by Colin Forbes
'Always want everything yesterday. Anton Marchat was the passenger's full name.'
'I have his photo now. When I get back to London I'll send a copy to you by courier. See if the girl agrees the photo is of Marchat.'
'You never stop plaguing me. OK.'
'He caught a flight to Geneva,' Tweed said.
'Via Swissair. So why the devil do you ask when you know?'
'It was an educated guess.'
'Who said you were educated?' asked Corcoran.
'I have another favour to ask you. Now, don't blow a gasket. Do you know the security chief at Bournemouth International?'
'Yes, I do. Jeff is a pal I sometimes visit. Nice part of the world down there. What is it this time?'
'I'm pretty sure that Leopold Brazil will be taking off from that airport in his private jet – may already have done so. He'll have filed a flight plan, or his pilot will. It's very important I know his destination. If I could know it before he lands that would be marvellous.'
'Marvellous is the word.' Corcoran said cynically. 'I call you at Park Crescent?'
'Yes. And give the destination to Monica.'
'You owe me…'
Corcoran had gone off the line. Tweed knew he was very quick. He'd already be calling Jeff at Bournemouth International. Tweed dialled Park Crescent, explained the situation briefly to Monica.
'If Corcoran calls you, leave a message for me at the Priory. Just the destination.'
'Understood. Don't go, I've got a message for Marler. From someone called Archie. He asked for General and Cumbria Assurance, so I don't think he knows who we really are. Message was, could Marler go and see him urgently? Address, The Bird's Nest, Kimmeridge. I ask you! The Bird's Nest. Sounds cuckoo to me.'
Tweed chuckled briefly at one of Monica's rare bursts of humour.
'How would this Archie know Marler is down here?' he asked.
'I was going to tell you. He saw Bob Newman somewhere down there, thought Marler might be with him.'
'Did he? I'll pass on the message…'
Tweed never looked smug. It wasn't in his nature. But as he hurried back to the Black Bear he looked pleased. Everything was on the move, the momentum was building up.
Re-entering the bar, Tweed found Paula and Newman with Marler seated at a large table near the bay window overlooking South Street. Ben, the barman, was sitting between Marler and Newman. He started to get up but Tweed waved him back into his seat. 'I've still got my orange juice.'
'Ben.' Marler began, 'was waiting for you to come back. He's got something interesting to tell us about Marchat, apparently.'
'Really?'
Tweed sat down, relaxed. Ben was a small tubby man with a ruddy complexion and a mop of sandy hair. He smiled at Tweed, cleared his throat before speaking. Paula was amused. There was something about Tweed's appearance, his personality, which made people tell him things they wouldn't normally speak about.
'Ben is a stand-in, as I mentioned earlier.' Marler explained. 'For a friend, the normal barman who has gone off to the Caribbean for a month's holiday.'
'Marchat.' Ben started, 'came in about a week ago and had more to drink than usual. I wouldn't say he was tipsy but he wasn't sober either. He told me that he was worried. He'd spotted prowlers outside Sterndale's house several nights running. Always after dark. He reported what he'd seen to Sterndale but the General pooh-poohed his fears, said nobody could get into his house after he'd locked up.'
'About a week ago?' Tweed said thoughtfully.
'Yes, it would be that.' Ben agreed. 'I told him to tell the police, to go to the station in Worgret Road."'
'That's the name.' Newman interjected. 'I said West Street earlier.'
'Lot of people make that mistake.' Ben was still talking to Tweed, rubbing a hand over his plump face. He struck Tweed as a likeable, decent chap, not over-endowed with brains but shrewd in summing up customers. 'You see, West Street runs into Worgret.' He paused. Tweed waited, sensing Ben was wondering whether to tell him something else. He was sipping his orange juice when Ben started talking again, keeping his voice down even though no one else was in the bar.
'He told me something else which sounded important – Marchat thought it was very important…"'
He broke off as two men entered and stood by the bar. One rapped a coin on the counter.
'Have to go serve them.' Ben looked indecisive. 'You know Bowling Green?'
'I do.' said Newman. 'A grassy bowl beyond the far end of North Street, or near the end. There's a footpath on the right past St Martin's Church…'
'That's it.' said Ben. 'I live near the River Trent, take my dog for a walk at eleven o'clock at night. Could we meet at Bowling Green? Mind you, the forecast is for a cold frosty night.'
'We'll be there.' Newman promised him. 'We may come along the East Walls…'
'That will get you there.'
The two men were getting impatient at the bar and again the coin was rapped on the counter. Newman glanced at them as Ben ambled back to the bar. He lowered his voice.
'I suppose they couldn't be more of Mr Brazil's kindly friends?'
'He might have left a couple behind to keep an eye on things, but I think it's unlikely.' Tweed was speaking very quietly. 'Butler has told me he saw the limo which brought Brazil to Grenville Grange was on its way back to the ferry. I think he's leaving the country again.'
'So we've lost him.' said Paula.
'Maybe…'
'I'd like a quiet word with Marler.' Tweed said as they left the bar and entered the corridor.
'We could walk further along this passage to what they call the Beer Garden.' Marler suggested. 'It won't be very comfortable at this time of year – wooden benches and a cobbled floor.'
'Ideal.' Tweed looked at Paula and Newman, but Paula spoke first.
'I noticed a place called the Old Granary down on the Quay. We'll wait there for you…'
'Good idea. Near where the cars are parked outside the Priory.. .'
Tweed was being cautious. He suspected Archie was very careful to keep his clients, the people he acted as an informant for, separate and unknown to each other. He doubted whether Newman knew Archie was Marler's informant.
Seated on a cold hard wooden bench, he told Marler about Archie's urgent call to Monica. He asked whether Marler would sooner drive there on his own.
'I don't think so,' Marler decided. 'You come in your own car, following me, and Newman and Paula can come in the Merc. When I get there, drive past the cottage a short distance and I'll consult Archie.'
'We'd better get moving.'
'Just so long as you don't mind if I drive like the wind to Kimmeridge. Archie sounds worried.'
'We might just manage to keep up with you.'
It was still daylight as the three cars drove along the winding road well beyond Corfe Castle. They had to slow down as they approached Keith Kent's house because of a bend just before they reached it. As they passed Tweed saw one of the curtains in Kent's living room twitch. They had been observed.
They turned left later where a narrow road was signposted Kimmeridge. They had been hemmed in on both sides with hedges and the odd copse of trees. Now the landscape opened out and in the gloom of the afternoon they saw the sea below them.
'Looks very rough.' Paula commented to Tweed. 'Think I'll suggest to Bob behind us he goes for a swim.'
'Tiny little place, Kimmeridge.' Tweed observed. 'It's one short lane with cottages on either side and the road stops at the sea.'
'Seems a good idea.' Paula joked. 'Lord, it looks like the end of the world.'
She thought she had never seen such a bleak outlandish coast. They had descended several hairpin bends to reach Kimmeridge and beyond was a large bay with grim-looking cliffs enclosing it. Not a sign of life anywhere.
Marler pulled up outside a dark two-storey brick cottage, very small and undistinguished. The other two cars cruised past, pulled up further along the street as Marler got out.
He walked briskly up to t
he front door which opened immediately. Archie stood in the doorway.
'Those two cars which followed you…'
'The safest people in the world. One is my chief.'
'Tweed.' said Archie. 'And Bob Newman. Is the lady Paula Grey?'
Marler stared at him in astonishment. He had never revealed any of the names to his host. Archie's knowledge was unnerving. He thought quickly.
'Yes, you're right.'
'Invite them in.' said Archie.
Again Marler was astonished but he didn't show his reaction. Going back into the road he beckoned, was about to introduce them when Archie closed the door, locked it, led them into a small untidy room with worn-looking armchairs and piles of books on the floor.
'Please sit down, Miss Grey, Tweed, Mr Newman.'
'He knew who you were.' Marler said hastily, catching a certain expression on Tweed's face.
'I'm in need of protection.' Archie explained. 'So the more of you who know me the better. I'm making some coffee on the stove. Any takers?'
They all refused politely.
Paula was studying Archie with fascination. Small and lean, his face was pallid and he sported a small dark moustache which reminded her of pictures she'd seen of Hitler, but the resemblance ended there. At the corner of his mouth was a half-smoked dead cigarette and she suspected it stayed with him all the time he was awake. He had kindly, shrewd grey eyes and his movements were quick and nervous. It occurred to her he would be easy to recognize, which surprised her. He had a shock of grey hair which kept falling over his head. He spoke very fast but every word was clear. He sat down on a small wooden stool with his mug of coffee. From that moment on he was very still and all traces of nervousness disappeared.
'I'll get right to the point…' He addressed Tweed but included Paula in the conversation courteously at intervals.
'I'm talking about a man you will have heard of. Mr Leopold Brazil, the so-called billionaire. You've heard of the missing scientists who are the top men in their fields?'
'Yes,' said Tweed.
'They disappear overnight – with their wives – but often it is months before it is known they have gone. Always a good reason is given to their neighbours, their friends. It is a very well organized operation. Directly or indirectly they are all concerned with communications -especially with the so-called information superhighway.'
'Yes,' said Tweed.
'Brazil hires them for fantastic salaries. Somewhere he has established a high-tech laboratory with advanced equipment.'
'You really know this?' demanded Tweed, leaning forward.
'I have an informant. I can say no more at the moment.'
12
Tweed sat silent, made no attempt to press their host for further information. Paula had noticed that Newman had acted as though Archie was a stranger, someone he had never met before. It was the safety valve operating between an agent and an informant. Obviously Archie had kept Marler and Newman in separate compartments.
She really was intrigued by their host. Well dressed in a blue business suit, he wore surgical gloves. She tried not to look at them and glanced round the room. It hadn't been dusted for months. Archie seemed to read her mind.
'The gloves I wear intrigue you,' he said to her. 'By always wearing them I leave no fingerprints. The people who are searching for me are very skilled. Also, you have observed the room is covered in dust, does not look as though it has been inhabited for months. Which is the impression I wish to leave behind in case someone breaks in.'
'You're very thorough.'
'It is the secret of survival.'
'But what about the neighbours?' she persisted. 'Supposing someone questioned them?'
They would say the place was empty for months, that it was a holiday home. In a tiny village like this the locals do not take kindly to strangers.' He looked at Marler. 'Do I get protection?'
'We haven't the manpower to guard you wherever you go night and day. What sort of protection?'
'Just for the next few hours. Tomorrow I need to be driven to Heathrow, but tomorrow is a long way off.'
'The boot of my car,' Newman suggested. 'It won't be comfortable but you could stay overnight at the Black Bear in Wareham. Marler is staying there.'
'Comfort?' The cigarette at the comer of his mouth wobbled as he chuckled. 'Comfort is something I can live without. I have often slept rough – especially on the Continent. It is getting dark.' A frown creased his forehead.
Paula had noticed that dusk was beginning to fall. And there were no lights so Archie was becoming a silhouette in the gloom. He stood up.
'I will meet you all on the beach. Drive straight on through the village. I will join you. I have to clear up here. This mug has to be washed out. And there are other things to attend to. I will join you in a few minutes.'
'Can I help clearing up?' asked Paula as everyone stood up.
'Most kind, but I work faster alone.'
'Would I be inquisitive if I asked who you are afraid of?' coaxed Paula.
'Leave now. To answer your question, The Motorman is active. He killed the wrong man at Devastoke Cottage…'
They drove slowly down to the shore along a narrow road with arid fields on either side. It was dusk but the moon was up and Paula shuddered. The end of the world.
Pulling up in a flattened area above the sea which probably served as a car park during the season, Tweed switched the engine off. Paula got out, fastened the top button of her windcheater.
The bay was deserted with cliffs rising on both sides. A bitter wind blew off the sea, which was a chaos of churning waves. She looked back at Kimmeridge and saw specks of light. Newman was already busy with his open boot. She walked over to him and Marler stood watching.
Newman had hauled the travelling rugs out of the rear of his car, was arranging them inside the boot as a makeshift bed.
'He'll be able to breathe all right?' Paula queried.
'Plenty of air in there.' Newman assured her. 'I'll give two hoots on the horn occasionally.' he informed Tweed, who had joined them. 'Wait for me. I'll be checking to make sure Archie is OK. You can get him a room at the Black Bear?' he asked Marler.
'Easily. He'll probably want to stay in it. I'll tell the staff he's feeling exhausted and get a meal sent up to him. You'll be over from the Priory in the morning to take him to Heathrow.'
'I wonder where he's off to?' Paula mused.
'Don't ask him.' Tweed warned. 'He's one of the most remarkable characters I've encountered in a long time. And it's uncanny how he knows everything that's happening. Marler, you escort Newman back to Ware-ham.'
'Where are you off to?'
'I'm driving with Paula to Sterndale Manor.'
'The place will be a ruin.' Newman reminded him.
'Yes. But I like to observe for myself the scene of the crime. Probably goes back to the old days when I was a superintendent at the Yard.'
'And the youngest superintendent with Homicide in its history.' Paula piped up. 'What do we expect to find there?' she asked when Tweed shrugged at her remark.
'An old friend. Who the devil is this coming?'
Marler slipped a Walther out of its holster, held the weapon by his side. A scarecrow-like figure was cycling down the road towards them.
***
Paula gazed in disbelief at the man who jumped off his bicycle. He wore a battered old hat, a pair of glasses perched at a cock-eyed angle on the bridge of his nose, a shabby raincoat smeared with oil. It was only the dead cigarette at the corner of his mouth which told her this was Archie.
'Have to get rid of the bike,' Archie said urgently. 'I'll shove it off that cliff over there into the sea. Tide's on the turn.'
'I'll do that,' Paula said firmly.
Thank you. Mind how you go.'
Archie stripped off the hat and the raincoat, exposing the same blue suit underneath. From a pannier at the rear of the cycle he took a travelling bag and joined Newman to climb into the boot.
Paul
a, by the light of the moon, pushed the bike a distance to her left uphill. Reaching a point where the cliffs were higher she took hold of the saddle, pointed the front wheel towards the sea, gave it a strong shove. As it went over a huge wave crashed against the cliff, threw spray high up in the air, and the cycle was gone. She hurried back as Tweed was instructing Newman and Marler.
'When Paula and I get back we'll have dinner at the Priory. Don't forget our eleven o'clock appointment with the bartender, Ben. Bob, you do know the way to Bowling Green? It will be dark.'
'There's a moon. Have fun with your mysterious friend at the manor
…'
Leaving Corfe behind, Tweed accelerated up the steep winding hill, slowed to pass through Kingston, then drove higher. In his head he carried a map of Dorset and turned on to the tarred drive leading to Sterndale Manor. In the distance they saw arc lights shining on the wreckage. Policemen in uniform were moving about and a crane on the back of a small lorry was lifting something out of the carnage. Tweed slowed down as a policeman stood on the drive, hand held up.
'So that's your friend.' said Paula.
Behind the policeman Buchanan had appeared. He came up to the car and Tweed prepared for an argument. Instead, Buchanan looked at both of them and smiled cynically.
'As usual, your timing is perfect. Now you're here you might as well see.'
'See what?' asked Tweed, getting out of the car with Paula.
'The crane. What it's holding in its grab. The old General's safe. The trouble is the heat burst open the door a crack so everything inside will be burnt to ashes…'
A strong wind was blowing along the valley direct off the sea. They watched as the safe was lowered to the ground. Immediately a squad of men erected round it a large high canvas screen with a roof to ward off the wind.
'They're well organized.' Paula whispered.
'Buchanan always is.' Tweed replied.
He had just spoken when the Chief Inspector beckoned to them and they followed him inside the canvas tent as a policeman lifted a flap, closed it behind them. Buchanan put on a pair of asbestos gloves and carefully lifted the door open. Inside was a mess of black ashes. Nothing had survived.
