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Paris?'
    'Please do.' Lasalle's tone became grim. 'Events here are taking a desperate turn. A crisis is upon us. Hurry, my friend. Au revoir...'
    Tweed stared into the distance after putting down the phone. He seemed to have forgotten the presence of everyone else in the room.
    'Any instructions?' asked Monica.
    'Yes. I've decided Paula is coming with me to Geneva and to Paris. Book another room at the Hotel des Bergues in Geneva, get her a ticket on my flight. Get us both open air tickets to Paris. Book two rooms at that small hotel in Paris, the Madeleine. It's fairly close to the rue des Saussaies - to Lasalle.'
    'What is this Lasalle business?' Newman asked.
    'The second man who has used the word crisis in the past few days. First Kuhlmann, now Lasalle. Something explosive is building up in Europe.'
    'I've just remembered something Karin said,' Paula reported. 'It was while were hurriedly changing into our clothes after hitting the beach at Aldeburgh with those men coming after us. Drove it out of my mind.'
    'What was it?' Newman asked.
    'She said the French Army was the danger. The units stationed in the south. In our anxiety to escape it completely slipped my mind. I was never able to ask her what she meant.'
    'My next objective.' Newman decided. 'While Tweed is haring over Europe.'
    'What objective?' Tweed asked.
    'To interview the commander of that army ...'

    Chapter Four

    Gun barrels. Row upon row of lethal firepower projecting menacingly from the huge assembly of tanks Newman was escorted past by a French Army lieutenant.
    He had driven from Bordeaux to the heavily guarded entrance of the Third Corps. After flying to Bordeaux he had been surprised by the speed with which the commander of this great battle array had agreed to an interview.
    'You represent Der Spiegel, Mr Newman? Then I am sure the General will be pleased to see you,' the suave voice had responded. 'I am Major Lamy. You are in Bordeaux? Shall we say 2 p.m? Yes, today. That is agreed...'
    GHQ, Third Corps, was located in hilly country east of Bordeaux. During his drive in a hired Citroen Newman had passed through fields laid out with grids of vineyards, a distant view of the turrets of a large château.
    'This way, Mr Newman.' the lieutenant said in French, walking between four lines of tanks, gun barrels precisely aligned parallel to each other. Uniformed soldiers ran in the distance. Newman had an impression of a highly organized military machine run by a man who tolerated no waste of time. Escorted inside a single-storey building guarded by sentries, he was led along a wide corridor to a heavy wooden mahogany door, elaborately carved with Napoleonic-style eagles. More like the door he'd expect to have seen inside the château he had passed.

    'The General is expecting you. Just walk in.' the lieutenant invited, taking hold of the handle.
    'How does he know I've arrived?' Newman enquired.
    'The officer in the guard room had obtained a newspaper photo of you from the library. When you got out of your car he radioed to the General's aide-de-camp.'
    'Radioed? Haven't you heard of the telephone?'
    'Phones can be tapped.'
    'And why was I body-searched before I was permitted to enter?'
    'More security. You were checked for weapons, for a concealed tape recorder. Normal procedure against the danger of saboteurs. The General is waiting...'
    The door was closed behind him as Newman walked alone into a long room with a polished woodblock floor. A very long room with a large Louis Quinze desk at the far end. Behind the desk sat a stocky figure wearing the uni form of a full general. Standing behind the tall-backed Louis Quinze chair was a thin erect man, also in uniform and with the rank of major.
    But what caught Newman's attention was the framed silhouette hanging from the wall behind the chair. A large black silhouette, unmistakably of General Charles de Gaulle, head and shoulders, in profile and wearing his képi.
    'Welcome to Third Corps, Mr Newman.