Touch the Devil Read Online Free PDF Page A

came after him, a sinister figure in crash helmet and goggles and dark, caped coat. He pulled alongside and waved him down, and Corder pulled in to the edge of the road. Was this Ferguson's way of keeping him out of it?
    The CRS man pulled in front, got off his heavy BMW machine, and pushed it on its stand. He walked toward the Peugeot, a gloved finger hooked into the trigger guard of the MAT49 machine carbine slung across his chest. He stood looking down at Corder, anonymous in the dark goggles, then pushed them up.
    "A slight change of plan, old son." Frank Barry grinned. "I lead, you follow."
    "You've called it off'?" Corder demanded in astonishment. Barry looked mildly surprised. "Jesus, no, why should I do a thing like that?"
    He got back on the BMW and drove away. Corder followed him, totally lost now, not knowing what to do for the best. For a moment Corder fingered the butt of the Walther PPK he carried, not that there was much joy there. He'd never shot anyone in his life. It was unlikely that he could start now.
    About a mile outside St. Etienne, Barry turned into a narrow country lane, and Corder followed, climbing up between high hedgerows past a small farm. There was a grove of trees on the brow of a green hill. Barry waved him down and turned into them. He pushed the BMW up on its stand, and Corder joined him.
    "Look, what's going on, Frank?"
    "Did I ever tell you about my grandmother on my mother's side, Jack? Whenever she got a terrible headache there'd be a thunder storm within the hour. Now with me, it's different. I only get a headache when I smell stinking fish, and I've got a real blinder at the moment."
    Corder went cold. "I don't understand."
    "Nice view from up here." Barry walked through the trees and indicated St. Etienne spread neatly below like a child's model. The garage and pumps on one side of the road, the cafe and parking lot on the other.
    He took some binoculars from the pocket of his raincoat and passed them across. "Have a look. I have a feeling it may be a bit more interesting to sit this one out."
    Corder focused the binoculars on the garage. Two men, wearing yellow coveralls, worked on the engine of a car. A third waited in the glass booth beside the pumps, talking to the girl, who stood by the door with the pram, wearing a scarlet head scarf, woolen pullover, and neat skirt.
    "Any sign of the car?" Barry demanded.
    Corder swung the binoculars to examine the road. "No, but there's a truck coming."
    "Is there, now? That's interesting."
    The truck was of the trailer type, an eight-wheeler with high green canvas sides. As it entered the village, it slowed and turned into the parking lot. The driver, a tall man in khaki overalls, jumped down from the cab and strolled to the cafe door.
    Barry took the binoculars from Corder and focused them on the truck. "Bouvier Brothers, Long Distance Transport, Paris and Marseilles."
    "He'll move on when he finds the cafe is closed," Corder said.
    "Pigs might fly, old son," Frank Barry said, "but I doubt it."
    There was a sudden firestorm from inside the truck at that moment, machine-gun fire raking the entire pavement, shattering the glass of the booth, driving the girl back over the pram, cutting down the two gunmen working on the car, riddling its fuel tank, gasoline spilling on to the concrete. It was the work of an instant, no more. There was a flicker of flame as the gasoline ignited, and then the tank exploded in a ball of fire, pieces of the wreckage cascading high in the air. The devastation was complete, and at least twenty CRS riot police in uniform leapt from the rear of the truck and ran across the road.
    "Efficient," Barry said calmly. "You've got to give the buggers that."
    Corder licked dry lips nervously, and his left hand went into the pocket of his leather jacket, groping for the butt of the Walther. "What could have gone wrong?"
    "One of those bastards from Marseilles must have had a big mouth," Barry said. "And if word got back to the