by Colin Forbes
'I doubt if my bank balance would come up to yours,' Paula said with a smile.
'Nonsense. It would be a change to have some female company. I'm drinking champagne. I'll order another bottle.'
'Not for me,' Tweed said hastily.
'There's Paula and Keith. May I call you Keith? Good. And now, Bob, I noticed you were hobbling. You've been in the wars?'
'Slipped on a flight of stone steps in Freiburg. It's nothing.'.
Sharon waved to a waiter. She ordered two more bottles of Dom Perignon. Then she leaned towards Tweed, speaking quietly.
'Talking about company, have you seen who is at the bar?'
Tweed turned round. At the bar, which had a pale yellow front, two men were perched on bar stools, their backs to the room. Rupert and Basil Windermere. He looked back at Sharon.
'What are they doing here?'
'Lord knows. They're a nuisance. Both of them, separately, have pestered me. I gave them a very cold shoulder. I can't imagine why they turned up here — unless they followed me on the autobahn. But why would they do that?'
'Your guess is as good as mine.'
'Then, to cap it all, you haven't noticed who is at a corner table by himself over there. That boor, Ed Osborne.'
Tweed again twisted round on his banquette. At that moment Ed Osborne looked up, caught his eye, stood up and lumbered over to their table between the facing banquettes. He slapped Tweed on the back, grinning, slurring his speech.
'Hi, feller! Great to see you again. You folks mind if I join you? Guess it's OK.'
As he sat down next to Tweed he looked across at Sharon and winked. She ignored him and started chatting with Newman. Osborne had a glass of Scotch in his right hand. Waves of the drink were drifting into Tweed's nostrils.
'What brings you all, as I believe they say in our Deep South, to this part of the world?'
'What brings you here?' Sharon asked sharply, her expression cold.
'Good question. Very good question,' Osborne mumbled. 'Guess I can give you a good answer. Had a hard time in Washington, then in London. So I'm takin' a few days off. Kinda holiday — just roamin' around, roamin' where the spirit takes me.'
'Then I hope you're enjoying yourself,' Sharon replied, her manner still cold.
'What gets me,' Osborne went on, 'is how we all keeps turnin' up in the same places. First there was Basel, then Freiburg and now, believe it or not, Strasbourg. I reckon it's a case of who is following who?'
There was a silence. Sharon busied herself pouring champagne into glasses. Paula shook her head, thanked her. Kent leaned forward, his voice crisp.
'Maybe if we started with leaving London we'd know what is going on. Would you agree, Sharon?'
'Sorry, Keith, but you've fogged me.'
'Well, take myself. I travelled to Basel to check a bank account. Then I moved on to Freiburg because a man called Jake Ronstadt was going there.'
'A horrible man,' Sharon exclaimed. 'No manners at all.'
'I agree with you,' Paula joined in. 'He kills people - like all those victims in Britain when bombs went off in department stores. Random massacres.'
'I can't believe that, Paula,' Sharon flared up indignantly. 'You will have gathered Ronstadt is not a man I want anything to do with from what I said earlier, but the idea that he could in any way be involved with those horrific outrages is absurd. Damn it, he has a big job at the American Embassy in London.'
'What sort of job?' Paula asked.
'I'm sorry, but I have no idea.' Sharon had calmed down. 'At the Embassy we function in watertight compartments. It's the new Ambassador's idea. Something to do with security, as far as I can gather.'
'So he wouldn't be running the Executive Action Department, then?' Newman suggested. 'The EAD for short.'
'I've never heard of it.' Sharon sipped champagne, frowned. 'If it exists it sounds like a section directly controlled by the Ambassador - to ensure his decisions are carried out. He's more corporate than diplomatic, came after resigning as president of a big oil company.'
'Ruthless people,' Osborne commented, 'bosses of big oil outfits. Get up to a lot of skulduggery. Stuff the public never hears about. Washington shouldn't bring big business into diplomacy.'
'He - the Ambassador - has always been perfectly charming to me,' said Sharon. She looked up as Denise Chatel appeared, holding a file. 'Not now, Denise. Can't you see I've got company?'
'You said it was important,' Denise began.
'Well, it will have to wait. I don't get much chance of relaxation for a change. We'll deal with it later. Understand?'
Denise, looking humiliated, started leaving. On her way out she was passing close to the bar. Rupert's hand came out, wrapped itself round her waist.
'Let go of me.'
'You all play hard to get. Think I don't know that by now?' he sneered.
Newman stood up, walked over, still hobbling slightly. Reaching the bar, he laid a hand on Rupert's shoulder. He was smiling when he spoke.
'Lady doesn't want your attentions, Rupert. Doesn't like being touched by you.'
'And I'm fussy about who touches me. So kindly remove your hand from my shoulder. I never hit cripples,' he sneered viciously.
'Very wise of you.'
Newman removed his hand. In a blur of movement he bunched his fist, slammed it into Rupert's jaw. Rupert came off his stool, just managed to grab the edge of the bar to stop himself sprawling on the floor. Denise had gone as he lifted his hand, felt his jaw, glaring at Newman.
'I'll get you for this. That's a promise.'
'I say, chaps; Basil broke in, 'we do have an audience. Best to preserve our dignity in such situations, don't you think?'
'Couldn't agree more,' said Newman, and he returned to his banquette seat.
'They really are a most unpleasant couple,' Sharon commented. She looked at Newman. 'I like a man who can take care of himself.'
'You know something,' Tweed said, speaking for the first time, 'I've done a lot of driving. I feel like stretching the limbs. I think a little walk might do us good, freshen us up.'
'Good idea,' said Newman. He looked at Sharon. 'I hope that you won't think us rude.'
'Not at all. When you get back I'll be here going through my work. Must make up for lost time. Then you can come in and rescue me and we'll kill the rest of the champagne.'
Tweed was helping Paula on with her coat in the lobby while Kent and Newman collected theirs from reception. Marler appeared, already attired in his coat. Tweed told him what they proposed doing.
'I've just come back from checking where they park guests' cars. Ronstadt's black Audi is there.'
'I thought Ronstadt and his thugs might be hidden away inside this hotel,' Tweed remarked as they wandered outside. 'It is high time they were taken off the face of the planet.'
'Setting yourself up as bait?' Marler suggested.
'I'm worried about the passage of time. I want us to be able to stop having to think about Ronstadt and his lethal tricks. And look who we have here.'
Butler and Nield, muffled in coats, stood just out of sight of the hotel entrance. Marler told them to follow a little way behind them.
'Ronstadt and Co. are probably going to put in an appearance,' he warned.
'Can't wait,' said Butler.
Paula slipped her hand inside her shoulder bag, withdrew her Browning.32 automatic, slipped her hand under her coat. Again the arctic air hit them after the cosy warmth of the interior of the Hotel Regent.
They walked past a waterway and Paula paused to peer down over a steep wall. The water was about fifteen feet below here. She glanced back, saw a flight of steps leading down to a small landing stage. A small open launch was tied up to the foot of the steps. She thought she saw movement, then decided it was her imagination. They walked on, trailed by Marler with Nield and Butler.
'You really have to see this part of Strasbourg by night — this way you appreciate its beauty, its strange character,' Tweed said.
&nb
sp; 'Strange is the word,' Paula agreed, huddled in her coat.
Their footsteps were the only sounds in the dark of the night. No traffic anywhere. No people at this hour. Paula was fascinated by the architecture. Hulking ancient buildings leant out over cobbled streets. She saw that many of them had pointy gables, that the roof line went up and down and in the walls was embedded a criss-cross of old wooden beams. Most of the buildings were four storeys high with an endless variety of tiny dormer windows in the ski-slope roofs above, dormers perched so precariously they seemed to be on the verge of sliding down into the streets below. One grotesque old house was so crowded with dormers on its roof arid looked like Gothic gone mad. She was reminded of a scene from Grimm's Fairy Tales - with the emphasis on grim.
'It gets claustrophobic,' she said, 'with the narrow streets and the buildings looming over us.'
'It's unique, as far as I know,' said Tweed.
They had followed a complex route, turning into different streets at almost each corner. Always, to their right, the stone wall rose above the pavement and, beyond it, another waterway. She was beginning to feel lost.
'I hope someone knows the way back,' she remarked. 'I do,' replied Tweed.
'A stranger would need a map.'
'I've got one in my head from the last time I was here. And I noticed in the hotel they have another kind of map - one showing the network of waterways for people hiring boats.'
Paula was disturbed by the areas of dark shadow where the moonlight couldn't penetrate. At intervals there were street lamps and then more shadows. She kept looking back and always Marler and his two friends were a short distance behind them. Marler waved at her encouragingly. She waved back, then stopped.
'We've actually walking in a circle to take us back to the hotel,' Tweed told her.
'I can hear a strange noise. Water rushing.'
'That is the sluice, which is quite spectacular. Heaven help anyone who takes the wrong turning on the waterways and finds himself being carried down it. They do have notices on the walls warning sailors. And we're nearly at Pont St-Martin. That's the bridge nearest the sluice. We might take a look at it.'
Tweed had started walking again and the sound of water rushing at immense speed grew louder. Paula stopped again.
'What is it now?' Tweed asked gently.
'I can hear a different sound. Chug-chug. Like the motor of a launch.'
'You're right. And it's coming closer. Don't look over that wall,' he warned.
'I'd take his advice,' said Kent. 'Stay where you are now.'
They had all stopped. Paula looked back. Marler held up a hand to keep her where she was. She watched him as he conferred with Butler and Nield briefly. Perplexed, she watched as Butler took a beret from his pocket. He placed it at the end of his Walther. He was standing by the wall.
Paula took her Browning from under her coat as the chug-chug grew nearer and nearer. Keeping his head well clear of the far edge of the wall, Butler eased the beret forward until it perched over the brink. There was a shattering rattle of machine-pistol fire. The beret was shredded, disappeared. Marler, dipping his hand into the holdall slung over his shoulder, took out one of his remaining grenades.
Butler had taken off his scarf. He wrapped it round his Walther. He had twisted the scarf so in the gloom it looked almost like a man's head. Again he eased his weapon close to the edge, then a few inches over the brink. A fresh murderous rattle from a machine-pistol ripped the scarf to bits. It was a long burst and when it stopped Paula guessed the unseen weapon needed reloading.
Immediately Marler looked over the top of the wall, dropped the grenade. Ignoring Tweed's warning, Paula was peering along the waterway. Illuminated by a street lamp she saw the small launch she had seen much earlier, tied to a landing stage. In the launch stood Ronstadt, fiddling desperately with the machine-pistol. With him was a moon-faced man and a third man with a hard bony face. She saw Marler's grenade dropping and jerked her head back. The detonation, although muffled by the walls, still sounded very loud in the silence of the night. Looking back over the wall Paula saw the half- wrecked launch racing towards her. Moonface had been at the controls and had kept the engine running. Now it proceeded along the waterway without any human guidance. Tweed, Newman and Kent were also gazing at it as the launch passed below them. Three crumpled bodies lay in it, motionless.
'It's taking in water,' said Tweed. 'And it's near the sluice.'
They watched, hypnotized, as it entered the narrow sluice of churning, foaming water. The launch slid downwards, toppled over sideways, casting its cargo into the maelstrom. In seconds the corpses had disappeared, swallowed up by the wild water.
'I hope no one has unpacked,' Tweed said as they approached the entrance to the Hotel Regent.
No one had. Tweed was walking quickly as they reached the hotel. He paused for a moment while they were still outside.
'We're leaving immediately,' he told them. 'We're driving now to Paris, then on to London. Get your bags and we meet in the lobby. I'll pay for the rooms.'
Paula waited with him while he explained to the receptionist he had received an urgent message. If anyone wanted to contact him would she please tell them they were on their way to Paris, that they might stay a few hours at the Ritz before going on to London.
He was walking along the first-floor corridor when they heard voices behind a closed door as Newman joined them. Tweed put a finger to his lips and they stopped to listen. Denise's voice was clear and very loud.
'I won't take any more from you. You were a horrible person back at the Embassy...'
'Don't you dare talk to me like that, you friggin' little -traitor,' an unrecognizable voice shouted and roared. 'You've had enough money out of the Embassy funds to put Versace on your rotten little back.'
'You're always pestering me!' Denise screamed back. 'Back at the Embassy I avoided you whenever I could.'
'I'll kill you if you say any more. I'll push you out of a high window, watch you fall, hit the street with a splash of blood!'
'No you won't,' Denise shrieked back. 'From now on I'll take good care there's always a witness with me!'
'A witness! What are you insinuating, you ignorant wretch? You think the organization can't do without you? Who are you, anyway? A small-time adventuress!'
Tweed started walking swiftly towards his room with Paula and Newman. No one said anything until he reached it.
'They were having quite a party, weren't they?' Tweed remarked.
43
Tweed again insisted on driving and Paula was beside him as navigator, a new section of map open on her lap. In the back Newman sat with Keith Kent. Behind them followed Marler, with Nield and Butler as passengers. If Paula had expected Tweed to take it easy along the auto-route to Paris she was soon disillusioned.
He rapidly built up speed until Strasbourg was just a distant memory. Newman leaned down against his seat belt, removed his bandage, felt his ankle, flexed it this way and that. Kent asked him how it was. Newman replied it was OK.
'Tweed,' he called out, 'my ankle is normal now. I can take over the wheel whenever you want me to.' 'Maybe later.'
'Maybe never,' Paula said under her breath. She looked at Tweed. 'I was surprised at the twists and turns of our conversation with Sharon and Ed Osborne in the bar. You came out with some pretty blunt remarks,' she continued, glancing over her shoulder.
'They did so at my suggestion,' Tweed informed her. 'I had a few words with Bob and Keith at the reception counter. They reacted splendidly. And you, Paula, caught on quick and added your own loaded comments. You sensed the rhythm of how things were going very skilfully.'
'Did you learn something from that conversation, then?'
'Let's say I found it intriguing.'
'I thought Sharon held her own very well, bearing in mind that Osborne was present. Who knows how much power that man wields,' Paula said thoughtfully.
'That's what all this spilt blood and upheaval is about,' Tweed tol
d her. 'Power. It's all about power, which can intoxicate people.'
'The only thing you said during the conversation referred to power,' Paula recalled. 'Apart from that you kept absolutely quiet.'
'I was listening, watching.'
'Why,' she asked, 'did you leave details of where we're going at the Hotel Regent reception? Not like you.'
'So that anyone who wants to follow us knows where to head for. We might as well flush out as many of them as we can.'
'So Paris may not be safe.'
'Nowhere is safe now.'
'You're really stepping on the gas,' she said.
'I'm convinced we're almost fatally short of time.'
Rear Admiral Honeywood, known throughout the naval service as Crag, settled himself into his chair on the control deck of the immense aircraft carrier, the President. The vast array of escorts were way ahead of their bow, way behind their stern and spread out to port and starboard.
'We'll be on station in the English Channel, I reckon, about two days from now,' he remarked to his Operations Officer.
'That would be my estimate.'
'And so far,' Crag reflected, 'we haven't been seen by anyone.'
'Correct, sir. No submarines have been detected by sonar. We have seen not a single ship which might have reported our presence. And no commercial airliner has passed over the task force.'
'Let's hope it continues that way. The Pentagon is counting on our surprise arrival on their doorstep to stun the Brits out of their skulls.'
'Maybe it's time to report our situation back to the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff. He gets restless if he isn't kept regularly in the picture.'
'Old Stone-Face does just that. Send him another report. Include that worn-out phrase "proceeding according to plan". He'll like that.'
'Can't this buggy move any faster?' Osborne demanded. 'The chauffeur is doing very well. We're going at high speed now,' replied Sharon acidly.
She was sitting in the back of the stretch limo with Osborne by her side. In the front Denise Chatel sat next to the chauffeur, her head down as she studied a file open on her lap. The limo streaked along the auto-route to Paris.
