by Colin Forbes
Keith Kent was sitting in an armchair. In his hand he nursed a glass of brandy. Introductions were not necessary. They all knew the visitor. Kent lifted his glass.
'With the compliments of Paula. Central heating to warm me up. At least, that's my excuse.'
'I hear you have news,' Tweed said, taking off his coat while the others did the same. Paula took them to hang them up. 'I'd like to hear it,' he said, occupying an armchair close to Kent.
'And I expect you'd all like some hot coffee,' said Paula as she picked up the phone without waiting for a reaction.
Keith Kent was the soul of relaxation. No matter how tense a situation might be, he never showed any sign of nerves. As usual, he was smartly dressed, clad in a dark blue suit, pale blue shirt and a Chanel tie with a motif of peacocks.
'I expect Paula has told you,' he began, 'that the Americans are in an uproar. Behaving as though they don't know what to do next. And don't like it.'
'How do you know all this, Keith?'
'This morning I called in at the Zurcher Kredit Bank again – to check that my transaction with the fortune in dollars had been completed. Turned out I didn't even have to speak to the teller. She was occupied – in a big way. A couple of Americans, one of them banging his ugly fist on the counter and shouting at her.'.
'Could you describe him?'
'Not very tall. He has a very big head, clean-shaven, with a boxer's face – slit mouth, tough jaw. Very wide across the chest, tapers down to small feet. Hair brown. He glanced at me once – eyes hard as diamonds.'
'Jake Ronstadt,' Paula said to herself.
'Would he recognize you?' Tweed asked.
'Doubtful. I wore a scarf pulled up over my chin, a hat with the brim pulled down. Normal wear, considering the weather.'
'Go on.'
'As I said, he was shouting at the girl. "There was a fortune in this account and now you show me a balance sheet with zero funds." Then he lowered his voice but I have acute hearing, as you know. He went on raving. "I want to see a friggin' director. I want to see him now. Got it?" That was when he started crashing his fist down on the counter. What the girl said next didn't help.'
'What did she say?'
'That there wasn't a director on the premises. They were away, holding an executive meeting. He really blew his top at that. "Get on that friggin' phone and tell a director to get back here before I bust this place to pieces. Millions and millions of dollars can't vanish, you stupid twit." That was when I quietly left the bank.'
'You said there were a couple of Americans. Can you describe the other one?'
'A tall thin man with a hard thin bony face. I heard the short one call him Vernon.'
'Sounds like that could be Vernon Kolkowski,' Newman interjected. 'I was shown photos of various thugs when I was in New York. The police captain said he was called the Thin Man, a notorious killer. They could never get him. If there were witnesses willing to testify they ended up floating down the Hudson River.'
'Sounds like a suitable candidate for the people we are up against,' Tweed commented.
'After I left the bank,' Kent went on, 'I sat in my parked car to see if anything else happened. It did. About five minutes later the short man with the big chest stormed out of the bank. He walked straight across the street. A car had to come to an emergency stop to avoid running him down. The American crashed his fist down on the car's bonnet, swore foully at the driver and went on to his car. Vernon followed more slowly, as though he didn't want to be too close to the other one. He had to dive into the car as it started moving off.'
'Paula told me the Americans had gone berserk. Probably your word.'
'It does mean,' Kent pointed out, 'that my conjuring trick has worked. Their millions have disappeared into thin air. Could take them weeks, even months, to trace them.'
'Thanks, Keith. You've really achieved something. Don't forget to send me a bill.'
'Oh, I'll bill you.' Keith finished off his brandy and grinned. 'Should I hang around a bit longer?'
'Yes. Where are you staying?'
'At the Hilton.'
'That's fortunate. The thugs are at the Euler, more at another hotel, the Victoria.'
'I'll show you out,' said Paula as Kent stood up. She fetched his coat. 'Yes, I'm coming down in the lift with you.'
'Let's keep in touch,' said Tweed. 'And thanks again…'
Less than a minute after they had left Nield arrived. He accepted Tweed's offer of coffee, settled himself on a couch next to Newman.
'I waited until Kent had left. I made the call a while ago. I had to slam down the phone when Beck tried to ask me questions. He was trying to keep me on the line while he had a trace put out.'
'You kept it brief, then,' Tweed said.
'Simply asked him to take down an address as soon as he came on the line. Then told him he'd find a body there. I had a silk handkerchief over the mouthpiece. Then Beck started to ask me something. I slammed the phone down. Couldn't have been on the line more than thirty seconds.'
'Good.' Tweed looked up as Paula let Marler into the room. 'I trust Irina got home safely'- and without your being seen?'
'Of course she did.' Marler went across to a wall, leant against it. 'And of course she didn't see me.'
'What was that General Guisan business? I gathered it was a password.'
'Exactly that. Kurt once told me that if he went down and later I could get here, I should meet someone in that room. He said if I used "General Guisan" I'd get some valuable information.'
'General Guisan,' Tweed mused. 'The C-in-C of the Swiss armed forces during World War Two. He stopped the Nazis from invading Switzerland by clever threats.' He stopped speaking as the phone rang. Paula answered it. She put it down quickly.
'Beck is here. On his way up.'
Tweed braced himself for an aggressive Beck. Instead, the Swiss police chief came into the room with a quizzical expression. He accepted Tweed's offer to sit down, refused his offer of coffee. He gazed round at them all, one by one.
'All present and correct. I think that's the English phrase.'
'It is,' Tweed agreed.
'In case it's news,' Beck continued, his tone ironic, 'four corpses were found in a street near Market-platz early this morning. All Americans. All with diplomatic passports. All blown to kingdom come by a grenade.'
'Disturbing,' said Tweed.
'So, well before dawn, I phoned the Euler. The night receptionist knows me, recognized my voice. I asked him to read out a list of Americans staying there. Recent arrivals. Only one had a suite. I guessed he was the top man. A Jake Ronstadt.'
'We met the gentleman briefly in London.'
'So,' Beck went on, 'I asked to be put through to him.
He was not happy at being woken at that hour. He was even less happy when I gave him the news, read out the names of the deceased. He admitted they were members of his staff, as he put it. Had to. They were registered as staying there.'
'What was his exact reaction, Arthur?'
'Thunderous! Had I caught the villains who committed this foul crime? I hadn't? Why not? He was reporting this to the American Embassy in Berne. I told him it would take time, that I had only just begun the investigation. He swore at me. I asked him what their profession was.'
'That must have foxed him,' Tweed commented.
'It didn't. He repeated he was getting in touch with Berne. I said I thought that was his best move. He slammed the phone down on me.'
'He. sounds to have been disconcerted.'
'He was in a towering rage. I had to phone him again a short time ago. Another body was discovered after I received an anonymous phone call. Wonder who that could have been? This corpse was in a ground-floor room near the top of the Alley of the Eleven Thousand Virgins. Had a knife through his throat. It had penetrated through the back of his thick neck.'
'Who was this one?' Tweed enquired.
'Another. American. Another with a diplomatic passport. A Rick Sherman. Also registered as
staying at the Euler.'
'How did Mr Ronstadt react to this further news?'
'He was apoplectic. Raved on about how I was the Chief of Police and Basel was becoming the murder capital of Europe. He slammed the phone down on me before I could advise him to get in touch with his Embassy in Berne.'
'Things do seem to be warming up,' Tweed remarked.
'I know these men are gangsters,' Beck said, his tone grim. 'I still have to investigate.' He paused, looked at Newman and then at Butler, both of whom sat with their legs crossed. 'I wondered whether you had been outside this morning. I notice that Newman's shoes are drying out in this warmth, but the soles are still damp. As are Mr Butler's.'
'We went for a breath of fresh air along Blumenrain,' explained Tweed. 'Very fresh it was. I noticed your river police still have that boathouse under the lee of the promenade.'
'We have to watch the river. Along Blumenrairt? Well, that is in the opposite direction from the Alley of the Eleven Thousand Virgins.' Beck stood up. 'Thank you for allowing me to question you.'
'Any time, Arthur,' Tweed replied, standing up. 'Any time.'
Paula was about to open the door when Beck turned back. He smiled at Tweed.
'Incidentally, whatever the plans of the Americans were they seem to have put them on hold.'
'How do you mean?'
'Well, the car with two Americans which drove them through the checkpoint towards Freiburg – and possibly on to the Black Forest – has returned here. The officer at the checkpoint has told me he had the impression they have been recalled in quite a hurry. Take care of yourselves, everyone…'
When they were alone Tweed rubbed his hands. Paula poured him more coffee, then looked at him as she spoke.
'You look pleased with yourself.' -
'Pleased, but not with myself – and not complacent. I just knew Ronstadt would be checkmated, at least temporarily…'
'Knew?' queried Paula.
'Wrong word, my sixth sense told me.'
'And how did you know the boathouse for police launches is still there?' she asked. 'We never walked along Blumenrain.'
'If you lean out of my window, as I did when we arrived, you can see it. You're interrogating me,' he joked. He looked at Nield. 'Pete, I meant to ask you earlier. Did you think to do something about your fingerprints on the handle of that knife you threw at Sherman?'
'Naturally. It was a bit of a job with Sherman in that position, but I managed it.'
'While I gently lifted the corpse,' Butler added.
'Thank heavens for that,' Tweed told them. 'Then there was that brick Irina removed from the wall.'
'Which we carefully put back in place,' Newman confirmed.
'You seem to have thought of everything.'
'That is our job,' Newman remarked.
– 'I'm sure that sooner or later Ronstadt and his thugs will drive to the Black Forest – Kurt did tell us with his last word that the base is there. But recent events have thrown Mr Jake Ronstadt off balance – the loss of the money at the Zurcher Kredit, plus the loss of five of his men within hours. It does give us a breathing space.'
'I have something for you,' said Marler.
He handed to Tweed the small black book with a faded cover extracted from the cavity behind the brick. Tweed was about to examine its contents when Nield spoke.
'And I've got something for you. I'll fetch it from my room. Back in a minute.'
Tweed had started to read the brief notes in English in the notebook when Nield returned. He handed Tweed a file. Tweed's mind flashed back to the American Embassy in London, when he had seen Jefferson Morgenstern placing a file into a safe which had looked like a bank vault. He looked up.
'Pete, is this what I think it, is?'
'It's the file you asked us to grab from the safe inside the Security room at Grosvenor Square.'
'How on earth did you manage it. I thought afterwards I'd given you an impossible task.'
'Simple, really,' Nield explained. 'Most of it was down to Harry, expert locksmith and safe-cracker. We went in late evening by a door in a side street. Harry spotted it was equipped with a concealed alarm. Took him no time to deal with that, to open the door. There were still people in the building. We crept up a side staircase, got into the room next to Security, left a special fire-bomb with timer under the window, then Harry unlocked the door into Security…'
'Pete did act as lookout,' Butler added, 'so I could concentrate on my bit.'
'His bit involved opening the safe. Biggest job I've ever seen.'
'The more complex they try to make them,' Butler remarked, 'the easier they are to get into. I closed it after we'd got our hands on the file.'
'About that time the fire-bomb went off,' Nield continued. 'It gave off a lot of heat, which cracked the glass of the window. Important, that. The bomb contained a huge amount of smoke which flooded out of the window. We heard alarms going off, people rushing up and down the corridor outside.'
'How on earth did you get out?' asked Tweed.
'Simple. Opened the window when the fire brigade arrived – in no time at all. Saw them using a telescopic ladder to rescue a few people from another window. We waved like mad, they moved the ladder along, sent it up to us. Helped by a chap in a helmet, we climbed down the ladder, walked away. We wore charcoal black business suits – the type Americans pretending to be English are wearing at the moment. Walked to where we'd left our car, drove back to Park Crescent. Simple.'
'Nothing like as simple as you make it sound, I'm sure.'
Tweed opened the file. He sat back to read the first typed sheet. He read it again. Then he sat up straight. 'Oh, my God.'
'What is it?'
Paula had asked the question. She had rarely heard Tweed use the words he had just uttered. He sat rigid. He handed the file to her.
'Read that first sheet. The Americans are moving much faster with their operation than I'd anticipated. Which means we may have very little time left to stop them…'
The vast task force sailed on into the night, leaving behind Newport News, the naval base on the east coast of America. The centrepiece of the force, a main asset of the United States, was the gigantic 110,000-ton aircraft carrier President. The colossal ship had a crew of 6,500 men aboard, was armed with a devastating collection of nuclear missiles. Such ships do not put to sea without a fleet of powerful escorting vessels – distributed at a distance to port and starboard, way behind the stern, way ahead of the immense bow. No nation in the world could have mustered a fleet as advanced and numerous as the escorts.
Aboard one escort vessel was a unit of SEALs. These were naval men trained to be the toughest fighters on the planet. On the same vessel were new fast-moving amphibious craft which could carry the SEALs to land them on any beach, put them ashore so they could drive inland to destroy their target.
Perched on top of the endless deck of the aircraft carrier, reared the Island – the control tower, over forty feet high and composed of several different levels. The President was one of the jewels in the crown of American world power. The movements of this terrible weapon of war were controlled by Rear Admiral Joseph Honey- wood. Six feet two tall, he was built like a quarterback and had a craggy face, which was why he was known throughout the US Navy as Crag. He sat relaxed in his chair at a lower level inside the Island. His eyes were blue, his hair dark, his movements slow and deliberate.
Outwardly he was a calm man. He had never been known to allow a crisis to disturb him. He issued orders tersely, in a quiet voice. He abhorred anyone showing excitement on the bridge and an offender would be demoted on the spot. Which is why it was surprising that he had been startled when he had opened his sealed orders. Not that anyone observing him would have known his reaction. He read them twice, then handed them to his Operations Officer.
'Say, Bill, you might like to take a look.'
It was the opening, brief paragraph which caused the officer to muster all his self-control not to show surprise. That parag
raph was followed by route instructions, ordering them to steer clear of all shipping lanes and flight paths of commercial airliners. As the Rear Admiral had done, the officer read the opening paragraph twice.
Objective: Great Britain. The English Channel off Portsmouth.
'I reckon, Bill,' Crag said in an offhand way, 'it should take us no more than seven days to reach our objective.
23
'It's time we killed some of Tweed's people.' Vernon grunted, then continued. 'Better still, wipe out all the m**** with one bomb. Put them underground for good.'
'Or underwater,' Ronstadt said viciously. 'You've given me an idea.'
He had called a meeting in his suite. Only three people were present, Ronstadt, Vernon and Brad. Recently Ronstadt had promoted the two men to be his deputies. He played with his pack of cards. That had been a smart move, he was thinking. If he gave them a task which was dangerous they'd go for it, puffed up with pride by their new status. Which left him in the clear if anything went wrong.
'Underwater?' queried the squat Brad. 'Don't get it.'
'Wouldn't expect you to – otherwise, feller, you'd be sitting in my chair. Like this suite?' he asked suddenly.
'It's great, Jake,' Vernon said quickly.
'It's really great,' Brad agreed.
'Play your cards right and maybe – just maybe – you'll have a suite like this one. Play your cards,' he repeated, then held up his pack. 'See what I mean, dopes?'
'Sure, Jake,' they both said at the same time.
'It was a joke, morons,' Ronstadt snarled. 'Trouble with you guys is you ain't got no sense of humour. Remember what we pulled off outside Paris last year? You do? Amazing. Guess we could do the same thing here. We need a whisperer. Has to convince that bastard Tweed. Guess I know who could do it for us.'
Standing up, Ronstadt left the table, walked over to a window, gazed at the traffic outside the Euler. He was turning the idea over in his mind. He suddenly returned to the table, where his two deputies were waiting for him.
