by Colin Forbes
'I memorized the faces of all the passengers on the tram which brought us here. None of them has boarded this train.'
'So we've given them the slip,' said Paula.
We hope we've given them the slip,' Tweed corrected her.
'You're never sure of anything,' she chided.
'Which is why I'm still alive.'
'Let's be positive,' she responded. 'How did you get on with Beck?'
'We made a lot of arrangements. We have to be back at police headquarters before four this afternoon. Beck was very helpful.'
We should just make it, with a bit of luck,' she said after consulting a timetable.
'From the station at St Ursanne it's a good ten-minute walk down to the village.'
'Then we'll make it, with a lot of luck. I sense you're very anxious to meet this Juliette Leroy at the Hotel d'Or.'
'I have great faith in Kurt Schwarz.'
'What was the outcome of your talk to Beck?'
'A very important decision concerning that barge, the Minotaur. I learned from Beck the vessel isn't used for transporting cargo any more. Some Swiss entrepreneur has converted it to a floating hotel for business conventions. It has conference rooms, a bar, a restaurant and all modern communication facilities. Today an American called Davidson phoned the owner, hired the Minotaur for a week.'
'Davidson?'
'I think Mr Davidson is really Jake Ronstadt. Beck has laid plans to follow the vessel, to board it from police launches, then to arrest everyone on board for interrogation. He's going to use the dead Umbrella Men as a lever.'
'How?' she wondered.
'They were all carrying guns. They were all staying at the Euler. That's enough for starters. He thinks he'll find the people at that meeting are also carrying weapons.'
'Pity we aren't going to see it happening.'
'We are. He's loaning us an unmarked launch. I asked him to let me have a loudhailer, which he did. I dashed back to the hotel with it, left it in my room before Bob and I raced up to the station in a taxi.'
'What do you want with a loudhailer?'
'Might come in useful…'
Tweed lapsed into a brooding silence and Paula looked out of the window. They had left Basel behind and it was a bright sunny day with a crystal-clear sky. She felt relieved to be away from the city. She liked Basel, had loved it the last time she had been there with Tweed, but this time she was depressed by the grim ancient buildings looming over her everywhere, like being inside a sinister fortress.
She decided her reaction was partly due to the weather – and to the events which had occurred there. The Umbrella Men, then Nield's description of the last- minute rescue of Irina, of the ghastly ape man who had come so close to torturing Irina. The train entered a deep gorge. On either side rose sheer walls of jagged limestone. Peering out, her face close to the window, she could just see the crests, tipped with snow. It was so warm inside the train they had all taken off outer clothes.
'We're in the Jura Mountains,' Tweed remarked. 'Nothing like the enormous heights of the Bernese Oberland but I'm fond of the Jura. You don't feel a million tons of rock is going to fall on you.'
The train emerged from the gorge and open fields stretched away into the distance. Here and there was an isolated wooden farmhouse, sometimes with a ramp at its side leading up to a storage barn attached to the house. They were seeing the Switzerland so liked by more sophisticated tourists.
'Looks like we got clean away from Ronstadt and his thugs,' remarked Newman.
'There aren't any on the train,' Mader agreed.
'I feel safe,' said Paula. 'At peace with the world. The sun is wonderful.'
She had just spoken when sHe saw the helicopter, flying on a course parallel to the train, about a quarter of a mile away. She stared at it, all her misgivings returning. Tweed caught her change of expression.
'It's probably just a traffic helicopter. The Swiss use them a lot.'
'That reminds me,' Paula told him. 'I forgot to tell you that when I was driving to the Bunker on Romney Marsh I heard a chopper. It was flying straight towards me. I was still some distance from the Bunker when I saw an open barn by the roadside. The chopper was temporarily hidden in a cloud so I drove inside the barn out of sight. I had to wait a while. The chopper came closer, sounded to be circling above the barn. Then it went away and I didn't see it again. I drove on to the Bunker.'
'You are wise to take precautions,' Tweed assured her. 'The Bunker has become our main operational centre. Before we left I sent down more personnel. There's only a skeleton staff left at Park Crescent. Howard agreed it was a good idea. He'll keep in touch with the Bunker.'
'Pretty drastic,' Paula commented. 'Why did you do it?'
'I think you all realize now we're up against the most powerful state on earth. America has limitless resources, vast sums of money. It took me a while to grasp that it was really planning on taking over Britain. The idea seemed so momentous. I'm convinced now – after my dinner with Morgenstern and after reading that file Pete and Harry grabbed from the Embassy in Grosvenor Square. We can only stop them by superior cunning and a certain amount of luck. Don't look so serious, Paula. We're coming into Delemont, where we change trains. You're really going to like St Ursanne.'
Aboard the helicopter Leo Madison – or Moonhead, as Ronstadt sneeringly called him – grasped hold of the powerful binoculars hanging from a strap round his neck. He glanced at the pilot in the seat next to him.
'From now on we must change our flying tactics. Don't want to make the targets suspicious. Train's comin' in to Delemont. Can you hold us still while I check the platforms?'
The pilot slowed the machine, hovered. Through his binoculars Leo clearly saw Paula Grey, Tweed and Newman alight. Two more men appeared to be with them but they were strangers to him. In the lenses he could see the faces of the trio he recognized. He saw them hurry across the platform, climb aboard a smaller train. He lowered his binoculars, waited until the little train started moving.
'Now you follow that little job. But do change your angle of flight.'
Again they had a coach to themselves. As the small train moved on into open country Paula had her eyes glued to the window. The scenery was superb, with large fields showing a froth of green sweeping up the slopes of high, hump-backed hills. She was looking out at a panorama as far as the eye could see – with here and there a lonely village of wooden houses clustered together and the tiny spire of a church. The helicopter had disappeared.
'You see,' Newman reassured her, 'that machine in the sky has gone.'
The next moment they entered a long tunnel. The wheels of the train made a quiet drumming sound. The lights had come on, Paula relaxed, looking forward to seeing the village Tweed had recalled with such enthusiasm. Her eyes closed and she almost fell asleep. Suddenly they emerged from the tunnel. She was alert instantly.
In the near distance the hills were higher, the slopes steeper. There were no villages anywhere. She saw a car driving along a road which seemed to follow the railway. They were climbing.
'It's back,' she said.
'What is?' Marler asked.
'The chopper. Can't you hear the beat-beat of its engine? I think it's flying directly above the train.'
'And I think you're right,' Marler agreed.
'I don't honestly see how they could have known where we are going,' Nield interjected.
'Pete has a point,' Tweed agreed.
He was anxious to reassure Paula. But he didn't believe what he said. He was beginning to think that it had been a good idea of Marler's to distribute weapons from his canvas satchel earlier. A chopper near Romney Marsh. Now another one out in the wilds of the Jura. The Americans, as he'd pointed out earlier, certainly had unlimited resources. He checked his watch. They were almost arriving at St Ursanne.
'We'll soon be there,' Tweed said. 'A good job it's such a perfect day. As I mentioned earlier, we have a good ten-minute trot along a road before we reach the village. Maybe
fifteen minutes…'
The helicopter swung away from the train after climbing directly above it. By this tactic the pilot hoped the targets aboard the train would not think he had been following them. A minute before giving the pilot his instructions Leo had focused his binoculars on the small station – just one platform – the train was nearing. The signboard read St Ursanne.
'Let's get clear away from the train,' he began. 'See that small village in the distance?'
'Got it.'
'I want you to land me as close to it as you can – within close' walking distance of the place. You should be able to drop me somewhere. Then wait until J return to take me back to Basel.'
'Will do.'
The chopper was already climbing vertically. The pilot became aware that his passenger was wriggling around a lot, that he had removed his safety belt. He had no time to look at him as he concentrated on his manoeuvre, then high in the sky swung away from the railway. Now he was searching for a landing point. He saw one at the edge of the village.
'Here we go.'
'Try and land before the train stops at the station. I'll tell you when.'
'Will do.'
It was then that he glanced at his passenger and had a shock. He would never have recognized the man seated next to him as Leo.
25
'Back of beyond out here,' Tweed remarked as they alighted on the deserted platform.
'Nobody else has got off except us,' Paula observed. 'Who would? At this time of year? At this time of day?' Marler replied.
Tweed was hurrying. They followed him as he went down a ramp and started walking along a narrow road alongside the station. The road led steeply downhill with a high rock wall on one side. No traffic. They turned a bend and for a moment Tweed stopped and pointed.
`St Ursanne.'
Paula almost gasped with pleasure at the beauty of the scene in the sunlight. In the distance, where Tweed had pointed, way below them, an ancient village was huddled inside a valley, the old houses close together, with the spire of a church spearing up amid the dwellings which must have existed like this for centuries. It was idyllic. To their left, beyond the empty road, the ground fell steeply for quite a depth. At the bottom a small river meandered through meadows until it passed the edge of the village. Paula gestured down.
'Any idea which river that is?'
'The River Doubs,' Tweed told her. 'It figures in. the famous and controversial novel, Le Rouge et Le Noir – The Red and the Black, by Stendhal. Now we must keep moving. I have a growing sense we have very little time left.'
Almost before he had finished speaking Tweed was hustling ahead down the road which had become even steeper, his legs moving like pistons. The others had to increase pace to keep up with him.
'Where's the fire?' called out Nield.
Tweed didn't reply. He seemed intent on reaching their destination in the shortest possible time. Lower down there was a pavement on the left side but he ignored it, keeping to the road. Paula caught up with him. If she had to move any faster she would be running. It was only when they were very close to the village, and old houses appeared to their right, each with plenty of land and perched on a slope, their entrances small gates in their garden walls positioned well below them, that Tweed stopped.
'We'll be cautious now,' he said as the others arrived.
'Well, at least the chopper has vanished,' Paula remarked. 'And I am wondering whether we ought to have phoned Juliette Leroy before coming all this distance.'
'That would have been a mistake. Like Irina, I think Leroy has to see us before she will talk.'
'Hear it?' Marler asked. 'Behind us?'
Tap… tap… tap…
It was a weird sound in the serene silence of the sunny afternoon. As one, they all turned to look back. A man was emerging from one of the gardens they had passed, his stick tapping on the stone steps leading down from the house. Arriving at the gate, he fumbled with the catch, opened it, came out slowly, closed the gate and came trudging slowly towards them.
Tap… tap… tap…
He wore an old coat, which Paula thought must be too heavy for a sunny day. But he was old. He wore a floppy brimmed Swiss hat and beneath it very dark glasses were perched on the bridge of his nose, his head bent. In his right hand he carried a white stick, ringed at intervals like a bamboo cane. It was tipped with a rubber at the end. He was tapping the stick against the edge of the pavement.
'Poor devil. He's blind,' Paula whispered.
'Better let him pass us, Tweed suggested. 'We'll move out of his way.'
They crossed to the far side of the road and waited. The man with the dark glasses trudged on. They kept quiet as he passed them, seemingly unaware of their presence.
The handle of his white stick was curved like a shepherd's crook. Paula noticed it was flexible, moving in the hand which gripped it as the cane tapped. Immediately ahead of him was an ancient stone tower with an archway below it, high and wide enough to let a farm cart pass through. They watched the man raise his. stick to tap at a side wall of the archway, then make his way through it.
'Must be a local,' Paula mused. 'Probably knows his way about the place better than we ever shall.'
They waited while the man tapped his way carefully along the street beyond. He was some distance away when he paused with his back to them. Taking an old pipe out of his pocket he half-turned, used the side of a lighter to tamp the bowl, then lit it. He resumed his slow progress away from them.
'Let's get on with it,' said Tweed.
Walking through the archway, Paula noticed the street ahead had a plate on the side of a wall. Rue du 23 juin. Tweed had stopped by her side, looking to his left.
Steps led up to the Hotel La Couronne. The door at the top was closed.
'We might enquire here,' he suggested.
'I don't think so.'
Paula pointed to a small notice in the window near the door. It had a simple message. Ferme. Closed. Tweed shrugged. Paula was gazing down the main street, fascinated. On either side ancient houses, joined together, had tiled roofs at different heights. Like something out of a child's fairytale. The walls were covered with plaster, each house painted a contrasting muted colour – yellow, ochre, cream and other attractive tones.
'It's like Paradise,' she said. 'And so quiet. Apart from that blind man there's no one about anywhere. I wonder how we're going to find that street?'
'La Ruelle. Look at that plate on the wall over there. It's in this side street.' He peered down it. 'There's the Hotel d'Or. Not twenty yards away.'
They walked down the street and Paula followed Tweed up stone steps to a landing on the first floor. It had a door with a window masked by net curtains. Tweed pressed a bell by the door's side. The door opened and a tall attractive slim woman in her -fifties stood looking at them, as she quickly removed an apron.
'Do you speak English?' Tweed enquired.
'I do, Monsieur. How can I help you?'
'I have come from the late General Guisan, so to speak.'
'Please to come in.' She peered down the steps. Newman was, waiting with the others, not wishing to crowd the flight of steps. 'Those are your friends?' she asked.
'You are Juliette Leroy?'
'I am.'
'Yes, they are my friends, but there are rather a lot of us.'
'Please to ask your friends to join you.'
They walked into a large room which was obviously a dining room with a bar at the back and the kitchen in the rear. The walls and ceiling were covered with pinewood, which gave the place a cosy atmosphere. Extending close to the kitchen area paintings of scenes in the Jura hung from hooks and with very heavy-looking gilt frames. One long table was laid for a meal with ten places but the other tables were bare of cloths.
'I have waited for you,' said Leroy. 'I have something for you from Albert.'
'Albert?' The surprise showed in Tweed's voice. 'My friend is called Kurt.'
'Please to excuse me. That was a little t
est. I will get it for you now.'
She hurried to the kitchen, hauled out a drawer full of cutlery. Balancing it on a work surface, she detached an envelope taped to the underneath. She handed it to Tweed.
'There you are. You will see Kurt signed it on the back with his Christian name. You are hungry?'
'We can't impose on your hospitality…'
'I ask if you are hungry.' Her blue-grey eyes held his and he had the impression of a forceful personality. At the same time she gave him a radiant smile. 'You like Filets des Perches with the pomme frites? Most Englishmen do. The table is already laid, as you see.'
'For someone else, I suspect, Mademoiselle.'
'I am a widow. The table is laid for a group of farmers – they will not be here until this evening. I have plenty of food for them and for you and your friends.'
Tweed glanced at his watch. He suddenly felt terribly hungry. And what she had offered was one of his favourite dishes.
'We have to leave in an hour at the latest – to catch a train back to Basel.'
'Then please sit down, everyone. You have plenty of time.'
She was already' returning to the kitchen. She produced several pans, opened the large fridge-freezer. Everyone was sitting down when Paula noticed the entrance door had not been closed properly. She went to shut it and thought she caught sight of someone moving in the street.
Opening the door wider, she went out on to the landing. There was no sign of anyone. Nearby several narrow alleys led off the street. Must have been my imagination, she thought. She closed the door and sat next to Tweed at the table.
The plates of food, which smelt wonderful, were placed before them more quickly than Tweed had expected. Juliette sat down opposite him, noticing he had already broken some crusty bread. She smiled.
'You were hungry. You have started eating the bread.'
'It's some of the best bread I've ever tasted,' he answered honestly. 'This is very good of you, Madame Leroy.'
'I enjoy this.' She looked round the table at Newman, Nield, Butler and Marler, then at Paula. 'It gives me much pleasure to watch you eating. You are all most hungry.'
