Smile of the Tiger.
12.
When Harry regained consciousness, she had a blinding headache, felt nauseous and confused and found it difficult to speak.
"Where am I?" she croaked, even that small effort causing her to gasp for breath.
The nurse at her bedside immediately placed an oxygen mask over her mouth and she drew the air in to her damaged lungs, her eyes closing sleepily.
"You're in hospital, dear." said the nurse. "You've inhaled a lot of smoke and you'll need a few days with us so we can heal your lungs and get your airways back to normal."
The voice sounded far away, Harry only semi-conscious of their meaning as she drifted into sleep once more.
Half a mile down the coast from Saltdean, Dempsey was sitting in the driving seat of the Ford Granada, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel and checking his watch every ten seconds.
He was looking out over a small sandy beach fronting a tiny harbour, lit by a few dull street lamps, and waiting for the forty foot motor yacht Max had assured him would be arriving at six o'clock.
It had stopped snowing , the wind dropping too and the sea looked calm and flat.
It was now six fifteen and he wondered whether the rendezvous had been scuppered through bad weather in the Channel.
For the umpteenth time, he checked his watch again.
All of a sudden, a white Silverton 40 Aft Cabin cruiser hove into sight and flashed a powerful spotlight straight at Dempsey's car, he flicking his headlights on and off in response.
The boat came to a halt as it cleared the harbour entrance and dropped its anchor, at the same time a sizeable rubber dinghy was lowered from the stern into the water, the one occupant firing up it's outboard motor and, with the bow rising up from the acceleration, sped over to where Dempsey was parked, running directly onto the sandy beach.
Pulling the collar of his mac up round his ears, Dempsey got out of the car and walked to the rear, lifting the tailgate, half a dozen black bin bags, stuffed full of cash, staring back at him.
Just then the dinghy's occupant appeared by his side.
"Etes-vous Max?" he asked.
"Yeah." replied Dempsey.
"Moi, Gaston." he replied, then pointing to the yacht. "Jacques. Oui?"
"You speak any English?" asked Dempsey, nodding that he understood and faking his best English accent.
"A littel." replied Gaston.
"Listen Gaston." said Dempsey. "I want to come back with you."
"Porquoi? Why?" asked Gaston.
"Police!" said Dempsey. "After me! I ride with you to Paris, then I disappear, ok?"
Gaston looked him straight in the eye, weighing him up, Dempsey trying to look like someone on the run and scared.
It worked.
"Ok." said Gaston. "Vite!"
They grabbed the bin bags and hauled them over to the dinghy, realising that they'd have to make a second trip as four bags left just enough room for one person to operate the little boat.
Dempsey pushed him off and watched as he sped back to the motor yacht, Jacques helping him unload, before Gaston spun the dinghy round and roared back to the beach.
Once the final two bags had been lifted into it, Dempsey climbed in and sat down in the bow, throwing the dingy's painter to Jacques as they reached the yacht, who grabbed it and pulled the little boat up to the cruisers stern.
As Dempsey made to step from one boat to the other, Jacques pushed him back roughly and began speaking in harsh tones to Gaston. After a few minutes heated argument, Gaston won the day and Jacques gestured for Dempsey to climb aboard, although his look of suspicion remained.
With the bags safely stored in the cabin and the dinghy back in its resting place on the stern's ledge, Gaston hauled up the anchor, while Jacques fired up the twin Mercruiser engines and manoeuvred the yacht out into the Channel, before opening them up, the big boat skimming across the water's surface and heading for the French coast.
Dempsey was on his own now and was going to have to draw on all his wits and training to stay out of trouble.
At SI-10, Spikings had told Jon, who had been sitting patiently outside the block of flats in Stepney after the Volvo had parked, to wait for Dave to join him, then when the driver appeared to arrest him immediately.
After Dave had ensured Harry was being looked after at the hospital, he drove over to Jon and waited with him.
He'd parked his car directly behind the Volvo, almost nudging its bumper, so when two men appeared and got into the car, Jon quickly sped to block its progress, screeching to a halt across it's front.
Dave leapt out and with his revolver pointing directly at the drivers head, Jon doing the same with the passenger, the arrests were made with little fuss.
Benny was one of the prisoners and sang like a canary when interrogated, exposing Philipe de Cadenet as being behind the whole operation and running it from his home in Paris, although he didn't know the address.
Spikings was immediately on to the Prefecture of Police of Paris, who, as an agency of the French Government, provided the police force for the city.
He explained that he required clearance to bring his team to Paris and informed them that he already had an operative working undercover, but that he could be exposed at any time.
He got the clearance after detailing the case history and was also given de Cadenet's last known address.
"Why is this criminal still at large and not locked up!?" he asked them.
"We have never been able to pin anything on him directly." came the reply. "And no member of his gang have ever dared speak out against him."
After he'd completed the call he turned to his team who'd all gathered in the main office.
"We're assuming the money will end up with this de Cadenet at his home." said Spikings. "Dempsey is right in amongst it now, so if they're heading for a different location, he'll get a message to us - I hope!"
"How long will it take us to drive to Paris?" asked Chas.
"About five and a half hours, including the ferry crossing." replied Spikings. "But we can't move until Dempsey's been in touch. Once he's established where the money has ended up, then we can go. Unless we catch them red handed with the stolen loot, de Cadenet could wriggle out of the whole thing."
"And we've still got to hope they don't spot it's all counterfeit!" remarked Chas.
"Wouldn't it be quicker to fly there?" asked Josh. "I mean, couldn't we charter a private jet? We'd be there in no time."
"We could, yes." said Spikings. "Trouble is the weather. There's some heavy snow due and that could ground us. Also fog is a problem. We can't risk that happening. The only thing hampering crossing the Channel are seas so stormy the boats won't run, but none of that is forecast."
"When do we expect to hear from Dempsey?" asked Jon.
"It's nine pm now." replied Spikings, glancing at his wristwatch. "He should be on his way to Paris. Either way it won't matter what time he calls us tonight. We can't catch a ferry until six tomorrow morning. You lot get off and be back here at 3am."
The trip across the water had been conducted in virtual silence, much to Dempsey's relief. Having reached the Normandy coast of France and the little port town of Etretat, they'd transerred the bin bags to a Range Rover and were now driving through Rouen heading for Paris.
When the reached the capital, they drove into the centre and dropped Dempsey off near the Arc de Triomphe.
He couldn't believe his luck.
As soon as he had alighted, he hailed one of the numerous cabs and instructed the driver to follow the Range Rover. It wasn't a long journey as the Avenue Montaigne in the 8th Arrondissement was nearby and Dempsey watched as the vehicle disappeared through the garage doors fronting an elegant and expensive looking house.
He tapped the cabbie on the shoulder.
"Hotel?" he said.
"Oui monsieur." said the driver and immediately swung the car into a u turn, then headed off through the twisting streets until he drew up outside a small hotel, boasting a sign that conveyed a bed and cutlery.
"Ma mere." said the cabbie, grinning at him and pointing to the the entrance. "Madame Beaudin, oui?"
"Merci." said Dempsey and wondered how the hell he was going to pay him, seeing as he hadn't any francs. "Er, no money."
"Ah, er, you pay my muzzer, er, demain matin, oui?" said the driver, scratching his head for the English translation. "Er tomorrow?"
"Okay okay, great, merci, merci." said Dempsey, feeling like an idiot but thankful his luck was holding out.
The cabbie followed him into the hotel and found his mother behind the reception counter, explaining the situation to her. She nodded throughout and smiled at Dempsey, speaking to him in broken English.
"You 'ave no cases?" she asked. "But you pay me and my son tomorrow, yes?"
"Yes, of course." replied Dempsey, then stepping back suddenly as she drew a shotgun out from behind the counter and pointed it at him.
"I blow off your head if not!" she said, frowning and deadly serious.
Dempsey pulled his badge out of his back pocket.
"Me, police." he said. "I'll pay you, ok?"
Madame Beaudin grinned and lowered her gun.
"Okay." she said, satisfied. "You eat?"
"Yeah, thanks." replied Dempsey. "But er I want a telephone."
"Yes, follow." she said and scuttled off down the main corridor, Dempsey behind her. She showed him into a back room and pointed to the telephone, he nodding his thanks and picking it up.
"Collect call. No money needed, you understand?" he said.
"Oui monsieur." she said and left the room.
Spikings answered his call.
"Chief." said Dempsey. "I'm holed up in a small hotel right now. The dough has gone to a big house near the Arc de Triomphe, but I ain't sure how long it'll stay there. When can you get here?"
"We'll be with you by midday at the latest, Dempsey." replied Spikings. "I'll get on to the police there, now we know where the money is. They can keep an eye out."
"How do you know they won't screw things up and raid the place." said Dempsey. "Get all the guts and glory!"
"They'll only stop anyone from leaving, trust me." said Spikings, who'd already covered that very scenario with French inspector assigned to the job.
"Okay. How's Harry?"
"She's got some smoke damage to her lungs." replied Spikings. "But it hasn't caused any lasting injury. She's going to be kept in hospital for a few days. I've been in touch with her father and he'll be with her as we speak, I'd imagine. If all goes to plan tomorrow you should be with her yourself in a couple of days."
"Okay, thanks boss." sighed Dempsey, relieved she had Freddy with her. "I'll be at the address tomorrow waitin' for you."
"Yes, get some shuteye." ordered Spikings. "So far so good."
Harry had woken up again and found her hand being clutched by Freddy, his blue eyes concerned and looking intently at her.
"Daddy." she croaked, looking back at him, worry in her eyes. "What are you doing here? Where's James?"
"Don't try and speak, darling." said Freddy. "You need to rest. James is still on the case you were involved in."
"But where is he?" her voice hoarse, struggling for breath, a tear beginning to form in her eyes.
Her sixth sense told her he was in a dangerous place, his life at risk and all she wanted to do was find him and go to him.
"Harry, he's okay. He can look after himself." said Freddy, not knowing exactly where he was as Spikings hadn't told him. "He'll be here sooner than you know."
She tried to get up, but fell back exhausted, the medication designed to keep her calm and sleepy doing its job. Tears of frustration and worry began to fall from her eyes, Freddy wiping them away gently. He placed the oxygen mask over her mouth again, her breathing steadying as a result.
"Darling, you must rest." he said. "The smoke hasn't done your lungs any good and you must let the medicine help you recover."
She continued sobbing for a while, before falling asleep again, Freddy stroking her hair and wiping her tears away.
In France, Philipe de Cadenet's house had been kept under surveillance all night, with no activity being reported. Inside, the sight of four million, six hundred thousand pounds in cash had been cause for celebration and even when Jacques mentioned that Max had accompanied them to Paris, little was made of it. Basically, what happened to him was of no concern, they'd got their money.
Hani Ahmadi was able to settle his outstanding debt to Philipe together with a quarter of a million pounds for his back pocket, Philipe happy to retain the rest to swell his bank account.
They had checked the notes and swept them with marker pens, so, ironically, the forger had made such a good job of it, he'd effectively duped his own side.
Dempsey had enjoyed a fillet steak cooked by the hotel chef and a couple of glasses of red wine, then crawled into bed and fell asleep with minutes. But he was up early and after a continental breakfast of coissants, jam and coffee had made for the nearest bank to cash a cheque and pay Madame Beaudin before she could find reason to poke the shotgun in his face again.
He then whiled away a couple of hours before finding his way to de Cadenet's house, but his trained eye noted the presence of a couple of unmarked police cars.
The time was approaching eleven thirty and he was waiting for the rest of SI-10 to show up.
At three am that morning the team had met at the SI-10 offices and then set off in a convoy of five cars to Dover, catching the cross channel ferry at six, docking at Calais at seven-thirty and eventually disembarking at eight o'clock.
Three and a half hours later they were entering Paris, heading for the 8th Arrondissement and their date with Philipe de Cadenet, Hani Ahmadi and the rest of the ruthless gang who had tried to blackmail a prominent English peer, kidnapped his daughter, threatened her life and that of her mother and nearly killed Harry.
The boys were spoiling for a fight.