Exocet

'And never looked back?'

'That's it, sir. In the circumstances and considering the size of his bank balance, it seems odd that he would involve himself in an affair like this, even for a couple of million pounds.'

'Exactly.' Ferguson sat looking at the file for a while, frowning. 'I really do smell stinking fish here in a big way. First of all there's the Russian connection. How was Nikolai Belov so certain after being approached by Garcia that Donner was the man who could help?'

'True. So what are you saying, sir?'

'That Felix Donner was an orphan which is very convenient. That every other man who served with him and was taken prisoner in Korea died in captivity. Also very convenient.'

There was a long silence. Fox asked, 'Are you suggesting what I think you are, sir?'

Ferguson got up and walked to the fire and stood there, looking down into the flames.

Fox said, 'He's a highly respected businessman, sir. It doesn't make sense.'

'Neither did the Gordon Lonsdale affair, remember? Also a highly respected business man. A Canadian, to all intents and purposes. Even now, after all these years, there's some doubt as to his real identity.'

'Except that he was a Russian. A professional agent.'

'Exactly.'

'Are you suggesting that Donner could be another Lonsdale?'

'It's a possibility, that's all we can say for the moment. All right, so he could just be a thoroughly unscrupulous business man, out as our American friends would say, to make a buck. We'll have to see.'

'So what do we do, sir, pull him in?'

Ferguson went back to his desk. 'Difficult while he's in France. Oh, I could pull strings at high levels, but if we went public it would create one hell of a stink and we might lose considerable long-term advantages. If we could catch him properly, Harry, we might be able to bring down one hell of a house of cards. All his KGB connections in this country. But only if he is what I think he might be.'

'That's right.'

'And we don't even know what he's up to. Even Garcia has obviously been kept in the dark there. All he can say is that Donner has guaranteed him Exocets by next week. No, what we need now is someone right on his tail who can keep us informed day-by-day.'

Fox said, 'And how on earth can we do that?'

'I should have thought it obvious. The key to this affair is Colonel Raul Montera and our link with Montera is Gabrielle Legrand.'

There was silence between them and then Fox said. 'On the other hand, Gabrielle doesn't like us very much, sir.'

'We'll have to see, won't we? You'd better pull her in.'

At that moment, the red phone buzzed. He picked it up quickly. 'Ferguson here.' He listened, face grave, then said, 'Of course, sir,' and replaced the receiver.

Fox said, 'Trouble?'

'That was the Director-General. It seems the Prime Minister wants to see me.'

* * *

Donner did not, as a rule, enjoy flying in small aircraft — they were noisy, uncomfortable and lacking in the more obvious amenities — but he could find no fault with the plane Stavrou had arranged. It was a Navajo Chieftain with an excellent cabin and tables that one could sit at in a civilized way.

They took off from a small private airfield outside Paris at a place called Brie-Comte-Robert. The pilot was a man called Rabier, a dark, thin-faced man in his early thirties who, according to Stavrou's information, had left the French Air Force under a cloud. He now ran a small air transport firm and didn't ask questions when the money was right. Exactly what they were looking for.

They came in towards the coast over the Vendee, well south of St Nazaire. Donner had moved up next to the pilot and Rabier said, 'Here's where we land. Place called Lancy. It was a Luftwaffe fighter base during the Second World War. Someone tried to run a flying school from there which failed. Since then, it's been deserted.'

Donner pointed to a notation on the map. 'What's that mean?'

'Restricted air space. There's an island out there off the coast, Ile de Roc. Some sort of military testing range. All it means is keep away. Don't worry, navigation is my strong point.'

They landed at Lancy twenty minutes later. There were four hangars and the watchtower was still intact, but the grass between the runways was waist-high and there was an air of desolation to everything.

A black Citroen was parked in front of the old operations building and Wanda Brown got out as the Navajo taxied toward her. She wore jeans and a leather hunting jacket, her dark hair tied back in place with a silk scarf.

Donner descended the airstair ladder, slipped an arm about her shoulders and kissed her. 'Where did you get the car?'

'Hired it from a garage in St Martin. And I think I've found just the place you're looking for. Five miles from here and about as far from the coast.' She took some keys from her pocket. 'The local estate agent entrusted them to me. I explained that my boss didn't like to be bothered with such matters. I'm certain he thinks I'm setting up a love nest for weekends.'

'Looking at you, what else would he think?' Donner asked her. 'Anyway, let's get moving. You drive, Yanni.'

Stavrou sat behind the wheel and Wanda got into the rear. Donner turned to Rabier, who was peering out from the Navajo.

'A couple of hours at the most, I think, then back to Paris.'

'Fine by me, Monsieur.'

Donner got in to the car beside the girl and they drove away.

* * *

The house was called Maison Blanche and nestled amongst beech trees in a hollow. It was quite large and had obviously been imposing once, but now, there was an air of decay to things.

Donner got out of the Citroen and stood at the bottom of the steps, looking up at the front door under the portico with the green paint peeling rather noticeably.

'Fourteen bedrooms and a stable block at the rear,' Wanda said. 'There's reasonably modern central heating and the oil tanks are full. You could manage here for a few days, I think.'

'What's the story?'

'The owner is in the colonial service in the Pacific. His mother died two years ago and as he wants to retire here eventually, he won't sell. It's fully furnished. The agent lets it off for occasional holiday lets in the summer, otherwise it stands empty.'

She unlocked the door and led the way in. There was a slight musty smell, typical of a house not lived in for a long time, but also a kind of faded magnificence to everything: mahogany panelling and furniture, and good Persian carpets on the floor.

They moved into a drawing-room with a huge fireplace and a chandelier hanging from the ceiling. Wanda opened the French windows and then the shutters, allowing light to flood in.

'All the comforts of home. Imagine it with central heating going and a log fire. Haven't I done well?'

'Excellent,' Donner said. 'Take it.'

'I already have.'

He pulled her into his arms. 'You're a clever little bitch, aren't you?'

'Some of the time. I aim to please.'

As always, she stirred him physically, which wouldn't do at all for this was neither the time or place. He kissed her once and turned away.

'Right, show me St Martin. Is it possible to see Ile de Roc?'

'On the horizon and only if the weather's good.'

'Let's get going then.'

He went out. As she turned to follow, she was aware of Stavrou, watching her as he always seemed to do, that enigmatic face, and the eyes, so cruel and with something in them especially for her. She hurried past him quickly and he followed her out.

* * *

St Martin was a simple enough place. There were no more than five or six hundred inhabitants, narrow cobbled streets, cottages roofed with red pantiles, a small harbour enclosed by a single break-water in which thirty or forty fishing boats of the smaller variety were moored.

There was also an army landing craft painted olive green and moored to the jetty; little more than a steel shell, with great steel bow doors as a beaching exit. An army truck stood inside and, as they watched, the craft moved away from the jetty and out to sea.