Present Danger

54

Liz was wide awake when the alarm on her phone went off. It was three a.m. She’d dozed rather than slept for three hours, troubled by muddled dreams of Dave, Piggott, Milraud’s shop, and boats rocking in the wind.

She’d only just got into bed after helping Martin compose a stalling reply to Milraud, when the communications officer had rung her room. There was a message for her from Belfast. So she’d had to get dressed again. The message was from Peggy – Liz could picture her in the office, refusing to go home while there was anything to be done to help Dave.

Peggy reported that Malone, the local thug who’d worked for Piggott in Belfast, had cracked during questioning. He’d told the police everything he knew about Piggott’s activities, including the murders of Dermot O’Reilly and Sean McCarthy, and about the plan to kill Jimmy Fergus. Peggy wanted Liz to know that warrants had been issued for the arrest of both Piggott and Gonzales on murder charges; extradition requests would be filed the minute they were captured. Let’s hope they’re needed, Liz had thought, since she was sceptical those two would ever be taken alive.

She dressed in warm clothes and went downstairs to the rendezvous point in the lounge. Martin was there looking threatening in a black battledress and trousers, with light black waterproof boots. In his hand he held a black balaclava and helmet.

‘Put these on over your clothes,’ he said, pointing to another set of black garments laid out on a chair. ‘They’re the smallest size there is, so I hope they won’t be too big.’

‘Where are the commandos?’

‘They’re down at the harbour, loading the inflatables onto the frigate. The wind’s died down a bit but it’s still blowing, so they’ve decided not to go out in them.’

‘Thank God for that,’ she said as she pulled on the suit.

The frigate was a long, lean, evil-looking vessel with a stern that was open like a car ferry. Liz and Martin were welcomed on board by one of the crew and taken up to the bridge to meet the captain. As she looked out through the narrow window in front of her, Liz could see that the sweep of the bow was broken by a large gun.

‘This ship looks capable of blowing the island out of the water,’ she remarked to Martin.

‘It is. And behind us there are surface-to-air missiles. So if Piggott launches an air attack,’ he said with a grin, ‘we can deal with that too.’

On the dot of four o’clock the frigate slipped out, sailing quietly past Toulon harbour, where a slumbering flotilla of sailing boats and motor cruisers filled the lines of jetties. As they moved out into the open sea, picking up speed, the wind began buffeting the ship and spray splashed against the window in front of them. Two lights on the bow cast dual beams across the waves as the frigate swung in a long arc eastwards towards the Ile de Porquerolles. Liz thought for a moment that she saw the first hints of dawn breaking in light-grey streaks against the horizon, but her eyes were deceiving her – it was still deep night and the sky was black as coal.

As they approached the island, Martin put his hand on Liz’s shoulder. ‘Laval asked me to make sure you understood the rules for this operation. When we land on the island, he’s in charge. You and I are merely here as advisors. I have communications but you haven’t, so you must stick very closely to me to avoid getting out of touch. If there’s trouble we’ll follow Laval’s orders.’

Liz nodded. This was not the first military operation she’d been on. ‘Compris,’ she said.

The frigate slowed to a stop and with a gentle splash the first inflatable, with six commandos on board, emerged from the stern and, riding the waves lightly, its outboard motor muted, headed off towards the ferry terminal on the island’s north side.

‘Time to go,’ said Martin and they climbed down companion ladders to the ship’s belly. The twelve remaining commandos were a frightening sight, dressed as they were entirely in black, their faces streaked with black pitch, balaclavas on, night vision goggles on top of their heads, with their guns and equipment hanging at their sides.

Ten minutes later the frigate stopped again, this time on the Mediterranean side of the island, half a mile out and half a mile down the coast from the farmhouse. The second team climbed into their boat and peeled off rapidly to take their position well back from the cove, covering that exit route.

‘Here we go,’ said Martin, smiling at Liz, and her stomach gave such a lurch that she thought for a moment she would be sick. Laval shook hands and they wished each other bonne chance. A few seconds later it was Liz’s turn to climb out of the open stern into the rocking rubber boat.

‘Let me help,’ said Seurat.

‘I’m fine,’ but she was grateful nonetheless when he kept a steady hand on her arm as she lowered herself into the boat, where a commando was waiting to help her sit down on the side of the middle pontoon.

‘Hang on tight,’ said Seurat, joining her on the pontoon, and a moment later Laval sat down in the stern, the outboard whirred and they were off.

Liz’s eyes took a while to adjust to the dark – at first she could see nothing but the white spray of the waves as the boat bumped over them. Then she made out the looming overhanging cliffs of the shoreline to her right, and began to get her bearings – they were working their way west to the cove. She was amazed how little noise they made – some device was muffling the sound of the outboard motor, though it wasn’t restricting its power, for they were moving fast.

Suddenly Laval closed down the throttle, the throaty noise of the engine became a purr, and the boat slowed abruptly. The commando in the bow stood up and as the engine cut out he jumped over the side, holding a rope attached to a hook on the prow. Seconds later, the bottom of the dinghy jarred against the beach, and the boat stopped.

Following Seurat, Liz jumped out into the shallows and waded up onto the little beach. It was pitch dark. Taking her cue from the others, she pulled on her night vision goggles, and a strange eerie monochrome world appeared.

Three commandos stood guard on the beach, facing the path they’d seen on the map of the island, while two others went rapidly off to one side of the beach. A minute later this pair returned; they’d found the boat Seurat’s surveillance officers had discovered.

Laval said, ‘Pierre, you stay here and guard the boat.’

The commando named Pierre disconsolately kicked the sand, then headed off to his post. Laval said something, and the other commandos laughed.

‘He seems very disappointed,’ Liz said to Seurat.

He chuckled. ‘Yes, this is his first mission so he wants to make his mark. Laval said once he had more operations under his belt he’d be less keen. That’s why they were laughing.’

Now Laval turned to the other commandos, and pointing to the path just visible on the edge of the beach, announced, ‘Allons-y.’

The path climbed sharply and was wet. Liz was not used to the night vision goggles and found it difficult to gauge her footsteps. She slipped twice; each time Seurat was there to help her up. At last they reached the clifftop, where she was able to catch her breath as Laval conferred with the other commandos. Then, from further along the cliff, a noise. The commandos moved swiftly and silently into the cover of the wood and Liz, led by Seurat, joined them in the trees.

They crouched in silence, the commandos with their weapons at the ready. Suddenly a shriek broke the silence – then again, even higher-pitched, squeal-like.

Laval whispered somewhere to their left, and Seurat said in Liz’s ear, ‘A fox. And now it’s got a rabbit.’

They regrouped on the path, which ran through the wood in the direction of the farmhouse. Laval was about to speak when there was another noise, just yards up the path. This is no fox, thought Liz, as they all moved back into the trees. Footsteps. Someone was approaching.