Exocet

13

Villiers and Jackson had driven down from Paris overnight through Orleans and Tours to Nantes from where they had turned south. It was still early, only eight o'clock, when they finally found Lancy. Jackson slowed the Citroen as they came to the perimeter fence. He coasted along past the main gate which was padlocked and then picked up speed and drove on, turning into some trees round a bend in the road.

They walked back through the trees and looked down at the airfield. 'Old wartime station from the look of things,' Villiers said.

'And no sign of any life.' Jackson shivered. 'I hate places like that. Too many good men gone.'

Villiers nodded. 'I know what you mean.' He looked up at the grey sky which threatened rain. 'Let's hope the weather doesn't give our friends problems getting in.'

Jackson said, 'What do we do now?'

'We'll go into this place St Martin. See if we can find where Donner's house is.'

They turned and went back through the trees.

Gabrielle lay on her back, staring up at the ceiling. After a while, she turned her head and found Montera watching her.

'How are you this morning?' he asked gravely.

'Fine.' Amazing how calm she felt, how much in control. 'I'm sorry about last night.'

He reached for one of her hands and kissed it. 'Do you want to tell me about it?'

'Nothing to tell,' she said. 'Old ghosts, that's all.' She held his hand tightly. 'This business with Donner in Brittany. It's important?'

'Yes,' he said. 'Let's say he can supply certain equipment my government needs because the arms embargo has blocked more normal channels.'

'And when the transaction is completed, you'll return to the Argentine? How long, Raul? Two days? Three?'

'I don't have any choice,' he said simply.

'And neither do I. I must take what time there is, even if I have to share you with bloody Donner. I'm coming with you to Lancy.'

The delight in his face was plain. 'You're sure?'

'Very.'

She rolled over and he buried his face in her neck. She stroked his hair and stared up at the ceiling again. Amazing how easily they came, the lies, the deceit.

At Brie-Comte-Robert, Donner walked up and down impatiently, smoking a cigarette. Wanda leaned against the hangar wall, Rabier waiting beside the Chieftain.

'Where the hell is he?' Donner demanded and then a cab turned in through the main gate and crossed the apron towards them.

Raul Montera got out, wearing jeans and his old black flying jacket. He turned and held out a hand to Gabrielle. Donner was delighted, all anger leaving him, and went to meet them.

'So you decided to join us after all?'

'Yes,' she said simply. 'On reflection, I decided I'd nothing better to do.'

Behind her, Montera was getting the bags and paying off the driver. Amazing how marvellous she looked in jeans and the blue reefer coat. It occurred to Donner with a kind of wonder, that this was different. He wanted this woman to want him.

'Fine,' he told her. 'Let's get moving then.'

They turned and walked towards the Chieftain. Wanda came forward and glanced at Montera, that look on her face again.

He smiled. 'You worry too much.'

'Maybe you should worry more,' she said, and followed the others.

The small bar on the quay at St Martin was empty except for Villiers and Jackson who stood at one end eating the croissants the owner, a large, matronly blonde, had prepared for them.

'More coffee?' she asked.

Villiers nodded. 'Where are all the customers?'

'The regulars are working, Monsieur, and we don't get many tourists these days. Things aren't as they were.'

'I thought there was an airfield near here?'

'Ah, yes, at Lancy, but that closed down years ago.' She poured hot coffee. 'You gentlemen have business here?'

'No,' Villiers said. 'We've been touring Brittany by car for the past week. Someone told us the sea fishing was good here.'

'That's true. Best on the coast.'

'Where could we stay?'

'Well, there's the hotel up the street, the Pomme d'Or, but not if you take my advice. It's a dump. Hugo, the estate agent, has plenty of places to rent. Bungalows, cottages and that sort of thing. He'd be only too pleased to see you, believe me. As I say, we don't get the tourists these days like we used to. His office is fifty yards along the front.'

'I'm very grateful.' Villiers delivered his most charming smile. 'We'll call on him now.'

Monsieur Hugo, a kindly, white-haired old man who appeared to run his office single-handed, was most accommodating. He had a large map of the area on the wall, little red flags on pins stuck into place to indicate the location of his properties.

'I could find you something here in town with no difficulty,' he said. 'Of course the minimum letting period would be one week.'

'No problem,' Villiers replied. 'However, I would prefer something in the country. A friend in Paris who stayed here some years ago mentioned a house called Maison Blanche.'

The old man nodded, took off his glasses and pointed to one of the flags. 'Ah yes, a fine house, but much too large for your purposes and in any case, I only recently leased it to a gentleman from Paris.'

'I see.' Villiers examined the map and pointed to one of the flags situated between Maison Blanche and Lancy. 'What about that?'

'Yes. I'm sure that would meet your requirements perfectly. A small modern bungalow called Whispering Winds, built five years ago by a schoolmaster in Nantes for his retirement. He only uses it for vacations at the moment. Fully furnished, two bedrooms. I could let you have that for five hundred francs for the week, plus a one hundred franc deposit against breakages. In advance, of course.' He smiled apologetically. 'It is a sad fact of life, Monsieur, but I'm afraid it has been my experience that there are those who leave without paying.'

'I perfectly understand.' Villiers took out his wallet and counted the money out on the desk.

'Would you like me to take you out and show you the place?' the old man asked.

'Not necessary. I'm sure you have work to do. If you'll just give me the key.'

'Of course, Monsieur.' The old man took it from a board and handed it to him. 'There is an excellent general store down the street. Madame Dubois can meet all your requirements.'

Villiers went out to the Citroen and got in. Harvey Jackson said, 'Okay?'

'You could say that. I found out where Maison Blanche is and I've got us a holiday bungalow nearby.' He held up the key. 'Whispering Winds.'

'God Almighty,' Jackson said.

'Stop off at the store up the street. We'll need a few things.'

Villiers sat back and lit a cigarette. It was going rather well. Now, all that was needed was Donner, Raul Montera and Gabrielle and the game could begin.

When the Chieftain touched down at Lancy just before noon, Stavrou was waiting to meet it with a large Peugeot estate car. Villiers, watching from the trees on the hill through field-glasses, saw the passengers get out of the plane, which then taxied inside one of the hangars, the door of which Stavrou had opened earlier. He helped Rabier close them and the others got into the Peugeot.

'Gabrielle there?' Jackson asked.

Villiers nodded as Rabier got into the front seat beside Stavrou and the Peugeot drove away.

'Okay, let's get back to the bungalow and have something to eat, and I'll phone the Brigadier. Give our friends a chance to settle down. We can check out Maison Blanche later.'

They turned and went back to the car.

Harry Fox was having an early lunch when Villiers got through. He said, 'He's not here, Tony. Attending a meeting of the Joint Chiefs at the Ministry of Defence. I expect him back within the hour. Where are you?'

'The depths of the Breton countryside. A holiday cottage called, if you would believe it, Whispering Winds.'

'And Donner?'

'Just up the road.'

'Fine. Give me your number and I'll call the moment he gets back.'

At Maison Blanche, Donner opened the door of one of the bedrooms on the first floor and ushered in Montera and Gabrielle. It was an old-fashioned room with a high ceiling and tall narrow windows, sombre because of the wine-coloured wallpaper. There was an uncomfortable looking bed, very high off the floor.

'Bathroom through there,' Donner said. 'All the comforts. Stavrou tells me lunch in half an hour. I'll see you down there.'

He went out and Montera sat on the bed and bounced up and down. 'Mother of God, listen to those springs. The whole world will know of my mad passion for you.'

She sat on the bed beside him. 'I don't like this place, Raul, and I don't like him.'

'I know,' he said. 'But you like me, so that's all right.'

He turned her head and kissed her gently.

Villiers was having a drink in the sitting room, waiting for Ferguson's call, when Jackson came in from the kitchen.

'I was just listening to the radio from Paris. There was a newsflash. 2 Para hit Goose Green early this morning.'

'What's the score?'

'Apparently heavy fighting according to American sources.'

Villiers kicked a chair. 'And here we are, playing games for schoolboys.'

'Don't be stupid,' Jackson said flatly. 'They're damned important games. I've opened a can of soup and there's French bread and cheese. If you want some, come into the kitchen. If you want to stay in the officers' mess, that's up to you.'

He went out and at that moment the phone rang. Ferguson said, 'How are things, Tony?'

'Moving quite well.' Villiers explained in detail.

When he was finished, Ferguson said, 'Good, the moment you have details of Donner's actual intentions, phone me instantly. I think you'd better leave Sergeant Major Jackson by the phone at your end in case I need you in a hurry.'

'All right, sir,' Villiers said. 'We just heard a newsflash here about the battle at Goose Green.'

'Good God, ' Ferguson said. 'It's not even been announced here yet.'

'What's happening?'

'Very heavy going, Tony. The truth is our intelligence was faulty. A lot more Argentines there than we thought. I'm afraid the C.O. has been killed, but information is thin on the ground at the moment. Anyway, I'll be in touch.'

Villiers put the phone down, his face grim, then he went into the kitchen slowly.

Lunch consisted of vast helpings of smoked salmon and Beluga caviar with Krug Champagne to wash it down.

'I'm on a diet,' Donner explained. 'So if I suffer, my guests suffer. You're not drinking again, colonel?'

'As I told you, champagne doesn't agree with me.'

'What would you like then? A good host should always try to please even the most difficult of his guests.'

Montera looked across at Gabrielle who smiled, knowing what he would say. He smiled right back at her. 'How about a nice cup of tea?'

'Dear God,' Donner groaned and looked up at Stavrou standing by the door. 'See what you can do.'

Stavrou went out and Montera said, 'We really must have a talk, Donner. Settle our business. When you can find time, that is.'

'No time like the present,' Donner turned to Gabrielle and Wanda. 'Would you girls excuse us for a while?'

'No problem,' Gabrielle said. 'I'll go for a walk.' She glanced at Wanda. 'What about you, Miss Jones?'

Donner laughed. 'Wanda go for a walk? That'll be the day.'

The girl coloured and stood up. 'Thanks very much, but I think I'll unpack.'

She went out and Donner said to Gabrielle. 'Just one point. The stable-block is out of bounds for sound business reasons.' He smiled. 'Anywhere else, feel free.'

She opened the French windows and moved out.

Donner and Montera sat by a log fire in the sitting room. Montera said, 'You really can guarantee there will be no slip-ups?'

'Absolutely. My Italian agents assured me this morning that everything is set and ready to go. Those Exocets will be here tomorrow morning without fail. I hope your gold is just as available in Geneva.'

'No problem there, I can assure you.'

Donner lit a cigarette. 'So, you'll fly off in the Hercules. What about Mademoiselle Legrand? Does she go with you?'

'Very probably,' Montera said. 'If I can persuade her.' He stood up. 'I think I'll take a walk myself.'

'I'll come with you,' Donner told him. 'I could do with some fresh air.'

There was nothing Montera could say, so they went out together.

Tony Villiers, hidden in the undergrowth behind a wall high above the estate, had noticed several interesting things. Stavrou, for example, crossing from the rear of the house to the stables on occasion. There was someone in there, a face barely glimpsed when the door was opened.

And then Gabrielle appeared, crossing the terrace and starting across the lawn into the trees. He followed her with his fieldglasses, losing her once or twice. She finally emerged by a small lake and followed a path round it towards a ruined summerhouse on the other side.

Villiers' practised eye detected a movement in the trees above the lake. He focussed his glasses as a figure emerged from the bushes in patched jeans, long hair hanging beneath a tweed cap, a shotgun under his arm. He went after Gabrielle, keeping out of sight. Villiers got to his feet and ran down through the trees.

Gabrielle pushed open the broken door of the summerhouse and stepped inside. There was a wooden table, a couple of chairs, a stone fireplace. Various panes of glass were missing in the windows, the floor damp where rain had drifted in. There was a step behind her and she turned.

The young man who stood there was of medium height with a weak, sullen face. He badly needed a shave. His clothes were too large for him and his hair poked untidily from beneath the cap. He held a double-barrelled shotgun in both hands.

'What do you want?' she said.

He ran a hand across his mouth, his eyes glittering as they looked her over. 'Oh, no. That's what I ask you. I'm supposed to guard this estate.'

'I see.' She leaned back on the table. 'What's your name?'

He grinned. 'That's more friendly. It's Paul. Paul Gaubert.'

She brushed past him and went outside. 'Heh, come here,' he called, as he ran after her and caught her by the right arm.

She said, 'Don't be stupid. I'm a guest of Monsieur Donner's.'

She pulled her arm free and sent him away with a vigorous shove of both hands. He staggered back for a moment, gaping in astonishment and, suddenly, there was only anger there. He dropped the shotgun and grabbed at her and she put her knee into his groin.

Donner and Montera came over the top of the small hill above the lake in time to witness the whole scene, including the timely arrival of Villiers, although at that distance they could not see the cold fury in his eyes as one hand fastened on Paul Gaubert's collar, the other on his belt. Villiers turned him round and ran him headfirst into the lake. The boy went under, came up gasping out of the shallows and up the bank.

'Gaubert!' Donner cried as he ran down the hill with Montera.

The youth glanced over his shoulder, a look of terror on his face, and took to his heels.

Villiers said to Gabrielle. 'Are you all right?'

'Fine,' she said, 'but could we change the script? This sort of thing's beginning to get a trifle monotonous. And watch yourself, we've got company.'

'I'm an Irishman on holiday staying at a bungalow not far from here. Michael O'Hagan.'

The Irish situation had forced the SAS to develop a language laboratory system teaching regional Irish accents to their men. Villiers could sound as if he'd been born and bred within five miles of Crossmaglen and Michael O'Hagan was an alias he had used before.

Montera arrived on the run, full of concern. 'Gabrielle, are you all right?'

'Yes, thanks to this gentleman.'

'O'Hagan,' Villiers said cheerfully in English. 'Michael O'Hagan.'

'I want to thank you, sir.' Donner took his hand. 'Felix Donner. This is my place, by the way, and this is Mr Montera and the lady you rescued is Miss Legrand. The creature who attacked Miss Legrand is a gipsy called Gaubert. I allowed a band of them to stay on the estate, which shows what happens when you treat people like that as human beings.'

'Happy to know you,' Villiers said.

'Just where did you come from exactly, Mr O'Hagan?'

'Just up there where the trees flank the road.' Villiers pointed. 'I was looking at the map, trying to get my bearings when I saw that character obviously trailing Miss Legrand. The rest, as they say, you know.'

'We certainly do. You're staying near here?'

There was little point in trying to pretend otherwise. Villiers said, 'At a little bungalow up the road with a friend. We're on a motoring tour of Brittany.'

He had tried to sound simple, open and ingenuous, and appeared to have succeeded. Donner said, 'Come back and have a drink with us.'

Villiers said, 'That's very nice of you, but perhaps some other time. I'm already later than I said I would be.'

Donner persisted. 'Join us for dinner tonight, then. Bring your friend.'

'I don't really have any decent clothes with me,' Villiers said, keeping up the image.

'Doesn't matter. All totally informal. Bring your friend.'

'All right. I can't speak for him though. He might have other plans.'

'Seven-thirty for eight.'

Villiers turned and walked briskly away. Montera said, 'Lucky he was around.'

'Yes, wasn't it?' Donner replied, frowning slightly.

At the bungalow, Villiers shaved and had a shower. When he went into the kitchen he was wearing slacks, a dark shirt and a tweed jacket. He had a Walter PPK in one hand and a roll of surgical tape in the other. He put his left foot on a chair, pulled up his trouser leg and taped the weapon just above the ankle.

'Daniel in the lion's den?' Jackson commented.

'Well, you never know. Comforting to have an ace in the hole. I'll see you later. Be good.'

He went out, got into the Citroen and drove away. Jackson poured himself another cup of coffee and reached over to switch on the radio. There was a sudden cool breeze on the back of his neck as if a door had opened. He turned quickly and Yanni Stavrou stepped in, a gun in one hand, two of Roux's recruits standing behind him.

Beyond the French windows the beech trees above the lawn were cut out of black cardboard against a sky that was touched with vivid orange. Inside it was warm and comfortable.

Gabrielle wore her yellow jump suit; Montera, jeans and a blue flannel shirt. Donner's concession to informality was to wear a mohair pullover instead of a jacket.

He glanced out of one of the French windows before closing it. 'We could have weather trouble tomorrow.'

'Let's hope not,' Montera replied. 'That was an excellent dinner, by the way.'

'That's Wanda's department, not mine. She does all right when she tries.'

The condescension was plain. Gabrielle said, 'It was more than all right. It was superb. I'd say she has real flair.'

'Don't tell her that, for God's sake. She won't be fit to live with.'

Wanda entered at that moment with a tray. She was the most dressed-up person there and wore a two piece trouser evening suit in black velvet.

She'd brought tea for Montera and Gabrielle. Donner said, 'You are trying, aren't you, but what about Mr O'Hagan here? All Irishmen drink tea, isn't that true, O'Hagan?'

'Oh, I don't know,' Villiers said brightly. 'I like a cup of coffee myself.'

The girl's hand was shaking as she passed him the cup and Gabrielle, angry again, turned to Montera. 'I feel like a little air. Shall we take a walk?'

'Why not?'

He opened a French window and they went out.

Donner said, 'A handsome couple, wouldn't you say?'

Villiers managed to look mildly surprised. 'Yes, I suppose so.'

'Tell me, what do you do for a living, Mr O'Hagan?'

'I'm a sales engineer. Oil pumps, mainly.'

'That must be a good line these days, what with North Sea oil.'

'Oh, yes.' Villiers glanced at his watch. 'It's really been wonderful, but I'm afraid I'll have to be going. We have an early start tomorrow.'

'What a shame. Still, it's been nice having you.' Donner walked through to the front door with him and opened it. 'I'd like to thank you again for what you did. I sent my man Stavrou along to sort that gypsy out earlier this evening, but by the time he'd reached the encampment, they'd all cleared off.'

They shook hands and Villiers went down the steps. Donner went back to the sitting room.

Wanda said, 'Can I get you anything?'

'No,' he said. 'Go to bed.'

'But it's early, Felix.'

He shook his head. 'You never learn, do you?' He ran the back of his hand down her face and she shrank back as if expecting a blow. 'That's right,' he said. 'Do as you're told and go to bed.'

Stavrou came into the room as Wanda went out. Donner asked, 'Is the car ready?'

'Yes.'

Donner went to the open French window. He could see the glowing end of Montera's cigarette on the other side of the lawn where he and Gabrielle talked.

'Heh, you two. I've got to go out for a little while. Help yourself to drinks, okay?' He turned back into the room, said to Stavrou, 'All right, let's get moving,' and led the Way out quickly.

Montera smoked his cigarette and leaned on the balustrade beside her. 'I seem to have done nothing but talk about my mother and my daughter. You must be bored.'

'But they're part of you, Raul. I want to know these things. They're important.'

'Yes,' he said. 'Life is nothing without roots, that's true, isn't it? We all need a place to rest our heads from time to time. A place where we can be certain of perfect understanding.'

'I wish to God there was such a place for me,' she said and there was a poignancy in her voice that went straight to his heart.

He said, 'But there is, my love. Tomorrow I fly back to the Argentine direct from here.'

'But I don't understand.'

'From Lancy. There's a plane putting down with war supplies. A Hercules transport. You could come with me.'

And she could, that was the truth of it. It would be so easy. At that moment, she was closer to telling him the truth than she had ever been.

When Villiers went in the front door of the bungalow he called, 'Harvey, where are you?'

There was no reply, but a radio sounded faintly and rather eerily from somewhere at the back of the house. Strangely enough he recognised it. A nostalgic record. Al Bowlly, the famous crooner of the thirties, singing Moonlight on the Highway.

The bedroom door stood ajar and Villiers paused on the threshold. Jackson sat at a table on the opposite side of the bed, a small radio playing beside him.

'Heh, Harvey,' Villiers said. 'What in the hell are you up to?'

And then he moved close enough to see that Jackson was tied to the chair. His cheeks were badly blistered, probably from repeated applications of a cigarette lighter flame. There was a bullet wound just above his right ear, small calibre as there was no exit wound, and the sightless eyes stared into the wall.

Villiers slumped down on the bed and sat there looking at him. Aden, the Oman, Borneo, Ireland. So much action, so much dying and Harvey Jackson always the indestructable one. And to go this way, at the end of things.

The door slammed against the wall behind him. His hand was already groping for the butt of the Walther as he turned and found Stavrou and two armed men facing him.

'A tough bastard,' Stavrou said. 'I couldn't get a thing out of him.'

'Yes, you train them well in the SAS, Major Villiers,' Felix Donner said. 'I'll give you that.'

Montera and Gabrielle were sitting by the fire talking together in low voices when the door opened and Donner entered. He closed it and came and stood with his back to the fire.

'This is nice. Damned cold out tonight.'

'Have you been far?' Montera asked politely.

'Far enough. You see I had a phone call early this evening from a friend in Paris. He'd been doing some checking for me on your girlfriend here.'

'What in the hell are you talking about?' Montera said angrily.

'Yes, Mademoiselle Legrand, or would you prefer Mrs Gabrielle Villiers, or didn't you know she was married?'

'Divorced,' Montera said. 'Your information would appear to be hugely out of date.'

Gabrielle sat frozen, waiting for the axe to fall. Donner said, 'Yes, but who was Mr Villiers, or should I say Major Villiers? Quite a man. Grenadier Guards and 22 SAS, would you believe? When my friend read his description to me over the phone a lot of interesting little pieces fell into place.'

He crossed to the door and opened it, and Stavrou pushed his prisoner through. 'Colonel Raul Montera, meet Major Anthony Villiers. I'd say you two have got a hell of a lot in common.'