What about armament?
Two twenty-one-inch torpedoes in the bow and she doesnt carry spares.
"Doesnt leave much room for mistakes.
Adams nodded. They never really amounted to anything. This one was built at Deutsches Werft in 1945 and sunk with all hands in the Baltic. She was raised in '46, refitted and handed over to the French.
The film ended and a slide appeared. It showed a young French naval officer, eyes serious beneath the uniform cap, the rather boyish face schooled to gravity.
Henri Fenelon, full lieutenant. Hes her commander. Age twenty-six, unmarried. Born in Nantes. Father still lives there. Runs a small wine-exporting business.
Mallory studied the face for a moment or two. Looks weak to me. Ever been in action?
Adams shook his head. Why do you ask?
Mallory shrugged. He looks as if he could crack easily. Whats his political background?
Thats the surprising thing. We cant find any evidence of an O.A.S. connection at all.
Probably did it for adventure, Mallory said. He only needed half a dozen men in the crew to agree with him. They could have coerced the rest.
Sounds feasible, Adarns said. Lets move on.
Various slides followed. There was an Admiralty chart of lie de Roc, with the harbour, the hotel and General Grants house all clearly marked. St. Pierre was little more than a rock lifting a hundred or so feet out of the sea and crowned by the Victorian Gothic Castle.
Mallory shook his head. God knows how they ever managed to build the damned thing out there.
Eighteen-sixty-one, Adams said. A self-made industrialist called Bryant. Bit of a megalomaniac. Saw himself as king of the castle and so on. Cost him better than a hundred thousand to build the place and that was real money in those days.
I cant see a jetty. Is it on the other side?
Theres a cave at the base of the cliffs. If you look carefully you can see the entrance. The jettys inside.
The castle faded and another picture took its place. It was that of a distinguished-looking man with silvering hair}eyes calm in a sensitive, aquiline face.
De Beaumont? Mallory said.
Adams nodded. Philippe, Comte de Beaumont. One of the oldest of the great French families. Hes even a rather distant blood relation of you-know-who, which makes the whole thing even more complicated.
I know quite a lot about his military history, Mallory said. After all, hes something of a hero to paratroopers the world over. He came over here during the war and joined de Gaulle, didnt he?
Thats right. Received just about every decoration possible. Afterwards he went to Indo-China as a colonel of colonial paratroops. The Viets picked him up at the surrender of Dien-Bien-Phu in 1954. After his release he returned to France and was posted to Algeria. He was always at loggerheads with the top brass. Once had an argument with the old man himself at an official reception over what constitutes war in the modern sense.
That should have been enough to get him put out to grass on its own.
Adams shrugged. They needed him, I suppose. After all, he was the most outstanding paratroop colonel in Algeria at that time. Handled all the dirtier jobs the top brass didnt want to soil its fingers with.
So he helped bring de Gaulle back to power?
Thats right. A prime mover in the Algerie Frangaise movement. The General, of course, kicked him right in the teeth by granting independence to Algeria after all.
And de Beaumont cleared out?
After Chalks rather abortive little coup last year. Whether or not he was actually mixed up in that little lot we cant be certain. The point is that he left France and bought this place on St. Pierre from Hamish Grant. Caused quite a stir in the French papers at the time.
And hes kept his nose clean since then?
As a whistle. Adams grinned. Even the French cant turn anything up on him. He runs a boat, by the way. Forty-foot twin-screw motor-yacht named Fleur de Lys. The very latest thing for deep-sea cruising with depth-sounder, automatic pilot and 100 h.p. DAF diesels. A bit of a recluse, but hes been seen in St. Helier occasionally. What do you think?
Id say he has the kind of inbred arrogance that can only come from a thousand years of always being right, or at least thinking you were, Mallory said. Men like him can never sit still. They usually have to be plotting at one thing or another. Comes from that natural assumption that anything conflicting with their own views must be wrong.
Interesting, Adams said. He has more the look of a seventeenth-century puritan to me. One of the thin-lipped intolerant variety. A damned good colonel in the New Model Army.
Jesus and no quarter? Mallory shook his head. Hes no bigot. Simply a rather arrogant aristocrat with a limited field of vision and an absolute conviction of the Tightness of his own actions. When he decides on a plan of attack he follows it through to the bitter end. Thats what made him such an outstanding officer. For men like him the rot sets in only if they step outside themselves and see just how much the whole damned thing is costing.
An interesting analysis, considering youve only seen his photo.
I know about him as a soldier, Mallory said. At Dien-Bien-Phu they offered to fly him out. He was too valuable to lose. He refused. In his last message he said theyd been wrong from headquarters staff down to himself. That the whole Dien-Bien-Phu strategy had been a terrible mistake. He said that if his men had to stay and pay the price the least he could do was stay and pay it with them.
Which probably accounted for his popularity with the troops, Adams said.
Men like him are never loved by anyone/ Mallory said. Even themselves.
De Beaumonts picture was replaced by another. The face which stared down at them was strong and brutal, the eyes cold, hair close-cropped.
Paul Jacaud, Adams said. Aged forty. Parents unknown. He was raised by the madame of a waterfront brothel in Marseilles. Three years in the Resistance, joined the paratroops after the war. He was sergeant-major in de Beaumonts regiment. Medaille Militaire plus a court-martial for murder that failed for lack of evidence.
And still with his old boss?
Thats right. You can make what you like out of that. Lets have a look at the angels now.
A picture of Hamish Grant flashed on the screen, a famous one taken in the Ardennes in the winter of 44. Montgomery stood beside him, grinning as they examined a map. He was every inch Iron Grant, great shoulders bulging under a sheepskin coat.
Quite a man, Mallory said.
And he hasnt changed much. Of course, his sight isnt too good, but hes still going strong. Written a couple of pretty good campaign histories of the last war.
What about the family?
Hes a widower. Son was killed in Korea. At the moment his household consists of his daughter Fiona, daughter-in-law Anne and an ex-Gurkha naik called Jagbir who was with him during the war. This is the daughter.
Fiona Grant had long blonde hair and a heart-shaped face that was utterly appealing. Rather a handful, that one, Adams said. She was raised in the south of France, which didnt help. They tried Roedean, but that was a complete fiasco. She was finally settled in a Paris finishing school, which apparently suited her. Shes at home at the moment.
I like her, Mallory said. Shes got a good mouth.
Then see what you think of this one. Anne Grant, the old mans daughter-in-law.
It was the same photograph that Sir Charles had shown him and Mallory stared up at it, his throat for some unaccountable reason going dry. It was as if they had met before and yet he knew that to be impossible. The almond-shaped eyes seemed to come to life, holding his gaze, and he shook his head slightly.
Shes over here now to finalise the purchase of a new boat.
Sir Charles told me that much. What about this man Sondergard shes hired through the pool?
Well ship him out somewhere. Theres no difficulty there. Ive already got a little scheme in mind to bring you and Anne Grant together.
They next saw the picture of a Frenchwoman called Juliette Vincente who was working at the hotel on lie de Roc. Nothing was known against her and she seemed quite harmless, as did Owen Morgan, her employer. When the Welshmans face faded away, Mallory straightened in his seat, thinking they had finished. To his surprise another face appeared.
He turned to Adams in surprise. But this is Raoul Guyon, the man Im going to work with. Ive already seen his picture. Whats the idea?
Adams shrugged. Tm not sure, but Im not really happy about the way the French are handling this business. Ive got a hunch that old spider Legrande and the Deuxieme arent telling us all they could. Under the circumstances it might prove useful to know everything there is to know about Raoul Guyon. Hes rather unusual.
Mallory looked again at the photo Sir Charles had shown him. The slim, wiry figure in the camouflage uniform, the sun-blackened face, the calm, expressionless eyes.
Tell me about him.
Raoul Guyon, aged twenty-nine. Went straight to Indo-China from St. Cyr in 1952. Hes the only known survivor of his particular cadet class for that year, which is enough to set any man apart for a start.
He wasnt at Dien-Bien-Phu?
Adams shook his head. No, but he was at plenty of other hot spots. He was up to his ears in it in Algeria. There was some talk of a girl. Moorish, I think. She was murdered by the F.L.N. and it had a big effect on him. He was badly wounded a day or two later.
There followed a picture of Guyon half raised on a stretcher, his chest heavily bandaged, blood soaking through. The face was sunken, beyond pain, the eyes stared into an abyss of loneliness.
Theres a lad whos been through the fire, Mallory said.
And then some. Commander of the Legion of Honour, Croix de la Valeur Militaire and half a dozen mentions in dispatches. On top of that, he paints like an angel.
A man to be reckoned with.
And dont you forget it.
For the next twenty minutes they continued to sit there, discussing questions of time and place, some important technical data and various other items, all of which were relevant to the success of the operation. When they finally returned to the office Adams sat behind his desk and nodded at a large and well-filled in-tray.