by Colin Forbes
37
'We must prepare a battle plan for our expedition into the Vosges,' Tweed announced. 'Especially after what Philip has reported, which is alarming.'
He was standing in the sitting area of his bedroom. It was nearly midnight. When he had slipped down several hours before to put back the master key the hotel had been deserted.
Jennie had woken earlier, and said she wanted to go back to her own room for a shower. Nield had been selected to go with her to sit in the room on guard. Jennie had been secretly pleased with the choice. She rather liked the look of the slim Pete Nield with his trim moustache. He could be fun.
Paula sat on one of the beds, hands rested on the coverlet on either side, her legs crossed. Newman, Butler, Cardon and Marler listened. The latter, adopting his usual stance, leaned against a wall, smoking a king-size. The others occupied various chairs.
Marler had arrived back recently, carrying his cello case, cricket bag and a suitcase. He had carefully placed his wares in a corner.
'You'd like some sustenance?' Tweed had asked him. 'We got the Brasserie to prepare sandwiches and coffee in a Thermos.'
'Thank you. Might indulge later. I stopped for a snack on the way back from Strasbourg,' Marler had replied.
'What alarming news did Philip bring?' Paula asked. 'I was in the bathroom when he came in.'
'Philip,' Tweed told them, 'was observing comings and goings from a discreet position off the lobby. He told me he'd seen at least six pairs of Americans leaving the hotel at intervals. He heard cars starting up and all of them were a long time before they returned, again at intervals. I find those movements ominous.'
'Why?' pressed Paula.
'Butler,' Tweed continued, 'took over from Philip. He also reported pairs of Americans returning late in the evening. They had snow on their boots.'
'Why ominous?' Paula persisted.
'First, because I'm convinced that Norton – the man who impersonated Ives, I'm sure, at the Gotthard – is the evil genius behind the huge apparatus brought over here from the States.'
'Evil genius?' drawled Marler. 'A bit strong that, isn't it?'
'Is it?' Tweed looked grim. 'I told you how convincingly he bluffed us when he turned up at the Gotthard. Then when he ran for it he left behind a present for me. Prussic acid in my mouthwash. And that trap he had organized in Bahnhofstrasse. The fake cripple with the grenade -backed up by a second man with a machine-pistol. Norton is a top pro. I'm not making the mistake of underestimating him.'
'And the second point?' Cardon enquired.
Those Americans who have been away from the hotel this evening for hours. Some returning with snow on their boots. I think they've studied the routes up into the Vosges to the Chateau Noir.'
'I think so, too,' Newman agreed. 'And God knows what booby traps they've prepared for us – whichever of the routes we use.'
'So we must outmanoeuvre them,' Tweed went on. 'First we should list our resources. Yes, Harry,' he said, addressing Butler.
'Pete Nield and I brought in some useful transport. First, a Renault Espace V6, a spacious vehicle. I drove that and carried a couple of high-powered motorbikes inside it. Pete Nield hired a station wagon. We crossed the frontier into France without trouble. No one tried to search us. We could have taped our handguns under the chassis.'
'Anyone like to see my contribution?' enquired Marler.
Unfastening the cello case he had placed on the bed next to Paula, he raised the lid, removed the bow and then the black velvet cloth. Paula glanced at the contents, dropped off the bed, walked to the other bed and perched on it.
'If you don't mind,' she snapped at Marler. 'That little collection looks lethal.'
'Oh, very!' Marler assured her and grinned.
The men all gathered round the cello case. Cardon gave a yelp of delight.
'Grenades! Could I borrow six of those?'
'Which means I don't get them back,' Marler commented in mock annoyance. 'Help yourself.'
'I'll relieve you of the Luger,' Butler suggested. 'It makes a good back-up for a Walther.'
'Go ahead,' Marler told him. 'The Armalite is mine, of course. And I'm hanging on to the tear-gas pistol.'
'Like to see my contribution to the arsenal?' Newman suggested.
Fetching a canvas hold-all he'd dumped in a corner he unzipped it. When he produced the Uzi sub-machine-gun Paula stared.
'Are we thinking of starting a small war?' she asked.
'Which is just what the chap who supplied me with my toys said,' Marler recalled.
'We're well equipped,' Tweed decided. 'Put it all away. Now we must decide how we move into the mountains when the time comes. Which may be tomorrow. I have to talk to Amberg urgently – while he's still alive.'
'I could ride ahead of the cars on one of those motorbikes,' Cardon suggested. 'I can sniff danger a mile away.'
'Agreed,' said Tweed. 'Next suggestion…'
They spent less than half an hour working out the details of a convoy which would make its way up to the Chateau Noir. Cardon would be the advance scout on his motorcycle. He would travel ahead of the large Espace which Newman would drive, with Tweed and Paula as passengers.
Butler would ride the second motorcycle, was given a 'roving' duty to travel back and forth along the well-spaced-out convoy – well spaced to make a smaller target.
Nield would drive the station wagon, sometimes behind the Espace, sometimes ahead of it. A tactic which should confuse the opposition, if they were waiting for them.
That left Marler, who insisted on driving his red Mercedes. Tweed was doubtful of the wisdom of this, pointed out its colour could be spotted a long distance up in the mountains.
'I realize that,' Marler commented. 'But it moves like a bird. That's what I'll be driving.'
'Then we've worked out an action plan,' Tweed concluded. Time you all went to bed, got some sleep. Harry, do you mind relieving Pete Nield, who's watching over Jennie? Fix up with Bob when he'll take over guard duty from you…'
'All this sounds like an assault force attacking the Chateau Noir,' Paula said to Tweed as everyone except Marler left the room.
'It may be just that,' Tweed warned her. 'If Norton has already taken over the place before we arrive.'
'I won't be coming with you,' Marler told Tweed when Paula was the only other person still in the room.
Tweed listened as Marler told him about his visit to the glider airfield at the Ballon d'Alsace. Paula was appalled, thought that Marler's plan sounded like a suicide trip, said so.
'I'm touched that you should worry about my welfare.' He grinned. 'Don't worry. I had a Met forecast over the radio on my way back from Strasbourg. Wind direction is perfect. A southerly – blow me north. Tweed, you'll have a spy in the sky above the chateau. Cost you a bomb if I crash the bird landing.'
'We'll find the money, I suppose.'
'And the glider will act rather like a flying bomb – if Norton's thugs are crawling round in the area.'
'We go into the mountains tomorrow, then?' Paula asked.
'Yes,' Tweed replied. 'I've decided not to delay. Amberg may be in great danger. We'll go via Kaysersberg.'
'Jolly good.' Marler gave Paula a little salute. 'Get to bed now. I'll be up at crack of dawn. For Der Tag.'
***
Norton had returned to the Green Tree, satisfied that the bridge was a perfect ambush location – if Tweed chose the Kaysersberg route. He took off his fur hat and astrakhan coat in the entrance hall, shook off the snow, went up the staircase to his room.
As he inserted his key he heard the phone ringing inside. Once in the room, he slammed the door shut, locked it and hurried to the phone. He had no doubt it was the President calling yet again.
'A call for you,' the hotel operator informed him and he heard the click as she went off the line.
'Norton here.'
'Good evening to you, Mr Norton,' a hoarse growly voice said. 'You will know who has given me your number. Now please
be so good as to listen carefully to my instructions. If you really want the film and the tape.'
'Who is this?' grated Norton.
'Are you deaf? I told you to listen. One more comment and I go off the line. Have you got that?'
'Yes,' Norton replied with great reluctance. He was used to giving orders, not receiving them.
'You will drive to Lac Noir in the Vosges tomorrow, arriving there at sixteen hundred hours. Since you are American that is four o'clock in the afternoon…'
'I damn well know that…'
'One more interruption and this call ceases. Someone in Washington would not be pleased with you. The patron of the Green Tree, where you are staying, will show you on a map how to reach Lac Noir. Tell him you want to arrive at four and he will tell you when you must start. Have you understood me so far?'
The growly voice purred with menace. Even Norton, who thought he had experienced everything, was disturbed. He was careful with his reply.
'Yes, I have understood you.'
'Lac Noir – the Black Lake – is a lonely place. It is also
363 easy to observe from many points. You will bring the money and you will come alone. I said alone. If you bring anyone else we will never meet. I will show you the film, play the first section of the tape. You will give me the money. The exchange will be completed.'
Norton instantly saw his chance to manipulate the arrangement to suit his own purpose. His tone was dominant and grim.
'OK so far. But hell, you think I have that kind of dough in my back pocket? Because I haven't. It's in a safe place under heavy guard. I might be able to bring it up to you by six in the evening. No earlier. In any case, I want proof you have the items I need. So now you'll listen to me – if you want that dough. Or, to use your own words, we'll never meet. Six o'clock,' he repeated emphatically.
'Washington isn't going to like this at all…'
At this point Norton knew he had Growly Voice on the defensive for the first time. He hadn't broken off the call. He hadn't refused the later time of six o'clock Norton had laid down. Keep up the pressure, Norton told himself, and barked into the phone: 'Screw Washington. You can tell them I said that. I am the guy in charge of this operation. I am on the spot. I know where the money is. You're dealing with me? Get it? Just me. I'll be at the Black Lake at six o'clock in the evening tomorrow. All on my ownsome. And since presumably you're a European, six o'clock is eighteen hundred hours. Good night…'
Norton slammed down the phone before the voice at the other end could respond. He lit a cigar, dwelling with satisfaction on how he'd turned the tables on Growly Voice. Four in the afternoon it was still daylight, but by six it was black as pitch. The blackmailer was going to get a very nasty surprise tomorrow. And the timing fitted in with eliminating Tweed and his team if they went up into the mountains – they were bound to choose daylight hours. The big bucks were safe, too. Maybe he could clean up the whole operation by this time tomorrow evening. He took another puff at his cigar, a choice Havana. Banned in the States – just because it came from Cuba.
Twenty million dollars is a lot of money to have suspended from a chain attached to your right-hand wrist. Louis Sheen still had the chain linking his wrist with the brown suitcase containing the fortune in US banknotes. From his room in the Basle Hilton he had been transported by car across the frontier to the Hotel Bristol in Colmar.
His room, on the first floor, was probably the most heavily guarded area in Alsace-Lorraine. At all times three armed men occupied the room with him. Sheen was beginning to get fed up with room service. He peered at Mencken who had just been let into the room, glared at him through his rimless glasses.
'Look, Marvin, there are too many scumbags infesting this room. If I have to stay here a night longer I want them cleared out. You think I enjoy trying to sleep with this case as a bedmate? Because I don't.'
Mencken stroked a finger down the side of his long pointed jaw. Through half-closed eyes he studied Sheen with an expression which hardly radiated liking or sympathy. He spoke throatily as he made his casual suggestion.
'You've got the keys to unlock those steel cuffs hidden somewhere. Must have for when the time comes to hand over the billion dollars. So why not unlock the cuff on your wrist? No one can fool with trying to open the case. You're the only one who knows the code for those combination locks. Anyone who did try fooling around would end up igniting the thermite bomb inside – burning the money to a crisp, probably themselves, too.'
'I have my instructions,' Sheen snapped. 'And they come from a far higher source than you'll ever meet, let alone reach.'
Sheen, wearing a grey Brooks Brothers suit, was an accountant by training. He felt himself superior in intellect and class to these people. It was just unfortunate he had to spend time in such bad company. This attitude was not lost on Mencken. He leaned his face close to Sheen, who sat on the bed, propped against pillows, the case next to him.
'I'm Marvin to a few good friends,' he informed Sheen. 'But you don't come into that category. So, in future it's Mr Mencken. I'm the boss. OK?'
'Makes no difference to me,' Sheen retorted in a bored tone. 'And the boss is Norton. He's the only one who can tell me to release what's inside this case.'
'You listen to me.' Mencken's expression had become ugly. 'These men are here to protect your worthless hide. They heard you call them scumbags – so if that door burst open and the Marines arrived, just how much enthusiasm do you think they'd have protecting you?'
'You were ordered to protect me. You must have a good idea how high up that order came from. And the amount in this case is not a billion. You know that. Now, go away and put these men outside in the corridor.'
Sheen's eyes gazed contemptuously at Mencken from behind the rimless glasses. Mencken shoved the fingers of both hands inside his belt. At last Sheen had given him an opening to hit back at the creep.
'Listen, buddy boy, you know this is a hotel, that we're keeping you under cover. So what the hell do you think it would look like if I put the three scumbags – wasn't that the word you used? – outside your door in the hotel corridor? I've got news for you, Sheen. You look after the dough, I'll look after everything else. Sleep well, buddy boy…'
Mencken left the room which was immediately locked again from the inside. The secret order from Norton gave him a big kick. When the case had eventually been opened, the thermite bomb removed, at the first opportunity Mencken had personally to shoot Louis Sheen in the head and dispose of the body. He couldn't wait for that happy moment.
Prior to going to bed, Newman had gone into the Brasserie to buy a large bottle of mineral water. He often woke up in the middle of the night feeling parched. They were cleaning up in the Brasserie as he entered, sweeping floors, wiping the counter, polishing glasses. Newman was surprised to see Eve Amberg nursing a glass of champagne at a table. She raised her glass to him.
'What's the celebration in aid of?' he enquired, accepting her invitation to join her.
'Victory! I've pinned down Walter Amberg. He's agreed on the phone to see me at the Chateau Noir tomorrow morning. This time I won't leave till I get all the money which is mine. Hence the champers. Come on, Bob. Join me in my celebration.' She summoned a waiter, ordered a glass before Newman could protest. Worried, when the waiter had brought his glass, he tried to think of how to get her to delay her visit.
'Cheers, Bob!' Eve clinked his glass. 'Wish me luck up at the chateau.'
Even at this hour she was full of energy and the enthusiasm he found so infectious. She leaned her head on his shoulder, her long titian mane draped over his jacket, face turned sideways so her greenish eyes could study him. I could fall for this woman if I don't watch it, Newman told himself.
He was worried that if Eve went up into the mountains tomorrow she could easily drive into an area where the guns were firing. Because the guns would be firing – Newman was convinced of this. Norton would exploit all the advantages of the mountain terrain to annihilate Tweed and
his team. He'd already tried to wipe them out on a smaller scale in Zurich's Bahnhofstrasse, plus the memory of how he himself had just been saved by Beck's police car from being run down in Basle. Eve was stroking his hand when he spoke.
'Amberg has been very difficult with you recently – he's deliberately avoided you. Now he's agreed graciously to receive you into the presence, shouldn't you play hard to get? Throw him off balance – phone him tomorrow morning and say you'll be driving up to see him the following day.'
'You don't know Walter like I do. I appreciate what you suggested. With many men it would work. Not with Walter. He's more stubborn than a mule. Now I've pressured him into seeing me I must grab my chance. He may have decided to pay me off to get rid of me. You only get one chance with Walter-' She broke off and, her head still resting on Newman's shoulder, stared at the newcomer who had entered the Brasserie by the short cut. It was Tweed.
'We're celebrating!' Eve greeted Tweed buoyantly. 'Champers for you. Drink to my successful trip tomorrow.'
The waiter had already arrived with a fresh glass of champagne. Tweed waved it aside, asked for a glass of Riesling.
'Helps me to sleep,' he explained amiably to Eve. 'It's the only wine I really like – so being in Alsace I'm making the most of it. Thank you,' he said to the waiter, raised his glass, stared at Eve who was eyeing him sideways. 'So what are we celebrating at this late hour?'
Newman explained Eve's plans, emphasizing that he'd tried to persuade her to wait for twenty-four hours. Tweed grasped at once Newman's motive in attempting to delay her visit. While listening to the explanation Eve stared fixedly at Tweed, her full lips moving slightly. It was a situation not unfamiliar to Tweed – an attractive woman who liked to flirt, who pretended to be interested in one man while she took aim at her real target. In this case, he suspected, himself.
