in Bolivia, extradited back to France, and he’s presently in prison awaiting trial for murdering hundreds of French during the war. The French authorities have enough evidence to guillotine him a dozen times. Yet they are stalling on the prosecution. Why?’ He raised his eyebrows. ‘The theory is that Klaus Barbie knows certain facts that he is threatening to reveal if he is brought to trial. Those facts, if he could prove them to be true, would be … terribly damaging to certain institutions in the West.’
Morgan was even more amazed. Anna was involved in this?
‘What institutions?’
‘That is the only detail I will tell you. You need to know that much, to help you … unravel Mrs Hapsburg’s mind. Because that information which Klaus Barbie possesses was also possessed by Max Hapsburg. Indeed, we believe Max Hapsburg actually possessed the evidence. We believe it is in the form of an intelligence file, acquired by the Nazis during the war, or possibly in the form of a microfilm of that file.’
Morgan was amazed. ‘How did Max Hapsburg get hold of that file? He’s my age, born after the war.’
‘Good question. How much do you know of Hapsburg’s history?’
‘Only what his wife told me. That his father was a wealthy German who lived in South America after the war, married a Greek woman. He wasn’t a Nazi war criminal, was he?’
‘No. He was a Nazi, undoubtedly, but not a war criminal. Have you heard of Admiral Canaris?’
‘Yes,’ Morgan said. ‘He was the head of German Intelligence during the war, wasn’t he?’
‘Correct,’ Brink-Ford said. ‘Dietmar Hapsburg, Max’s father, worked with Admiral Canaris in Intelligence. It may be that when Germany crumbled, Dietmar Hapsburg fled to South America with this file – as insurance. When he died, Max came into possession of it. Somehow, Klaus Barbie got to hear of it, presumably.’ Brink-Ford held up his palm. ‘That’s as much as you need to know. We know – or we think we know – the general nature of the information. What we haven’t got is the proof – the file, or the microfilm, that shows it to be true. Or false.’ He added: ‘We sincerely hope, by the way, that it is false.’ He sighed briskly. ‘Max Hapsburg was a very wealthy man, with many connections. Maybe he kept the evidence in a bank vault somewhere. Or in a hole in the ground. We don’t know.’ He nodded at Morgan. ‘But we think Mrs Hapsburg knows. And that’s what we want you to find out. But more than that. We want you to get Mrs Hapsburg to a place of complete safety while we get hold of this evidence, and check it out.’ He pointed at the floor. ‘Right here, where we can look after her. Because, I assure you, Mr Morgan, a number of other people will be after her too.’ Brink-Ford elaborated: ‘In fact, I do not exaggerate when I say that Mrs Hapsburg’s life is in extreme danger. Mercifully, for us – and for her – and for you – we have the might of the United States military behind us. If Anna Hapsburg were on her own in the middle of this Russian-inspired coup in Grenada, she wouldn’t survive a day. And after this invasion, they’ll still be trying to get her.’
Morgan felt a stab of fear for her. But he could hardly believe all this. Carrington said, ‘As regards your freighter, she’ll sail on schedule, with a captain provided by us. While officially you are on a hiking holiday in Scotland.’
Morgan felt feverish. For Anna’s safety. He looked at them, bemused. The civil service faces he once upon a time thought were incorruptible.
He took a deep breath. Then he held a shaky finger out at them.
‘Now let me make one thing abundantly clear.’ He glared. ‘I’m going on this operation for her sake – not for Queen and so-called Country!’ He shook his finger once. ‘And after I get her off that island, if you so much as lay a finger upon her …’ He raised his eyebrows: ‘I’ll blow this story sky-high. Do you understand that? Blow Queen and Country and Margaret Thatcher …’
In the middle of that rainy night several groups of SEALs landed on the north-eastern shores of Grenada from their rubber boats, to reconnoitre landing beaches for the assault at dawn. They radioed back to their ships that there were many dangerous coral reefs and the old grass airport of Pearls was heavily defended by the People’s Revolutionary Army and Cubans. At the same time a Specter helicopter gunship was flying high over the new airport at Point Salines, where the US Rangers would land, and the report they radioed back was worse: the runway was blocked with vehicles, construction equipment and metal spikes.
At the same time, two more parties of SEALs were approaching the western shore of the island, near the capital of Saint George’s, in their raiding boats, twenty-two men counting Jack Morgan. They ran up the beach for the blackness of the palms. Eight of them started along the dark treeline towards the big house of Max Hapsburg on the point of the bay.
There were no lights burning. There was a double garage, both doors open, one car visible inside. The big house was surrounded by trees and shrubs and lawns. The front door was ajar.
Morgan crouched in the rain beside the commander, his heart knocking. Two SEALs broke cover and ran at the door, and flung themselves on either side of it. Then they burst inside and disappeared.
Morgan waited. He could still hardly believe he was here. Then a light snapped on in the hall. A figure reappeared, and signalled. Morgan and the commander ran for the door
‘Empty. But there’s signs of a fight.’
Morgan looked around feverishly. The rugs in the hall were bunched, and a chair was knocked over. He crouched and examined the marble floor for blood. He saw none. ‘Come upstairs,’ the SEAL said.
Morgan followed him, bounding up the wide staircase. The rugs on the landing were also bunched. They strode down the corridor. Into a bedroom.
It was obviously hers. It was the first time he had seen it, of course, and it was unreal that he was standing in it now. A big double bed, elegant furniture. There was another bedroom leading off this one, with another double bed. There were two dressing rooms. There was the sound of running water, coming from a bathroom. A wall safe stood agape; it was empty. Some wardrobe doors stood open. Morgan strode into the next bedroom. A drawer from a bedside table lay on the floor. He strode for the bathroom.
The shower was beating down into the tub. Why? He felt the water: cold. A towel lay in one corner, a stool had been kicked over. He crouched and examined the tiled floor, looking for blood. There was none. He stood up. Then he saw it.
His heart missed a beat, and he feverishly crouched and examined it. It was on one corner of the bathtub: one small smear of blood. He strode out of the room.
He ran down the staircase, back to the hall. ‘Definitely nobody in the house?’
‘Nor in the gardens. No new graves either, as far as we can see in this light.’
‘Then let’s get the hell on to Government House.’
The dark rain wept down.
Government House stands on a hill, overlooking the old harbour of Saint George’s. Nearby is Fort Ruppert, headquarters of the People’s Revolutionary Army. Government House is an old colonial building, set in gardens, with a
