Cross of Fire by Colin Forbes

mouth with his napkin as he glanced across the room at the brunette and looked away. She was still staring at him, tilting her crossed leg provocatively up and down.
    'I have a strange job, Tweed. You could call it a roving commission. To locate the people I'm after I can travel anywhere in Europe, often incognito, as now. I shall make it my business to visit Aldeburgh as soon as I can.'
    'When you do, Victor,' Paula suggested, 'call me before you leave Germany at this number.' She scribbled on a notepad she'd extracted from her shoulder bag. 'If I'm not in leave a message on the answerphone. If you want me to - but only if - I'll come with you to Aldeburgh.'
    'Thank you.' He put his arm round her shoulder. 'I'd appreciate your company on such a trip. I will phone before I come.' He looked at Tweed. 'And where are you off to, now? Or does that question come under the heading of indiscreet?'
    'Not at all. London.' Tweed lied smoothly. 'You say you travel all over Europe. What do you think of the trouble building up in France? Specifically, in Bordeaux?'
    'Yes, Europe is my playground,' Rosewater agreed. 'A battlefield more than a playground. Germany is mainly my theatre of operation. As to Bordeaux, I haven't had time to read any papers.' He checked his watch. 'Soon I'll have to leave.'
    'Just before we go.' Tweed said, leaning over the table, keeping his voice down. 'In my job I have recently heard rumours of an ace assassin operating on the continent. Name of Kalmar.'
    Rosewater used one hand to scoop crumbs off the table into the other. He dropped them on to his plate and studied Tweed.
    'So you've heard of him. They call him the Ghost in the Shadows. No one knows his nationality, where he's come from, where he's based - if anywhere. He reminds me of a moving target. I've a funny feeling that some time during my work I may encounter Kalmar. Twice I've just missed him by a whisker. Provided with an address, I go there and find the bird has already flown.'
    'Interesting.' Tweed stood up, insisted on paying the bill.
    'You've left your lighter.' Paula said as they began leav ing. She picked it up.
    'Observant lady, and thank you.' responded Rosewater, pocketing the lighter.
    It was, thought Paula, the only outward sign that he had been upset by her story. He wasn't the kind of man who normally overlooked anything, she felt certain.
    As they walked out of the restaurant Tweed glanced at the brunette who still sat smoking a cigarette with a cup of coffee in front of her. She stared boldly at Rosewater as they left. Certainly an attractive woman, Tweed thought.
    The taxi he had ordered for the airport was waiting. They said goodbye to Rosewater, who hugged Paula and thanked her for her help. While the driver was walking round to his seat after opening the rear door, Paula glanced out at Rosewater. He was standing outside the entrance, tall and handsome. Tweed followed her gaze as Rosewater waved and she waved back, then the taxi was moving. Paula looked at the expression on Tweed's face.
    'You're thinking what I am. Victor would make a good recruit for Park Crescent.'
    'You will persist in believing you can read my mind,' he chided her. 'But he's bright. The way he dodged my ques tion about Bordeaux. What you'd expect from a top flight Military Intelligence officer. I should know.'
    'I wonder what he is really doing?'
    'From the little he said, infiltrating the IRA cells operating against British bases in Germany. Now, we should find out what is really happening. Within a couple of hours we'll be in Paris. With Lasalle -I called him briefly from the airport after we landed from Geneva.'
    'And I wonder how Bob Newman is faring,' Paula mused.

    Chapter Eight

    At Arcachon, about thirty miles west of Bordeaux, the anchorage, triangular in shape, is almost entirely closed off from the fury of the Atlantic by a narrow peninsula which forms a barrier. The only entrance, to the south, is a narrow opening between the tip of the peninsula