This United state

'To hell with the speed limit. I wanna get to Paris.' 'That's where we're going, dear boy.'

'Don't you "dear boy" me. We're the same flaming age. Thirty-two. In case you've forgotten,' he sneered.

'I had not forgotten. Exceed the speed limit and a patrol car nabs us. We end up in the Sante Prison in Paris. Heard of what it's like inside there, have we? They shove you inside and throw away the key.'

'I'll take over the wheel. Stop the car,' Rupert raged.

'Not sure that would be a frightfully good idea. Not after how much you consumed in the bar at the Hotel Regent. What's all this hurry to reach Paris?'

'I wanna drink.'

'I think you want to have a go at Newman. Not a good idea. He can look after himself in a mean way.'

'Not interested in Newman. A has-been fifth-rate reporter. I wanna drink. Couldn't get one to bring with me at that crazy bar. Closing as early as that.'

'It was the middle of the night,' Basil pointed out. 'What's that got to do with it? I should have brought a bottle.'

'Well, I fear you didn't – because you couldn't. You did drink five times as much as me.'

'You were counting, were you?' Rupert sneered once more. 'Just the kind of thing you would do.' He waved his hand about. 'I know you won't mind if I say you're one lousy driver.'

'We're getting closer to Paris now. Why don't you have a nap?'

'Don't wanna a nap. Wanna a drink.'

'While I think of it, Rupert. You phoned your late father's lawyer from the Colombi in Freiburg,' said Basil in a perfectly sober voice. 'You told me he'd agreed to advance you some money. I'm desperately short of that commodity. I could do with a loan very urgently. I'm sure you could spare ten thousand pounds.'

'I suspect we're not too far from Paris,' said Tweed. 'You're right,' Paula agreed. 'We'll soon be seeing the outskirts. Why? Are you getting tired?'

'No, just impatient. I have a feeling we should get back to London as fast as we can, that time is running out.'

'I've just remembered something important,' Newman called out from the back. 'Back at Schluchsee, when I was nearly knocked down by Ronstadt when he was fleeing in his car. There were four men in that car. But when Marler dropped his grenade into the launch in Strasbourg there were only three men in it. One is still missing.'.

'Maybe the Phantom,' Paula joked. 'He seems to live a charmed life.'

'You could be right,' Newman replied seriously. 'So far as we know he's still on the loose.'

'If he isn't dead,' Tweed remarked. 'I hope he appears sooner or later. He has: to be wiped out – the number of people he's killed up to now.'

'When you've finished your business in Paris how do we get home?' Newman enquired.

'It all depends on which is the quickest way back,' Tweed answered. 'It could be by Eurostar or flying back from Charles de Gaulle airport. Lasalle will know the answer.'

'It's beginning to get light,' said Paula. 'With a bit of luck we'll reach the Ritz before the horrendous rush hour starts in Paris.'

A faint glow of light was rising in the east. Gradually it spread across the cultivated fields on either side of the auto-route. The clear sky was a pallid blue. There was a promise of a fine day on the way.

'A bit different from the Black Forest,' Paula said cheerfully.

'The weather forecast predicted a brighter fresh day for this area,' Tweed recalled. 'Makes a change. And I was just wondering how Howard is coping. He's had to run the whole show himself under very difficult circumstances…'

Many hours earlier – it was mid-afternoon of the previous day – Howard had decided he must drive down to the Bunker to see for himself how they were getting on. It was a gloriously sunny day but Howard had to force himself to make the trip. He'd had hardly any sleep for the past forty-eight hours and was concentrating as best he could behind the wheel of the car.

By himself, he had passed through the village of Parham. He had given a brief thought to calling at Irongates on Sir Guy Strangeways, but had decided he'd better keep going while he was still awake.

His eyes kept wanting to close and he nearly missed the turn-off from the road south of Ashford to Ivychurch. Now all his concentration was called for as he negotiated the narrow, twisting lanes. Half the time, the spiky hedges, waiting for spring to come into leaf, blotted out his view of what lay beyond the next bend.

'I'm driving a lethal weapon, he said aloud. 'I must look out for other people.'

Normally he would have been alerted by the beat-beat of a helicopter approaching. In his exhausted state he assumed it was a traffic-checking machine. He drove very slowly as he approached the automatic farm gate which would be operated by Mrs Carson. He could still hear the chopper when Mrs Carson ran out into the yard and gestured to him furiously to drive on inside a large barn with its door open. He did so. Getting out of the car, he nearly stumbled. As soon as he was outside Mrs Carson slammed the barn door shut.

'Get inside the house. Quick!' she shouted.

Once he was inside she shut the door immediately. He slumped into an armchair. He knew that if he wasn't careful he'd fall fast asleep.

'Black coffee, please,' he mumbled. 'A litre of it.'

'That chopper circling above us,' she said. 'It hasn't got any kind of markings. You should have waited further up the road.'

'Sorry. Could I have that coffee, please?'

Inside the helicopter the co-pilot held a powerful camera, aiming it down at the farmhouse. As the machine circled he took pictures from every angle. His tone was exultant when he spoke.

'Gene, we've just located the Brits' secret communications centre. I've gotten some great pictures.'

'That's great, Lou. What about the exact location?'

'I've marked that clearly on my detailed map of Romney Marsh. Guess we should get promotion for this.'

'What about those hedges surrounding the perimeter?'

'They're just hedges. I've got all we need.'

'OK, Lou. Then it's back to base. The pies and the map can be sent back to Washington. Guess they could go right up to the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff.'

44

'Rene Lasalle is out,' Tweed said as he put down the phone in his bedroom at the Ritz. 'He left a message that he'd call as soon as he returns.'

'This is a lovely room,' Paula enthused, 'with a wonderful view out over the Place Vendome. It looks marvellous – especially as the day is so glorious.'

Tweed joined her, gazed at the famous column erected to Napoleon in the centre of the many-sided square. The superb architecture of the stone buildings enclosing the place had been cleaned. He had always thought this was the most magnificent square in the whole of Paris.'

'You'll never guess why Rene had to rush off,' he remarked.

'Tell me, then.'

'A bomb has exploded in a big department store. Quite a few casualties.'

'You mean the Americans are now turning their attentions to France? More work by the Executive Action Department?'

'No, I don't think so for a minute. The deputy of Rene's to whom I spoke said it's the work of Algerian extremists. The world is in a wild state.'

'So the Cold War is over and now we have an equally sinister Hot War? Worse, in a way, because it's so difficult to locate the fanatical killers.'

'I want to phone Monica later, maybe have a word with Howard. Meantime I feel like a full English breakfast. What about you?'

'I've got a void in my tummy. Full English will do me.'

Emerging from the lift at ground-floor level Newman, who had joined them, rubbed his hands in anticipation. He looked around as they walked to the dining room.

'You know something? I've learned to enjoy luxury. I even think I've earned it – when I think of some of the hovels I tried to sleep in overseas as a foreign correspondent.'