by Colin Forbes
'This is all science fiction to me…' Tweed began.
'No! It isn't. Science is advancing by leaps and bounds. That's what worries me. The momentum is insane. Lord knows where we're going to end up.'
'We'll find out in due course.'
He never finished his sentence. Grogarty suddenly seemed to wake up, as though coming out of a trance.
'Ed Reynolds!' he almost shouted. 'Ed Reynolds – he's the key player. His speciality is sabotage of the whole communications network.'
'Sabotage?'
Tweed's nerves were tingling already for another reason. But the word made him sit on the edge of his chair. His host looked excited.
'I mean he worked on techniques which could sabotage world communications, throw the world into chaos. His objective was to find means of countering any such techniques. Like a doctor working on a vaccine to protect people against a certain disease. Do you understand me now?'
'Yes. But does that link up with the other scientists?'
'Yes, it does. If the real secret of the research going on somewhere is sabotage.'
'That's it, then?'
'That's it,' Grogarty agreed, standing up. 'Nice to see you, Tweed. Better get cracking – this thing is global. May be a complete change in the balance of world power.'
16
Philip was on the verge of leaving Eve's flat, reluctantly, when he closed the outer door and came back into the living room.
'That was a quick trip to the office,' Eve said perkily.
Her looked down at her, seated in an armchair, her shapely legs crossed. She was wearing dark blue trousers and a pale blue sweater, her arms rested on the chair's arms as he came towards her.
She saw a man in his thirties, dark haired and cleanshaven with thoughtful eyes. Philip was again in a state of inner turmoil – enormously attracted towards this lively woman but still grief-stricken for his dead wife. He wasn't sure where he was.
'Well, I've got your number…' he began, to tell her he would call her that evening.
'And I've got your number, Mr Philip Cardon,' she replied, meaning something quite different as she jumped up and kissed him on the cheek.
He was advancing closer when she held up both hands and waved him away. She stood, folded her arms.
'Maybe we could go away on holiday to somewhere really exciting. Bermuda. When I have the time.'
'That's a great idea,' Philip said.
'I did say maybe.'
'If you have to go abroad how long will you be away?' he asked.
'No idea.' She stood in front of a wall mirror, used both hands to smooth down her jet-black hair close to her head, then swung round to face him. 'Absolutely no idea at all. But I'll ring you. When I can.' she added. 'What is your office number? I may only be able to call during the day.'
'That I can't give you. They frown on personal calls at the office.'
'Stuffy old insurance bods. Then you'll just have to sit each evening in that empty house of yours in Hampshire and stare at the phone.'
The remark hurt, the reference to the empty house, but Philip didn't show a trace of his reaction. He watched her pick up a burning cigarette from an ashtray, use it to light a fresh one. He found himself admiring her slim figure.
'Giving me the once-over?' she enquired. 'You should know what I look like by now. Philip, I've got to take a shower.'
'I was just going…'
He closed the outer door behind him, walked slowly down the stairs, his emotions chaotic. Eve had a habit of lifting him up and then putting him down. He knew that some women used the tactic on men but Eve was an expert.
Tweed walked into his office to find only Monica and Newman there. Newman was just lifting the phone.
'Hello, Archie. Yes, it's Bob. How are you getting on?'
'News, Bob. I'm speaking from Geneva. Tricky city. People are trying to follow me. Think I've shaken them off. The news – Brazil appears to be compiling a list of all the members of Tweed's staff. So far he knows about you and Paula Grey – and he's got down Franklin as a possible member.'
'You're quite certain about this?'
'My informant is totally reliable. He doesn't even do it for money, which is reassuring. Must go now. I gather help is on the way
Newman stood up, gave Tweed, who had taken off his coat, the chair behind his desk. He repeated what Archie had told him.
'You think he's targeting my staff – Brazil?' Tweed asked slowly.
'Does sound like a hit list,' Newman agreed cheerfully.
Tweed stood up again, began to pace round the office as he counted on his fingers.
'Yourself, Paula – and Franklin possibly, who isn't on our team. The absentees are significant. Marler, Butler, and Nield.'
'I don't get you,' observed Newman.
'Dorset. There are only three people who could pass on that list. Franklin himself, Eve Warner, and Keith Kent.'
'Why would Franklin add himself to that list?'
'As a cover. I know it's thin.'
I'm still half asleep after my early morning.' Newman admitted, 'but I can't see how you come up with those three people as a suspected informant to Brazil.'
'Think! Dorset. Marler kept under cover all the time. None of my three suspects saw him – and when Marler was in the office when Franklin was here he refused to give Franklin his name. Also neither Butler nor Nield appeared.'
'It's creepy.' Monica commented.
'Oh, what was that bit about I gather help is on the way Archie ended up with?' Tweed asked.
'Archie phoned before Bob arrived.' Monica explained. 'You'd told me about him and he said he desperately needed back-up. Paula volunteered. She dashed off to Heathrow to catch a flight to Geneva.' Monica saw the expression on Tweed's face. 'She was excited about the idea…'
'You let her go! On her own!' Tweed exploded. 'She's going into the cauldron and won't be armed. Will she? I leave the office for a couple of hours and you allow this insanity to happen!'
Tweed was in one of his very rare rages. Monica looked appalled. In all the years she had worked for him he had never spoken to her like this. He was pacing round his office.
'I couldn't… have… stopped… her.' she stuttered.
Newman, calm as always, lit a cigarette. He watched as Tweed went round his desk and thudded into his chair. For a moment Tweed said nothing, then stared at Newman.
'Could I have a cigarette?'
Newman gave him one, lit it for him. Tweed, who hardly ever smoked, handled the cigarette in the fumbling way of people not used to smoking, taking short puffs.
'You've forgotten something.' Newman said.
'Have I? What?'
'Some time ago you gave orders that if you were not here Paula was empowered to act in your stead, to take any decision on her own without reference to anyone. You weren't here when the emergency came. Neither was I.'
'That's true. You are quite right.' Tweed had quietened down as swiftly as he had blown his top. 'Monica, a thousand apologies for my totally unreasonable outburst. I am very sorry.'
'Thank you,' said Monica. 'I appreciate what you've just said. But you are quite right – Paula couldn't have taken her Browning automatic when she was flying. But Archie covered that in his earlier call.'
'He did? How?' Tweed asked anxiously.
'He gave me the name and address of an illegal dealer in arms Marler uses. She'll go there first from the airport.'
'That's a relief.' Tweed studied the end of the cigarette he had hardly smoked, stubbed it in the crystal-glass ashtray Monica had perched on his desk. 'But how will she find Archie?'
'He covered that, too, in his first call. Whoever goes out meets him in a restaurant in the old city across the Rhone. A place called Les Armures. Archie said any cab driver knows it.'
'I know it,' said Tweed. 'You get the best kir royale in the world there.'
'Archie also said.' Monica continued, 'he'd be there from nine o'clock onwards this evening. So Paula does know how to
contact him.'
'I'm still bothered. The Old City is a labyrinth of old alleys and narrow streets near the cathedral – where Les Armures is. And it will be very dark – that area is not well lit. What time does Paula fly out to Geneva?'
'She'll be in the air now.'
'What time is the next flight?'
'A couple of hours from now.' Monica said from memory.
'Well, in that case…"'
He broke off as Philip walked into the room clad in a heavy coat with a fur collar which he immediately took off. He looked at Tweed.
'I left my case packed for the Arctic downstairs.'
'Book Philip on that next flight to Geneva, Monica,' Tweed said with an air of crisp decision. 'Give him all the data Archie provided. Including the details about that underground arms dealer. Philip, Paula may be running into more trouble than one person can handle. The fact that she's a woman has nothing to do with it…'
17
Leopold Brazil stood at the window of his spacious office in the villa in Berne. He was protected from view by thick net curtains. Behind him stood Carson Craig, clad in a grey suit which had cost him a thousand pounds.
Time I left for Belp Airport, sir.' Craig reminded his chief. 'I've got your double standing by to board the jet with me. We should land at Cointrin, Geneva, in no time.'
'You said my double, Craig.' Brazil turned round and stared at him. 'Some bosses would resent the idea that they had someone who looked exactly like him.'
'I'm sorry.' Craig's brutal face crinkled into what he hoped was an apologetic expression. 'He doesn't look exactly like you.'
Brazil was amused. He didn't give a damn how closely the so-called double resembled himself, but he liked confusing his minion, who lacked a sense of humour.
'I wouldn't worry too much about it, Craig. But now I mean what I say. Go easy in Geneva.'
'We have reason to believe that trouble is on its way from London,' Craig said stubbornly. 'Our watcher at Heathrow has reported that one of Tweed's lackeys – the woman, Paula Grey – boarded a flight for Geneva. He had a good description of her from The Recorder. I'm going to wipe up Tweed's troublemakers before they can start anything.'
'Like you did at Sterndale Manor?' Brazil's tone had sharpened. 'Nobody told you to kill everybody in that house. My order was to raid the safe, make it look like a robbery.'
'We couldn't get into the house.' Craig persisted. 'I used my initiative.'
'I said go easy in Geneva. That is all.'
Craig left the room and joined his henchman, Gustav, who was waiting in an anteroom. Gustav was a fat, mean-looking man with a thin, cruel mouth.
'He's on again about us going easy,' Craig growled as they descended a wide curving marble staircase to the ground floor. 'You've got your kit?' he asked, glancing at the canvas bag Gustav was carrying.
'Everything, boss. Black leather jacket and trousers and helmet. The machines are waiting for us in Geneva with the rest of the team.'
'Good. We'll give them hell. They're getting just too close to the laboratory.'
'Where's that?'
'Shut your face.' snarled Craig.
The call to Tweed from Arthur Beck in the Federal Police building came an hour later.
Tweed, I think you should know the jet left Belp with three men a few minutes ago. My man reported Carson Craig was definitely one of the passengers. Another looked superficially like Brazil, but wasn't.'
'How could he tell?' Tweed asked.
'Body language. He observes how people move.'
'And where was this jet flying to?'
'Geneva. It should arrive there in no time. Trouble, savage trouble would be my guess – as Craig is with them. That's all for now …'
At Park Crescent Tweed put down the phone, looked at Newman and Marler with a grim expression. He told them what Beck had said.
'It looks as though Paula could be walking into an inferno.' he said bleakly.
'Then it's a good job you sent Philip.' Newman told him. 'And don't look so worried. Philip will have left his emotional baggage on his doorstep. And he likes Paula.'
'If I'd known earlier I'd have sent both of you to back up Philip. But I wanted to discuss my interview with Professor Grogarty. What do you both think is the significance of what he told me, in his mixed way?'
'I think.' Marler said, 'if it can be arranged safely you should now meet Leopold Brazil as soon as possible. I repeat, if it can be arranged so your safety is guaranteed. By us.'
'What do you suggest?'
'That at least four of us, disguised, are in the vicinity of the meeting place, which must not be a hole in the wall. By all of us I mean Bob, myself, with Butler and Nield.'
'Pete Nield is expected back from Dorset any moment.' Tweed told him. 'I overlooked one thing – I should have put a tail on Eve Warner.'
'Not to worry.' Newman replied cheerfully. 'I knew you were up to your neck so last night I called on Philip briefly in his suite at the Priory and asked him for Eve's address. She lives in a flat near mine. Quite posh. That's why Marler arrived late.'
'Get to the point, Bob.'
'Marler followed her when she left her flat after Philip had gone. Followed her to Heathrow where she boarded a flight. Bound for Geneva.'
Thank Heaven I brought arctic clothing, Paula thought.
The aircraft was flying lower over Switzerland. It was dark but the sky was star-studded and the moon shone brightly. They were passing over the Jura Mountains, which were snow-bound, and a small lake was a gleam of solid ice.
As some flights did, the plane flew east, then south, then west over Lake Geneva. It landed smoothly at the airport and the American beside her she had chatted with got up. She was in Business Class and quickly put on the fur-lined coat a stewardess brought her from where it had hung during the flight.
'Say, I can remember this airport when it was pretty small.' said the American who had come up next to her as they walked along an endless corridor. 'Now it's too goddamn big – and gettin' bigger all the time.'
'I can remember it in those days too.' Paula replied. 'It was cosy and no distance at all to walk.'
'You're on your own, lady. Care to join me for dinner this evening? No strings attached. I mean that.'
'That's very kind of you but I do have a date for this evening.'
'Enjoy your date. Nice to have met you…'
He walked more quickly and Paula heaved a sigh of relief. The American was a nice man, it was pleasant to realize she was still attractive, but she had no time to waste.
Leaving Cointrin, she took a taxi to the Hotel des Bergues, booked a room, and tipped the porter when he'd carried her heavy bag up. The spacious room overlooked the River Rhone and a blaze of neon lights on the far side advertising this and that. The lights were reflected in the water as wavy distortions. She dialled Park Crescent and Monica answered.
Paula. I'm at the Hotel des Bergues, room number
'Got it.' said Monica.
Paula put down the phone, unpacked her bag swiftly, went back down into the lobby wearing her fur coat again.
'Be careful, miss.' the commissionaire warned as she was about to step into the street. 'It's like a skating rink out there…'
She paused outside, tested the grip of her fur-lined boots, found it was good. She was wearing a pair of boots with special soles which had tiny spikes. After being inside the warm hotel for a few minutes the cold air hit her and she adjusted the coat's hood over her head.
On the plane she had checked the address of the dealer in arms and found she was familiar with the street which ran parallel to the Rhone across the water. She started walking across the footbridge, which zigzagged over the river. A raw wind froze her exposed cheeks, a wind blowing all the way from the distant Rhone glacier down the lake into Geneva. Despite the heavy gloves she wore, with her hand on the rail to keep her balance, she felt the cold penetrating the gloves. It was way below zero.
Leaving the bridge, she walked a sh
ort distance, turned into the right street, checking the numbers. Her destination turned out to be a shop with the word Antiquateren over the fascia. No sign of the name Rico Sava.
She had checked several times coming across the bridge to make sure she hadn't been followed. And the street she was in was deserted. So, it appeared, was the shop. The windows were in darkness with a grille over them. The door was ancient, heavy, and had a Judas window with bars. She pressed the bell beside it, pressed it several times when no one came. God, has he gone home, she thought. But I do need a gun.
There was a rattling sound and the Judas window opened. She couldn't see who was behind it.
'Rico Sava?' she asked.
'Oui.'
'Do you speak English?' she asked; although she was fluent in French, she thought Sava might be more convinced of her identity. 'A friend of mine, Marler. Marler.' she repeated, 'sent me here. He said you could supply me with something special.'
'I speak English. Are you alone? You say you are. Now close your eyes.'
Mystified, she did so, and a glaring light over the door came on. It was so powerful she was aware of it even with her eyes closed. She heard several locks being unfastened, bolts drawn, then the door opened. She kept her eyes shut.
'You can open your eyes now.'
The light had gone off. She blinked, stared at a small figure silhouetted in the dark. Sava told her to come in, took her elbow, warned her about a step down, then closed the door, made it secure, and switched on a normal light.
Rico Sava was small, had the beginnings of a paunch, was dressed in corduroy trousers, a dark waistcoat which was unbuttoned revealing a clean white shirt, open at the neck. In his sixties, she guessed, he had a turnip-shaped head with the short end his chin. His swarthy skin was lined but his eyes were bright, very alert.
'Describe Marler,' he said, hands on his hips.
She did so, emphasizing his upper-crust accent and languid manner.
'Mimic his voice.' Sava suggested pleasantly.
Paula did so, exaggerating the drawling manner Marler spoke with. Sava nodded, satisfied.
