Precipice tac-14

by Colin Forbes

  The rider was trying to get out from under his machine when Butler tapped him over the skull with the butt of the Luger. Unconscious, he sprawled back in the road.

  Butler, checking there was no other traffic, went through every pocket swiftly. No sign of a warrant card or anything else confirming he was a policeman. Butler heaved him up by the shoulders, dragged him across the road, hurled him into a thick patch of gorse bushes. His cargo disappeared. It took Butler no time to find him, to unbutton the jacket and haul it off the inert body by sheer brute force. As Butler had estimated, they were about the same build. Ripping off his windcheater, he slipped on the black jacket. Not a bad fit, he said to himself, and zipped up the front. Then he pushed the thug's body further into the gorse.

  For a well-built man Butler could move with great speed. He had already switched off the engine of the Fireblade and he folded his windcheater, opened the pannier at the rear of the machine. Under a spare black jacket he found an assortment of handguns, five in all with spare ammo.

  'We have a different type of policeman these days.' he muttered under his breath.

  Putting on his gloves again, he carried the handguns, using the spare jacket as a makeshift tray. A few feet along the grass verge he found a gap in the hedge with a lake of muddy ooze beyond. He hurled each gun and saw them sink. The jacket followed the guns.

  Hurrying back to the prone motorcycle, he lifted it upright, kicked out the prongs which held it in that position. He had already detached the black helmet from the thug's head and he pulled it over his own head.

  En route from the ferry he had noticed several sandy tracks leading off towards the sea on his right and he saw another one a few yards away. No wheel tracks. Who would want to drive down to sit on the beach in this weather, at this time of the year?

  It took him barely a minute to back his Fiesta down the track out of sight, to park it behind some bushes. Locking it, he ran back to the Fireblade, pulling the visor of his helmet over his face. He slipped the Luger into the pannier. You never knew when it might come in handy.

  Astride the Fireblade, he checked his watch. Three minutes since he had knocked the outrider unconscious. He fired the engine, took off at high speed along the deserted road. He was anxious to catch up the limo before it reached the turn-off to Swanage. He rode through the sleepy hamlet of Studland like the wind, saw the limo in the distance.

  Butler breathed a sigh of relief. The limo was still proceeding at a civilized glide, showing no sign of speeding up.

  'Must be a big egg inside that,' Butler said to himself. 'Doesn't like being shaken up into an omelette.'

  He slowed down as the limo with its distant outriders drove straight on, passing the turn-off to the small seaside resort of Swanage. Soon, to his left, Butler saw the steep slopes of a range of the Purbeck Hills sweeping up just behind the country road, shaped like great barrows.

  'Corfe next,' Butler said to himself. 'Next point is where do you turn there? On to Wareham or up into the hills?'

  His question was answered as the limo turned left at the base of the mound on which the great stones of the ancient castle reared up, then through the old village of Corfe itself. Just at the end of Corfe the limo swung off to the right past a signpost that pointed to Kingston.

  'Looks like Grenville Grange.' Butler commented under his breath as the wind hammered down a steep hill against his visor. 'I wonder where everybody else is? Tweed would be interested in this development …'

  'You do realize we've been followed all the way from Park Crescent?' said Paula.

  Behind the wheel of his car Tweed nodded as he came close to Wareham.

  'A blue Vauxhall.' he said. 'One man, the driver. Now he's disappeared and we have a grey Jaguar keeping us company. Maybe they do it in turns, hoping to fool us. The Jag is probably a coincidence. It appeared only a few miles back.'

  'You don't normally believe in coincidences.' she reminded him.

  'Because behind the Jag is a blue Renault which, I think, is using the Jag to mask himself. All this is very promising.'

  'Promising?' Paula queried in surprise.

  'Yes, it means my wide enquiries into the activities of Leopold Brazil have triggered off anxiety.'

  'It sounds as though you've provoked suspicion deliberately.'

  'Well, I did ask a few contacts to spread the news that I was asking leading questions about His Lordship.'

  'I might have guessed. Heavens, look at those fields. They are just lakes.'

  They were crossing a bridge over a river into the main street of Wareham, which looked dead. Paula gazed at the ancient Georgian terraces, each house with its door painted a different colour.

  'In good weather this looks like a nice sleepy place, I expect.'

  'Very sleepy.' Tweed commented. 'Three murders within twenty-four hours. Which reminds me, I think it's vital we track down the real Marchat. I have a hunch he was heading for Heathrow on his way out of the country.'

  'So we've lost him.'

  'Not necessarily. While you were out of my office for a few minutes freshening up I called Jim Corcoran, Security Chief at Heathrow, gave him Newman's description of Partridge – apparently looks very like our will-o'-the-wisp, Marchat. I asked him to check all the early morning flights out of Heathrow. Especially to Europe.'

  'Why Europe?'

  'Because so many things are happening in Europe. That's where The Motorman has been most active. Don't mention him to anybody. And Brazil has at least two houses in Europe we know about. One in Paris at the Avenue Foch, another on the lakeside in Zurich.'

  'Why are you worried about Leopold Brazil?'

  'Because of rumours from sources I trust that he is planning some huge operation. Because he has such power – with his contacts at the highest levels. Because I have been warned off investigating him – and so have Lasalle in Paris and Arthur Beck in Berne. Here we are…'

  Tweed turned left off South Street at a point where, beyond a bridge, Paula could see the grim-looking sweep of the Purbecks in the distance, their summits lost in a blanket of black clouds. He arrived outside the Priory, parked the car in a slot up against a stone wall near the entrance. As he did so the grey Jaguar pulled up alongside. The driver waved to Tweed.

  'We have pleasant company.' Tweed remarked. 'You do know Bill Franklin, ex-member of Military Intelligence?'

  'I call him Uncle Bill…'

  Paula jumped out of the car as a tall man climbed out from behind the wheel of the Jaguar. She ran across and hugged him.

  'I've been following you, Tweed.' Franklin said over her shoulder.

  Franklin was a well-built man in his forties without a trace of fat on him. He was constantly smiling, and was clean-shaven with a strong jaw and a quizzical expression. He hugged Paula, released her from his embrace.

  'Such a warm welcome on a day like this. Are you and Tweed having a rare holiday? You could both do with one.'

  He gave her an infectious grin. Franklin spoke slowly with a public school accent that came naturally to him. His movements were slow, giving the impression of a lazy man who never hurried. Paula knew that in his quiet way he was very active. She had always been fond of him.

  'So, you've been following us,' Tweed said with mock severity. 'May I ask why?'

  'You just did.' Franklin smiled warmly. 'I've been busy. For a change. Decided to take a few days off. I was driving around looking for a decent hotel and spotted you passing me at a side turning. I said to myself, I'm in need of some good company and there it is. You could have knocked me down with the proverbial feather when I saw Paula with you.'

  'Well, the Priory here is a very good hotel,' Tweed replied. 'Why not stay here? When I have a minute we can talk over old times.'

  'Great idea. Let me…' He took Paula's bag off her. She remembered he was always courteous and kind. Inside reception they registered and the three of them were given rooms in the main hotel.

  'Tell you what.' Franklin suggested, after registering, 'w
hy don't we dump our bags in our rooms and meet up in the lounge? I could do with a cup of coffee.'

  'Black and strong as sin, you used to say,' Paula reminded him.

  'Did I? But I remember you have total recall for conversations.' He smiled his slow smile again. 'So I will have to be careful what I say to you. It's a bit early in the day for me to compromise myself.'

  'When you two have stopped flirting…' Tweed interjected. 'And yes, Bill, we'll meet up in the lounge. Say in five minutes?'

  Well beyond Kingston Butler slowed down, stopped his Fireblade. Some distance ahead of him the cavalcade -outriders and limousine – was entering a drive between high drystone walls. As it disappeared he eased his machine forward slowly – just in time to see huge wrought-iron gates closing slowly. No sign of anyone shutting them, so he guessed they were automatically operated by remote control.

  Parking his machine on a grass verge, he walked slowly up to the gates, then quickened his pace. As he passed them he saw the limousine pulling up at the end of a long curving drive beyond where it forked. He stopped, bent down as though to adjust his footwear.

  The outriders gathered round the limo. A large door in the grim dark house perched on a terrace was opened. A tall man he couldn't see clearly emerged from the rear of the limo, hurried agilely up the steps, disappeared inside the house, followed by the outriders who had parked their machines and removed their helmets. They tucked them under their arms and followed the tall figure like a military escort. The door closed.

  Now the gates were closed he read the two words inscribed in gold, one on each gate. Grenville Grange.

  'I guessed right.' he said to himself. 'They don't seem to have noticed they have one man missing. Or maybe his job is to stand sentinel outside. I'll wait awhile and see if anything more happens, then report to Newman…'

  Newman, cold and stiff from lying on the ground at the end of the wall, raised his binoculars again. At the point where the drive curved he had a glimpse of the main drive coming up from the gates, had seen the cavalcade arrive.

  'Go and tell Marler to hide in the back of my Merc,' he told Philip, who was lying alongside him. 'Tell Eve to get behind the wheel of her Porsche. Warn them both we may have to be ready for instant take-off down that track over Lyman's Tout. Order Eve that she is to come behind me. No arguments from her. Our lives may be at stake.'

  'Will do…'

  Newman waited a few more minutes, then raised his binoculars again. A terrace ran the full length of the back of the house and double doors had opened near a flight of steps.

  A tall well-padded man with greying hair appeared. He was holding a huge dog on a leash, some kind of ferocious-looking wolfhound which tugged at the leash and then stood for a moment, sniffing the air.

  'Damn!' Newman muttered. 'The wind's behind me and that nasty-looking beast may pick up our scent.'

  'Horrible brute,' replied Philip, who had returned and dropped to the ground next to Newman. 'Imposing sort of chap. Oh, Lord, he's coming this way.'

  The figure with the dog had descended the steps and was beginning to walk with brisk strides down the track where earlier Newman had driven towards the cliff edge.

  As he drew closer Newman let his binoculars drop so they were looped round his neck and stared in disbelief.

  'It can't be.' he said. 'We might as well stand up. He's going to see us.'

  Despite the raw wind, the low temperature, the man coming towards them wore an expensive-looking midnight-blue suit, a white shirt, and a pale grey tie. His large head was held erect, his complexion was ruddy, his features were strong with a Roman nose and a wide mouth above a firm jaw. He walked with an air of complete self-assurance and had a commanding presence. He was very close when he left the track and stood on a large flat rock, the dog straining at the leash.

  'Heel, Igor,' the tall man ordered.

  The dog immediately sat beside its master, its mouth open, teeth showing, gazing at Newman as though it hoped it was suppertime.

  'Mr Robert Newman, I presume,' the tall man remarked. 'I think as Stanley said to Livingstone, or was it the other way round?'

  'One or the other.' Newman replied calmly. 'And you are right. Robert Newman.'

  'Welcome to Grenville Grange. I am Leopold Brazil.'

  8

  Newman studied the large man before reacting: an aura of power seemed to emanate from him as he stood calmly, steady as the rock beneath him, with the full blast of the wind battering him. He had startlingly blue eyes and Newman realized he was in the presence of a most unusual and forceful personality.

  'I once tried to interview you.' Newman recalled.

  'Indeed you did.' The ghost of a smile crossed Brazil's face. 'I rarely give interviews but now that I have met you I almost wish I had granted your request. Have you seen a minion of mine, a certain Carson Craig?'

  'Yes. He's tied up behind the wall. He made a mistake. He threatened me with a shotgun.'

  'Oh 7 Lord.' Brazil sighed. 'Actually he is one of my most able deputies. A brilliant administrator, but he has an evil temper. I am constantly telling him that he must control it. Could your friend beside you kindly release him and I will send him back to the house.'

  'Do it.' Newman said quietly to Philip.

  'I also observe you have two cars with you, one with a woman behind the wheel…'

  Newman then realized that from his vantage point on the rock Brazil could see the vehicles over the top of the wall. He glanced at the Porsche. Eve, seated behind her wheel, had wrapped a scarf round her head and was now wearing tinted glasses.

  'I trust you were not thinking of driving back down the track along Lyman's Tout.' Brazil continued in his amiable tone. 'I see they are pointed that way. It is a dangerous route. I urge you to return the way you used to come here – along my drive. The gates are shut but I will order Craig to open them for you.'

  'I'm not sure that route might not be more dangerous.' Newman told him bluntly.

  'Ah, a man of my own heart. Cautious, taking no chances unless compelled to.' Brazil chuckled. 'Mr Newman, I will sit with you in the front passenger seat and escort you to the road. We have to give Craig time to reach the house and operate the automatic gates.'

  Inwardly, Newman was again taken aback, although nothing in his expression showed his surprise. Philip, who had earlier been given the key by Marler before hiding in the back of the Merc, had removed the blindfold and the gag and then unlocked the handcuffs.

  Craig staggered to his feet, blinking, saw Newman, began stumbling towards him.

  'You…'

  'Craig!' Brazil's tone was like a man addressing a child. 'Don't make bad worse. Kindly keep your mouth closed. Go back to the house and open the gates. Mr Newman and his companions are leaving. I shall be sitting with Mr Newman before I bid him a safe journey and return to the house. Move, man!' he suddenly thundered.

  Bewildered, Craig stumbled past the end of the stone wall, paused when he saw his shotgun lying on the ground.

  'I… said… move… Craig.' Brazil ordered in a soft tone which seemed to scare his deputy.

  As Craig was passing him Brazil handed over the leash holding the wolfhound, said nothing while Craig took charge of the dog and tried to hurry back to the house.

  'We won't want this,' Brazil said briskly.

  Leaping very athletically off the rock, he picked up the shotgun, checked it, took hold of it by the stock, and hurled it towards the sea. It vanished over the edge of the cliff. Newman was impressed by Brazil's physical strength , it had been a long way to hurl a heavy object.

  'I'll travel in the Porsche,' Philip suggested, to Newman's relief.

  He was thinking quickly in this bizarre situation, Newman noted. He had realized he couldn't travel in the rear of the Merc with Marler still curled up under the travelling rug.

  'I'm riding with you,' Philip called out as he approached Eve. 'Newman leads and we follow. We're going out the way we came in.'

  'What the hell is goin
g on?'

  'Just get ready to turn the car round and follow Bob.'

  'You are bossy.'

  'When it's necessary.' Philip rapped back.

  Newman opened the front passenger door of his car and Brazil slipped into the seat, fastening his seat belt. He laughed.

  'That's a precaution in case you get it wrong and take us over the cliff.'

  'I'll try and avoid doing that.' Newman responded jocularly. 'How did you know there was someone behind the wall – that I was there?' he asked as he eased his way back into the grounds.

  'Elementary, my dear Watson. I like neatness. When I was last here I gave orders for the pebble track we are about to drive onto to be raked over. When I came out on to the terrace I noticed wheel marks. A simple deduction.'

  The wheels were crunching over the pebbles now with the Porsche close behind them. Brazil clasped his large hands, very relaxed.

  'You see, the gates are open.' he remarked as they drove slowly round the corner of the house. 'Mr Newman, would you mind if I asked you an important favour?'

  'Ask away. It depends on whether I can help you.'

  'I am very anxious to meet Mr Tweed during the next week.'

  For the third time Brazil had thrown Newman off balance. It only took him seconds to phrase a reply.

  'I think Tweed will want to know why you wish to see him.'

  'Naturally. He is a most formidable man. I would like to discuss with him the present state of the world. To get his views on what should be done to correct a chaotic situation. I am talking globally, you can tell him.'

  'If he's willing, how does he contact you?'

  'If it does not seem impolite I will contact him. Then I will suggest a mutually convenient rendezvous.'

  'I'll certainly pass the message on when I next see him.'

  'Thank you. I am grateful.'

  In his rear-view mirror Newman was checking for signs of activity outside the house. There were none. Again the place looked unoccupied. He pulled up when the two cars were outside the gates and safely on the road. Brazil climbed out, kept the door open, stared straight at Newman.