Death on the Pont Noir - By Adrian Magson Page 0,25
sworn to protect de Gaulle to the death.
Saint-Cloud, however, was the organiser, the bureaucrat with quiet muscle, always behind the scenes, pulling strings, making arrangements. To him fell the task of keeping the president’s visits and sorties as minutely planned and as secure as possible. At the point of contact with the public, however, it was down to Comiti’s small team of men to catch the bullet.
So far, they had succeeded in their job against many expectations and attempts.
‘You have an impressive record, Rocco,’ Saint-Cloud continued. ‘Both in the army and the police. You were in Indochina, I believe.’
Rocco nodded. As were the 1st REP, he recalled. A tough bunch of men, they had been disbanded in 1961 following service in Algeria. It seemed Lt Colonel Saint-Cloud had moved on to better, if not bigger, things.
‘What can I do for you, Colonel?’ he asked. He wanted to find out what this man wanted of him, not to relive old war stories.
‘I want you to do your duty as a sworn police officer and help protect the president, of course.’ Saint-Cloud’s eyebrows lifted slightly, as if surprised by Rocco’s blunt approach. ‘I appreciate this is not your normal work, and I’m sure you have many pressing matters to investigate. But as the man on the ground here, I would like to seek your cooperation in ensuring that those … forces keen to confront the president with violence are not successful. You’ve heard about the latest attempt?’
‘I have.’
‘Badly planned, poorly executed, but a clear warning that we cannot relax our guard while the dangers still exist.’ He studied his fingernails. ‘I need you to act as our eyes and ears on the matter of security in this area. Other of your colleagues spread around the country are doing the same. It is vital that you unearth anything – any group or individual – threatening the safety of the president, and by inference, France.’
‘Don’t you have files on these people already?’ Rocco was puzzled. As far as he was aware, the names of the main conspirators were well documented and their movements monitored and recorded. Unless Saint-Cloud was holding something back, he wasn’t sure what new groups or individuals were out there or where they had emerged from. Many of the existing ones had originated years before, some no doubt now advancing in age and lacking in strength, numbers or organisation. It took energy and commitment to keep anti-government groups active, especially when no certain progress in their aims was being made. Other groups, younger ones, such as students, were more difficult to pin down because they were harder to infiltrate due to their age, or lacked the cohesiveness required to mount an effective attack. But even they eventually became careless, and were generally known to the authorities.
‘We have extensive files, of course.’ Saint-Cloud tilted his head to one side, reminding Rocco of a teacher many years ago who used a similar tactic to make his students uneasy. ‘But these organisations are not static; they gain new members all the time, often bringing with them new grievances and new agendas. Others leave, tempted by new arguments or impatient to pursue a new line of aggression. As such, their public faces change. Our job is to find the more focused activists before they can achieve their objectives.’
‘So when is he coming here?’
For a moment the colonel looked as though he were about to respond. Then he shook his head. ‘That is not clear. You will, of course, be advised should a date and itinerary be decided.’ He brushed an imaginary speck of lint from his knee. ‘Be aware that, for now, we believe the main threat to his person comes from disaffected elements of the military who have joined with the OAS and … others.’
‘Others?’
‘Mercenaries. Assassins. Men who will do anything for money. This latest attempt seems to be a mix of both. The dead attacker was a former army officer who supported the OAS, and we think at least one of his colleagues may have been Corsican or Sicilian.’
Rocco didn’t waste time thinking about it. There were always members of groups who were on the periphery, not quite as involved as the hard core, but headstrong and useful as soldiers. Expendable. To concentrate on them was to miss the main members, the heart of any organisation and usually consisting of no more than a fanatical handful. And that handful rarely, if ever, allowed their soldiers to lead back to them.