by Colin Forbes
'You can't be sure of that….'
'Don't you dare interrupt me! I am sure of that. And soon I have to meet Tweed, if he will ever agree to do that after this horror.. .'
Brazil tightened his hold on the leash. The hound had started to move towards Craig, who backed away.
'And another thing.' Brazil raved on. 'Up to now, with the aid of certain powerful Swiss banker friends, I have neutralized Arthur Beck.' He stood quite still, hands on his hips. 'In case your memory has gone Beck is the Chief of Federal Police, his headquarters a mere stone's throw from where I'm standing. If he can find the smallest link between what happened in Geneva and myself he'll be on my back – just when the project I am directing is about to be launched.'
'If I knew what the project was…' Craig began unwisely.
'You don't – and you won't. Not until zero hour. I would greatly appreciate it if you would get out of my sight, get out of this room. I'll instruct you in the morning. Go! For God's sake…'
Arriving at the villa, Eve had been admitted by Jose, and had run up the curving staircase to Brazil's office with Jose rushing up behind her. Even through the heavy door to his office she heard Brazil's voice and guessed he was roaring at Craig.
This I must see, she thought. She detested Craig, who ignored her most of the time. Her hand was on the doorknob when Jose grasped her from behind.
'You can't go in there…'
'Yes, I can. I have information…'
'You must wait.'
She detested the smooth-skinned Jose and struggled to get free. She raised her foot and scraped it down his shin. She heard him grunt but he wouldn't let go.
'Let me go, you Colombian turd…'
'I am from French Guiana,' Jose said calmly.
He held on, pinioned her arms to her side. She hadn't realized he was so strong. She swore at him but he continued holding her in his grip and didn't bother to answer the insult. Then the door opened. Craig, his face flushed, closed the door behind him. He stared at her.
'Listening at keyholes again?'
'Sounds as though you had a proper thrashing,' she retorted with a wolfish smile.
Craig walked off. Jose released her. She took off her coat and scarf, opened the door and went inside, followed by Jose, who took his normal place behind his corner desk.
'Didn't expect you so quickly,' Brazil commented, now quite calm.
'I'm a good driver,' she said as he sat down behind his large desk. 'Did he…' She gestured towards Jose without looking at him. 'Did he remember to give you the names of key members of Tweed's team I found out? Bob Newman, Paula Grey – and possibly William Franklin?'
'Jose always remembers. He did give me the names.'
'I have another one to add to the list. Philip Cardon.'
20
In Paula's suite at the Hotel des Bergues the three of them had just finished an excellent dinner brought in by waiters wheeling two tables which they put together.
'That sole was wonderful.' Paula said. 'I feel a new woman.'
'The food was superb.' said Archie. 'Thank you very much.'
He produced the half-smoked cigarette from his pocket and tucked it into the corner of his mouth. Philip had wondered whether he would eat his meal with the stub still in place.
'Let's sit on that long couch to drink our coffee.' Paula suggested.
She waited until they were settled, then produced the copy of the photograph of Marchat from her shoulder bag. She handed it to Archie.
'I don't suppose you've any idea who this is?'
Archie studied the photo, held it under a lamp on the coffee table. He stared at it for almost a minute. He doesn't know, Paula thought. Nice try. Archie handed back the picture to her.
'Is he important?' he asked.
'He could be very important.'
'I see.'
Archie picked up his cup, sipped coffee with his cigarette still in his mouth without spilling a drop. He put the cup down carefully. Paula had already observed all Archie's movements were deliberate. He used a napkin to dab at his mouth.
'Something wrong?' asked Philip.
'Is the man in the picture in danger?' Archie asked.
'He could be in great danger. He was supposed to have been burned to death in the fire at Sterndale Manor in Dorset – as were General Sterndale and his son, Richard. Also the only remaining relative who would have been there but was indisposed.'
'I see.' Archie said again.
'No hurry.' Paula assured him. 'Take your time. I mean that.'
'Anton Marchat.' Archie said suddenly. 'A Swiss. He lives with his wife in the Valais.'
Paula was briefly stunned. She had not expected a positive reply.
'The valley?' she repeated. 'Which valley?'
'I meant the canton of the Valais. Well to the east of where we are sitting.'
'How stupid of me.' Paula said, annoyed at herself. 'I do know French but we've been speaking English. He disappeared from England. We know he flew to Geneva, but that was all.'
'Rugged country, the Valais.' Archie ruminated. 'The people are hardy. They have to be to live there -especially now in winter. It will be at its worst.'
'Will he have gone back there, do you think?' Paula pressed.
'Was he frightened?'
'I'd say he was scared stiff.' Philip told him. 'An assassin tried to murder him but got the wrong man.'
'Then if he flew to Geneva…' Archie paused, working it out. He sat up straighter, the dead cigarette wobbled. 'If he flew to Geneva.' Archie repeated, 'it's more than likely he boarded one of the international expresses at Cornavin Station. Then he'd get off in the Valais and go home and stay there.'
'You wouldn't know his address?' Philip asked casually.
'Is someone going to visit him, to protect him?'
'I am.' said Philip.
'We are.' said Paula.
'I know what happened outside Les Armures.' Archie said slowly. 'One of the waiters crouched behind a table where he could see. He said there was just one woman and one man. Imagine those two finishing off that gang of murderous thugs.'
He glanced first at Paula, then he glanced at Philip.
'You had a pretty grim time when that motorcycle gang attacked.'
'Let's say we had a lively evening.' Philip replied cautiously.
That seemed to be answer enough for Archie. He took a hotel notepad off the table, tore off a sheet, turned the pad over and began writing with the pencil which had lain next to the pad.
Paula noted how he wrote very lightly. No pressure which could imprint something of what he was writing on the cardboard back of the pad. He held the sheet after dropping the pad back on the table.
'Sion.' he said.
'Where?' asked Paula.
'Sion.'
'It's deep in the middle of the Valais.' Philip told her. 'The international expresses from Geneva, bound for Milan, make only three stops in the Valais. At Martigny, Sion, and Brig.'
'The weather will be terrible.' Archie warned them while still holding the sheet of paper. 'Heavy snow, a lot of ice. It's rugged country, the Valais. Anton Marchat lives in an old house on the edge of the town. It lies under a great hunk of rock, a grim hill like a small mountain with the castle – or is it the cathedral? – perched on top.
You can see that precipitous hill as the train approaches Sion. Here is the address.'
He handed it to Paula, who showed it to Philip. Archie sat thinking some more, clenched his cigarette.
'If you go you had better be armed…' His eyes twinkled at Paula. 'But then the two people outside Les Armures had weapons. One important point. If you go. If you meet Anton Marchat or his wife, you must mention my name. Otherwise you get the door slammed in your faces.'
Philip kept the sheet, folded it, put it in a secret pocket in his wallet. Archie stood up, looked round for his coat.
'You're not going out tonight?' Paula asked anxiously. 'I found a couch here – that one over there – and it turn
s into a bed. That way you can sleep here overnight and there'll be no trace in the hotel register that you were ever here.'
'I must go now, but thank you for the invitation.' Archie was putting on his coat, helped by Paula, who had brought it from her bedroom. 'My work never ends. I have to catch a night train.'
'Where to?' enquired Philip. 'Or shouldn't I ask?'
'There is going to be great activity in a certain city tomorrow. I must be there to see what happens. Perhaps you should be there, too.'
'Where then?' Philip persisted.
'Berne.'
Monica, who had answered the phone when it rang, looked taken aback. Everyone in the room noticed – they had never seen anything throw her off balance.
'General and Cumbria Assurance.' she had said.
'Good evening. I apologize for the late call. This is Carson Craig,' the voice continued courteously. 'Mr Brazil has asked me to see if we can arrange a meeting between himself and Mr Tweed. At Mr Tweed's convenience, of course.'
'Please hold on. I may be a minute. I'm not sure you have got the right number…'
'Please do not think I am being impolite, but I know I have the right number. I will hold on. There is no rush.'
Masking the phone with her hand, Monica told Tweed what Craig had said. She looked at Newman and Marler.
'I thought he was a roughneck. He sounds like a highly educated man.'
'I'll talk to him.' Tweed said to everyone's surprise.
He gestured for Monica to hand her phone to Newman so he could listen in.
'Good evening, Mr Craig. Tweed speaking. I don't believe I've had the pleasure of making your acquaintance,' he said smoothly.
'That's true. But it's a small world, as they say, Mr Tweed. I hope we can remedy that situation one day. Mr Brazil has flown to Bonn to meet the German Chancellor. I gather he also works late hours. But Mr Brazil will be back in the morning early.'
'May I ask where you are speaking from?'
'Of course. My apologies. I am in Mr Brazil's office in his villa on the Kochergasse, Berne. Mr Brazil has thought over his earlier offer to meet you and thinks you may not wish to take up his offer to travel in the executive jet he was prepared to put at your disposal. If you prefer to make your own way to the rendezvous he is quite happy with that idea.'
'I do,' said Tweed. 'So what rendezvous are you suggesting?'
'We now feel it might be more courteous if you told us where you could meet him. Wherever that might be Mr Brazil will travel there.'
'Zurich.' said Tweed.
'Certainly…' There had been a brief pause before Craig agreed. 'Could you possibly tell me the location and the time?'
'At the Hotel Schweizerhof…' Tweed paused and saw Newman give the thumb's-up sign, indicating his full approval. 'It's opposite the main station – in the Bahnhofplatz. Do you know it, Mr Craig?'
'I most certainly know where you mean, although I've never been inside that particular hotel. Had you a specific time in mind?'
'Yes. Seven tomorrow evening. Swiss time. I will be waiting for Mr Brazil in the lobby.'
'Mr Tweed, I can tell you Mr Brazil will not only be pleased, he will be greatly relieved. I doubt if I will be with him, but I hope to meet you for a drink, even for dinner, at a time and place at your convenience.'
'Thank you for calling. Good night, Mr Craig…'
'Was that Craig?' Tweed asked Newman when he had put down the phone.
'Yes. Most definitely.' Newman looked bemused. 'Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde. I met the evil Hyde in Dorset, you've talked with the suave Jekyll a moment ago. It's quite incredible. I've never encountered such a dual personality.'
'Anyone want to let me in on this?' enquired Marler.
'You saw – and heard him – during the fracas at the Black Bear.' Newman had twisted round in his chair to address Marler standing against a wall. 'How would you have described him?'
'A rough, foul-mouthed, brutal thug.'
'Not the sort of chap to invite to your club,' Monica commented, mimicking Howard's upper-crust voice.
'Something like that.' Marler agreed. 'So?'
'Well, on the phone just now.' Newman continued, 'he was the polished, well-educated businessman. Courteous and deferential to Tweed.'
'Why did you select Zurich?' Monica wanted to know.
'Because,' Newman answered her, 'I think Tweed recalled how well we know that area.'
'Tweed is still here,' said Tweed. 'We have to get moving. We'll probably be here all night. Monica, book tickets for the earliest flight tomorrow to Zurich. For myself, Newman, Marler, Butler, and Nield. Then book us rooms at the Hotel Schweizerhof – that is for myself and Newman. Then book rooms for Marler, Butler, and Nield at the Hotel Gotthard.'
'Which is just behind the Schweizerhof.' said Monica.
'Exactly. And I'd better repack my case in that cupboard over there with cold-weather clothing.'
'I can do that.' urged Monica.
'No, you can't. Get on with booking the flights and hotel reservations. This is the development I have been waiting for. Brazil's patience has cracked. Which means that whatever project he has planned is about to be put into action. Remember in a previous phone call to me he used the word "catastrophe"? The balloon is going up…'
21
Eve had been buffing her fingernails while Craig talked to Tweed. She listened to Craig and sneered to herself. When he had put down the phone she tried to put him down. After all, Craig was in trouble with Brazil so this was the moment to kick him.
'How smarmy can we get?' she started. 'You certainly did crawl to Tweed.'
'We can get as smarmy as we have to – when we have to.' Craig told her amiably.
She had her legs crossed, open to view where the slash in her skirt exposed them. He eyed them as he lit a cigarette. I wonder if I could hook him and then drop him with a bang, she thought.
'Well, you had a job to do.' She flashed him a smile. 'And actually you did it pretty well. The fish has taken the bait?'
'Tweed is meeting the boss tomorrow over here, if that is what you're getting at.'
'You'll earn medals instead of brickbats yet.'
'At least my job isn't to lure powerful men into the pit,' he remarked.
'What did you say?' She was furious. She sat up very erect. 'Are you implying I'm a high-class call-girl? Because I have a clear understanding with Brazil that I don't go to bed with any man he may ask me to target.'
'I know that,' he said quietly. 'You do blow your top at the drop of a hat. And I haven't even got a hat to drop.'
'Haha! Very humorous. If you go for cheap gags no self-respecting comedian would dream of using. Now, Carson, we could be friends instead of scrapping with each other all the time. And Leopold doesn't like it. By the by, that animal over there shouldn't be here. He was in England when the boss visited Grenville Grange. Six months in quarantine is the British rule.'
'The chief was careful. Igor was smuggled off the jet at Bournemouth International, then kept in Brazil's limo. While we were at the Grange Igor never even saw another animal of any kind.'
'He broke the law,' Eve insisted. 'But that's his affair,' she said hastily. 'If you sneak on me to him I'll say you made it up.'
'You would, too. Maybe you and I could go out sometime, have a few vodkas, shoot the breeze, as they say, whoever "they" may be.'
'Maybe,' she replied. 'Where is this meeting with Tweed taking place?'
'That's classified information.'
'I heard you say a hotel. Which one?' she coaxed.
'It's still classified.' He got up. 'Don't blame me and start yelling. The boss's orders. I get paid to do as he tells me.'
'Bet you don't get paid as much as I do.'
'I wouldn't know. Jose hands out the bread.'
'I don't trust Jose,' she said and watched Craig with her eyes narrowed.
He was walking towards her. She waited for him to lay a hand on her leg. The moment he did he'd get her full glass of vodka
in his face, down his nice suit. Craig walked past her to stroke the wolfhound. Igor was sitting in a corner, tongue hanging out, a dreamy look on its face. Igor had recently had its supper. It stood up and snarled as Craig came close.
'Watch it.' Eve swallowed her vodka, stood up, and walked towards the door. She looked at Craig over her shoulder. 'I'm going to bed. On my own,' she said sweetly.
In her bedroom at the Hotel des Bergues Paula couldn't get back to sleep. She switched on the table lamp, checked her travelling clock. 2 a.m. Great.
She used the phone to call room service, ordered coffee for two, although she felt sure Philip would be fast asleep. Putting on a dressing gown and belting it, she opened the door into the living room quietly. Philip was not asleep.
Sprawled out on the couch bed, his table lamp alight, he was reading a paperback. He put it down as she came in, slipped on his dressing gown over his pyjamas, sat with his feet on the floor.
'You, too?' he said.
'Afraid so. It was a pretty exciting evening. I've ordered coffee, some for you on the off-chance you would be awake – although I didn't expect it.'
After the waiter had tapped on the door, brought a wheeled table in with coffee and cakes, and left with his generous tip, she poured for both of them.
The phone rang just as she was about to start drinking hers.
'A man on the phone for you, Miss Grey. He wouldn't give a name but insisted you'd want to speak to him.'
'I'll take it…'
'This is your dinner guest, Paula. Very sorry to call you at this hour but I've reached my destination. I checked with a friend…' He paused and Paula realized he meant an informant. 'He gave me one word, which I don't understand. A girl's name. Ariane… Said it was very important. Good night
She told Philip. 'A girl's name. Ariane. Ring any bells?'
'None at all. Archie must have thought it was important to call you back at this hour. I get the impression he has an informant in a really key position.'
'He did say it was very important. Damn it, I'm wide awake and so are you. I'm going to call Tweed… He might still be up.'
Tweed came back into his office, towelling his hair, then combing it in a mirror he borrowed from Monica. He looked at Newman and Marler.
