Cross of Fire by Colin Forbes Page A

sight.
    Now he ran to the rear entrance in the alley, took the key Isabelle had handed him from his trouser pocket, and within a minute was back inside her mother's apartment. She was standing by the window in the living room, turning round as he entered.
    'God! You just made it. They both peered out as you made the alley...'
    'You're supposed to be packing.'
    'I'm ready. Can we make a run for it now?'
    'Now...'
    She wrapped a silk shawl round her head, concealing her titian mane. A blue coat buttoned to her neck completed the transformation. As protection against the wind she had changed her mini for a knee-length blue skirt.
    'My trenchcoat.' Newman reminded her.
    'Packed in my case, plus Henri's shaving kit and the pyjamas he left behind - hidden where my mother would not find them. It will get you through the night in Arcachon...'
    The alley was deserted as they hurried to the parked Citroen in the courtyard. They'd have the description of his car, Newman thought grimly - and its registration number. Plenty of time to record that while de Forge took him to see the punishment well. Undoubtedly passed to the phoney DST men. Best to assume the worst.
    He drove out of the alley with Isabelle beside him. She was careful not to look towards the doorway sheltering the watchers as Newman swung the vehicle in the opposite direction. He glanced back, saw the two men running for the parked Renault.
    The two men dived into the front of the car. Behind its wheel the taller man started up the engine, released the brake, pressed his foot down. The car sped forward maybe a dozen yards and then the rear wheel's tyre collapsed as the knives penetrated it. The driver cursed as the car slewed towards the sidewalk, the wheel rims grinding on the cobbles.
    Newman saw what happened in his mirror, increased speed along the deserted street as the wind hammered at the windscreen. With Isabelle's guidance, he soon left the outer suburbs behind and was racing along the N650 - towards the Atlantic, towards Arcachon.
    'Has your mother friends in Bordeaux who could let enquirers know her address?' Newman asked.
    'No. She doesn't like her city neighbours, lets them know nothing of her affairs. No one knows she has relatives in Arcachon. No one can say anything.'
    It seemed she would be safe in Arcachon, Newman hoped. He was also wondering whether the police had acted on his anonymous call to the Prefecture in Bordeaux. His call had been made from the Post Office before driving on to the Bar Rococo.
    He had told them about the CRS Berliet truck crashing into the gorge, had given them an idea of the location. Whose bodies would they find inside?

    Chapter Seven

    General Charles de Forge sat in his high-backed chair, his hands rested on the arms as he fired questions at Major Lamy, standing facing him across the large desk. It was early evening, the only illumination a desk lamp which threw Lamy's saturnine face into sharp relief.
    'Most unfortunate about-that Berliet truck. Has Newman got away?'
    'Only for the moment, sir. We're watching the airport, the main rail stations - a small army of our men in plain clothes. All with his description.'
    'And the Berliet?'
    'Dealt with. The bodies removed to the usual place.'
    'And that spy? Henri Bayle, wasn't that his name? I understand he had a mistress.'
    'Her apartment is being watched. I hope to have news of her detention. After being questioned - if necessary under pressure - she will be disposed of.'
    De Forge stood up, walked round his desk, hands clasped behind his back. He paced slowly up and down the long room.
    'It is the details which have to be attended to. Never forget that, Lamy.'
    'What I don't understand, General, is why you agreed to see Newman, then changed your mind about him.'
    'Because I have a fingertip feeling about people. I hoped an article in Der Spiegel, angled my way, would add to the growing anxiety and confusion in Germany. Later, he seemed hostile. My decision, as always, was