Philip appeared in front of them out of nowhere. In his right hand he held a revolver with a silencer attached. Pointing his weapon, Philip said something in Arabic.
Her assailant's response was to move the blade closer in. Paula could feel the razor edge touching her skin. For some idiotic reason she wanted to sneeze. She suppressed it. Philip was speaking in Arabic again. The Arab replied, his tone vicious.
Philip smiled, waved both hands as though accepting he could do nothing. Oh God, she thought. Philip's next movement was so swift she hardly saw it happen. Then he was pressing the tip of his weapon against the Arab's good eye. He snarled something in Arabic. She felt the Arab shudder. Then he removed the knife and stood back behind her.
She was much smaller than her attacker so from where Philip stood his neck and head loomed well above Paula's. Phut! Philip had shot him in the head. The man fell over backwards, lay still on the cobbles.
'You'd better take this gun for a moment,' Philip said, speaking quietly but rapidly. 'I have to dump the body in that huge rubbish bin over there. Just in case some of his chums arrive.'
'I'm armed.'
She had already grasped the Browning so Philip could see it. He nodded, stooped, grasped the corpse round the waist, began to hurry towards the bin. She followed him. Without being asked, she lifted the lid. It was heavy, but she managed to hold it high up.
A foul smell drifted up from the interior, half full of rubbish. Philip heaved the body inside. She lowered the lid slowly to avoid a noise. Philip was already running away from her after a quick searching glance round the square. He had a glove on his hand as Paula ran after him, unwilling to be alone for another moment. Picking up the long blade by the handle, he dropped the knife down a nearby drain, then grabbed her arm.
'Back to the cours now!'
'How did you manage that?' she asked as they hurried.
'He had one precious possession, his one good eye. Without that he'd be at the mercy of other Arabs. The thought of a bullet through it made him release you instantly.'
'Quick thinking, thank God,' she replied. 'You saved my life.'
'No, I endangered it with my stupid idea of showing you the old quarter. I'll never forgive myself. There's the cours. Pause just for a second.'
He unscrewed the silencer, dropped it down a drain, holstered his weapon. She was puzzled as they entered the cours and civilization – as it seemed to Paula.
'Why throw that away?' she wondered.
'Silencers are tricky. One shot, OK. Then a silencer can jam a gun. I have more. Back to the hotel. You must tell Tweed what happened.'
'I wasn't going to say a word…'
'I insist. Promise me. He's my chief. He trusts me. So he's entitled to know everything that happens.'
*
Tweed was sitting in an armchair near the main reception area. Philip sent Paula off to brief him while he had a drink in the bar. She was beginning to feel rattled, her nerves playing her up. She was familiar with this reaction. With the Arab's knife at her throat she had been scared stiff but in control, staying quite still. When a danger was behind her, her nerves played her up.
Tweed nodded as she sat on a chair close to his. He waited until the glass of Chardonnay he had ordered was placed before her. There was no one else in the room. He looked straight at her, his tone grim.
'What went wrong while you were out?'
'Nothing dramatic. Why do you ask?'
'Because I'm observant,' he continued in the same serious tone, unsmiling. 'I know something did because your face has lost colour. Added to which Philip has gone off to the bar so you can talk to me.'
'Philip saved my life,' she said, beginning on what she hoped was a positive note. She then told him of the incident. He gazed straight at her, the same expression on his face. When she had finished he drank the rest of his wine.
'So, he saved your life after putting it in terrible danger. I thought the two of you were just walking down the cours. Now I know he ventured with you into the north side, which is to be avoided at all costs. You know I was here some years ago, staying at the Violette hotel in the north. There were a few Arabs creeping about in those days. So when I walked down through that area I had a gun in my hand. Any Arab who saw me disappeared immediately. Because of the gun. Now there are many more Arabs.'
'You're not going to have a row with Philip?'
'Of course not. We are dependent on him while we are here. Also, he is the most valuable agent I have abroad. Here he comes.' Tweed stood up. 'Hello, Philip. Could the three of us take a stroll along the cours?'
Paula admired Tweed's masterful self-control. She sensed he was seething with anger, but nothing showed in the amiable way he greeted Philip. They left the hotel and wandered down the cours. Tweed was in the middle with Paula on his right, Philip on his left. Paula was drinking in the atmosphere of the famous street. Tweed kept his comments to himself. So much had been modernized, including the Negre-Coste. Still a magnificent hotel but without some of the character he recalled. Even the bathroom in his room had been 'upgraded'. The French had been influenced by the American fetish for advanced plumbing. Aix he'd visited once before to meet a contact.
'Dreamy,' enthused Paula.
'Unique,' said Tweed.
'I've paid your hotel bills,' Philip said suddenly. 'We leave tomorrow, which may be an exciting day.'
'How exciting?' Tweed asked.
'Noel is moving his fifty Slovaks to Paris tomorrow, on their way to Britain. They're travelling in two separate grey coaches. I was talking to Harry earlier. You remember that old stone hump-backed bridge we crossed – where the road was rough?'
'I do,' said Paula. 'We went up steeply, then dropped down the other side. It was over a river.'
'We'll eliminate half of them at the bridge,' Philip said casually. 'The twenty-five in the other coach we'll finish off in Paris. Up at six tomorrow for early breakfast. It may not be a joy-ride.'
20
It was dark when they left the hotel for the south side of the town. They were on foot, led by Philip. Paula noticed it was more modern. Down an alley Philip opened an automatic door to a garage. Inside was parked their people-carrier.
As they climbed aboard he remarked: 'Should have told you earlier. All windows are bullet-proof, the sides and roof have been reconstructed with armour plate. So rest easy on our way to Paris.. .'
Harry emerged from underneath the vehicle, gave a thumbs-up sign to Philip.
'No explosives attached underneath. I checked the engine.'
'You're a thorough chap,' Philip thanked him.
'I'm a bloody suspicious chap,' Harry shot back as he got into the car. Philip drove out to the end of the alley, pausing to use his controller to close the garage door. Leaving the alley he turned left. Paula sighed with nostalgia when they moved into open country. Tweed sighed with relief. Place is a death-trap these days, he muttered to himself.
'We're well ahead of the first Slovak coach,' Philip called out. 'They're just loading up. The second one will follow some distance behind. Both with twenty-five killers aboard. We'll take the second one in Paris,' he reminded them.
'How does he know all these things?' Paula wondered aloud to Tweed.
'Contacts,' Philip called back. He riffled his right fingers as though shuffling a wad of banknotes. 'Dollars are more than acceptable.'
'And where has Noel been all this time?' Paula asked from her seat by the window.