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.He jumped to one side to let the car pass but it screeched to a halt beside him and the driver wound down his window."All — right - park — here?" the driver asked, emphasising each word in an English accent."Oui, monsieur," said Adam."Other — floors - marked - prive," the man continued, as if addressing a complete moron."Anywhere?" His arm swept round the floor."Oui," repeated Adam, "bert ay merst paak you," he added, fearing he sounded too much like Peter Sellers.Balls, was what Adam expected to hear him reply."Fine," was what the man actually said.He got out of the car, and handed Adam his keys and a ten franc note."Merci," said Adam, pocketing the note and touching his forehead with his hand."Quelle - heure - vous -retournez?" he asked, playing the man at his own game."One hour at most," said the man as he reached the door.Adam waited by the car for a few minutes but the man did not come back.He opened the passenger door and dropped the food bag on the front seat.He then walked round to the other side and climbed in the driver's seat, switched on the ignition and checked the fuel gauge: a little over half full.He revved the engine and drove the car up the ramp until he reached the first floor, where he came to a halt unable to escape.He needed a two-franc piece to make the arm swing up and let him out.The lady in the car behind him reluctantly changed his ten-franc note once she realised there was no other way of getting out.Adam drove quickly out on to the road looking for the sign Toutes Directions'.Once he had found one, it was only minutes before he was clear of the town and travelling up the N6 to Paris.Adam estimated that he had two hours at best.By then the police would surely have been informed of the theft of the car.He felt confident he had enough petrol to reach Paris; but he certainly couldn't hope to make Calais.He remained in the centre lane of the N6 for most of the journey, always keeping the speedometer five kilometres below the limit.By the end of the first hour Adam had covered nearly ninety kilometres.He opened the bag the farmer's wife had given him and took out an apple and a piece of cheese.His mind began to drift to Heidi, as it had so often in the past two days.If only he had never opened the letter.Another hour passed before he spotted him limping up a hill only a few hundred yards from the main road.A broad smile came over Romanov's face when he realised he could get to Scott long before he could hope to reach the road.When Romanov was within a few yards of him the flight lieutenant turned round and smiled at the stranger.When Romanov left Banks thirty minutes later hidden behind a tree with a broken neck he reluctantly admitted that the young pilot officer had been as brave as Valchek - but he couldn't waste any more time trying to discover in which direction Scott was heading.Romanov headed west.The moment Adam heard the siren he came out of his reverie.He checked the little clock on the dashboard.He had only been driving for about an hour and a half.Could the French police be that efficient? The police car was now approaching him fast on his left but Adam maintained the same speed — except for his heartbeat, which climbed well above the approved limit - until the police car shot past him.As the kilometres sped by, he began to wonder if it might be wiser to turn off on to a quieter road, but decided, on balance, to risk pushing on to Paris as quickly as possible.He remained alert for further sirens as he continued to follow the signs to Paris.When he finally reached the outskirts of the city, he proceeded to the Boulevard de 1'Hopital and even felt relaxed enough to bite into another apple.In normal circumstances he would have appreciated the magnificent architecture along the banks of the Seine, but today his eyes kept returning to the rear view mirror.Adam decided he would abandon the vehicle in a large public car park: with any luck it could be days before anyone came across it.He turned down the Rue de Rivoli and took in at once the long colourful banners looming up in front of him.He could hardly have picked a better place, as he felt sure it would be packed with foreign cars.Adam backed the Rover in the farthest corner of the square.He then wolfed down the last piece of cheese, and locked the car.He started walking towards the exit, but had only gone a few yards when he realised that the strolling holidaymakers were amused by his ill-fitting brown jacket which he had completely forgotten.He decided to turn back and throw the coat in the boot.He quickly took it off and folded it in a small square.He was only a few yards away from the car when he saw the young policeman.He was checking the Rover's number plate and repeating the letters and numbers into an intercom.Adam inched slowly back, never taking his eyes from the officer.He only needed to manage another six or seven paces before he would be lost in the throng of the crowd.Five, four, three, two, he backed, as the man continued speaking into the intercom.Just one more pace."Alors!" hollered the lady on whose foot Adam stepped."I'm so sorry," said Adam, instinctively in his native language.The policeman immediately looked up and stared at Adam, then shouted something into the intercom and began running towards him.Adam dropped the brown coat and swung round quickly, nearly knocking the stooping lady over before sprinting off towards the exit.The car park was full of tourists who had come to enjoy the pleasures of the Louvre, and Adam found it hard to pick up any real speed through the dense crowd.By the time he reached the entrance to die car park he could hear the policeman's whistle a few paces behind him.He ran across the Rue de Rivoli, through an archway and into a large square.By then another policeman was coming from his right, leaving him with no choice but to run up the steps in front of him.When he reached the top he turned to see at least three other policemen in close pursuit.He threw himself through the swing door and past a group ofjapanese tourists who were surrounding the Rodin statue that stood in the hallway.He charged on past a startled ticket collector, and on up the long marble staircase."Monsieur, monsieur, votre billet?" he heard shouted in his wake [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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