Exocet

15

Donner stood in the wheelhouse of the landing craft and looked through a porthole at the length of the ship. The hold was a steel shell. The cargo consisted of a large number of packing cases and the truck belonging to their own party, his men still inside. Beyond were the steel bow doors of the beaching exit.

The sea was choppy with a slight breeze and although mist and rain had reduced visibility, they had made good time from St Martin. The captain, a young naval lieutenant, came in from the bridge and gave the helmsman an order.

'Port five.'

'Port five of wheel on, sir.'

'Steady now.'

'Steady, steering two-o-three, sir.'

The lieutenant said to Donner, 'Not long now. Another twenty minutes.'

'Perhaps I'll have a chance to offer you a drink when we land?'

The young man shook his head. 'I'm only stopping long enough to put you and your party ashore, then I proceed to St Nazaire. I'm carrying electronic equipment for Guided Weapons H.Q.'

Donner nodded cheerfully. 'Another time perhaps.'

He went out on the bridge, wrapping the oilskin coat they had loaned him about his shoulders, and looked towards the great cliffs of Ile de Roc rising out of the sea.

The harbour was not large and the landing craft beached beside a stone jetty. One or two small sailing dinghies were pulled up on the sand above high water, but the only sizeable craft was a beautiful power boat, painted green.

When the bow doors opened, the truck drove out across a specially constructed concrete apron to the start of a tarmacadam road, Donner walking beside it. A Landrover was parked there and the sole occupant, a tall, greying, middle-aged man wearing a jeep coat with a heavy fur collar over his uniform, got out.

'Captain Leclerc?'

'That's right,' Donner said.

'Let's get out of this damned rain. Major Espinet — I'm in command here. I'll take you up to the site. Your truck can follow.'

Donner nodded to Stavrou and got in. As the Landrover moved away, he said to Espinet. 'A beautiful boat down there in the harbour. Yours, I believe.'

Espinet smiled. 'The pride of my life. Built by Akerboon. Steel hull, twin screws. She can do thirty-five knots.'

'Wonderful,' Donner commented.

'Helps pass the time in this Godforsaken spot,' Espinet told him. 'Not the most desirable of postings.'

'That's what comes of losing the Empire,' Donner said amiably.

The winding road that led up from the harbour was lined with old stone cottages, most of which appeared to be in ruins. 'Like most of these islands off the coast, the people left years ago,' remarked Espinet. 'It was just subsistence living here. Crofting and fishing. They seldom saw a ten franc note from one year's end to the other.'

They went over the hill above the harbour and there was the camp, a small, ugly compound of flat-roofed concrete huts built to withstand the fury of the storms that swept in from the Atlantic in the winter months. A concrete tower some forty feet in height lifted above them, a narrow balcony encircling its glass walls at the top, a steel emergency ladder running down one side.

Donner, who knew very well what it was, asked, 'What's that? The tower, I mean?'

'Built to house the radio room,' Espinet said. 'We also operate a new kind of short wave scanner from up there when the missiles are testing. That's why we need height.'

There was a row of bunkers some distance beyond. 'Are those the missile pens?' Donner asked.

'That's right. They've got to be underground here. Nothing but Atlantic Ocean out there, which makes this an ideal test site, but the weather can be ferocious. Two winters ago it was so bad they evacuated for a month.'

'They tell me half the people here are civilians?'

'Yes. Eighteen military personnel at the moment. Only three officers, so we don't have much of a mess, I'm afraid.' Espinet turned the Landrover into the complex. 'You know, if you don't mind me saying so, there's something a little unusual about your accent.'

'My mother,' Donner said. 'That's what's so unusual. She was Australian.'

Espinet laughed. 'That certainly explains it.'

He braked to a halt outside one of the concrete huts where two men in identical camouflage uniforms and black berets waited. One was a sergeant, the other wore captain's bars. As he came down to meet them Espinet said, 'Pierre Jobert, my second in command.'

They got out and Espinet made the introductions. Jobert, a pleasant, rather world-weary young man with a thin moustache, smiled as he shook hands. 'Have you ever read Beau Geste, Captain Leclerc?'

'Naturally,' Donner told him.

Jobert waved a hand that took in the entire complex. 'Then you'll understand why we call this charming little hell-hole Fort Zinderneuf. Coffee waiting in your office, sir.'

'Excellent,' Espinet said. 'Assisted by a little Cognac, I trust?' He turned to Donner. 'Sergeant Deville will see to your men.'

'I'll be right with you,' Donner said. 'Must have a word with them myself first.'

The two officers went inside and Donner moved to where Stavrou waited beside the truck, which had parked some little distance away. 'Montera still safely under wraps?'

'In back with the boys.'

'Good. I'm going to have a drink with the CO. The moment I'm inside, take care of the radio tower, then everything else stage-by-stage, just the way we discussed it. Only eighteen military personnel here at the moment. The rest are civilians. Less than I thought.'

'Probably a few away on furlough,' Stavrou said.

Donner smiled. 'Lucky for them.' He turned and went up the steps to the door which Sergeant Deville held open for him.

Stavrou went round to the rear of the truck and the mercenary he had appointed as his second in command, a man named Jarrot, passed down a canvas holdall. At that moment, Sergeant Deville joined them.

'Sergeants' mess first stop, then I'll drop off the rest of you.'

Stavrou kneed him in the groin. As the sergeant started to go down, hands reached and hauled him into the back of the truck.

Stavrou said to Jarrot, 'Okay, Claude, let's get moving.'

Jarrot and Faure, the radio expert, jumped down, each carrying a canvas holdall, and the three of them crossed to the base of the radio tower. Stavrou opened the door and led the way up the narrow spiral staircase to the top. When he stepped out on to the narrow balcony, the wind tried to push him against the wall and he grabbed for the rail with his free hand. He could see the harbour clearly, but beyond the sea was shrouded with mist, as was the higher part of the island.

Jarrot and the other man pushed up behind him and they looked in through the armoured glass of the door to the communications rooms. There were three operators in there, and two technical sergeants sitting at a desk in the centre. They looked up in surprise as Stavrou opened the door and the three men filed in. Stavrou dumped his holdall on the desk between the sergeants, scattering their papers.

He grinned impudently. 'Good day to you, boys,' he said, and unzipped the holdall, taking out a Schmeisser machine pistol. 'This is what got the SS through the Second World War. Still does its job very well, so don't waste my time in arguing.'

One of the sergeants jumped up, reaching for the holstered pistol at his belt, and Jarrot, who had produced an AK assault rifle from his holdall, smashed the butt against the side of the man's head. He went down with a groan.

The remaining sergeant and the three radio operators got their hands up fast. Stavrou reached in his holdall and produced a number of steel handcuffs which he tossed on the table.

'Surplus stock, French military prisons for the use of.' He was thoroughly enjoying himself. 'We got them cheap.' He turned to Jarrot. 'Right, Claude, you can do the honours.'

Within a couple of minutes, the four men lay on the floor, face down beside the unconscious sergeant, all with their wrists handcuffed behind their backs. Faure was already examining the radio equipment.

'Any problems?' Stavrou asked.

Faure shook his head. 'Most of it is standard military stuff.'

'Good. You know what to do. Get in touch with the trawler, tell them it's safe to move in and get me an estimated time of arrival.'

'Okay.' Faure sat down at one of the sets.

Stavrou turned to Jarrot. 'Eighteen military personnel in all, that's what Mr Donner said. Five down — eleven to go.' He grinned. 'Let's visit the sergeants' mess next, Claude. You lead the way.'

Donner, standing at the window of Major Espinet's office, a glass of Cognac in hand, watched the two men emerge from the door at the base of the radio tower. They moved to the truck, Stavrou climbed up behind the wheel, Claude stood on the running board and they moved away.

Donner said, 'When do you intend to put us to work, Major?'

'No rush,' Espinet said. 'Got to get acclimatized. All the time in the world in a bloody place like this.'

'Not for me there isn't — time, I mean.' Donner produced a Walther from his pocket, a heavy silencer screwed on the end.

Espinet stood up behind his desk, eyes bulging. 'What in the hell is going on?'

'Quite simple,' Donner said. 'I'm taking over.'

'You must be mad.' Espinet turned to Jobert. 'Pierre, ring through to the guardroom.'

Donner shot him through the back of the head, killing him instantly, knocking him back across his chair into the corner. The obscenity of his death was somehow intensified by the almost complete lack of sound due to the fact that the Walther was silenced.

Jobert said, 'Who are you, for God's sake?'

Donner said, 'You can use your intelligence. Sufficient to say that my country is at war and we need more Exocets. I've got a boat coming in here soon and we're going to take as many as we can lay our hands on and you're going to help.'

'Like hell, I will,' Jobert said.

'Oh, all very gallant and French are we today?' Donner touched the end of the silencer between his eyes. 'You'll do exactly as you're told because if you don't, I'll parade your entire unit and shoot every third man.'

And Jobert believed him, which was the important thing, sudden despair in his eyes, shoulders sagging. Donner poured himself another brandy and toasted him.

'Cheer up, sport,' he said. 'After all, you could be like Espinet. You could be dead. Now let's get moving.'

They went up the street together to where the truck was parked outside one of the huts. Stavrou and Jarrot were emerging from another hut on the left and they met just as three more of the mercenaries came out of the hut opposite.

Stavrou said, 'Five in the radio room, six in the segeants' mess, two corporals in the office of that hut opposite. Every man on his face in steel bracelets.'

'Which leaves three military personnel unaccounted for.' Donner turned to Jobert. 'Where are they, Captain?'

Jobert hesitated, but only for a moment. 'On duty in the missile pen.'

'Good. Now for the civilians. Twenty of them, isn't that right?'

'I suppose so.'

'How many of them in the pens at the moment?'

'Probably five. They work shifts. The others will be eating or sleeping.'

'Excellent. Then if you'll be good enough to lead the way, we'll introduce ourselves, shall we?'

From her vantage point in the loft, Wanda could see Rabier through the kitchen window. He had been sitting there for some time now at the table, eating bread and cheese and drinking Cognac — drinking a great deal of Cognac.

Wanda was cold and very hungry. She moved to the corner of the loft, raised the trapdoor and descended a flight of wooden steps. She found herself in the stables Roux's men had used as their quarters. There were sleeping bags in the stalls and various items of equipment laid out on a trestle table, including an assortment of weapons.

She opened the door and looked outside. It was still raining and she tiptoed cautiously across the cobbles towards the kitchen door. Gabrielle, who had been peering out through the cellar window, saw her coming.

'Wanda!' she whispered urgently. 'Over here.'

Villiers was on his feet in a second. 'What is it?'

Wanda hesitated, then crossed to the wall and crouched down at the window. 'They've all gone except Rabier, the pilot.'

'I know,' Gabrielle said. 'Come down and let us out as fast as you can.'

Wanda nodded. 'I'll try,' she said. 'But Rabier's on guard.' She stood up and hurried to the back door, opened it cautiously and started along the passage, pausing at the kitchen door which stood ajar. Rabier stood at the table opening a fresh bottle of Cognac. Wanda tiptoed past him and opened the door into the hall. It creaked slightly in spite of the care with which she closed it and in the kitchen, Rabier paused in the act of pouring Cognac into a glass and listened, a slight frown on his face, head cocked to one side. He went out into the passage, still holding the bottle of Cognac.

Wanda paused in the hall for a moment. The house was silent. She crossed to the door leading to the cellar steps, opened it and went down. At the bottom, she felt for the light switch and whispered, 'Gabrielle, where are you?'

'Here, Wanda! Here!' Gabrielle called.

Wanda hesitated at the cellar door, peering in through the bars, aware of Gabrielle inside, Villiers at her shoulder. There was a great rusting bolt at the top of the door which pulled back without too much difficulty, but the other bolt at the bottom of the door was a different proposition. She got on her knees, tugging at it with both hands. Suddenly there was a movement behind her, a hand fastened in her hair, pulling her head back painfully, dragging her to her feet. She twisted round to find Rabier smiling at her.

'Naughty,' he said. 'Very naughty. I can see I'm going to have to take you in hand.'

He was very drunk and thrust the neck of the Cognac bottle into her mouth. It jarred painfully against her teeth and she choked as the fiery liquid poured down her throat. He laughed again, not pleasantly, eyes fixed, an ugly look on his face, and put the bottle on a shelf beside them.

'And now,' he said, 'I'll teach you how to do as you're told.' He forced his mouth on hers, holding her against the wall, one hand still fastened in her hair, the other pawing at her breasts.

Gabrielle cried out in anger and then Villiers pulled her to one side, reached through the bars with one hand and got Rabier by the hair, yanking him back against the door with considerable force.

'The bottle, Wanda!' he ordered. 'The bottle.'

For Wanda now, Rabier was every man who had ever used her, the anger, the humiliation of the years welling up in a killing rage. She grabbed the Cognac bottle by the neck and clubbed Rabier across the side of the head. He cried out, staggering back and she hit him again, sending him to his knees. She kicked him out of the way and the rage in her was still so strong that this time when she reached for the bolt, it opened with no difficulty and Gabrieile and Villiers moved out to join her.

When the phone rang, Ferguson was just out of the shower. He listened to what Villiers had to say and then said, 'Right, Tony. You stay where you are. Let the French handle it now. Good work.'

He slammed down the phone and ran into the sitting room, clutching the towel around him.

'Harry, where the devil are you?'

Fox appeared from the study. 'You wanted me, sir?'

'Tony's cracked it. Now all we need is some fast action from the French. Get Colonel Guyon in Paris for me now. Top priority. Most urgent.'

He ran back into his bedroom and started to dress.

Rabier was tied up and bundled into the butler's pantry and Villiers helped himself to the Walther he carried. 'I should imagine the Brigadier's on to Paris now.'

'It will still take time for them to move,' Gabrieile said. 'What about Raul? You've got to do something Tony.'

'Yes, I know.' Villiers turned to Leclerc. 'Are you game to fly the Chieftain out to Ile de Roc and try landing her on that beach.'

Leclerc smiled. 'It would certainly give Donner one hell of a surprise and we could take half a dozen of my men.'

Villiers turned to look at them. They seemed fit enough, but rather more intellectual than the average soldier and two of them wore glasses.

'These boys are technicians, aren't they? Electronics wizards?'

'And good soldiers, too, believe me. What we lack are weapons.'

Wanda said, 'There are rifles and things in the stables where those men of Donner's were staying. I just saw them.'

Leclerc turned to his men. 'Come on then. What are we waiting for?' He led the way out.

Gabrielle put a hand on Villier's arm. 'Take care, Tony, and try to be in time.'

'I will.' On impulse he kissed her on the forehead. He walked to the door.

She called, 'Tony?'

'Yes?'

'I think you were always worth something better.'

'Than you?'

'Oh, no. I'm too too arrogant to admit that.' She smiled. 'Than what you do, Tony. You're worth so much more than Ferguson and all his dark games. Worth a little joy. And I'm sorry about us — sorry about a lot of things.'

He smiled, looking suddenly as charming as on the first time she'd met him. 'I'm not. When the going was good, it was bloody marvellous. I wouldn't have missed you for anything.'

He went out. A moment later she heard the Peugeot estate start up and move away and then there was only the silence.

In Espinet's office, Raul Montera sat in a chair, hands still bound by the silk scarf. The major lay in the corner, covered by a blanket. Donner turned from a cupboard and held up a bottle of champagne.

'The old devil did himself well. Krug 71. An exceptional year. Pity there isn't time to chill it. Still, you can't have everything in this life.' He thumbed off the cork and laughed as the champagne foamed. 'You'll join me in a glass?'

'As you well know, it doesn't agree with me,' Montera said calmly.

'Well, it agrees with me, old sport.' Donner filled a glass, went to the window and peered out. 'Things have certainly gone well, you must admit. Nothing like a little organisation.'

'I heard some shooting.'

'Just a little. A couple of guards up at the missile pens loosed off a few rounds before my boys cut them down. Very useful that. It makes it all hang together when we leave you face down with a bullet in you, from one of their weapons naturally.'

The door opened and Stavrou entered.

Donner said, 'Have you made contact with the trawler?'

'Yes, they should be here in thirty-five minutes.'

'Everything else under control?'

'Everyone under lock and key except for ten civilian personnel who are loading Exocets on to trucks in the missile pens.'

'Excellent,' Donner said. 'You get back up there and keep things moving. We'll join you in a few minutes. The colonel might find it interesting.'

Stavrou went out. Donner refilled his glass and raised it in mock salute to Montera as rain rattled the window.

'Not long now, old sport.'

Sitting in the cockpit of the Chieftain beside Leclerc, Villiers saw Ile de Roc lift out of the sea on the horizon, a grey hump under cumulus clouds, the cliffs at the northern end wreathed in mist. They were flying at no more than three hundred feet above the sea, Leclerc's hands steady on the column, and below the grey-green surface of the sea was being whipped into whitecaps.

Villiers said, 'What about wind direction? Will it be all right for landing?'

'Good enough, I think. It's the down-draughts from those cliffs we'll have to watch for.'

The island crouched there like a grey beast, waiting for them, the great cliffs rearing three hundred feet high at one end, the rest of the desolate land mass sloping steeply towards the harbour.

'You realise they'll know we're coming?' Leclerc said. 'No way of avoiding that.'

'I know,' Villiers said. 'It can't be helped, so you might as well cut right in across the island and let us see the state of the game. A little panic and confusion always helps.'

The Chieftain went in across the cliffs, the mist parting before it, roaring across a desolate rain-soaked moonscape, a nightmare world of deep gullies fissured into grey rock, relieved by the occasional green of bog or moorland. Leclerc pulled back on the column; they lifted over a ridge and found the missile pens and the concrete buildings of the camp complex no more than a hundred feet below.

Donner and Raul Montera were walking up the street towards the missile pens. Donner glanced up in alarm, then pushed Montera into a stumbling run towards the shelter of the tunnel entrance leading to the pens as Leclerc banked, came in again at fifty feet this time, then turned and moved out to sea.

Stavrou had observed the incident from the shelter of the tunnel entrance. As Donner and Montera ran in beside him, he said, 'I don't understand. That was our plane. What in the hell is going on?'

'Villiers, you imbecile,' Donner said. 'Who else could it be. God knows what's gone wrong back there at the house.'

He looked out from the tunnel entrance to where the Chieftain banked over the sea and came in again, heading for the cliffs and disappearing from view.

'What the hell are they doing?' Stavrou exclaimed. 'There's nowhere to land on this rock.'

'Oh, yes there is,' Donner said. 'If the tide's right, there's plenty of beach at the base of those cliffs. The French Air Force proved it could be done last year. It just wasn't a practical proposition on a long term basis, that's all.'

'So what do we do? If that is Villiers, then he must have contacted the French authorities. We could have paratroopers round our necks before we know it.'

'Let's see how things are inside,' said Donner calmly.

He pushed Montera ahead of him. They moved along the tunnel and entered a large concrete cave brightly lit by floodhghts. Four of the special trucks built to carry the missile were lined up at a loading ramp, where the civilian personnel in Aerospatiale overalls toiled to load the Exocets with the assistance of special hydraulic hoists, closely supervised by armed mercenaries.

Jarrot was in charge. 'What stage are you at?' Donner asked.

'Difficult to say. With luck, another twenty minutes and we can move down to the harbour.'

Donner turned to Stavrou. 'I'll stay here. You take some men and get up on those cliffs. If anyone is trying to get through, stop them. You must give us the time we need.'

Stavrou grinned savagely. 'My personal guarantee on it.' He nodded to Jarrot. 'Come on, Claude. We've got work to do.'

They ran back along the tunnel. Donner took out a cigarette and lit it. 'Villiers,' he said. 'How incredible.' He laughed, totally without malice. 'God damn him, he must be nearly as good as me.'

'What was it you said?' Montera asked. 'Nothing like a little organisation?'

'One of those days,' Donner said amiably. 'Everyone has them.'

'So now what happens?'

'We wait and see, old sport, but preferably back in Espinet's office in comfort. I left that bottle of Krug on his desk and it's too good to waste, chilled or not.'

'You're finished,' Montera said, 'and you know it.'

'We'll see, old sport, we'll see.' Donner grinned and pushed him along the tunnel.

Leclerc took the Chieftain in on a trial run, feeling for the wind. A cross current from the island caught them so that they rocked violently in the turbulence. He brought the Chieftain round in a tight circle and came in low over the waves, throttling back and dropping flaps.

The wheels seemed to touch the surface of the water and then they were down, biting into the hard wet sand and running forward through the shallows, spray flying up in great clouds on either side. Leclerc taxied to the far end of the beach, turned into the wind and switched off the engines.

'The tide's on the turn. Maybe an hour and there won't be enough beach left for a take-off.'

'It doesn't matter,' Villiers told him. 'After all, it isn't our plane.'

He produced the Walther he had taken from Rabier, checked the action, then put it back in his pocket. Leclerc's men had already got the airstair door open and were scrambling out on to the beach one by one, each man taking with him a weapon from the supply of arms they had brought from the Maison Blanche. Villiers picked up an Armalite, slipped a hand grenade into his pocket and joined them.

A cold wind drove rain in across the wet flats as they stood around him in a semi-circle. 'How many of you have had combat experience?' he demanded.

Leclerc indicated a tall, fit-looking young man with close cropped hair, whose steel-rimmed glasses were already misting with rain. 'Sergeant Albray here was on detachment with the Foreign Legion in Chad two years ago. He's been under fire more than once. As for the rest of us…' He shrugged.

'All right,' Villiers said. 'There's only time for me to say one thing of importance to you. No boy scout ethics like giving those bastards a fair chance. Shoot them in the back if you have to because that's exactly what they'll do to you. Now let's get out of here,' and he turned and started to run across the sand towards the base of the cliffs.

They had seemed impregnable on the flight in from the sea, but on a closer view, were breached by an enormous gully, water running down the centre. It provided an easy if strenuous route up from the beach.

Ten minutes later they were over the top and starting down the slope through a jumble of broken grey boulders, sparse grass, everything shrouded in clinging mist. Villiers sensed voices somewhere below, held up his hand to caution Leclerc and the others to silence.

They went forward through the mist and came to the edge of an escarpment and there below, toiling up the slope, was Jarrot, followed by three other men. Villiers had eyes only for Stavrou bringing up the rear, could see only Harvey Jackson's tortured face as he sat tied to the chair in that wretched little bungalow near Lancy.

He took the grenade from his pocket and pulled the pin with his teeth. For once, he allowed anger to betray his usual icy calm and rigorous training.

'Stavrou, you bastard!' he called. 'Here's a present from Harvey Jackson,' and he tossed the grenade into the ravine.

Stavrou, alerted by that cry, every instinct bred of years of hard living coming to his aid, was already turning, diving headlong down the hillside, rolling out of sight into the mist and rain. Not so his companions. There was a shattering explosion followed by screams, and Villiers moved to the edge, his Armalite ready. The ravine was like a butcher's shop, Jarrot and his three companions all badly hit. There was horror on the faces of the young French soldiers as they moved to join Villiers. He raised the Armalite to his shoulder and fired at one of the men who was trying to crawl away.

Leclerc caught him by the shoulder and swung him round. 'For God's sake, haven't you had enough?'

There was a single shot, a bullet caught him in the side of the head, splintering bone as it emerged above his right ear. He fell back over the edge.

One of the sergeants loosed off a burst from his machine pistol at Jarrot who had fired the shot from the hip, bracing himself on one knee. The bullets spun him around and shredded the back of his camouflage jacket so that it burst into flame.

There was only silence then as they stood beside Villiers, staring at the carnage and at Leclerc's body down there also.

'Is that it, sir?' one of the younger sergeants asked.

Villiers shook his head. 'There are still others down there at the base and the man we really want, Felix Donner. I'm sorry about your captain. He was a good man, but you don't survive in war by being kind, decent and honourable, not these days. I hope you've learned your lesson. Use it well when we get down there.' He slammed another clip into his Armalite. 'All right, follow me, do exactly as I say and you might just live forever.'

Donner, back in Espinet's office, heard the grenade explosion and then the rattle of small arm fire that followed it. He moved to the window, glass in hand and saw Stavrou running down the slope on the other side of the huts.

Montera said, 'Could something else have gone wrong, do you think?'

Donner turned round, still smiling, but the eyes were cold and very dark. He said, 'You really do presume on my good nature, old sport, don't you?' He took a quick step forward and punched Montera in the face, catching him high on the right cheek, sending him flying backwards out of the chair.

He opened the door and stepped outside as Stavrou ran across the street towards the entrance to the tunnel to the missile pens. Stavrou saw him at once and veered towards him.

'How bad?' Donner demanded.

'Villiers caught us in a ravine up there. Had at least half a dozen men with him.'

'Jarrot and the others?'

'Grenade. I only got out myself by the skin of my teeth. What do we do now?'

Donner appeared to consider the matter, although he had already made his decision, at least as regards his own future. A shambles, no other word for it and one thing was for certain. The presence of Villiers and his men meant that much stronger forces wouldn't be far behind. Last stands were for fools and the Chieftain on the beach at the foot of those cliffs was a much more attractive proposition.

He said to Stavrou, 'Get up to the radio room, Yanni, and contact the captain of the trawler. Don't whatever you do, tell him what the situation is or the bastard will simply turn tail and get the hell out of it. Just tell him my orders are to come ahead at his best possible speed. Once that's sorted out, get the others. I'll meet you down at the harbour.'

'And the Exocets?' Stavrou demanded.

'Yesterday's news. If we get out of this one in one piece we've done well. Off you go!'

Stavrou went out. Montera said, 'You can say I'm a cynic, but I get the impression you've just sold our friend right down the river.'

'He shouldn't have joined.' Donner reached for the bottle of Krug. 'Might as well finish this.'

'There's nowhere to go,' Montera said softly. 'It's over, or hasn't that sunk in yet?'

'There's always somewhere to go, sport, especially when you have a plane on the beach and the pride of the Argentine air force to fly it for you.'

He emptied his glass in one quick swallow and hurled it into the corner to smash against the wall.

Villiers ordered his men to stay down and moved to the edge of the escarpment, in time to see Stavrou cross to the radio tower, open the door and disappear inside. The entire base was laid before them like a map.

Villiers pointed to the tunnel entrance to the missile pens. 'Presumably you were briefed before this posting,' he said to Sergeant Albray. 'Would that be where the Exocets are?'

'That's right,' Albray said. 'The radio room is at the top of the tower.'

There was another long, low concrete building to the right where two of Donner's men appeared to be standing guard.

'And that?' Villiers demanded.

'As I remember from the plans, that's the fuel store.'

Villiers nodded. 'They've probably got most of the personnel on the base imprisoned in there.'

'No sign of the trawler,' Albray remarked, looking down towards the harbour.

'Probably on her way in right now. Even if Donner thinks things have gone badly wrong, he won't want to be left stranded. On the other hand, he might decide to go all Russian on us and sacrifice himself for the sake of the dear old motherland. Order that trawler to get the hell out of it, which would be a pity. Nice to think it's going to end up in the bag with everybody else.'

'So what do we do?' Albray asked.

'We'll tackle the tower, you and I. Probably there's only the creep who just went in, Stavrou, and a radio operator up there.' He turned to the rest of the soldiers. 'Give Sergeant Albray and me five minutes, then move in and move in hard. Take out those two guards at the fuel store, then block the mouth of that tunnel. Anyone tries to move out, shoot the hell out of them and remember what I said. Don't give the bastards a chance because they won't give you one.'

They skirted the back of one of the concrete huts and paused in its shelter, no more than ten yards from the tower. Villiers pointed to the steel ladder running up the outside of the tower to the balcony.

He moved forward, and holding the Walther ready in his right hand, started to climb. Albray waited until he was ten or fifteen feet up and then ran forward, opened the door at the base of the tower and went inside.

As he did so, Yanni Stavrou came round the final bend of the spiral staircase. The gun on his hip was holstered, but his reflexes were excellent. He took in Albray and his uniform in a split second, was already turning and running back out of sight as the sergeant fired his machine pistol. Albray, without the slightest hesitation, went after him.

Villiers was more than half way up the ladder when he heard the shooting from inside the tower. He paused, hanging on with one hand, the Walther in his other. He looked down and again everything moved in on him as that dreadful fear of heights returned.

The guards outside the fuel store were looking up, started to raise their weapons, and then Leclerc's men emerged from between two concrete huts opposite, firing as they came, cutting them down from behind.

Above Villiers the radio operator leaned over the rail, a machine pistol in his hand, and Villiers fired one-handed, the reflexes of hard training taking over, all fear leaving him. The man cried out and staggered back out of sight and Villiers started to climb again.

Donner ran to the window, drawing his revolver and looked out as firing erupted in the street.

Raul Montera laughed softly. 'I think that perhaps this time you've left things a little late, my friend.'

Donner didn't bother to reply, simply opened the door and peeped out. The three guards at the fuel store lay in the street outside and one of Leclerc's men was unlocking the door. There was gunfire at the other end of the street and he saw two of his men fleeing towards the harbour.

He closed the door, pulled Montera to his feet and pushed him into the kitchen at the rear. Totally without fear, he opened the back door. 'Now get moving!' he ordered, and he pushed Montera outside.

Villiers peered cautiously over the edge of the balcony but there was no one there except for the dead radio operator sprawled against the wall, the machine pistol on the floor beside him. Villiers picked up the machine pistol and moved to the door of the radio room which swung in the wind. There was no one there either.

There was a quick step behind him, he swung round, the machine pistol coming up as Stavrou paused in the doorway, an automatic in one hand. The look on Stavrou's face said everything, rage for a brief moment, then the cold calculation of the professional survivor. He assessed his chances against the machine pistol and made his decision. He laid down his automatic very carefully.

Villiers raised the machine pistol, finger tightening on the trigger and Stavrou smiled. 'Oh no you won't, Major Villiers. I mean, it wouldn't be British, would it? Playing fields of Eton and all that fair play stuff.'

Villiers moved in close. 'You mean I'm a gentleman?'

'Something like that.'

The bone-handled fisherman's gutting knife, which Stavrou had carried in his right sleeve for years, slipped into the palm of his hand, there was a click as his thumb found the button, the arm swept up, the blade streaking for the soft flesh beneath Villiers' chin.

And Villiers, anticipating just such a move, praying for it, dropped his machine pistol, blocked the arm with practised skill, grabbed for the wrist with both hands, twisting it cruelly so that Stavrou dropped the knife and cried out in pain. Villiers wrenched the arm round and up, still keeping that terrible hold in position, and this time Stavrou screamed as muscles tore, was still screaming as Villiers ran him headfirst through the door and out across the rail to plunge forty feet to the concrete below.

It was at that precise moment that Donner and Montera emerged from the back of the officer's mess. Stavrou's body hit the ground at the base of the tower and Donner looked up to see Villiers appear at the rail, Sergeant Albray behind him. The sergeant raised his machine pistol to fire and Donner pulled Montera in front of him as a shield.

On the balcony Villiers knocked up the sergeant's arm. 'No, leave it to me.' He turned and went down the spiral staircase on the run.

Donner and Montera went up the ravine at the rear of the camp, emerged on the upper slope and started across the plateau towards the edge of the cliff, Donner pushing the Argentinian in front of him.

'I told you, there's no place to run,' Montera said.

'Oh, yes there is. You're going to fly us out of here, Colonel.'

They reached the edge of the cliffs. The Chieftain was clearly visible in spite of the mist, strangely alien in such a place. There was only one thing wrong. The sea rolled in across the sand in great, hungry breakers. Already at least half the area on which the Chieftain had landed was eaten away, the rest broken up by trailing fingers in salt water.

'You've had it,' Montera said. 'See for yourself.'

'Get moving!'

Donner pushed him down into the gully and they went sliding down together in a shower of broken stones and earth. They plunged down the final slope of scree and emerged on to the open beach, aware at once of the strong fresh wind blowing in from the sea.

Montera had ended up on his back, hampered by his bound hands. As Donner pulled him to his feet a cascade of stones rained down from above. Donner turned, firing blindly into the mist, then grabbed Montera by the collar and ran for the plane, pushing him in front of him.

As they reached the Chieftain, he rammed Montera against the side and pushed the revolver barrel up under his chin. Then he took a knife from his pocket, sprang the blade and sliced through the silk scarf.

He stood back. 'Okay, inside and let's get out of here.'

Montera's face stayed calm, but something in his eyes made Donner turn to find Tony Villiers arriving on the run, travelling fast, the Walther in his right hand. He halted perhaps thirty feet away.

'All right, Donner, let him go!' he called.

Donner half-turned towards Montera, sighed. 'Like I said, it's been one of those days.'

Montera said, 'Don't try it, not with him.'

'Maybe you've got a point,' Donner said. 'On the other hand, I'm tired of running, sport.'

He turned, the revolver swinging up in his right hand. Villiers fired three times very fast, one bullet catching Donner in the right shoulder spinning him round, the others shattering his spine, driving him against the plane. He bounced off and fell on his face and a wave swept in over him from the incoming tide, lapping around the wheels of the plane.

Montera stood looking at him. 'Nothing like a little organisation,' he said softly.

'What's that?' Villiers asked.

'Nothing important. Is Gabrielle all right?'

'Yes fine, waiting back at Maison Blanche. We had a certain amount of luck there. Wanda Jones released us, the rest we made up as we went along.'

'Who flew the plane?'

'The French captain, Leclerc.'

There was a distant buzzing and Montera pointed to where three helicopters moved in under low cloud, line astern.

'Who's that?'

'The French unless I'm very much mistaken, arriving just too late. Probably paratroopers. Do you think you could fly this thing out of here?'

Montera looked about him. 'We haven't got a clear run. It's all broken up by water channels as you can see. Why do you ask?'

'Because I think it might be a good idea if you got the hell out of here and in the circumstances I'm willing to take my chances with you. There's going to be one hell of a row about this and I'd rather be out of it. I don't owe the French anything. They sold you the Exocets that sank the Sheffield, Coventry and Atlantic Conveyor in the first place.'

'They also sold them to you, my friend.'

'True. Which goes to prove something, though I'm not sure what. Come on, are we going or are we not? You can only die once.'

'Okay,' Montera said. 'You're on.'

He climbed in behind the controls while Villiers got into the passenger seat beside him and secured the door. The engines coughed into life with a shattering roar, drowning every other sound.

'What do you think?' Villiers shouted.

Montera didn't even bother to reply. There was a strange, set smile to his face. He taxied into the wind and gave the plane full throttle. The Chieftain shuddered and seemed to leap forward on a diagonal course to the sea that gave them the longest strip of beach left.

They went across one water channel and then another and another, spray flying up in clouds on either side, Montera stamping hard on the rudder bar to keep her straight. And then she lifted, one wing dipping slightly, and the breakers were beneath then, the wheels skimming the whitecaps.

Suddenly, they were moving very fast indeed, the engine note deepening into a full-throated roar. Only then did Montera pull back on the control column.

After a couple of hours waiting at the house, Gabrielle could take it no longer and she and Wanda walked to the airfield. It was still raining hard and they sheltered in the hangar.

Gabrielle said, 'What are you going to do after this?'

Wanda shrugged. 'God knows. I was on the street when Felix picked me up. It was like a dream. From the gutter to luxury, just like that. I suppose I'll have to wake up now.' She shook her head. 'He was a right bastard, you know that? And I was so afraid of him.'

'Then why did you stay?'

'Because I was more afraid of being back on the street.'

'And now?'

Wanda said, 'Oh, I don't know. All of a sudden, it looks as if it could be interesting.'

'I've been thinking,' Gabrielle said. 'I've got a lot of good friends in the magazine business and I've a hunch the camera would like you. Maybe we could put something together.'

'You mean, Wanda Jones as a sort of Vogue centrefold?' Wanda grinned. 'Now that really would be something.'

There was the sound of engines in the far distance and the Chieftain came in low from the west, then turned into the wind for landing.

Wanda said, 'I've just thought of something. What if it isn't them? What if they lost out? It could be Felix.'

Gabrielle turned, a kind of astonishment on her face. 'You really think a man like Donner could take Tony Villiers?' She laughed out loud. 'My God, Wanda, but you do have a lot to learn,' and she turned and walked towards the plane as it taxied in.

The Chieftain came to a halt, but Montera didn't switch off the engine, simply sat there staring out of the windscreen.

He said, 'Could you make it fast? I want to get out of here.'

'You're not staying?'

'Nothing to stay for.'

'I'd say there is, standing right outside by the port wing.'

Montera slid back the side window and looked out at her. Gabrielle was laughing, all the relief in the world in her face. She waved excitedly.

He turned to Villiers. 'Please Tony.'

It was the first time he had used his name and there was anguish in his voice. Villiers said, 'Okay, but I'm sticking with you. Where are we going?'

'Where we started from. Brie-Comte-Robert.'

'And then?'

'There's an Air France jumbo leaving for Buenos Aires tonight. I intend to be on it.'

He started to turn the Chieftain away, increased speed and Gabrielle wasn't smiling now, her mouth opening in a cry that was soundless, drowned by the roaring of the engines and then she was somewhere behind the end of the runway that was rushing towards them.

The concourse at Charles de Gaulle airport was not particularly busy as Tony Villiers waited by the bookstall outside the international departure lounge. Montera was at the Air France desk putting his holdall through. He turned and paused to light a cigarette, a curiously elegant figure in the old black flying jacket and the jeans.

'Dear God,' Villiers said softly, 'I actually like the man. Everything all right?' he asked as Montera approached.

'I've got to change at Rio. Something to do with flying in the exclusion zone. Obviously no one intends to take any chances. No problem. Even allowing for that, I should be in Buenos Airs within seventeen or eighteen hours.'

'And then what? Back to Rio Gallegos and that Skyhawk Squadron?'

'What do you think?'

'That you're exactly that kind of holy fool. You've lost the war, Raul. It's over. You saw the evening papers. We're on our way. Those Commandos are walking across North Falkland to Stanley. Everybody said it couldn't be done, but they're doing it. The only thing standing between the British army and total victory is maybe nine or ten thousand men dug in around Stanley and what's left of your air force.'

'Exactly. While I've been playing games up here in Europe, the rest of my boys have been getting blown out of the sky down there in the South Atlantic.'

'So you want to join them?' Villiers was surprised to find he was actually angry. 'I know, don't tell me. A matter of honour.'

'Something like that.'

'And Gabrielle? She loves you, you know that and where she's concerned, I'm an expert. Oh, a failed expert, perhaps, but I know this. She never looked at me like she looks at you. I never saw her smile like that.'

'There's nothing left for Gabrielle and me, not after what's happened,' Montera said.

'Can't you understand?' Villiers told him. 'She was in a hole she couldn't get out of. Ferguson held all the cards.'

Montera laughed. 'I understand perfectly, but there's her brother to be considered.' He shivered slightly. 'He would always be between us, Tony, can't you see that?'

His name was called over the tannoy. He dropped his cigarette, put his foot on it and smiled. 'That's it, then.'

He held out his hand and Villiers took it for a moment. 'Good luck. I'm afraid you're going to need it.'

'What the hell does it matter as long as it's quick?' Montera moved to the gate and turned. 'Do your best for her, Tony,' and then he was gone.

Villiers went into the bar, sat in the corner and ordered coffee and Cognac. He felt restless and out of sorts. Damn the man. As he'd kept saying himself, he was the enemy and yet it seemed such a waste. He had another Cognac, then went out, found an international call box and phoned the Cavendish Place number.

Ferguson said, 'You're phoning from Charles de Gaulle, I presume? You've seen Raul Montera off?'

'How in the hell did you know?' Villiers demanded.

'Pierre Guyon and Section Five of the SDECE have been watching you two ever since you arrived at Brie-Comte-Robert, Tony.'

'Then why didn't they stop him leaving?'

'Because the only place they want him is back in the Argentine. The French want this one nailed down tight. It never happened, understand me?'

'Of course, sir,' Tony Villiers said. 'Just another of my regular nightmares.'

'I presume he's gone back to play heroes again?'

'Something like that.'

'Ah, well, that's no longer our concern. There is one more rather important item I'd like you to handle for me, Tony. It concerns Gabrielle. My information is that she'll be back in Paris tonight.'

'What is it, sir?'

'You see, Tony, right in the middle of things, she started to crack, as you know. Wanted out, remember?'

'So?' Villiers said, and suddenly his stomach was empty as if he knew by instinct that it was going to be bad.

'I needed to do something drastic to pull her together, so I told her that Richard was missing in action, believed dead.'

'You mean it wasn't true?' Villiers said.

'He's fine, according to my latest information,' Ferguson said. 'Still in the thick of it, of course.'

'You fucking bastard,' Villiers said and slammed down the phone.

He started to run across the concourse towards the gate into the international departure lounge and then slowed to a halt. Too late to catch Montera now. Far too late. He turned wearily and moved towards the main doors, wondering what on earth he was going to say to Gabrielle.