This United state tac-16

by Colin Forbes

  Now they were a short distance ahead of Beck. In the bow Tweed was hanging on to the gunwale with one hand. With the other he had the binoculars pressed against his eyes. He saw the helmsman leave his cabin, throw overboard a dinghy attached to the barge with a tow rope. ' He followed this by throwing over the side a rope ladder, was starting to descend it when Tweed dropped his binoculars, snatched up the loudhailer.

  'Everyone get away from that barge. Move away at top speed as far as you can. MOVE!'

  'Flee for your lives…'

  To Paula, his thunderous commands reminded her of recordings she had heard of Churchill speaking. The moment he began his warning she saw Beck using his mobile. The helmsman from the barge had landed in his dinghy, cut the rope linking him to the barge, started his outboard, moving towards the shore.

  'Hang on like grim death!' shouted Newman.

  Paula, one hand already holding the gunwale, used the other to grip the underside of the plank she was sitting on. She leaned back. Newman swung his wheel hard over. The launch swung in a violent U-turn, so fast, so suddenly, Paula knew they were going to capsize. For the first time Tweed had sat down, had both hands gripping the gunwale.

  The launch swung over at an angle of almost forty-five degrees. Vaguely, as in a film speeded up, Paula saw Beck's craft heading back upstream. The other police launches were also swinging round, speeding away. She shook her head to clear her vision, looked back, froze, still looking back.

  The Minotaur exploded like a giant bomb. The boom! echoed down the Rhine. A huge piece of the hull rocketed across the water, struck a large craft anchored to a buoy near the opposite shore. The craft, fortunately empty, disappeared altogether. Another section of the hull broke off, elevated high above the river, then plunged downwards, landing in the river at the very point where Newman's launch had been. It plunged below the surface. Half the stern broke away, skidded across the water, dived out of sight where Beck's launch had been a few seconds earlier.

  Newman, had just successfully completed his manoeuvre, was racing upriver in the wrong channel, when the shock wave from the explosion hit them. Like a blast of hot air from a furnace it hit their launch when it had just stabilized. They were rocked from side to side but Newman continued speeding them away from the inferno. The other police launches had escaped certain destruction.

  Paula's teeth were chattering – whether from fright or the cold she wasn't sure. Then Beck's calm voice was carried over the water through his loudhailer.

  'Everyone follow me. I'm taking you in to a landing stage.'

  'I could do with a bit of terra firma under my feet,' called out Tweed, his voice as calm as Beck's.

  When they climbed, stiff-legged, out of the. launch, Beck's craft was already moored to the other side. As he walked across to speak to Tweed Paula looked back down the Rhine. From what remained of the wrecked barge flames were blazing upwards, a glare in the near- dark. Fire-boats, which had appeared from nowhere, were directing great jets of water from hoses onto the fire.

  'What about the passengers?' she asked.

  'There weren't any,' Tweed told her. 'Otherwise we'd have seen at least a few of them on deck. Only the helmsman was aboard. I think he fixed the wheel to keep the barge on course before he escaped in his outboard. I caught a glimpse of him diving into a waiting car after he'd reached the shore. The bomb, I feel sure, was detonated from a distance by radio – once the helmsman got clear.'

  'You expected something like this?' demanded Beck grimly.

  'I didn't know what to expect – whether, in fact, to expect anything. I was just suspicious of the way the information reached us.'

  'You can see your cars have arrived. I called them on my mobile. We'll drive you back to your hotel. Paula, are you in shock?'

  'No. But thank you for asking. What I do need is a cup of something hot to drink.'

  'You'll get that at the hotel. Tweed, I'll want to talk to you later,' Beck snapped.

  28

  Arriving back at the Three Kings, they climbed out of the two unmarked police cars. Tweed bent down to speak to Beck, behind the wheel, through his open window. The second car deposited Marler, Butler and Nield, who waited.

  'Thank you for the lift,' Tweed said. 'I'm sorry it turned out to be such a grim fiasco.'

  'We'll talk later,' Beck replied abruptly.

  Newman was the last to enter the hotel. He had hung around outside, on the lookout for hostile watchers. There didn't seem to be any. He went inside and bumped into Basil Windermere, as always smartly turned out. He wore a new camel-hair coat.

  'How are you, Bob?' he began. 'Just the chap I was hoping to meet. Tell you what, we'll go into the bar, have a drink and a chin-wag.'

  It was on the tip of Newman's tongue to refuse. But he was startled to see Windermere in Basel. Tweed had not had time to tell him of the presence of Rupert and Windermere. He decided he'd better find out what was going on. Reluctantly, he agreed. They took off their coats on the way to the bar, which was beyond two restaurants adjoining each other.

  'What are you having to celebrate?' Windermere enquired.

  They were sitting in two comfortable seats upholstered in red leather. No one else was in the bar except for an attractive blonde waitress, who immediately came to them. Windermere looked her up and down appreciatively. Newman sensed the girl did not like the way he looked at her.

  'I'll have a double Scotch,' he said.

  After what's just happened I think I need it, he was thinking. And I'm not staying here a moment longer than I have to. Not with this piece of rubbish.

  'Cheers! To eternal friendship, my dear chap,' said Windermere, raising his glass.

  'What are we celebrating?' Newman asked without enthusiasm.

  'The fact that we're together again, of course. I must say you're looking chipper.'

  'Why are you here?'

  'Just like the old Newman, foreign correspondent extraordinaire.' Windermere gave a saturnine smile. Newman realized he'd never before noticed how like a handsome fox the playboy was. A smile which probably had rich dowagers swooning. 'Always digging for info,' Windermere went on.

  'You haven't answered my question. Why?'

  'To keep dear Rupert company, of course.'

  'Rupert is in Basel?'

  'Ectually, like me, he has a room in this hotel. Sir Guy also is here.'

  'I get it. He's paying for you both.'

  'You could be a little more diplomatic at times, Bob.' 'When it's staring me in the face, I tell the truth.'

  'See you've finished your drink.' Windermere summoned the waitress. 'Same again?'

  'I'll have a single this time, thank you.'

  'You know, Bob,' Windermere remarked when they were alone, 'at times life can be hard. A chap doesn't know where the next penny is coming from.'

  Windermere was wearing a new blue Armani suit, an expensive starched white shirt, a Valentino tie. He sat with his long legs sprawled out, crossed at the ankles. His feet were clad in handmade shoes.

  'From the way you're dressed I'd say you were doing all right.'

  'Ah! Appearances can be deceptive.' He placed a finger along the side of his Roman nose. 'Not a word to Betty. At the moment I haven't a bean. Thought you might help me out. Twenty thousand pounds would help me to get by. Just as a loan,' he added hastily. 'Pay you back as soon as I get on my feet.'

  'I know. This year. Next year. Sometime. Never.'

  'You know you could afford it – never even notice a difference in your bank balance. You did write that book – world bestseller. Kruger: The Computer That Failed. Must have made you independent financially for life.'

  The book had done just that for Newman. He had no intention of confirming the fact to Windermere. He finished his drink, turned in his chair to face Windermere.

  'Basil, I never borrow, I never lend. A maxim you might like to think about.'

  The waitress had placed the bill on the table. It was left there for Windermere to sign. His expressi
on turned ugly. He lifted his glass, drank the contents quickly, hammered down the glass.

  'I thought you'd get me out of a hole. I've got back rent due on my flat…'

  'You will live just off Regent Street. Move to Clapham.'

  'You know I couldn't possibly receive my friends in Clapham…'

  'Your rich widows. Ever thought of getting a proper job?'

  'If you don't mind my saying so,' Windermere said with an edge to his voice, 'I don't too much care for what you're saying.'

  'It's not an ideal world, Basil.'

  Newman stood up to leave. Windermere caught him by the sleeve. The smile was a memory. Newman was surprised at how vicious Windermere looked.

  'You've forgotten the tab,' he said, pointing to the bill.

  'And you've forgotten you invited me to have a drink.'

  Without waiting for a response he left the bar. On his way up in the lift to his room Newman had a thoughtful expression. He was recalling his conversation with Basil Windermere. He was also remembering the vicious expression which had crossed Windermere's face at one moment. It didn't fit in with his previous impression of a playboy who preyed on rich woman. He'd have to see Tweed a little later.

  Tweed was alone in his room. He had taken his time having a hot bath, changing into fresh clothes. His mind was racing round in three or four different directions. He was just about to call Newman, Marler and Paula when the phone rang. To his surprise the hotel operator told him Beck was waiting downstairs to see him.

  'Please ask him to come straight up…'

  It was a solemn-faced Beck who entered. He accepted Tweed's invitation to sit down, refused his offer of coffee. Crossing his legs, he sat quite still, as though gathering his thoughts, or wasn't sure how to start. Tweed sat opposite him and waited.

  'That was a grim business,' Beck began. 'Fortunately there were no casualties, which was a miracle.'

  'You know what it was all about? A determined attempt to wipe out me and my team at one blow. I doubt if you would have survived.'

  'I'd worked that out for myself. I've just had a stormy phone conversation with Jake Ronstadt. I called him. I told him what had happened, that I was just about to report the incident to Washington – together with the fact that five of the men staying with him had been killed in Basel, that all were found to carry weapons. He didn't like it at all.'

  'What was his reaction?'

  'Oh, what I expected. Raved on, saying it was nothing to do with him, that he had diplomatic status. I interrupted him, said that after I had spoken to Washington I would want to see him here at police headquarters. He erupted.'

  'In what way?'

  'He said he'd not stand any longer being harassed by Swiss police. In any case, he was leaving Switzerland for good during the next two or three days. And he'd be taking his staff with him. Then he slammed the phone down.'

  'So you got what you wanted.' Tweed smiled ruefully. 'What you are after.'

  'I'm not sure I understand you.'

  'Arthur, you understand me only too well. Your phone call was intended to drive Ronstadt and his men out of the country. And you succeeded.'

  'I must admit I'm sick and tired of the violence the Americans are causing.'

  'And,' Tweed said quietly, 'you'll be glad to see the back of us.'

  'I don't remember saying that.'

  'Because you're tactful. But you know when Ronstadt and Co. do leave – probably to Germany – we'll go after them.'

  'My job is to protect Swiss civilians,' Beck admitted. 'Luckily, so far there haven't been any casualties among our people. But if what has happened continues, then it's only a matter of time.'

  'I think you're absolutely right. You said Ronstadt told you he would be leaving in two or three days. I think he may slip away tomorrow.'

  'I'm still keeping officers on watch at the exit to autobahn 5. When Ronstadt and his thugs do move they'll be detained at the border; as I said before, on the pretext that we suspect they're smuggling drugs. Then I'll inform you, give you time to get there and track them.'

  'For that, I'm very grateful. Over the years you have always been a reliable ally.'

  'That has worked both ways. I'd better go now. You take care of yourself.' Standing up he took a compact mobile phone out of his pocket, placed it on a table close to Tweed. 'I know you mistrust these things, but it will let me contact you urgently – wherever you may be at the time. Incidentally, I think Ronstadt is tricky. Don't overlook the possibility he might leave in the middle of the night…'

  When Beck had gone Tweed used the phone to summon everyone to his room. Paula arrived first, followed almost immediately by Newman, Marler, Butler and Nield. Tweed had also ordered three pots of coffee and cups for seven people. Afterwards he had called Keith Kent and asked him to come and see him.

  Tweed was standing by the window, hands behind his back as he gazed into the night. It was a stance Paula recognized – he had at times done the same thing at Park Crescent when he was working out a problem.

  'Coffee!' she called out with enthusiasm. 'How about the rest of you?' she asked when they had all arrived. 'Put a hand up if you want a cuppa.'

  Six hands rose in the air. She started pouring as they found somewhere to sit or perch. Keith Kent looked round, saw he had met everyone present in London, clasped both hands and made a shaking motion. Unusually, it was Marler who spoke first.

  'Tweed, when we reached safety on the landing stage, I heard you say to Beck that you were suspicious of the way the information reached us. You were referring to the earlier news that Ronstadt and his gang would be holding a meeting aboard the Minotaur. So you had to be talking about what Denise Chatel told me.'

  'I was,' Tweed agreed.

  'You think she made up the story?'

  'I'm not sure. But it all seemed rather neat. Denise being called by an unknown American. Then told that Sharon wanted to meet her at the bar in the Euler.'

  'So we can't trust her?' Marler remarked, now leaning against a wall.

  'We can't trust anyone,' Tweed said emphatically.

  'I have good news for you,' Newman said ironically. 'Dear Rupert is here. Staying at this hotel.'

  'I know,' Tweed replied. 'Sir Guy told me.'

  'And he has his pal Basil with him,' Newman went on. 'Also staying in this hotel. I had a drink with Basil, the ladies' dream. You'll never guess what he wanted to cadge off me…'

  He relayed what had happened in the bar. He abbreviated their conversation but gave them the flavour of it. Paula gasped.

  'Twenty thousand pounds! The nerve of the pimp.'

  'He wasn't best pleased,' Newman told her, 'when I told him to go jump in the Rhine, or words to that effect. I was surprised at how ugly he turned.'

  'Must be desperate,' Paula commented.

  'Desperate men are dangerous,' Tweed mused. 'What I can't understand is how Guy found out we were here. And he wasn't prepared to tell me.'

  'Could Ronstadt have told him?' Nield wondered. 'It stands out like a sore thumb that Ronstadt has known we are here for a while.

  'Why would he do that?' asked the normally taciturn Butler.

  'Possibly to confuse me,' Tweed suggested. 'Have me looking in all directions so I'd miss something obvious.'

  'That would mean Strangeways is one of them,' objected Butler.

  'I did say a few minutes ago we can't trust anyone,' Tweed reminded him.

  'Not even Denise Chatel,' said Marler.

  'Beck has been over here to see me,' Tweed began. He told them everything the Swiss police chief had said. 'So if he's right,' he concluded, 'we had better be ready to leave at any time. Better get some packing done when you leave here.'

  'You still think it's the Black Forest?' Newman queried.

  'You should know. Kurt's last word was Schwarz, which, as I remarked earlier, is German for black. If I had to gamble I'd say it will be the Black Forest.'

  The phone rang, Paula answered, told Tweed Beck was on the line for him.<
br />
  'Yes, Arthur…'

  'Just heard a weather report. Thought you ought to know there's been a heavy fall of snow in the Black Forest. More on the way. Unusual for this time of year, but occasionally it does happen. Excuse me now, I'm up to my neck in work.'

  Tweed put down the phone. He told them what Beck had said. Paula sighed.

  'Just what we needed. If I have time I'm going to shop for warmer boots.'

  'Incidentally, Keith,' Tweed said, 'I'd appreciate it if you would come with us when we leave here.'

  'Go to Singapore as long as you pay me. If you don't need me I'd better go and start packing.'

  'Good idea.'

  'What sort of game do you think Strangeways is playing?' Newman asked when Kent had gone.

  'I wish I knew,' replied Tweed. 'But I'll tell you one thing. As soon as I can I'm going to make him tell me how he knew we were here. I think I can get it out of him. He's in a highly nervous state. When I went into the writing room the, hand holding his pen was trembling. Then later he started fiddling with it.'

  'I think,' said Newman, standing up, 'we'd all better get back to our rooms and start packing. Beck could be right. Ronstadt might try and do a moonlight flit.'

  Paula waited when everyone except Tweed had gone. She was curled up like a cat in an armchair. Tweed refilled her cup before he spoke.

  'You have something on your mind.'

  'Yes. Don't worry about my being ready if we have to leave at a moment's notice. I'm half-packed already.'

  'Knowing how methodical you are, I thought you might be. Now, what's bothering you?'

  'Not bothering. I admit it's sheer curiosity. But why is Keith Kent coming with us when we leave?'

  'I told you in the car on our way to the launch what he had said.' Tweed produced an envelope, took out the two banknotes, a British twenty-pound note, a ten-pound note. 'Fakes. Good ones. They really worry me.