Wrath of the Lion

1952.”

Mallory looked down at the photograph. It showed a young man, slim-hipped and wiry, the sleeves of his camouflaged jacket rolled up to expose sunburnt arms. The calm, sun-blackened face, dark eyes, were shaded by a peaked cap that somehow gave him a strangely sinister, forbidding appearance.

“Why did he leave the army?”

“God knows,” Sir Charles said. “I should imagine six years in Algeria was enough for any man. He asked to be placed on unpaid leave and Legrande of the Deuxieme offered him a job.”

“When do I meet him?”

"You don’t, for the moment. Apparently, he’s quite a talented painter. He’s using that as a cover. Should book in at the hotel on lie de Roc sometime tomorrow.”

"What about me?”

“A little more complicated, I’m afraid. If de Beaumont is up to no good, then he’ll be expecting company. We need to make your background convincing enough to fool him for at least a day or two, and I might as well tell you now that’s all the time we can allow.”

“What do I do?” Mallory asked.

Sir Charles opened another file and passed a photo across. The girl who stared out at Mallory was somewhere in her twenties, dark hair close-cropped like a young boy’s, almond-shaped eyes slanting across high cheekbones. She was not beautiful in any conventional sense and yet in a crowd she would have stood out.

“Anne Grant?” he said instinctively.

Sir Charles nodded. “She came over this morning to finalise the purchase of a thirty-foot motor-cruiser called Foxhunter. It’s moored at Lulworth now. Apparently, she hired a seaman through the pool to skipper the thing for a couple of months till she and her sister-in-law get used to it for themselves. A big boat for a couple of girls.”

Mallory nodded. “I ran one in and out of Tangiers for a while back in “59. Remember?”

“Think you could handle one again?”

Mallory grinned. “I don’t see why not.”

Sir Charles nodded in satisfaction. “First you’ll have to get rid of this seaman. After that all you have to do is make sure you get his job.”

“That shouldn’t prove too difficult.” Mallory hesitated and went on: “Couldn’t we work something out with General Grant? Let him know what we’re after? He’d be certain to co-operate.”

Sir Charles shook his head. “Before you knew where you were he’d be running the whole damned show. In any case, I’m never happy about bringing amateurs into these things if it can be avoided. They give the game away too easily. Use him by all means, but only in an extreme situation where there’s no other way.” He got to his feet abruptly. “I want results on this one, Neil, and I want them fast. Cut any corners you have to. I’ll back you all the way.”

One corner of Mallory’s mouth twitched ironically. “I seem to remember someone saying that to me once before.”

Sir Charles’s face was grave and dispassionate, the eyes calm, and Mallory knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that if necessary the old man would not have the slightest compunction in throwing him to the wolves.

“I’m sorry, Neil,” he said.

“At least I know where I stand with you.” Mallory shrugged. “That’s something.”

Sir Charles took an old gold watch from his pocket and checked it quickly. "You’ll have to get moving. I’ve arranged for you to be fully briefed by 63 at eight o’clock. They’ll give you everything. Money, seaman’s papers and a special transmitter. Report your arrival. After that, radio silence till you have some news. I’ve arranged for three M.T.B.s to proceed to Jersey, ostensibly for shallow-water exercises. The moment we get anything positive from you they’ll move in so fast de Beaumont won’t know what’s hit him.

Mallory walked to the door. As he opened it, the old man said: “Good luck, Neil. With the right kind this could turn out to be a pretty straightforward one.

“Aren’t they all?” Mallory said dryly, and the door closed gently behind him.