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  The late afternoon sun beat down on the Zodiac’s black hood. There had been times during the long, hot day when she had longed to lower the roof but an opportunity had never arisen. Daniel had not even stopped for lunch. She looked at her own map and, for the hundredth time that day, tried to second-guess Daniel’s moves. Belfort was only forty miles from the Swiss frontier. If he was heading for Switzerland, it looked as if he was making for the frontier city of Basle. In which case he would take the N19 out of Belfort. She looked up from the map and swore. The Mini had vanished.

  The French custom of positioning their road signs so that they pointed across the road they were indicating helped Raquel to get hopelessly lost in the old town. Her temper was close to snapping when she spotted a tiny sign marked ‘Bale’ which she presumed was the local spelling of ‘Basle’. She headed east out of the town as fast as she dared and was rewarded after ten minutes by the sight of the Mini driving at a moderate speed. Obviously the strain of the long drive was also beginning to tell on Daniel.

  Keeping her distance helped alleviate the guilt she felt about following Daniel. She kidded herself that she wasn’t following Daniel; she was following a green Mini-Cooper. It was a stupid rationalization but it made her feel better.

  They passed through several villages whose buildings, with their timbered facades and steeply-pitched roofs, had a decided Alpine look about them.

  ‘Basle 30 kilometres’ proclaimed a road sign at Altkirch. Raquel yawned and allowed a truck to pass her. She longed for a shower and a comfortable bed but there were still four hours of daylight left. If Switzerland was Daniel’s final destination, it looked as if he was determined to finish his journey by nightfall.

  24

  TEL AVIV

  Emil was preparing to leave his office for the evening when the internal telephone buzzed. It was the duty officer in the communications room.

  ‘Sorry to trouble you direct, sir. But we’ve just received an odd report from Paris.’

  ‘Can it wait until tomorrow?’

  ‘I don’t see why not, sir. It’s nothing urgent. Just something odd that you ought to know about.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Is your son’s first name Daniel, sir?’

  Emil was suddenly alert. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. ‘It is. Why?’

  ‘We’ve had a report passed on to us from Admiral Gehmer at the embassy in Paris. He’s a liaison officer for the Saar boats that are being built in Cherbourg.’

  Emil never showed impatience towards his subordinates when they were doing their job. Instead he said mildly: ‘Yes. I know what Admiral Gehmer’s responsibilities are. What has this got to do with my son?’

  ‘The technician in charge of the admiral’s Cherbourg team has reported that a Daniel Kalen was in Cherbourg yesterday asking questions about the boats.’

  ‘I think you had better come up to my office,’ said Emil blandly. ‘Right now, please.’

  The communications officer was shown into Emil’s office a few minutes later. He was young - no more than twenty-five - and ill-at-ease. It was the first time he had met Emil in private. The two men sat opposite each other in low chairs because Emil disliked talking to his staff across a desk.

  ‘So what’s this about my son?’

  The officer handed Emil a deciphered report printed on a teleprinter. It was short and to the point. According to Admiral Gehmer, the previous day an Israeli - Daniel Kalen, who was known to a member of the Cherbourg team - had had a chance meeting with the team and had asked a number of general questions concerning

  the boats under construction at CMN. The admiral surmised that Daniel Kalen was probably nothing more than who he said he was - a tourist - and that the information was being reported as a matter of routine. He concluded his report with an accurate description of Daniel that even mentioned his limp.

  ‘Thank you for drawing my attention to this,’ said Emil, showing the communications officer out.

  ‘Shall I enter it in the signal log, sir?’

  ‘But of course,’ said Emil, looking surprised. ‘I see no reason for a departure from procedures.’

  As soon as he was alone, Emil made a telephone call to the El Al offices in London and discovered that his son had taken a few days’ leave of absence and no one knew where he was.

  ‘Emil Kalen,’ Leonora scolded, ‘you haven’t been listening to a word I’ve said.’

  Emil put down his fork and grinned across the table at his wife. They were enjoying the cool of the evening, eating their evening meal on the veranda. ‘I agree with you.’

  ‘You agree what?’

  ‘That we should find a new main dealer for our tractor spares.’

  Leonora studied her husband’s expression and smiled. ‘One day, Emil Kalen, your amazing talent to think about two things at once will let you down.’

  He returned her smile. ‘Not until I’m old and grey.’

  She rose, sat on his knee and slid her arms around him, under his shirt. Demonstrations of affection from Leonora were rare. ‘So what’s preying on the other half of that devious mind of yours?’

  He stroked her hair. Such moments with her were very precious to him.

  ‘So?’ she prompted.

  One of Emil’s qualities was that his many years in intelligence had not dulled his judgement to the point whereby he instinctively wanted to make a secret of everything. He knew what matters warranted openness and what matters demanded secrecy. ‘I was thinking about Daniel,’ he admitted.

  Annoyance flicked on Leonora’s face. ‘Two letters in as many months.’

  ‘He hates writing letters. Anyway - I tried telephoning him this evening. They told me that he’s taken a few days’ holiday.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘I don’t know where he is now.’ Emil had never lied to Leonora.

  ‘He’s probably gone off with that American girl he mentioned in his last letter.’

  ‘Raquel?’

  ‘Mentioned!’ Leonora smiled. ‘It was about nothing but her. All we get is a hope you are well at the end.’ She curled her fingers sensually into the hairs on Emil’s chest and tugged gently. ‘Haven’t you got contacts in London?’

  ‘A few,’ Emil admitted.

  ‘Maybe you could get them to find out about this Raquel girl?’ ‘Leonora, my darling, I am not going to spy on Daniel.’ Leonora rewarded Emil for his principles by yanking sharply with her fingers. ‘Don’t you think we have a right to know what our son is doing?’

  Emil liked her use of ‘our’. It made him feel secure and tended to eclipse his occasional doubts about that period of her life that they never talked about. ‘No,’ he said. ‘We don’t have any such rights.’ Leonora pouted. As they gathered up the dishes, she said: ‘Well if you’re not worried, Emil Kalen - I am.’

  For once Leonora seriously misjudged Emil: he was very worried about Daniel.

  25

  WINTERTHUR, SWITZERLAND

  The scenery in Switzerland was a disappointment: farms and meadows and a few hills, even some out-of-town industrial estates; none of which fitted the landlocked country’s postcard image of soaring peaks and stupendous glaciers.

  The scenery approached picturesque at times on a winding road that skirted the broad sweep of the Rhine. From Raquel’s point of view, the lack of scenic distractions was just as well. Having driven four hundred miles that day since leaving Orleans, it took all the remnants of her drained concentration just to keep the Zodiac a safe distance behind the Mini-Cooper. At times on the twisting road, it was out of sight for minutes at a time. If Daniel took a side road, she would have lost him. Not that she would have cared.

  As it happened, she did not lose him. The Mini just kept going. The route Daniel was taking made no sense. At first she thought they were heading for Zurich, but a hurried consultation of her map confirmed that this road went north of Zurich. According to the road signs, the only town of any size ahead was Winterthur. Beyond that there w
as nothing but the Alpine desolation of Austria and Bavaria.

  At dusk they were negotiating the industrial outskirts of Winterthur, an unprepossessing town although its centre had a well-scrubbed medieval atmosphere. It was a hot evening. The pavements and restaurants were crowded with young people in smart clothes. Oncoming motorists found Raquel’s white headlights offensive and flashed her. Had her driving position been on the offside she would have rewarded them with raised fingers.

  Exhaustion nearly precipitated her into the back of a Mercedes waiting at traffic lights. It was no good. She could not drive another mile. She decided to find a hotel, telephone McNaill, and head for home the next day.

  Home ....

  That was a joke. Home was four thousand miles away. Home was straight roads where you could drive four hundred miles in a day without ending up like a zombie; home was road signs in English and not having a battle to make yourself understood when ordering something as simple as a sandwich. Four thousand miles .... That was the gulf that McNaill and his puerile political intrigues had created between herself and Daniel.

  A blaring car horn behind her shook her out of the dark cloud of self-pity that was shrouding her like an unwanted cloak. Daniel had parked in a lay-by in the narrow Marktgasse and was pulling his suitcase and rucksack from the Mini-Cooper’s boot. She slid past without him noticing and found a space for the Zodiac. She jumped out of the car in time to see him enter the Hotel Krone - an immaculate miniature inn with a frontage no wider than the shops it was sandwiched between. To her delight, the first passers-by she accosted spoke perfect English.

  ‘I don’t know of another hotel nearby,’ said the young man. He looked questioningly at his girl friend.

  ‘That’s the only one,’ she confirmed. ‘It’s very good. We’ve often used it.’ And she laughed disarmingly as they walked away.

  Raquel was undecided. Obviously, she couldn’t sleep in the car: that would be certain to upset Swiss sensibilities. Besides, her body was aching for a bed. Oh well.... She gave Daniel ten minutes to get established in his room, grabbed her bag, and marched boldly through the hotel’s manicured entrance.

  ‘A room overlooking the street? Certainly, miss.’ Like the passers- by, the hotel receptionist’s English was flawless. He smilingly produced a key.

  Raquel saw Daniel’s name as she signed the register. Feelings of guilt and excitement clamoured for dominance. ‘I’m sorry, but I’ve only got English pounds and French francs. I’ve not had time to get to a bank.’

  ‘Either will be fine, miss. Breakfast is served between eight and nine-thirty in the dining-room.’

  Raquel thought quickly. The last thing she wanted was to run into Daniel in the dining-room. ‘Could I have breakfast served in my room please?’

  ‘Of course, miss. We do a special breakfast for our American guests. Hash browns, poached eggs, orange juice and coffee.’

  ‘That’ll be just great.’

  Ten minutes later Raquel was luxuriating in a hot bath. And ten minutes after that, she was sprawled across the bed - still wrapped in her bath towel - sound asleep.

  26

  Raquel was woken by the buzzer. She dragged herself off the bed and was halfway across the room, clutching the towel around herself, when she remembered to look at her watch. 9.30am! She hadn’t meant to sleep so late. She staggered to the window. Oh, Christ! There was no sign of Daniel’s Mini-Cooper.

  The buzzer sounded again. Raquel’s mind was a whirl as she opened the door. A boy barely into his teens entered carrying a laden tray.

  ‘Your breakfast, sir. ’ His politeness was in contrast to his ability at judging the sex of the hotel’s guests.

  Raquel helped clear a space on the dresser and had to hurriedly yank the towel over her exposed breasts. Thinking quickly she said: ‘I need a big favour. There’s a guy staying here I think I knew at school. Daniel Kalen. Could you please find out if he’s checked out or if he’s staying. Only don’t say anything to him. I want it to be a surprise.’

  ‘Certainly, miss.’ The boy hesitated.

  Raquel grabbed her handbag. Scrabbling through its contents resulted in the inevitable happening to her towel: it ended up around her ankles. ‘Oh fuck. Oh sorry.’ Naked and embarrassed, she held out a five pound note to the boy with one hand and snatched up the towel with the other.

  ‘I’ll see to it right away, sir.’ The boy pocketed the banknote in one smooth movement and left.

  The smell of breakfast made Raquel realize how hungry she was. She waded into the hash browns and coffee without bothering to get dressed. The telephone rang. It was the boy.

  ‘Mr Kalen is booked in for another night, sir. He’s leaving tomorrow.’

  ‘Fine,’ said Raquel, much relieved at the news. ‘Can you book me in for another night as well please?’

  ‘Of course, sir.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Thinking that she might as well get value for money from the five pounds, she added: ‘And send up some more coffee please.’

  ‘Right away, sir.’

  Raquel thanked him and hung up. She sipped her coffee while considering her next move. Winterthur looked large enough for her to forget about scouring the town in the hope of spotting Daniel. The best thing would be to sit tight. She suddenly remembered that she owed McNaill a telephone call.

  27

  LONDON

  McNaill lit his tenth cigarette of the day, brooding about his conversation with Raquel two hours previously, when Mark Zabraski walked into his office.

  ‘Come in, Mark,’ said McNaill, looking hopefully at the craggy man. ‘Anything?’

  Zabraski propped his gaunt frame against a filing cabinet. ‘Truth is, Ian -I don’t know. What I do know is that you’re going to have to refer this one up. Maybe to the director himself.’

  McNaill snorted. ‘If I knew what to refer up, maybe I will. So what have you found?’

  ‘A link between Cherbourg and Winterthur. A pretty tenuous link, but it’s there just the same.’

  McNaill waited patiently.

  ‘There’s a boatyard at Cherbourg who are building a fleet of fast attack craft for Israel. A German design. Originally the Germans were going to build the boats but the Arabs threatened them with blacklisting so they backed off and handed the design over to the French.’

  ‘Okay,’ said McNaill, ‘so what about this Swiss town - Winterthur?’

  ‘That’s where the link gets tenuous,’ Zabraski admitted. ‘Winterthur’s a nothing sort of place except for one thing. It’s the home of Sulzer Brothers - one of the oldest engineering companies in the world. They’ve been in Winterthur since the beginning of the last century. Typical Swiss engineers. Not very innovative, but give them a set of drawings of anything from a pencil sharpener to a nuclear reactor and they’ll make it.’ Zabraski paused and looked speculatively at McNaill. ‘Right now, Ian, they’re building Mirage- 5s for the Swiss government under licence from Dassault.’

  McNaill had been about to light another cigarette. He looked at the older man in surprise. ‘Hell.’

  Zabraski shrugged. ‘Maybe there’s something in it. Maybe this guy you’ve been chasing all over Europe has been sent to Sulzers as an envoy. Maybe the Israelis are hoping to purchase Mirages through them, but somehow I can’t see a Dassault licence allowing companies like Sulzers to sell to third-party countries.’ The CIA man moved to the door. ‘That’s all I’ve got for you, Ian. I still think you should refer this one up. It smells.’

  When he was alone, McNaill thought long and hard about Zabraski’s advice. The trouble was that all he had to refer up at the moment was information on an El Al ticket clerk nosing around Europe. He decided to do nothing for the time being.

  28

  WINTERTHUR

  The librarians were very helpful to Daniel and went out of their way to unearth English language books on the history of Winterthur. They even found him a book on the Swiss legal system. After two hours of making notes, he thanked them and left. A ten-minute
stroll in the warm sun through the town centre took him to the railway station.

  A footbridge across the railway lines afforded him an excellent view of Winterthur. The lines divided the town into two distinct halves. To the east was the old town with its neat shopping thoroughfares and old yet new-looking stucco facpades that reminded Daniel of photographs he had seen of Disneyland’s Main Street, USA. West of the railway was the untidy sprawl of Sulzer Brothers’ industrial complex. The railway lines appeared to act as a dam - preventing the serried roofs of the industrial buildings from seeping into the town. Sulzers had obviously grown with the railway; switches sent gleaming metallic threads of spurs and branch lines snaking around and through the clusters of factories and goods yards. Crowded employee car parks, glinting in the sun like rectangular lakes of patterned light, were a shining testament to Sulzers’ prosperity. Daniel spent ten minutes on the bridge, soaking up the feel and geography of the place. He decided against drawing attention to himself by using the binoculars. The roads throughout the complex appeared to be public so there was no reason why he shouldn’t take a closer look around in the Mini.

  Ten minutes later he was picking his way past parked vehicles, making his way along the roads of the industrial area while trying to take in the huge range of goods that Sulzer Brothers manufactured. Some of the crowded goods yards had overspilled on to the streets where canvas-covered trucks were parked along the kerbs. According to his street map, the long, straight road was called Tossfeldstrasse. It was an odd mixture of nineteenth-century terraced houses and a few shops and garages which had somehow survived the relentless spread of Sulzers’ plants and yards. Sandwiched between two yards was Luftech’s office block - the company Ben Patterson had said was Sulzers’ documentation contractors. On the first floor he could see the backs of drawing boards. Virtually opposite was a mobile delicatessen that was parked on the spacious forecourt of a disused bicycle shop. Office girls in pretty summer dresses were queueing at the delicatessen for their bosses’ lunches. No doubt Sulzers and Luftech provided excellent catering facilities for their staff but there would always be those who demanded an alternative to even the finest corporate offerings.