by Colin Forbes
'Oh, have they sent him back to Washington?' 'No, he's at the Euler.'
'The Euler?'
'It's a top hotel here in Basel, no more than a mile from where we are sitting.'
'I find that very peculiar Why here in Basel?' Sharon asked.
'I've no idea. Someone who knows him by sight spotted him, told me. I was just curious.'
`So am I,' she said. 'Well, I'll be moving on soon. Not sure exactly when.'
'Moving on?' Tweed queried.
'Yes.' She turned, gave him her full attention. 'I was going to suggest we have coffee in the bar with a liqueur. That's when I was going to tell you.' She looked up as the waiter appeared. 'Can we have coffee in the bar? A quiet table if you can manage that.'
'Certainly, madame.'
Newman had turned round in his chair to survey the restaurant behind him. There were just a few couples here and there. He then saw Ed Osborne sitting at a table by himself. Osborne had a grim look on his face. Newman gave him a small salute. Osborne pretended not to see it, bent his head over a newspaper. What has disturbed him? Newman wondered.
Earlier, when Basil guided a wobbling Rupert through the Brasserie, the second restaurant in the hotel, and on into the bar, he had to hold him up. He had found Rupert at a table in the lobby. There were several empty glasses on the table Rupert was sitting at.
'Need another drink,' Rupert mumbled.
'Are you sure?'
'When I say need 'nother drink, I need 'nother drink. Wha's the matter, Basil? Don't understand the King's English?'
'It's the Queen's English these. days. Has been for long as I can remember.'
'Basil!' Rupert said aggressively. 'You tellin' me how you want me to speak my own language? 'Nother Scotch. Wanna sit down.'
The bar was empty. For the moment there was no one behind the serving counter. Basil guessed the girl had taken an order into the restaurant. He kept Rupert moving. There was another exit which led out straight onto the street.
'You need some fresh air first,' Basil said firmly. 'Then we can come back and get something to drink.'
'Fresh air? Can't drink fresh air. Didn't you know that?'
'I'll bring you a drink outside,' Basil lied.
'Against Swish law. Drinkin' in the street. End up in pokey, we will.'
'Almost there.'
Basil was anxious to get Rupert out of sight before someone returned to the bar. He got a strong hold on Rupert, propelled him to the door at the rear. He opened it with his back, hauled Rupert out with him. The outside air hit them like a blast from the Arctic. Rupert's legs gave way. Basil let him slide down until he was slumped with his back inside the alcove. Then he left him there, confident he would recover swiftly. He had no doubt Rupert would go straight back inside the bar to order another drink.
Basil hurried the short distance along the road, entered the hotel by the main door, took the lift to his room. He reappeared very quickly. He was wearing a long black overcoat which almost came to his ankles. He walked off into the night.
When Sharon's party walked through the Brasserie Tweed saw Nield and Butler having dinner at a table on their own. Neither of them looked up or said a word as they walked past. At another table, by himself, sat Marler.. When he saw them coming he picked up- his newspaper and began studying it.
'I'll go in first,' Newman said to Sharon. 'See if it's all clear.'
'I'm coming with you. People like that schoolboy don't worry me.'
A little distance behind them Tweed followed with Paula by his side. She kept her voice down.
'Rupert seems to have reverted to his normal obnoxious self.'
'I was sceptical about what he said to Newman. No more than a pipe dream, I'd say. He probably believed what he was saying at the time.'
'You really think so?'
'You sound dubious.'
'I think he was putting on an act. Here we are. And no sign of either of them, thank heavens.'
They ordered liqueurs from the girl who, at that moment, took up her position behind the bar counter. As soon as she saw them she came over and took their orders.
'Sharon,' Tweed began, 'I got the impression from what you said in the dining room that you are really fed up with the Americans'
'I am. Which is why I'm out here. I was appalled to hear Ronstadt is in town. I can't stop myself working, but officially I'm here on holiday. I'm floating around while I take a big decision. I'm getting away from it all so I can think. I'm playing with the idea of moving to living in Britain permanently. Down at my manor in Dorset.'
'So you're staying on in Basel?'
'No. I need different surroundings. I'm soon going to Freiburg, staying at the Hotel Colombi, which has five stars. You know, you look very smart in that blue bird's-eye suit. Pity that pocket bulges.'
Tweed put his hand in his pocket, brought out Beck's mobile. He smiled with resignation.
'Should have left it in my room. Picked it up automatically.'
He had hardly spoken when the mobile started buzzing. He stood up, shrugged, looked at Sharon apologetically.
'Excuse me. I refuse to use these things when I'm with guests in a restaurant or bar. I'll be back in a minute…`
He walked over to an empty table well away from anyone else. Only then did he answer the mobile phone. It was Beck on the line.
'Tweed, where are you now?'
'Just finished dinner in the hotel.'
'Please get over here quickly. It's an emergency.' Tweed returned to the guest table, apologized, thanked Sharon for a marvellous evening, explained he had to rush off to a meeting. He then walked swiftly into the Brasserie. Marler, drinking coffee, looked up as Tweed swept past him. Tweed was about to step in the lift when he found Marler behind him. As they ascended he told Marler what had happened.
'I'm coming with you. No argument…'
31
'All hell has broken out in London,' Beck said grimly.
Tweed was taking off his coat. A uniformed policeman took it and also Marler's. Beck's office at police headquarters was bleak. The police chief was sitting down t a large wooden desk, its surface empty except for two phones and a pad with scribbles on it. Tweed sat down facing him, with Marler by his side.
'Tell me,' Tweed said.
'Late this morning a huge bomb exploded inside a store in Regent Street. There was a sale on. Crowded with shoppers. Reports say there are at least a hundred dead, many more injured. I had all this from Chief Inspector – now Superintendent – Roy Buchanan. Monica had phoned Berne. Luckily spoke to my assistant, who knows her. He gave her my number here. She passed it to Buchanan, who has phoned me, wants you to call him.'
'Then I'll do that from here, if I may.'
'There's more. Buchanan said an American syndicate has bought the Daily Despatch. One condition was they took over as soon as the deal was signed. An American editor has arrived. His first edition has a huge splash headline – FBI MUST TAKE OVER.'
'The net tightens,' Tweed said quietly.
'I can get Buchanan for you now.'
'Do it, please…'
Marler was looking round the office. The walls were painted an uninviting green. Two metal filing cabinets stood in one corner. The room was illuminated by fluorescent tubes suspended from the ceiling. The blinds over the windows were closed.
'Tweed here, Roy.'
'Beck has told you?'
'Yes. About Regent Street. The American takeover of the Despatch. Its damnable headline.'
`So you're partly in the picture. At lunchtime the Commissioner asked me to take over as head of the Anti-Terrorist Squad. I told him I must have full powers. He said the PM had already agreed that.'
'Sounds as though the PM's backbone has stiffened.'
'Regent Street was the last straw. They also tried to blow up a major power station. We had it covertly guarded. Two cars drove up close to it. They were stopped. The driver in the first car dived out, ran back to the second vehicle, dived into it. The second car took off, a poli
ceman stood in its way to stop it – the car drove over him. He's dead. The first car was a mobile bomb. The radio device which would have detonated it from a distance was dismantled.'
'You've got a big job on your hands.'
'The one I wanted. I sent you a tape recording of my TV broadcast to the nation this afternoon. Has it arrived?' 'Not yet.'
'It will do any moment. Forget vanity. I want you to see how I'm going to handle the situation. How are you doing?'
'We've got a bunch of them out here. We may be on the eve of a major battle.'
'Good luck. I must go now.'
'Take care.'
Tweed put down the phone. He stood up, hands in his pockets, staring into space. Marler thought he had never seen him stand so motionless, with such an expression on his face. It reminded him of a picture he had once seen of Bismarck. Tweed came out of his trance-like stance.
'Thank you, Arthur. Can I ask you a favour? When we cross the border into Germany could you be sure Marler's car isn't searched?'
'I'm sure Marler wouldn't be carrying anything I would disapprove of,' Beck smiled drily. 'And I'll warn the officer at the checkpoint to leave him alone. How many cars have you?'
'Just two,' Tweed replied.
Beck tore off the top sheet of his pad. He pushed it towards them. Then he rolled a pen across the table.
'Could you put down the registration numbers of your cars?'
'I can do that,' Marler told him, reaching for pad and pen.
'I'll pass those on to the checkpoint officer,' Beck told them.
'One final point, Arthur,' Tweed interjected. `I'm assuming the same arrangement applies. You'll call me on your mobile as soon as you know Ronstadt is on the move?' -
'I was going to do that anyway. Strictly between us, I have installed a new plain-clothes officer from Berne as a guest at the Euler. He'll inform me the moment he sees signs the Americans are leaving.'
'I'd like to thank you for your very thorough cooperation,' Tweed said. 'If there's what I think there is in the Black Forest you will have played a key role.'
'Nonsense.' Beck paused. 'I hope you approve, but I took it on myself to phone your old friend, Otto Kuhlmann, chief of the Kriminalpolizei in Wiesbaden. He promised me he wouldn't get in your way, but he might just come in useful.'
'Ronstadt is not the only man who can close in a net. Thank you again. I'd better get back to the hotel. I have to brief my people.'
Ronstadt sat in the bar at the Euler with Vernon. They were the only two people in the place, except for the barman, who was a long distance from their table. Ronstadt was wearing his favourite outfit, a heavy brown leather jacket with leather trousers of the same colour, and rubber-soled shoes which made not a sound when he was moving.
'You and Brad dump all the weapons, the rest_ of the explosives?' Ronstadt asked.
'Sure, Chief.'
'Had to be in daylight, I guess,' Ronstadt said casually.
'No. After dark. We drove up the river. Got well out of Basel, found a quiet place. No houses. No people. Nothin' at all. Backed the car up to the river's edge. Brad handed me the stuff, I dumped it in the river.'
'You know somethin'? Go on like this and you'll make deputy.'
'Thought I was that now.'
'Temporary deputy – until I see how you make out. Say, Vernon, you see a big snake. Whaddya do?'
'Run like hell.
'So, mebbe, Vernon, you won't make it. You cut off its head.
'I don't get where you're comin' from.'
'Tweed. He's the head of the snake's causin' me trouble. So I made arrangements. Can't risk him messing with us where we's goin' any time now.'
'That's smart, Chief. Very smart.'
'I thought it was.' Ronstadt chuckled, an unpleasant sound. 'I thought it was…'
Tweed and Marler left Spiegelhof, police headquarters, for the short walk down Spiegelgasse to the Three Kings. A tram, empty except for the driver, trundled along the street they had to cross. As the rumble of its wheels disappeared the cold silence they had come to associate with Basel descended.
Marler was looking up, staring at the tops of the buildings they passed as they reached the other side. They were close now to the main entrance to the hotel. Tweed was deep in thought, his feet moving mechanically, his mind on what Buchanan had told him. He arrived at the revolving door. Suddenly Marler grabbed hold of him, shoved him forcefully into a compartment of the door which caused him to slam into it and be pushed inside. At the same moment a bullet hit the stone floor where he had been standing a millisecond before. The bullet ricocheted into space.
Glancing up at the building opposite, Marler followed him into the lobby. Tweed was waiting for him. He spoke calmly.
'What was that?'
'A bullet with your name on it.' Marler kept his voice down as the receptionist was coming towards them from behind the counter. 'I'd go after him but he's like a cat burglar. I'd say he's long gone already.'
'The Phantom?'
'No, doubt about it.'
'Don't mention it to the others.'
The receptionist reached them. She was holding an addressed package. She was holding it out towards Tweed when Marler took it.
'This arrived by courier for Mr Tweed. He said the plane was late. Something about ice on the runway.' 'Thank you,' said Tweed.
'I'll take this to my room, check it carefully before I open it,' Marler said when they were inside the lift.
'Come straight to my room as soon as you can. I'll have everyone else there when you arrive. I want to ask some questions first. You're ready to leave at the drop of a hat?'
'Before the hat hits the floor.'
Tweed gave Paula some instructions when she arrived in his room first. As he was speaking she listened, then stared in disbelief.
'I want you to do the same thing with the Hotel Colombi in Freiburg that you did with the Schwarzwalder Hof. Book rooms at the Colombi for all of us. Give them my credit card number and tell them we'll pay for any unoccupied rooms. Not sure when we'll get there.'
'What on earth for?' she wanted to know. 'Sharon is staying there.'
'I know. That's not the reason. This way we have two different bases in Freiburg. We may find it useful to flit from one to the other.'
'I'll call now…'
Tweed waited until everyone was settled in the room. When Paula completed her call, he used the phone to contact Keith Kent.
'Keith, like you to be here in my room to hear what's going on.'
'First of all,' he said, seated on a hard-backed chair, 'Paula, I would be interested in your impression of Sharon. You did sit facing her during our leisurely dinner.'
'She's enigmatic.'
'That doesn't tell me anything. Be more specific.'
'She's very experienced in the company of a lot of people, I'd say. But she doesn't hold the stage. I can't quite penetrate what's under that deep calm. On the other hand she can be very buoyant and great fun. I think she's tugged this way and that as to whether to stay in America or move to Britain for good. I sense she's leaning towards the latter. Sensibly, she's moving to different locations to get a perspective on her life.'
'What do you think, Bob?'
'I don't believe one word she says.'
There was a hush. Paula looked quite taken aback at his reaction. So much so, she began smoking one of her rare cigarettes.
'What do you base that on, Bob?' Tweed asked. 'I was joking. I think she's great.'
'What is it about her that makes her so attractive to men?' Tweed enquired.
'I can tell you that,' Paula replied. 'Personality. She's a mix of the cool and the exciting. This intrigues men. They're not sure where they are with her. Outcome? They want to know her better.'
'That's pretty shrewd,' Newman agreed.
'I've got grim news for you,' Tweed said suddenly. 'It came to Marler and me via Beck and Roy Buchanan…'
He told them about the horror which had taken place in London. They
listened in complete silence. Butler bunched a fist as though he wanted one of the opposition present to slam it into. Nield closed his eyes, then opened them, his expression one of fury.
'We've got to bust these bastards,' Butler exclaimed. 'I agree with you one hundred per cent,' Tweed assured him. 'I want you all now to watch a tape of Roy Buchanan broadcasting on TV this afternoon. Marler, could you oblige?'
'Right now,' Marler said.
He inserted it into the video recorder. Picking up the remote control, he backed away, perched on the arm of Paula's chair. The red light was already glowing on the set. He pressed the button and a BBC news bulletin was showing. Scenes of carnage far worse than those seen earlier of the bombed store in Oxford Street were preceded by an unusual warning from the newsreader.
'Before we show the following pictures we would advise anyone who is squeamish not to watch. We especially suggest children should not see what follows.'
Paula gasped, wanted to close her eyes. She forced herself to go on viewing. They reminded her of scenes of the war in Vietnam. The pictures were a tangle of horribly injured victims, of stretcher after stretcher being brought out with the bodies on them showing no signs of life. Chaos and blood were everywhere. A woman staggered out of the ruined entrance. A paramedic appeared, took hold of her gently, removed her from camera range.
The scenes of carnage gave way to the reappearance of the newsreader, his voice solemn.
'There will now be a short broadcast by Superintendent Buchanan of the Metropolitan Police.'
Roy Buchanan's image appeared, a view of head and shoulders. He stared straight at the camera, his expression grim, his voice calm and determined.
'Ladies and gentlemen, the Commissioner of the Metropolitan Police has just appointed me as Head of the Anti-Terrorist Squad. I have also been given full powers to call on the help of any other unit I may deem to be necessary. We know that the atrocity you have just seen – together with the bombing of two other department stores in the capital – is not the work of the IRA. Nor is it the work of any ultra-extremist Muslim sect. I shall be working day and night to hunt down these vile murderers. I have given orders that when they are encountered by my men, if they open fire, we shall shoot to kill. Lot there be no doubt about that. Thank you for giving me your attention.'
