Wrath of the Lion. Jack Higgins

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      ‘No more trouble. They’ve done a good job.’

      Sir Charles nodded. ‘You’ll have to be a little more careful next time, won’t you?’ He opened a file, took out a typewritten document and pushed it across. ‘Have a look at that.’

      He occupied himself with some other papers and Mallory skimmed through the three closely typed sheets of foolscap. When he had finished he handed them back, face expressionless.

      ‘Where’s the Kontoro now?’

      ‘The destroyer which found her took her straight into Brest. For the time being the French are holding the lid down tight. Complete security and so on. They can’t keep it quiet for more than three or four days. These things always leak out sooner or later.’

      ‘What are they trying to do about it?’

      ‘The usual round-up of anyone who’s even remotely suspected of being connected with the O.A.S. or C.N R. On top of that, the Deuxième Bureau and the Brigade Criminelle, backed by every available military security agent, have been given one order. Find that submarine.’

      ‘I shouldn’t have thought that would be too difficult.’

      ‘I’m not so sure,’ Sir Charles said. ‘For one thing this is no ordinary submarine. She’s quite small. A thing the Germans were working on at the end of the war.’

      ‘What’s her radius?’

      ‘Not much over a thousand.’

      ‘Which means she could be based in Spain or even Portugal?’

      ‘The French are working along those lines right now, but they’ve got to be careful. On top of that, they’re combing the entire Biscay coast, every creek, every island.’ He sighed heavily. ‘I’ve a horrible feeling that they’re completely wasting their time.’

      ‘I wondered when you were coming to that,’ Mallory said.

      Sir Charles grinned impishly like a schoolboy, opened a drawer and took out a map which he unfolded across the desk. It was a large-scale Admiralty chart of the Channel Islands and the Golfe de St Malo.

      ‘Ever hear of Philippe de Beaumont?’

      ‘The paratroop colonel? The one who helped bring de Gaulle back to power?’

      ‘That’s right. He was one of the leaders of the military coup of May 1958 and a member of the original Committee of Public Safety. Philippe, Comte de Beaumont. Last survivor of one of the greatest of the French military families.’

      ‘And he’s living in the Channel Islands?’

      ‘He was the great advocate of a French Algeria. When de Gaulle came down on the side of independence he resigned his commission and left France.’ Sir Charles drew a circle on the chart about thirty miles south-west of Guernsey. ‘There’s an island called Ile de Roc owned by old Hamish Grant.’

      ‘You mean Iron Grant, the Western Desert general?’

      ‘That’s right. Been living there for five years with his daughter Fiona, writing up the war. His daughter-in-law Mrs Anne Grant seems to run things. Her husband was killed in Korea. About a mile west of Ile de Roc there’s a smaller island called St Pierre.’

      ‘And de Beaumont’s living there?’

      ‘He bought it from Grant two years ago. There’s a sort of castle up on top of the rock, one of those mock-Gothic jobs some crank built during the nineteenth century.’

      ‘And you think he’s up to no good?’

      ‘Let’s put it this way. The French have checked on him for two years now and can’t find even the hint of a connection with either the O.A.S. or C.N.R., although he’s known to be sympathetic to their aims. Frankly, even their Foreign Office think he’s simply a grand seigneur who won’t come home because he’s annoyed with the General.’

      ‘And you don’t agree?’

      ‘I might have done until yesterday evening.’

      ‘What happened to change your mind?’

      ‘I’ve had a man keeping an eye on de Beaumont for a year now, just as a precaution. There’s a small hotel on Ile de Roc. He was working there as barman. He went missing Tuesday. Yesterday evening he drifted in on the evening tide. The police went over from Guernsey and picked up the body. Needless to say there isn’t even a hint of foul play.’

      ‘You think he may have seen something?’

      Sir Charles shrugged. ‘I don’t see why not. L’Alouette left Brest on a routine training patrol two days ago. She could have called at St Pierre and our man could have seen her. It’s pretty obvious that he came across something, and the Deuxième agree with me. They’re sending a man across to work with you on this thing.’

      ‘I wondered when we were coming to that,’ Mallory said.

      Sir Charles pushed a file across. ‘Raoul Guyon, aged twenty-nine. He was a captain in a colonial parachute regiment. Went straight to Indo-China from St Cyr in 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 Deuxième 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 Ile 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 СКАЧАТЬ