first time, he knew a certain fear.

'What's going on here?'

Jackson grabbed him by the shoulders and shoved him into a chair. 'Sit down and speak when you're spoken to.'

Villiers took a Smith & Wesson from one pocket, a Carswell silencer from another and screwed it in place. 'That means it won't make a sound when I fire it, Professor, but then I'm sure you know that.'

'Look, what's all this about?' Bernard demanded.

Villiers laid the Smith & Wesson down on the desk. 'It's about the size of your phone bill to the Argentine. Cabbages and Kings, Exocet missiles. Oh, and people called Donner.'

Bernard was still frightened, but also angry. 'Who are you?'

'Until three days ago I was in the Falklands so I've seen the dead. I'm an officer of the British Special Air Service Regiment.'

'Bastard!' Bernard said, his anger overflowing.

'That's it. As someone once rather unfairly put it, we're the nearest thing to the SS the British Army has. I don't know about that. What I do know is that if you don't tell me what I want to know, I'm going to blow your left kneecap off with this.' He picked up the Smith & Wesson. 'Very nasty trick we picked up from the IRA in Ulster. If that doesn't work, I'll go to work on the right. That should put you on sticks for the rest of your life.'

There was a pottery vase with a plant in it on the top shelf at the other end of the room. His hand swung up holding the Smith & Wesson, there was a slight cough, no more than that, and the vase disintegrated.

It was enough. Bernard said, 'You know who Donner is?'

'That's right. I also know he's promised to provide several Exocet missiles to Argentine agents in this country within the next few days. Where's he getting them from?'

Bernard said, 'He hasn't told me. In fact, to the best of my knowledge, he hasn't told anybody.' Villiers raised the gun as if to take deliberate aim and Bernard said hastily, 'No, listen to me.'

'All right, but you'd better make it good.'

'There's a place off the Brittany coast called Ile de Roc where they test Exocets. The nearest port is St Martin. Donner has taken a house near there. I think his intention must be to hijack one of the Aerospatiale trucks as it passes through to St Martin carrying Exocets for shipment to the island.'

His face was haggard, beaded with sweat; he was obviously telling the truth as he knew it. Villiers nodded calmly and said to Jackson. 'Okay, Harvey. Go and wait for me in the car.'

Jackson didn't argue. He went out, closing the door, his footsteps descended the wooden steps. There was silence.

Villiers put the Smith & Wesson on the desk, lit a cigarette and stood up, hands in the pockets of his raincoat.

'You don't like the English very much, do you? Why would that be?'

Bernard said, 'You ran in 1940 and left us to the Boche. They shot my father, burned our village. My mother…' He shrugged, the despair of years on his shoulders.

Villiers turned and walked to the other end of the office, and examined the notice board. Bernard looked nervously across at the Smith & Wesson on the other side of the desk.

'My father was in SOE during the war,' Villiers said. 'The French section. Dropped into France by parachute three times to work with the Resistance. Finally, he was betrayed, arrested and hauled off to Gestapo Headquarters in the Rue des Saussaies in Paris. A good address for a bad place. He was interrogated for three days with such brutality that, to this day, his right foot is badly crippled.'

He turned, hands still in the pockets of the raincoat and found Bernard sitting, but now clutching the Smith & Wesson.

'Oh, but you must let me finish, Professor. I've saved the best to last. His torturer was a Frenchman in the pay of the Gestapo. One of those fascists you find everywhere.'

Bernard cried something unintelligible and fired. Villiers was already dropping to one knee, his hand emerging from the front of the raincoat holding a Walther PPK. He shot Bernard in the centre of the forehead and the Frenchman was hurled backwards, still seated in the chair.

Villiers retrieved the Smith & Wesson, switched off the light and went out. He descended the stairs, crossed to the judas gate and stepped into the night. Car lights turned on further up the street and the Citroen slid into the kerb, Jackson at the wheel. Villiers got into the passenger seat.

'Did you give him a chance?' Jackson asked.

'Of course.'

'I can imagine. Why not just shoot the poor sod in the first place and get it over with? Why pretend? Did it make you feel better? Every man deserves a chance to draw, just like a fucking western?'

'Just drive, Sergeant Major.' Villiers said and lit another cigarette.

'Deepest apologies,' Jackson told him. 'I trust the major will forgive me. I was forgetting he was a moralist.'

He moved into gear and drove away.

Donner ordered another bottle of champagne. 'You're not drinking,' he said to Montera, and tried to fill his glass.

Montera put his hand in the way. 'No thanks. Champagne doesn't agree with me.'

'Nonsense,' Donner said. 'A man who is tired of champagne is tired of life; wouldn't you agree, Mademoiselle Legrand?'

'Actually, a nonsensical proposition. No substance to it at all,' she said.

He laughed. 'That, I like. A woman who says what she thinks. Just comes right out with it. Now Wanda here, she never says what she thinks. What she tells you is what she believes you'd like to hear, isn't that so, Wanda?'

The girl's humiliation was plain. Her hands were trembling so much that she clutched her sequined evening purse tightly. Gabrielle opened her mouth to speak, her anger evident. Raul put a hand on hers and leaned across the table.

'Please, Miss Jones, it would give me the greatest of pleasure to show you how we dance the tango in the Argentine.'

There was astonishment on her face for a moment, then she glanced at Donner. He ignored her and poured more champagne into his glass. She made her decision and stood up.

'I think I'd like that,' she said, and walked on to the floor.

'I shan't be long,' Montera said to Gabrielle, and smiled. 'If he annoys you, this one, let me know and I'll give him what the bearded one got.'

'Do you think you could guarantee that?'

He leaned over, kissed her as if Donner wasn't there, and joined Wanda on the floor.

'Very nice,' Donner said. 'I like a good show. Do I get to dance, too?'

Gabrielle sipped a little champagne. 'I couldn't imagine any circumstance in which I would agree to dance with you, Mr Donner. You see, it's really very simple. I don't like you.'

Donner's anger showed only in his eyes, the rest he managed to control. 'I'm very persistent. I could grow on you.'

'Men.' She shook her head. 'The arrogance of you. That stupid male arrogance. You're all the same. Selfish, demanding. You treat women with contempt, you know that? Your interest is actually an insult.'

He managed to stay good humoured on the surface. 'I see, so it's men you don't like, not just me? Where does that leave our gallant colonel? He's different, I suppose?'

'He's himself. He doesn't take, he gives.' It was as if she was saying this to work it out for herself, and there was a kind of joy on her face. 'Which may seem a contradiction to you, but makes perfect sense to me.'

Before Donner could reply the head waiter appeared at his side. 'Monsieur Donner?'

'That's right.'

'You left your name at the bar in case there was a phone call. Someone is on the line now.'

Donner followed him across to the reception desk and picked up the phone. 'Donner here.'

'Nikolai. Listen, Garcia's been in touch. Apparently Bernard left him a note earlier this afternoon giving details of convoys of St Martin for Ile de Roc during the next four days. Only one meets your requirements and it will be in the right vicinity very early on the morning of the twenty-ninth.'

'That's the day after tomorrow.'

'Correct. Can you handle it?'

'No problem. We'll fly down in the Chieftain in the morning. I'll take the colonel with me.'

'Excellent. How did you find the Legrand woman?'

'Very impressive indeed. I might suggest that she comes down with us.'

'Do you think she will?'

'Maybe. They're obviously crazy about each other.'

'Actually, it's not such a bad idea,' Belov said.

'Why?'

'I don't know. There's something about her that doesn't quite fit. One gets an instinct for these things.'

'You'd better check her out thoroughly then.'

'Oh, I will. I'll be in touch tomorrow. Ring you at Maison Blanche.'

Donner put down the phone and took his time over lighting a cigarette, looking across at Gabrielle, thinking about what Belov had said. God, but she was beautiful, but it was so much more than that. He had been content to use women carelessly all his life, had never experienced any great difficulties with them until now. He shook his head in a kind of reluctant admiration and realised, with some surprise, that he had never wanted a woman so much.

From the dance floor, Wanda glanced across at him, saw the expression on his face and said to Montera, 'She means a lot to you, that lady?'

'Everything,' he said simply.

'Then watch him,' she said. 'He's used to getting what he wants.'

As the music finished, he smiled and kissed her hand. 'You're too good for him.'

She smiled sadly. 'You're wrong. I'm no good for anything else.'

As they reached the table, Donner joined them. 'I've just had a phone call,' he said to Montera. 'That business transaction of ours takes place Saturday. It means we'll have to fly down to Lancy in the morning. I've taken an old house in the country, Maison Blanche. Very relaxing.'

Montera's heart sank. 'If you say so.'

Donner turned to Gabrielle. 'How would you feel about a couple of days in the country?'

'I don't think so,' she said, and then saw the look on Montera's face and realised how little time would be left to them now. For the moment it drove all considerations about her mission for Ferguson out of her mind.

'Sleep on it,' Donner said.

She stood up. 'And now, if you'll excuse me. I'm very tired.'

'Of course,' Donner said. 'A great pleasure.'

He watched them go, frowning slightly, paused to pay the bill, then walked out without a word to Wanda, who hurried after him desperately, unsure of her balance on the ultra-high heels she wore.

He was on the pavement waiting for a taxi, lighting a cigarette, the match flaring in his cupped hands, when she caught up with him.

He said, without looking at her, 'You made me look a fool in there, you know that?'

'I'm sorry, Felix.'

'I'll think of something good,' he said. 'Very special. The kind of thing you won't forget in a hurry.' He pushed her chin up with the tips of his fingers. 'Give you something to think about, won't it?'

Back at her apartment, Gabrielle mixed herself a whisky sour and paced up and down angrily.

'That man is the most disgusting object I have ever encountered. Everything I hate. Do you have to do business with him?'

'I'm afraid so, but forget him,' he said. 'I've got something for you.' He took a small package from his pocket. 'After you left me this afternoon I called a cab and went shopping.'

The elegant wrapper said Carrier. She opened it and took out a velvet covered box. Inside was a beautiful ring, or rather, three rings, intertwined in different shades of gold.

'It's what they call a Russian wedding ring,' he told her. 'Usually worn on the little finger of the left hand.'

'I know.'

'I had to make an informed guess about the size. If it is wrong, simply call at Carder's at any time and ask for a Monsieur Bresson. He'll see to it for you. May I put it on?'

She held out her hand and he slipped on the ring. 'I think it might be just a little slack.'

She shook her head, staring down at it. 'No,' she said in a low voice. 'It's perfect.'

'A token,' he said. 'Of…' He hesitated and grinned crookedly. 'My big moment and I can't find the words. God help me, but I must do this thing properly. Do you think there's the remotest possibility that you might be interested in marrying a rather ageing fighter pilot who, finding himself too old for jet planes now, may prove rather difficult to handle?'

There were tears in her eyes and she put a hand on his arm. 'Raul, do something for me.'

'Anything.'

'Go for a walk. I'd like to be alone for a little while.'

He was full of concern. 'I'm sorry. I'll go back to my apartment. Perhaps I can see you in the morning before I leave.'

'No.' Her voice rose in a kind of panic. 'I want you to come back.'

'Of course, my love.' He kissed her gently. 'Half an hour,' and went and let himself out.

'Gabrielle,' she said, when Villiers picked up the phone.

'Anything for me?'

She took a deep breath and said, 'Donner joined us tonight. I heard him tell Raul that the transaction was to take place on Saturday morning and that it would be necessary to fly to Lancy in the morning. I don't know where that is.'

'Brittany,' he said. 'It fits in with facts we already know.'

'He suggested I flew down with them. The house they're staying at is called Maison Blanche.'

'And you said yes?'

'I want out, Tony. I can't take any more.'

'I know it's hard,' he said. 'But it has to be done. I know what you think of Montera. As a man, I admire him totally, but he is the enemy, Gabrielle, and we're not talking about personalities. We're talking about stopping Exocets.'

'It's no good,' she said.

'All right. I'm not going to twist your arm. I'll try and handle it without you. But you'll have to tell Ferguson. Check with me in the morning, in case you change your mind.'

He put down the receiver, picked it up again and dialled the number of the Cavendish Place flat in London. It was Harry Fox who answered the phone.

'Bad news from the front,' Villiers told him. 'Gabrielle's ust been in touch. Things are working well, but she feels she can't keep it up. She wants out.'

'All right,' Fox said. 'Leave it with me.'

Gabrielle poured herself another drink and sipped a little to steady her nerves, but it had to be done. She sat down and dialled Ferguson's number in London. He answered the phone himself almost instantly.

'Ferguson.'

'Gabrielle.'

His voice changed. 'My dear girl, have you been out? I tried to ring you several times earlier.'

'Yes, to dinner,' she said. 'Why?'

There was a pause and she was filled with a sudden foreboding.

'Look, this isn't easy,' he said. 'We tried to reach your mother and stepfather but it seems they're on a yacht cruising the Greek Islands.'

It could only be one thing, of course. 'Richard?' she whispered.

'Yes, my dear. I'm terribly sorry to have to pass you such news. He's reported missing believed killed in flying operations near Port Stanley.'

'Oh, God,' Gabrielle said, and for a brief moment saw him at his passing-out parade, proud in the naval uniform, a handsome, smiling boy.

'Naturally, I realise the effect this unfortunate business will have on you,' Ferguson said. 'In the circumstances it would probably be better to pull you out.'

'No,' she said wearily. 'No point in that. Not now. Thank you and goodnight Brigadier.'

She sat there staring at the phone, then picked it up and dialled Villiers' number again. He answered at once.

'I've changed my mind, Tony. I'll fly down with Raul and Donner tomorrow to this place Lancy. I can't give you the address of Donner's house there though.'

'No problem,' he said. 'Harvey and I will drive down overnight. We'll find it.' He hesitated. 'Is anything wrong? What made you change your mind?'

'Richard's dead,' she said. 'Killed in action. It's got to stop, Tony, for everyone's sake. Too many dead already.'

'Oh, my God,' Villiers said and she put down the phone.

Ferguson sighed. 'A remarkable girl.'

Harry Fox said, 'She won't pull out?'

'No.'

'How did she take it?'

'How the hell do I know, Harry. The important thing is how long she can hold herself together.'

When Montera reached the door, it was standing slightly ajar. He closed it and went into the sitting room.

'Gabrielle?'

'In here.'

She was lying in bed in the darkness. He reached for the switch and she said quickly, 'No, Raul, don't turn on the light.'

He sat on the edge of the bed and there was concern in his voice. 'Look, my love, if you're not well, I can go. No trouble.'

'No.' She reached for him. 'Don't leave me. I want you here in bed with me.'

He undressed, dropping his clothes on a chair, and slipped in beside her. She turned into him, arms sliding about his neck and suddenly, like a dam bursting, all the pain, all the anguish, flowed out of her and she started to cry, slow, bitter tears.

'What is it?' he asked.

'Nothing, Raul. Don't say anything. Just hold me.'

He soothed her then, his lips on her forehead, as one might soothe a child and after a while, she slept.