Exocet

'Probably a few away on furlough,' Stavrou said.

Donner smiled. 'Lucky for them.' He turned and went up the steps to the door which Sergeant Deville held open for him.

* * *

Stavrou went round to the rear of the truck and the mercenary he had appointed as his second in command, a man named Jarrot, passed down a canvas holdall. At that moment, Sergeant Deville joined them.

'Sergeants' mess first stop, then I'll drop off the rest of you.'

Stavrou kneed him in the groin. As the sergeant started to go down, hands reached and hauled him into the back of the truck.

Stavrou said to Jarrot, 'Okay, Claude, let's get moving.'

Jarrot and Faure, the radio expert, jumped down, each carrying a canvas holdall, and the three of them crossed to the base of the radio tower. Stavrou opened the door and led the way up the narrow spiral staircase to the top. When he stepped out on to the narrow balcony, the wind tried to push him against the wall and he grabbed for the rail with his free hand. He could see the harbour clearly, but beyond the sea was shrouded with mist, as was the higher part of the island.

Jarrot and the other man pushed up behind him and they looked in through the armoured glass of the door to the communications rooms. There were three operators in there, and two technical sergeants sitting at a desk in the centre. They looked up in surprise as Stavrou opened the door and the three men filed in. Stavrou dumped his holdall on the desk between the sergeants, scattering their papers.

He grinned impudently. 'Good day to you, boys,' he said, and unzipped the holdall, taking out a Schmeisser machine pistol. 'This is what got the SS through the Second World War. Still does its job very well, so don't waste my time in arguing.'

One of the sergeants jumped up, reaching for the holstered pistol at his belt, and Jarrot, who had produced an AK assault rifle from his holdall, smashed the butt against the side of the man's head. He went down with a groan.

The remaining sergeant and the three radio operators got their hands up fast. Stavrou reached in his holdall and produced a number of steel handcuffs which he tossed on the table.

'Surplus stock, French military prisons for the use of.' He was thoroughly enjoying himself. 'We got them cheap.' He turned to Jarrot. 'Right, Claude, you can do the honours.'

Within a couple of minutes, the four men lay on the floor, face down beside the unconscious sergeant, all with their wrists handcuffed behind their backs. Faure was already examining the radio equipment.

'Any problems?' Stavrou asked.

Faure shook his head. 'Most of it is standard military stuff.'

'Good. You know what to do. Get in touch with the trawler, tell them it's safe to move in and get me an estimated time of arrival.'

'Okay.' Faure sat down at one of the sets.

Stavrou turned to Jarrot. 'Eighteen military personnel in all, that's what Mr Donner said. Five down — eleven to go.' He grinned. 'Let's visit the sergeants' mess next, Claude. You lead the way.'

* * *

Donner, standing at the window of Major Espinet's office, a glass of Cognac in hand, watched the two men emerge from the door at the base of the radio tower. They moved to the truck, Stavrou climbed up behind the wheel, Claude stood on the running board and they moved away.

Donner said, 'When do you intend to put us to work, Major?'

'No rush,' Espinet said. 'Got to get acclimatized. All the time in the world in a bloody place like this.'

'Not for me there isn't — time, I mean.' Donner produced a Walther from his pocket, a heavy silencer screwed on the end.

Espinet stood up behind his desk, eyes bulging. 'What in the hell is going on?'

'Quite simple,' Donner said. 'I'm taking over.'

'You must be mad.' Espinet turned to Jobert. 'Pierre, ring through to the guardroom.'

Donner shot him through the back of the head, killing him instantly, knocking him back across his chair into the corner. The obscenity of his death was somehow intensified by the almost complete lack of sound due to the fact that the Walther was silenced.

Jobert said, 'Who are you, for God's sake?'

Donner said, 'You can use your intelligence. Sufficient to say that my country is at war and we need more Exocets. I've got a boat coming in here soon and we're going to take as many as we can lay our hands on and you're going to help.'

'Like hell, I will,' Jobert said.

'Oh, all very gallant and French are we today?' Donner touched the end of the silencer between his eyes. 'You'll do exactly as you're told because if you don't, I'll parade your entire unit and shoot every third man.'

And Jobert believed him, which was the important thing, sudden despair in his eyes, shoulders sagging. Donner poured himself another brandy and toasted him.

'Cheer up, sport,' he said. 'After all, you could be like Espinet. You could be dead. Now let's get moving.'

They went up the street together to where the truck was parked outside one of the huts. Stavrou and Jarrot were emerging from another hut on the left and they met just as three more of the mercenaries came out of the hut opposite.

Stavrou said, 'Five in the radio room, six in the segeants' mess, two corporals in the office of that hut opposite. Every man on his face in steel bracelets.'

'Which leaves three military personnel unaccounted for.' Donner turned to Jobert. 'Where are they, Captain?'

Jobert hesitated, but only for a moment. 'On duty in the missile pen.'

'Good. Now for the civilians. Twenty of them, isn't that right?'

'I suppose so.'

'How many of them in the pens at the moment?'

'Probably five. They work shifts. The others will be eating or sleeping.'

'Excellent. Then if you'll be good enough to lead the way, we'll introduce ourselves, shall we?'

* * *

From her vantage point in the loft, Wanda could see Rabier through the kitchen window. He had been sitting there for some time now at the table, eating bread and cheese and drinking Cognac — drinking a great deal of Cognac.

Wanda was cold and very hungry. She moved to the corner of the loft, raised the trapdoor and descended a flight of wooden steps. She found herself in the stables Roux's men had used as their quarters. There were sleeping bags in the stalls and various items of equipment laid out on a trestle table, including an assortment of weapons.

She opened the door and looked outside. It was still raining and she tiptoed cautiously across the cobbles towards the kitchen door. Gabrielle, who had been peering out through the cellar window, saw her coming.

'Wanda!' she whispered urgently. 'Over here.'

Villiers was on his feet in a second. 'What is it?'

Wanda hesitated, then crossed to the wall and crouched down at the window. 'They've all gone except Rabier, the pilot.'

'I know,' Gabrielle said. 'Come down and let us out as fast as you can.'

Wanda nodded. 'I'll try,' she said. 'But Rabier's on guard.' She stood up and hurried to the back door, opened it cautiously and started along the passage, pausing at the kitchen door which stood ajar. Rabier stood at the table opening a fresh bottle of Cognac. Wanda tiptoed past him and opened the door into the hall. It creaked slightly in spite of the care with which she closed it and in the kitchen, Rabier paused in the act of pouring Cognac into a glass and listened, a slight frown on his face, head cocked to one side. He went out into the passage, still holding the bottle of Cognac.

Wanda paused in the hall for a moment. The house was silent. She crossed to the door leading to the cellar steps, opened it and went down. At the bottom, she felt for the light switch and whispered, 'Gabrielle, where are you?'

'Here, Wanda! Here!' Gabrielle called.