Solo - Jack Higgins [31]
Stewart parked a few cars away, then went to the toilet. When he came out, he checked that the Porsche was still in view, then crossed to the cafe and peered inside. There was no sign of Morgan.
He turned quickly, but he had not been mistaken. The Porsche was still there and then he saw the Colonel crouched beside his own car.
As Stewart hurried towards him, Morgan stood up and Stewart saw that his offside front tyre was flat.
'Here, what the hell do you think you're doing?' he demanded angrily.
Morgan kicked the wheel. 'Looks like you're in trouble, Inspector. I'd get hold of a policeman, if I were you.'
He walked to the Porsche, climbed in and drove rapidly away.
Mikali rose late that morning and it was eleven o'clock before he went for his usual run in Hyde Park in spite of the heavy rain. Not that it bothered him. He liked the rain. It gave him a safe, enclosed feeling, rather like being in a little world of your own.
He finally got back to the flat in Upper Grosvenor Street and opened the door to the aroma of freshly ground coffee. At first he assumed the girl from the previous night hadn't gone home and then Jean Paul Deville appeared in the kitchen doorway.
'Ah, there you are. Let myself in with the contingency key. I hope you don't mind.'
Mikali got a towel from the bathroom and mopped the sweat from his face. 'When did you get in?'
'The breakfast plane. I thought we should chat.'
He returned to his coffee-making. Mikali said, 'It didn't go too smoothly.'
'You shot him in the head at point-blank range. Who could ask for more? And we've achieved what we set out to do. A major assassination attempt in the heart of London. Headlines in every newspaper in the world and wonderful publicity for the Palestinian cause. Black September are delighted. Their man in Paris came to see me last night. It got a little rough this one, I understand. Were you worried?'
'When I was in Algiers, the Arabs had a saying. It comes as God wills. However carefully you plan, one of these days, someone turns up where they shouldn't be. The gun that's never been known to jam, does. That's what will kill me in the end and you, when you least expect it'
'Very possibly,' Deville said. 'Like the girl on the bicycle in the tunnel?'
'That was regrettable. I tried to avoid her, but there was nothing to be done. There was the briefest of mentions in both London evening papers, but what I can't understand is why they've made no connection with the Cohen affair.'
'Yes, I wondered about that. I had my people in London investigate. It seems the girl's parents were divorced some time ago. The father is a paratroop colonel named Morgan - Asa Morgan. Serving in Ireland at the moment. The KGB at our London Embassy most obligingly ran him through the computer for me and he has quite a record. Expert in subversion, urban guerrilla techniques, advanced interrogation methods. Was even a Chinese prisoner in Korea. It makes sense that the Army would prefer to keep a very low profile on a man like that, which would explain the official handling of the matter.'
'They're also keeping a very low profile on the Cretan.' Mikali spooned tea into the pot.
'What's that supposed to mean? That you're afraid someone else will get the credit?'
Mikali laughed. 'Go to hell.'
'Soon enough, my friend.' Deville took his coffee and sat by the window. 'To revolutionaries the world over from the Red Brigade to the IRA, the Cretan Lover is a living legend. But make no mistake. The files of every Western intelligence agency record in minute detail each of your operations. By disclosing as little as possible to the public, the better they hope to make their chances of catching you. Besides, everybody loves a winner. You might even become popular and that would never do.'
'It's a thought.'
Deville took a folded sheet of notepaper from his pocket and pushed it across. 'I've changed your emergency postbox number again, not only in London but also in Manchester and Edinburgh. Learn and burn.'
'Okay,'