Cross of Fire by Colin Forbes

low.
    'Now will you tell me why - instead of flying direct to Paris to see Lasalle of the DST - we're first meeting Victor Rosewater in Basle?'
    'Because he was Karin's husband.'
    Paula gritted her teeth. The previous night she had phoned Rosewater at his apartment in Freiburg, asking if she could meet him in Basle, that maybe he'd like to hear from her exactly what had happened to his dead wife as she'd been with Karin. Rosewater had agreed at once and they'd arranged to see each other at the Hotel Drei Konige. Now, from Tweed's terse reply, she realized he was going to tell her nothing more after instructing her to make the call the previous evening. What was Tweed playing at?
    'After we've seen Rosewater we'll fly straight on to Paris.' Tweed remarked. 'When you'd fixed up this meeting with Rosewater I called René Lasalle in Paris. He seemed very anxious to see me at the earliest possible moment. Events appear to be moving out of control. Confirming Kuhlmann's worst fears. The momentum of events is gathering pace.'
    'What events?'
    Tweed handed her a copy of the Journal de Geneve he had bought at the airport. The headline in large type jumped at her. She read it in French but thought of it in English.

    SERIOUS RIOTS IN BORDEAUX. 1,000 CASUALTIES.

    She read the article below. Large groups of men wearing Balaclava helmets had gone berserk, attacking pedestrians, wrecking shops near the Gare St Jean, painting anti-Semitic slogans on walls. The odd result had been no arrests were made: the police had been taken completely by surprise.
    She glanced down out of the window. The aircraft had flown half-way along Lake Geneva, had now swung north west overland. Below they were crossing the Jura mountains behind Geneva. The range was like a whaleback and its summits were crested with snow. She shivered, handed back the paper.
    'What is behind it all?' she asked.
    'You should have asked "Who" - and I have no idea.'
    She didn't believe him but said nothing. They'd be landing at Basle soon and she was bracing herself for talking to Karin's widower. What on earth could he tell Tweed?

    At the isolated villa east of Third Corps GHQ, de Forge, wearing only pyjama trousers, jumped out of bed and ran to the shower. He turned on the cold water tap and stood quite still as ice-cold water sprayed his slim body.
    Jean Burgoyne climbed out of the king-size bed more slowly, wrapped a towel round her nude body, opened the door and picked up the newspaper the maid had left on the floor. She perched on the edge of the rumpled bed as she read the headline, looked up as de Forge reappeared, dried himself, swiftly dressed in his uniform. She stood up, still holding the towel with one hand, the newspaper in the other.

    Jean Burgoyne was five feet seven, about the same height as de Forge, had blond hair, good bone structure, long well-shaped legs. Her face was also longish with a firm chin and a flawless complexion which owed nothing to make-up. She handed the paper to de Forge. The headline was about the Bordeaux riots.
    'Charles, this wouldn't have anything to do with you, would it?' she asked, her glance shrewd.
    De Forge glanced at the paper. He dropped it on the deep wall-to-wall carpet. His right arm rose and he struck her across the face with the back of his hand. She reeled backwards under the blow, fell across the bed. The towel dropped, exposing her well-moulded figure. Her eyes stared at his as she reached for the towel, wrapped it round herself again, stood up.
    Her voice calm. She even managed a wicked smile.
    'Charles, don't ever do that again. You may be a great man, but I doubt whether de Gaulle ever struck a woman in his life. Maybe,' she continued, 'this is why your wife, Josette, wants so little to do with you.'
    He took a step forward, his eyes glowing with anger. She raised one warning finger, her voice now little more than a whisper.
    'I said never again. I mean it. Now, that creep, Major Lamy, will be freezing outside. Duty