A Bitter Field Read Online Free PDF Page B

unlikely to be official, and not just for the value of a car that cost as much as a Rolls-Royce. If it was the French equivalent of MI5, seeking to enforce their national embargo on weapons destined for Spain, they would have been much more professional and thus harder to spot.
    Such people knew their job and they would not be daft enough to assign one very obvious tail – and to find out what? The only thing could be the location of the weapons with a view to seizing them, which meant they had to be as aware of his intentions as his passenger. 
    ‘Where is my cargo, Peter?’
    ‘Not a clue, old chap.’
    ‘Take a guess,’ Cal responded with obvious impatience.
    A sideways look showed Peter smiling. ‘The last place I had it pegged for certain was at the railhead in Marans.’
    ‘From which you deduced what?’
    ‘Seemed an obvious place to transfer to the road, old boy, given it runs all the way to a major port on the Bay of Biscay and the trains running into said port are risky when it comes to being searched – which could be bad news if your manifest and papers don’t pass muster. All it would take is the opening of one case to establish you are not shipping tractor parts.’
    ‘Not a barge?’
    ‘No,’ Peter admitted ruefully when he realised what he was being told. ‘You fooled me on that one.’
    ‘La Rochelle was no more than presumption, then?’
    ‘I flatter myself when I admit the answer to that is yes. With you involved and Spain the destination it had to be a Biscay port and Nantes and Bordeaux are too big, while Rochefort, the only other alternative, is an active naval base and too risky.’
    ‘Will you stop being so damn smug and deduce what would happen if the French knew as much as you?’
    ‘I have no indication that they did.’
    ‘That’s not what I asked, but if they had they would not need to chase us around the countryside, would they?’
    The answer came with a languor that riled Cal. ‘You refer, of course, to the Johnny who I assume is still following us.’
    ‘You know, Peter, sometimes your sangfroid can be a pain in the arse. Now do me a favour and use your not-inconsiderable brain. Iam reasoning that whoever is following can’t be official. Discuss.’
    ‘It is sometimes very pleasant, old boy, to get under your skin.’
    ‘But?’
    Peter’s chin hit his chest as he ran over things in his mind.
    ‘If the Frogs knew as much as I did, and with vastly superior resources, they would know exactly where your weapons are and could pick you up when they liked, whatever mode of transport you used. In fact, they might have done so already to ensure they did not miss you, unless of course, they are waiting to find out who is either helping you or who in the port has taken your filthy Spanish lucre.’
    ‘In which case they would not allow themselves to be spotted?’
    ‘You would have no idea they were even watching.’
    ‘My thinking too, which leads me to the same conclusion as before. Whoever is on our tail cannot be either the local plod or the Deuxième Bureau .’
    ‘Then who?’
    ‘Ask me another,’ Cal replied, before falling silent for a few seconds. ‘We need to stop and see if we can flush them out. There’s a small town ahead called Dompierre-sur-Mer.’
    ‘Rather a shortage of the mer, old chap, wouldn’t you say?’ Peter responded, still in that laconic way, looking around the crop-filled fields to either side of what had once probably been ancient marshland reclaimed from the sea. ‘But we lack an alternative, given there’s nowhere to hide around here that I can spot.’
    ‘In this case the best place to hide is in the open.’ Cal nodded ahead to the first building at the edge of what was a far from substantial settlement, then looked at his watch. ‘Time I bought you that meal you were so keen on.’
    ‘I doubt this hamlet we are approaching has the kind of treat I had in mind.’
    ‘Which was?’
    ‘The Connaught or the Savoy,’ Peter