Present Danger

57

The footsteps were getting closer. Liz crouched behind the trunk of a eucalyptus tree, waiting for the commandos’ challenge.

‘Halte!’ Laval shouted. ‘Qui va la?’

There was silence for a moment, then from the trail a voice called out, ‘Antoine Milraud.’ He seemed to hesitate. ‘I am not armed.’

‘Are you alone?’ Laval called out.

‘Oui.’

Seurat interjected, ‘You had better be telling the truth, mon ami, because it will cost you your life if you’re not. Where are the others?’

‘In the house. Except for James – the American. Piggott as he calls himself. I was following him when you stopped me just now. He has gone to check the boat.’

‘The boat hidden by the beach?’

‘Yes. That’s the one. And he’s armed.’

Laval spoke urgently into his radio, warning the young commando in the cove. He turned to the commandos around him. ‘Fabrice. Jean. Go back and help him.’ Two men slipped away through the trees.

Then Laval, Seurat and the two remaining commandos emerged onto the path, while Liz stayed behind in the shadow of the woods. She could see Milraud’s face now, illuminated by the commandos’ lights, as they surrounded him.

‘Where is the hostage?’ demanded Laval.

‘He’s locked in the cellar. I will show you. But be careful: the man guarding him is not likely to hand him over without a fight.’

‘Is that the Spaniard, Gonzales?’ asked Liz, emerging from behind her tree to stand beside Seurat.

‘So. The English are here too,’ said Milraud, looking at the slender black-clad figure in surprise. ‘You are well informed, mademoiselle.’

‘Is anyone else here?’ asked Laval.

‘No one,’ said Milraud, shaking his head. ‘Just three of us and Willis. That’s all.’ He looked at Seurat. ‘That’s the truth. You know I wouldn’t lie to you about that.’

‘I don’t know what you’d do any more, Antoine.’

‘It’s been a long time, but some things don’t change. I would never have harmed this man. And I offered you my help in my email. Don’t forget that.’

Seurat said dryly, ‘Well, we managed to get here without your help.’

Suddenly there was the sound of a gunshot, a solitary crack breaking the pre-dawn silence. It came from the beach.

Seconds later Laval’s radio crackled. ‘Pierre here – I’ve been hit,’ the voice said in a high-pitched tone of pain. ‘I didn’t hear the bastard coming. He’s winged me in my shooting arm and he’s got the dinghy. I can see him.’

The radio crackled again. ‘Fabrice here. We were just seconds too late. We’re with Pierre now. The target is in the boat, twenty metres from the shore. We’re leaving him to Team Bravo.’

‘We have him in our sights,’ came back immediately from the team waiting offshore.

Led by Laval, the group on the path moved quickly through the trees, taking only a minute or two to cover the short distance to the cliff edge. A hundred feet or so below, the sea shone grey as the early-morning light just began to touch the water. As they looked down, they could see a small dinghy moving out into the cove, the puttering of its outboard motor just audible from where they stood.

‘That’s him,’ said Milraud, and Laval radioed confirmation to Team Bravo. He issued an order: ‘Attempt to detain. Otherwise destroy.’

They watched as Piggott picked up speed, heading straight towards the south. Next stop Algeria, thought Liz.

But then she saw the commando craft appear at the mouth of the cove. Even loaded down with its team of commandos, it was going much faster than Piggott. As it drew closer, on a line to cut off his escape, Piggott changed course sharply to the east.

Suddenly a long arc of red dots jumped out of the commando boat, syncopated tiny flares, fluorescent against the dark-grey sea. They disappeared just ahead of the bow of Piggott’s little dinghy. Tracer bullets, thought Liz. Watching in silence, she heard the sharp crack of a weapon. Piggott was returning fire. He must be crazy.

The commandos fired another line of red bullets, this time even closer to the target. And again Piggott fired back, accurately enough to cause the commando dinghy to veer. There was a momentary lull, then the commando boat fired again, and these were not warning shots.

Suddenly flames appeared at the back of the small dinghy. Piggott jumped up from his seat in the stern, his clothes on fire. As the illuminated figure moved to leap overboard, the dinghy wobbled perilously. But before he could jump, the outboard motor burst into flames, and a split second later exploded with a bang that reverberated round the cliffs. The sky above the dinghy lit up like a rosy-pink firework, and the shockwave reached the watchers on the cliff.

‘Mon dieu,’ exclaimed Seurat. Liz looked in vain for signs of the dinghy. But it had completely disappeared, blown to bits by the force of the explosion.