Exocet

Villiers took a Smith & Wesson from one pocket, a Carswell silencer from another and screwed it in place. 'That means it won't make a sound when I fire it, Professor, but then I'm sure you know that.'

'Look, what's all this about?' Bernard demanded.

Villiers laid the Smith & Wesson down on the desk. 'It's about the size of your phone bill to the Argentine. Cabbages and Kings, Exocet missiles. Oh, and people called Donner.'

Bernard was still frightened, but also angry. 'Who are you?'

'Until three days ago I was in the Falklands so I've seen the dead. I'm an officer of the British Special Air Service Regiment.'

'Bastard!' Bernard said, his anger overflowing.

'That's it. As someone once rather unfairly put it, we're the nearest thing to the SS the British Army has. I don't know about that. What I do know is that if you don't tell me what I want to know, I'm going to blow your left kneecap off with this.' He picked up the Smith & Wesson. 'Very nasty trick we picked up from the IRA in Ulster. If that doesn't work, I'll go to work on the right. That should put you on sticks for the rest of your life.'

There was a pottery vase with a plant in it on the top shelf at the other end of the room. His hand swung up holding the Smith & Wesson, there was a slight cough, no more than that, and the vase disintegrated.

It was enough. Bernard said, 'You know who Donner is?'

'That's right. I also know he's promised to provide several Exocet missiles to Argentine agents in this country within the next few days. Where's he getting them from?'

Bernard said, 'He hasn't told me. In fact, to the best of my knowledge, he hasn't told anybody.' Villiers raised the gun as if to take deliberate aim and Bernard said hastily, 'No, listen to me.'

'All right, but you'd better make it good.'

'There's a place off the Brittany coast called Ile de Roc where they test Exocets. The nearest port is St Martin. Donner has taken a house near there. I think his intention must be to hijack one of the Aerospatiale trucks as it passes through to St Martin carrying Exocets for shipment to the island.'

His face was haggard, beaded with sweat; he was obviously telling the truth as he knew it. Villiers nodded calmly and said to Jackson. 'Okay, Harvey. Go and wait for me in the car.'

Jackson didn't argue. He went out, closing the door, his footsteps descended the wooden steps. There was silence.

Villiers put the Smith & Wesson on the desk, lit a cigarette and stood up, hands in the pockets of his raincoat.

'You don't like the English very much, do you? Why would that be?'

Bernard said, 'You ran in 1940 and left us to the Boche. They shot my father, burned our village. My mother…' He shrugged, the despair of years on his shoulders.

Villiers turned and walked to the other end of the office, and examined the notice board. Bernard looked nervously across at the Smith & Wesson on the other side of the desk.

'My father was in SOE during the war,' Villiers said. 'The French section. Dropped into France by parachute three times to work with the Resistance. Finally, he was betrayed, arrested and hauled off to Gestapo Headquarters in the Rue des Saussaies in Paris. A good address for a bad place. He was interrogated for three days with such brutality that, to this day, his right foot is badly crippled.'

He turned, hands still in the pockets of the raincoat and found Bernard sitting, but now clutching the Smith & Wesson.

'Oh, but you must let me finish, Professor. I've saved the best to last. His torturer was a Frenchman in the pay of the Gestapo. One of those fascists you find everywhere.'

Bernard cried something unintelligible and fired. Villiers was already dropping to one knee, his hand emerging from the front of the raincoat holding a Walther PPK. He shot Bernard in the centre of the forehead and the Frenchman was hurled backwards, still seated in the chair.

Villiers retrieved the Smith & Wesson, switched off the light and went out. He descended the stairs, crossed to the judas gate and stepped into the night. Car lights turned on further up the street and the Citroen slid into the kerb, Jackson at the wheel. Villiers got into the passenger seat.

'Did you give him a chance?' Jackson asked.

'Of course.'

'I can imagine. Why not just shoot the poor sod in the first place and get it over with? Why pretend? Did it make you feel better? Every man deserves a chance to draw, just like a fucking western?'

'Just drive, Sergeant Major.' Villiers said and lit another cigarette.

'Deepest apologies,' Jackson told him. 'I trust the major will forgive me. I was forgetting he was a moralist.'

He moved into gear and drove away.

* * *

Donner ordered another bottle of champagne. 'You're not drinking,' he said to Montera, and tried to fill his glass.

Montera put his hand in the way. 'No thanks. Champagne doesn't agree with me.'

'Nonsense,' Donner said. 'A man who is tired of champagne is tired of life; wouldn't you agree, Mademoiselle Legrand?'

'Actually, a nonsensical proposition. No substance to it at all,' she said.

He laughed. 'That, I like. A woman who says what she thinks. Just comes right out with it. Now Wanda here, she never says what she thinks. What she tells you is what she believes you'd like to hear, isn't that so, Wanda?'

The girl's humiliation was plain. Her hands were trembling so much that she clutched her sequined evening purse tightly. Gabrielle opened her mouth to speak, her anger evident. Raul put a hand on hers and leaned across the table.

'Please, Miss Jones, it would give me the greatest of pleasure to show you how we dance the tango in the Argentine.'

There was astonishment on her face for a moment, then she glanced at Donner. He ignored her and poured more champagne into his glass. She made her decision and stood up.

'I think I'd like that,' she said, and walked on to the floor.

'I shan't be long,' Montera said to Gabrielle, and smiled. 'If he annoys you, this one, let me know and I'll give him what the bearded one got.'

'Do you think you could guarantee that?'

He leaned over, kissed her as if Donner wasn't there, and joined Wanda on the floor.

'Very nice,' Donner said. 'I like a good show. Do I get to dance, too?'

Gabrielle sipped a little champagne. 'I couldn't imagine any circumstance in which I would agree to dance with you, Mr Donner. You see, it's really very simple. I don't like you.'

Donner's anger showed only in his eyes, the rest he managed to control. 'I'm very persistent. I could grow on you.'

'Men.' She shook her head. 'The arrogance of you. That stupid male arrogance. You're all the same. Selfish, demanding. You treat women with contempt, you know that? Your interest is actually an insult.'

He managed to stay good humoured on the surface. 'I see, so it's men you don't like, not just me? Where does that leave our gallant colonel? He's different, I suppose?'

'He's himself. He doesn't take, he gives.' It was as if she was saying this to work it out for herself, and there was a kind of joy on her face. 'Which may seem a contradiction to you, but makes perfect sense to me.'

Before Donner could reply the head waiter appeared at his side. 'Monsieur Donner?'

'That's right.'

'You left your name at the bar in case there was a phone call. Someone is on the line now.'

Donner followed him across to the reception desk and picked up the phone. 'Donner here.'

'Nikolai. Listen, Garcia's been in touch. Apparently Bernard left him a note earlier this afternoon giving details of convoys of St Martin for Ile de Roc during the next four days. Only one meets your requirements and it will be in the right vicinity very early on the morning of the twenty-ninth.'

'That's the day after tomorrow.'