This morning Mrs Milner had set out with Milly for their daily constitutional slightly later than their normal time – it was ten-past eight, she’d noted as she left her flat. Crossing Birdcage Walk she had seen nothing unusual, and as she slowly made her way towards Horse Guards there was the usual collection of MPs and civil servants on the paths. Not many tourists around yet, though she noticed a diminutive Chinese-looking man.
At the east side of the park she carefully crossed Horse Guards Road, but only after first stopping furtively to allow Milly to do her business. Not for Mrs Milner the new practice of bringing a plastic bag along for collection purposes – Heaven forbid – but at least she was selective about where Milly was allowed to go. And who would think seriously of fining a woman in her mid-eighties for the indiscretion of her dog?
It was as she entered the Horse Guards parade ground that she saw the unusual event ahead of her. The small Chinese-looking gentleman she’d noted earlier was twenty yards in front. It was funny seeing him striding through the park – not like a tourist, more like a civil servant on his way to work. Not that Mrs Milner thought there was anything wrong with that. She liked people from the Far East, having lived for five years in Hong Kong with Mr Milner. There was a courtesy about them she approved of. Call it old-fashioned, but Mrs Milner liked it just the same.
Nearing the arch at the far end of Horse Guards Parade, the man quickened his pace slightly – and it was then that Mrs Milner saw the two other men appear, as if from nowhere. Neither of them looked as though they belonged in this part of London – they were both wearing weatherproof jackets and to Mrs Milner’s mind looked like toughs. They seemed to be working in tandem, making a beeline for their target from either side of him.
What were they going to do to him? Maybe they were part of one of the pick-pocketing gangs she was always reading about. In any case, the Chinese-looking fellow seemed utterly unaware of their approach. Or of the woman dawdling by the arch – Mrs Milner had seen her before, walking her dog, which Mrs Milner had avoided since Milly had never got on with Schnauzers. This woman was looking at the little man as well. Surely the two toughs weren’t going to harm the fellow here in broad daylight. Though in London these days, who could be sure? Maybe she should call out to warn him.
Then the little man seemed to sense the presence of the other two. He turned around, and when he saw them he started visibly. He tried to make a break for it, sprinting off back across the parade ground, but they were too quick for him – far too quick. In seconds each of them had grabbed an arm, and they held the little fellow between them. One of them was speaking as they began leading him across the parade ground towards a car parked, quite illegally, on the roadside.
The odd trio passed within spitting distance of Mrs Milner, and in the eyes of the Chinese gentleman all she could see was fear. She wanted to stop them all, ask the men just what they thought they were doing, perhaps threaten to call the police. But there was something in their eyes that said no one should interfere with them. Least of all an old lady walking her dog.
Chapter 44
The mas where the communards lived, twenty kilometres south-west of Cahors, must originally have been the residence of a minor aristocrat. There was still an ancient orchard in the walled garden next to the residence, and the house itself, though almost derelict when they had first taken it over, would once have bordered on the grand.
Marcel and Pascale, as a couple, had been allocated one of the large rooms on the first floor. It might once have been a grand salon, with its high ceiling and two tall shuttered windows that faced south towards the kitchen garden and the pretty meadow beyond. But like the rest of the house, it had suffered from years of neglect: the ornate cornice that ran around the ceiling was cracked and bits were missing where the damp had come through; the parquet floor had lost some of its pieces and the upright metal rods that held the shutters in place were brown with rust. But young and in love, Marcel and Pascale saw the beauty not the rot. They ignored the missing bits of cornice, they’d covered the holes in the floor with cardboard, and Marcel had put enough oil on the shutter bolts to mute all but the mildest squeaks.
Even this late in spring the evenings in the Quercy could be very cool, and with only one blanket for their rusty bedstead, the couple had made a ritual of jumping into bed together, huddling under the solitary blanket, and cuddling each other for warmth. But tonight when Pascale was ready to get into bed, Marcel remained standing, looking moodily out of the window, smoking a hand-rolled cigarette.
‘What is it?’ she asked, shivering in the bed.
‘We have a problem, I fear.’
‘We do indeed,’ said Pascale. ‘I’m freezing! And standing out there, you must be, too.’
Marcel took a last drag on his cigarette and chucked it out of the open window. It was not something one would do in August, when the grass lay parched and white under the scorching sun, but the spring had been unusually wet. He turned and looked at Pascale. ‘I’m afraid it’s not a joking matter,’ he said soberly. ‘I’m worried.’
‘Why?’
He looked at her. ‘Why do you think?’
Both were well trained enough not to speak carelessly, even though the chances of being bugged in this huge relic of a room seemed remote. So Pascale just nodded, indicating that she understood. Both of them had been on edge since Marcel had returned from Marseilles. He had told her all about the meeting with the North Africans, Antoine’s violence, and how they had brought back two Uzis.
Marcel came over to the bed and climbed in under the blanket. When he spoke it was in a whisper in Pascale’s ear. ‘I was in the walled garden, sharpening the blades on the mower. René and Antoine were talking by the garden shed. They knew I was there; that’s what I found odd. Because René was saying that delivery of “the package” had been advanced – it would happen tomorrow instead of next week.’
‘What package?’
‘I think it must be the explosives he was hoping to get from another source.’
‘Christ!’ Pascale exclaimed. ‘But why talk like this in front of you if they suspected you? And I still don’t know why they took you to Marseilles.’
Marcel laid his hand on her thigh and squeezed gently. ‘It was a test – like this business in the garden.’
‘How are they testing you?’
‘René knows that if I’m an informant, I’ll want to communicate the news of the package’s early arrival. Can’t you see – it’s the perfect trap? If I don’t try and contact Philippe then the explosives will go undetected once they’re here. But if I do make a move to contact him, René will know I’m a traitor.’
‘So what are you going to do?’
Marcel gave a wry smile. ‘It’s more what I have done, my darling. Or tried to do. I didn’t think I had a choice. Philippe warned us, as you know, never to use the mobile phone to contact him. But I decided it was worth the risk, and I could also tell him about the two machine-guns we got in Marseilles. When I came up here, though, I couldn’t find my phone. It was there –’ He pointed to the small pine cabinet on the far side of the bed. ‘But it was gone when I came up to look for it after lunch. I am sure someone has taken it.’