But Mallory also had passed through the fire of a Communist prison camp and, like Philippe de Beaumont, he had tried to put into practise those lessons hard learned from his Chinese taskmasters and with the same disastrous result.
Mallory lit a cigarette and leaned back against the bulkhead. “How good is your skin-diving?”
Guyon shrugged. “I know what I’m doing. A little out of practice, that’s all.”
“Anne Grant wants me to take her out over the reef this afternoon. She’s brought a couple of aquamobiles back from the mainland. Wants to try them out. I thought if you asked Fiona nicely you might get yourself invited.”
“As a matter of fact, I already have. All part of my business-cum-pleasure activities.”
“You don’t waste much time.” Mallory grinned. “We’ll see how things look. We can make a full-scale reconnaissance later tonight.”
"You really think there may be something in this business?”
Mallory shrugged. “I wouldn’t like to say. As I was bringing the boat in this morning something damned big passed us underwater. Anne Grant said it was a shark. Apparently they’re pretty common round here.”
“Do you think it’s worth reporting?”
Mallory shook his head. “My boss is interested in facts, not possibilities. I’ve signalled my arrival and nothing more.” He opened the cupboard again, took out what was apparently a small transistor radio and held it up. “Amazing what they can do with electronics these days. There are three motor torpedo boats based on St. Helier now, supposed to be on shallow-water exercises. If I give them the word they’ll be in here like a shot.”
“What’s the signal?”
“Their codeword is Leviathan. When we need them we simply signal Code Four. That’s all that’s needed.”
Mallory put the set in a drawer in the table and Guyon helped himself to more whisky. “I was in touch with my own people before I left Guernsey this morning. They’ve drawn a complete blank where L’Alouette is concerned. It’s creating something of a situation.”
“What in the hell are the O.A.S. trying to prove?” Mallory said. “This sort of thing isn’t going to get them anywhere in the long run.”
“Desperate men seek desperate remedies. Eight times since 1960 either the O.A.S. or the G.N.R. have conspired to kill de Gaulle. They came closest last month when they ambushed his car on the way to Villacoublay Airport. They picked the leader of that little affair up only last week.”
“So this latest business is to prove to people they’re still a force to be reckoned with?”
“More than that. That they have a long arm which can reach out to punish those who oppose them. This isn’t the first member of the judiciary to be assassinated. At this rate there will soon be no one willing to be connected with the trials of O.A.S. members, especially when to take part carries an automatic death sentence.”
“What about Bouvier?”
“He was public prosecutor at a military tribunal which only last month tried six members of the O.A.S. Two were sentenced to death. His execution was stage-managed to have the maximum dramatic effect and the government can’t hope to keep it secret beyond the end of the week.”
“Which doesn’t give us long to handle things here.” Mallory frowned. “Have you ever met de Beaumont personally?”
“Only as one of the crowd. He was a member of the original Committee of Public Safety which brought de Gaulle back to power. When it became obvious that the General wouldn’t play along with his dream of an integrated Algeria he fell to plotting, or so we think.”
“Was anything ever proved against him?”
Guyon shook his head. “It was thought that he was the power behind the scenes in General Chile’s abortive coup in 1961, but there was no evidence. Before any could be collected he asked to be placed on unpaid leave and left France. He’s extremely wealthy, by the way. One of his uncles married into industry after the first war.”
“What does Legrande think about him?"
Guyon laughed. “Legrande has little respect for the aristocracy. He would see the guillotine set up in the old situation and smile at the prospect. He has no proof that de Beaumont it directly connected with the O.A.S., but he is unhappy about him. He would be quite content to see him dead. He has a naturally tidy mind.”
“And what’s your own opinion?”
“Of de Beaumont?” Guyon hesitated. “He’s a dangerous man and no fool. For a year he was in charge of all military intelligence in Algeria, but he was always at loggerheads with the brasshats. He saw war as the Communists see war – as something to be won – and he believed that the end justified the means. Something the boi-dois had beaten into him in the Viet camps.” Guyon half smiled. “This much at least I would expect you to have in common with him. Legrande told me that you, too, were behind the Communist wire for a time.”
“You make him sound interesting,” Mallory said. “I’d like to meet him. I’ve a feeling that would tell me all I need to know.1
“Very possibly.” Guyon emptied his glass. “Is there anything else you wish me to do?”
“This Frenchwoman who’s living at the hotel with Morgan, Juliette Vincente? In my briefing they said she was harmless. What do you think?”
“Our preliminary report certainly didn’t indicate anything unusual. Her mother and father have a small farm in Normandy. One brother, killed doing his military service in Algeria in 1958. She worked at an hotel in St. Malo for six months before coming here.”
Mallory nodded. “Sounds all right, but run the usual check on your room, just to make sure it hasn’t been searched.”
Guyon put on his sun-glasses and got to his feet. “I’ll get changed. See you in about half an hour and we’ll have a look at that reef.5He paused in the doorway and stretched. “It really is a beautiful day. I’m quite looking forward to it.” After he had gone Mallory sat on the edge of the bunk going over things in his mind, trying to work out what might happen, but he knew that he was wasting his time.
If there was one lesson he had learned above all others it was that in this game nothing was certain. Chance ruled every move. He opened one of the lockers, took out the diving gear and started to check it.
CHAPTER SEVEN
mallory vaulted over the rail into the translucent blue water, paused for a moment to adjust the flow of air from his aqualung and swam down in a long sweeping curve that brought him under the hull of Foxhunter to where Fiona Grant swayed beside the anchor chain like some exotic flower in her yellow diving suit. A moment later her sister-in-law appeared beside them in a cloud of silver bubbles.
Fiona jack-knifed at once and followed the anchor chain down into the blue mist, her long hair streaming out behind, and Mallory and Anne went after her.
They were perhaps a hundred yards out from the shore on the southern side of the island and the water was saturated with sunlight, so that even when they reached bottom at forty feet visibility was good.
The sea-bed was covered by a great spreading forest of seaweed six or seven feet deep which moved rhythmically with every ebb and flow of current, changing colour like some living thing. Fiona swam into it, fish scattering to avoid her. Mallory paused, hovering over the undulating mass, and Anne tapped him on the shoulder and moved away.
They plunged over a great black spine of rock and a wall complete with arched Norman window loomed out of the shadows a few feet to the right. Anne swam effortlessly through it and Mallory followed.
It was obvious that only the strong tidal currents on this side of the island had prevented the building from being completely silted over centuries before. It had no roof and the walls had crumbled until they stood no higher than four feet above the sand. Beyond, the sea-bed sloped gently into another forest of seaweed, broken walls and jumbled blocks of worked masonry strewn on every side.
Fiona Grant appeared from the gloom and swam towards them. She poised a couple of feet away, put a hand into the nylon bag which was looped to her left wrist and produced a piece of red pottery which she waved triumphantly. Anne raised her thumb and they all turned, swam back across the rocks and struck upwards to Foxhunter’s curved hull.