Exocet - Jack Higgins [28]
'Excellent,' Donner said. 'Take it.'
'I already have.'
He pulled her into his arms. 'You're a clever little bitch, aren't you?'
'Some of the time. I aim to please.'
As always, she stirred him physically, which wouldn't do at all for this was neither the time or place. He kissed her once and turned away.
'Right, show me St Martin. Is it possible to see Ile de Roc?'
'On the horizon and only if the weather's good.'
'Let's get going then.'
He went out. As she turned to follow, she was aware of Stavrou, watching her as he always seemed to do, that enigmatic face, and the eyes, so cruel and with something in them especially for her. She hurried past him quickly and he followed her out.
* * *
St Martin was a simple enough place. There were no more than five or six hundred inhabitants, narrow cobbled streets, cottages roofed with red pantiles, a small harbour enclosed by a single break-water in which thirty or forty fishing boats of the smaller variety were moored.
There was also an army landing craft painted olive green and moored to the jetty; little more than a steel shell, with great steel bow doors as a beaching exit. An army truck stood inside and, as they watched, the craft moved away from the jetty and out to sea.
'So that's their means of transportation to the island,' Donner said.
Wanda nodded. 'Apparently.'
'According to Paul Bernard, the commanding officer out there also has a fine motor launch which is his pride and joy.'
'That's right. It was moored down there for a while yesterday.'
'Good. That's really excellent.'
They drove on, up out of the town, following a narrow coast road until finally Stavrou, under Wanda's direction, turned in through two stone pillars and bumped across a field track.
Donner and Wanda got out and she handed him a pair of Zeiss fieldglasses as they went forward to the edge of the cliffs. There was a bay far below and the path down was no place for the faint-hearted, zigzagging across the face of granite cliffs, splashed with lime, seabirds crying, wheeling in great clouds, razorbills, shags, gulls, shearwaters and gannets - gannets everywhere.
Ile de Roc was a smudge on the horizon that came to life only when he focussed the glasses. It was well named, massive cliffs rising steeply from the sea, only a hint of green on top. There were no installations to be seen, but he already knew they were on the western side of the island.
He lowered the glasses. 'Good, let's go.'
They returned to the Citroen, got in, and Stavrou reversed and drove away.
* * *
On the way back, they passed Maison Blanche again. A few hundred yards on, as they turned into the road leading to Lancy, Donner leaned forward and touched Stavrou on the shoulder.
'Stop a minute. What have we got here?'
In the meadow beside the trees, three wagons were parked around a fire. They were old and battered with patched canvas tilts, and a depressing air of poverty hung over everything from the clothes worn by the four women who squatted by the fire drinking coffee from old cans, to the rags on the children, who played by the stream where three bony horses grazed.
'Gypsies?' Donner said.
'Yes, the agent said there were some in the neighbourhood. Claimed they were no trouble.'
'He would, wouldn't he?' Donner nodded to Stavrou. 'Come on, Yanni, this may work out quite well.'
As they walked down into the hollow, the women looked up curiously, saying nothing. Donner stood there, hands in pockets, then said in French, 'Where's the head man?'
'Here he is, Monsieur.'
The man who had appeared from the trees was old, at least seventy. He had a shotgun crooked in his right arm. He wore a tweed suit which had been patched many times, and white hair showed beneath the blue beret. His face was the colour of oak, wrinkled and covered with stubble.
'And who might you be?' Donner enquired.
'I am Paul Gaubert, Monsieur? Is it permitted to ask you the same question?'
'My name is Donner. I'm the new tenant of Maison Blanche. I think I'm probably right in saying you're camped on my land.'
'But Monsieur,