Exocet

'Good God!' Leclerc said. 'What for?'

So Villiers told him.

When he had finished, Leclerc said, 'And how does he intend to leave here when he gets back?'

'He has a plane waiting at a bomber station up the road at Lancy. A Navajo Chieftain.'

'He's certainly thought of everything.'

'And not a damn thing we can do about it now. Even if we got out of here and put out a general alert, it would probably be too late. Aircraft can't land at Ile de Roc. Even helicopters have problems.'

'That's not quite true,' Leclerc said. 'I was very thoroughly briefed on the island before my posting and there was some information about flying conditions which interested me as I'm a pilot myself. Did a light aircraft course with the Army Air Corps. They tried out landing small planes at the northern end of the island last year.'

'But I thought there were cliffs there.'

'True, but when the tide goes out it uncovers alarge area of firm sand. They found landing was no problem. Unfortunately the tide turns so quickly that it made the whole idea impracticable.'

'It certainly is while we're stuck in here,' Villiers said, and he kicked the door in frustration.

* * *

Wanda, the blanket wrapped around her, huddled against a window in the loft and peered down as the men she had slept above all night climbed into the rear of the truck.

Donner, Stavrou and Rabier, the pilot, stood at the bottom of the steps and as she watched, Stavrou tied Montera's hands together in front of him with a black silk scarf.

'See how kind we're being,' Donner said. 'But the truth is, I don't want any tell-tale marks on your wrists when they find you.'

'A true gentleman,' Montera said, and then Stavrou stuffed a handkerchief into his mouth.

Donner said to Rabier. 'Right, you're on your own. Those cellars are as impregnable as the Bastille, but keep an eye on them anyway. We should be back in five to six hours.'

'Very well, monsieur, you can rely on me.'

'And if that bitch Wanda shows up, put her down in the cellar till I return.'

Stavrou was by now at the wheel. 'Ready when you are, sir.'

Donner climbed into the truck, and it moved away. Rabier turned and went up the steps into the house. It was very silent in the courtyard now, only the hissing of the rain, and Wanda huddled beside the window and waited.

15

Donner stood in the wheelhouse of the landing craft and looked through a porthole at the length of the ship. The hold was a steel shell. The cargo consisted of a large number of packing cases and the truck belonging to their own party, his men still inside. Beyond were the steel bow doors of the beaching exit.

The sea was choppy with a slight breeze and although mist and rain had reduced visibility, they had made good time from St Martin. The captain, a young naval lieutenant, came in from the bridge and gave the helmsman an order.

'Port five.'

'Port five of wheel on, sir.'

'Steady now.'

'Steady, steering two-o-three, sir.'

The lieutenant said to Donner, 'Not long now. Another twenty minutes.'

'Perhaps I'll have a chance to offer you a drink when we land?'

The young man shook his head. 'I'm only stopping long enough to put you and your party ashore, then I proceed to St Nazaire. I'm carrying electronic equipment for Guided Weapons H.Q.'

Donner nodded cheerfully. 'Another time perhaps.'

He went out on the bridge, wrapping the oilskin coat they had loaned him about his shoulders, and looked towards the great cliffs of Ile de Roc rising out of the sea.

* * *

The harbour was not large and the landing craft beached beside a stone jetty. One or two small sailing dinghies were pulled up on the sand above high water, but the only sizeable craft was a beautiful power boat, painted green.

When the bow doors opened, the truck drove out across a specially constructed concrete apron to the start of a tarmacadam road, Donner walking beside it. A Landrover was parked there and the sole occupant, a tall, greying, middle-aged man wearing a jeep coat with a heavy fur collar over his uniform, got out.

'Captain Leclerc?'

'That's right,' Donner said.

'Let's get out of this damned rain. Major Espinet — I'm in command here. I'll take you up to the site. Your truck can follow.'

Donner nodded to Stavrou and got in. As the Landrover moved away, he said to Espinet. 'A beautiful boat down there in the harbour. Yours, I believe.'

Espinet smiled. 'The pride of my life. Built by Akerboon. Steel hull, twin screws. She can do thirty-five knots.'

'Wonderful,' Donner commented.

'Helps pass the time in this Godforsaken spot,' Espinet told him. 'Not the most desirable of postings.'

'That's what comes of losing the Empire,' Donner said amiably.

The winding road that led up from the harbour was lined with old stone cottages, most of which appeared to be in ruins. 'Like most of these islands off the coast, the people left years ago,' remarked Espinet. 'It was just subsistence living here. Crofting and fishing. They seldom saw a ten franc note from one year's end to the other.'

They went over the hill above the harbour and there was the camp, a small, ugly compound of flat-roofed concrete huts built to withstand the fury of the storms that swept in from the Atlantic in the winter months. A concrete tower some forty feet in height lifted above them, a narrow balcony encircling its glass walls at the top, a steel emergency ladder running down one side.

Donner, who knew very well what it was, asked, 'What's that? The tower, I mean?'

'Built to house the radio room,' Espinet said. 'We also operate a new kind of short wave scanner from up there when the missiles are testing. That's why we need height.'

There was a row of bunkers some distance beyond. 'Are those the missile pens?' Donner asked.

'That's right. They've got to be underground here. Nothing but Atlantic Ocean out there, which makes this an ideal test site, but the weather can be ferocious. Two winters ago it was so bad they evacuated for a month.'

'They tell me half the people here are civilians?'

'Yes. Eighteen military personnel at the moment. Only three officers, so we don't have much of a mess, I'm afraid.' Espinet turned the Landrover into the complex. 'You know, if you don't mind me saying so, there's something a little unusual about your accent.'

'My mother,' Donner said. 'That's what's so unusual. She was Australian.'

Espinet laughed. 'That certainly explains it.'

He braked to a halt outside one of the concrete huts where two men in identical camouflage uniforms and black berets waited. One was a sergeant, the other wore captain's bars. As he came down to meet them Espinet said, 'Pierre Jobert, my second in command.'

They got out and Espinet made the introductions. Jobert, a pleasant, rather world-weary young man with a thin moustache, smiled as he shook hands. 'Have you ever read Beau Geste, Captain Leclerc?'

'Naturally,' Donner told him.

Jobert waved a hand that took in the entire complex. 'Then you'll understand why we call this charming little hell-hole Fort Zinderneuf. Coffee waiting in your office, sir.'

'Excellent,' Espinet said. 'Assisted by a little Cognac, I trust?' He turned to Donner. 'Sergeant Deville will see to your men.'

'I'll be right with you,' Donner said. 'Must have a word with them myself first.'

The two officers went inside and Donner moved to where Stavrou waited beside the truck, which had parked some little distance away. 'Montera still safely under wraps?'

'In back with the boys.'

'Good. I'm going to have a drink with the CO. The moment I'm inside, take care of the radio tower, then everything else stage-by-stage, just the way we discussed it. Only eighteen military personnel here at the moment. The rest are civilians. Less than I thought.'