by Colin Forbes
Kicking off his climbing boots, he flopped on the bed and began studying the map of the area the waitress had given him. Blinking, he forced himself to look at the two routes more carefully. He began talking quietly to himself. It was all right as long as you knew you were doing it, he reckoned.
'That road up to the Col du Lemac and the Kellerhorn where the so-called weather station is looks a real swine. Too many zigzags – which mean fiendish hairpin bends, probably with a drop into eternity on one side.'
He yawned, took in deep breaths, turned his attention to the route up to the villa Brazil had had built.
'That one doesn't look any better. And if the waitress was right in where she put her cross the villa hangs right above the glacier. Part of the road before you get there also is poised over the glacier. Great…'
He yawned again, took the Walther out of his holster to get more comfortable, slipped the gun under the pillow. Then he fell fast asleep, the map spread out over him.
When Paula boarded an express for Geneva at Zurich she chose an empty compartment at the rear of the train. From that position she could see any passenger who also boarded the express after she had done. No one appeared as the train moved out of the station.
Knowing that this express did not stop anywhere until it reached Berne, about an hour later, she stood up, inserted a small needle at the side of her case on the rack. This would tell her when she returned if someone had tampered with the case.
Then she strolled slowly along the full length of the express, glancing into each compartment. The train was almost empty. Midway along she looked into yet another compartment and almost stopped, but she forced her feet to keep moving.
Apparently asleep in a corner of an otherwise empty compartment was Keith Kent. On the seat beside him rested his case, touching him – as though he felt the need to be sure no one tried to examine it while he was sleeping.
As she passed more compartments there was evidence that other passengers were aboard. A coat folded on a seat, bags on racks, books left on seats. She would have loved to check what they were reading but there was too great a risk of the owner returning.
She reached the dining car, stopped. Through the glass window in the door she saw it was almost full. Waiters were serving a meal and she decided she would go back to her compartment – she would be too conspicuous walking the full length of the dining car.
Settling herself in her seat, she reminded herself to look out of her window at the few stops before Geneva. The presence of Kent on the train puzzled her. To avoid his seeing her she would have to leave the express last if he travelled all the way to Geneva – after seeing him disembark from her window.
Arriving eventually at Cornavin, she watched Kent leaving the train, carrying a case. She had her coat and gloves on and hurried off the express, carrying her own bag. Outside the station she told a cab driver to take her to a small hotel near Cornavin she had once stayed at.
It never occurred to her that Philip might be spending the same night at the Hotel des Bergues. After dinner she borrowed a rail timetable from the receptionist and checked expresses to Milan which stopped at Sion for the following morning.
Again she didn't realize she had chosen the next express after the one Philip had planned to board. She undressed, had a shower, sank into bed, and fell asleep at once. When she woke in the morning with a start she recalled the dream she had had. The Motorman, a shadowy figure, had been pursuing her. He had almost caught her as she ran, when she woke up.
She ate a full English breakfast, remembering Newman's advice.
'When you're on a job you eat on the hoof. You get a meal wherever you can – because you never know where or when the next one will be available…'
She took a taxi back to Cornavin, boarded the express when it came in. She was making herself comfortable in an empty first-class compartment when someone hurried past to board the train higher up. Keith Kent.
As the express later entered the Valais she had the same reaction as Philip. She gazed out of the window with a growing sense of fascination and horror.
She felt she was entering a white hell. She saw the snow-covered mountains looming close to the train as it passed through Martigny, the valleys, the frozen waterfalls, the lack of life in the snow-deep plain hemmed in by the great mountains on both sides.
I'll have to buy more sweaters in Sion, she thought.
She had brought a fur-lined trench coat with a hood she could pull over her head, but when she opened the window for a moment the well-heated compartment became ice-cold in seconds. She slammed the window shut.
Gazing out of the window, she tried to work out a plan to locate Philip. She felt sure now he would have caught the earlier express. On an assignment, Philip was a very early riser. Then the idea came to her.
She was worried about getting off the train at Sion in case Kent also disembarked. It was only a one-minute stop. A man's voice on the internal tannoy announced they were approaching Sion. Standing up, she saw outside the window the airfield and then everything was blotted out by a white mist as thick as cottonwool.
Charming, she thought. Just what I needed. I don't think…
When the automatic door opened outside the end of the coach she stepped down on to the platform, paused. Further along the platform Kent had already got off, was hurrying towards the exit.
'That was a bit of luck.' she said to herself. 'Now I need a list of hotels in this place.'
She saw the restaurant, went inside, sat down after taking off her coat, ordered coffee from the same waitress who had served Philip earlier.
'Would you have a list of the hotels in Sion, please?' she enquired.
'I can give you a brochure.'
The waitress hurried away, brought back the brochure, handed it to Paula, and went away. She preferred men as customers, particularly if they were on their own. In her opinion women could be all right, but they could also be very awkward.
Paula studied the brochure while she drank her coffee. It was a street plan of the town, a map of the surroundings, and a list of the hotels, each with an alphabetical letter which was reproduced on the map. She counted the number of hotels.
Oh, Lord, she thought. Twenty-two of them. So finish your coffee and get moving. Blast the mist…
She left the station, carrying her bag, and found a hotel not far from the station. She had her script in her head as she walked in and spoke to the receptionist.
'I'm looking for a friend, Philip Cardon. He's staying somewhere at a hotel in Sion but I don't know which one. The trouble is his mother is seriously ill back in London and I have to tell him. Is he staying here? Philip Cardon. Shall I spell it?'
'No one with a name like that staying here, I'm afraid.'
She plodded on, the mist freezing her face despite her pulling her hood close to her face. She thought Sion was dreary, the buildings boring. Maybe it was because there was no one else about and the depressing atmosphere of the mist.
She went into another small hotel. A man stood behind the reception desk. He wore a shabby waistcoat, unbuttoned, and an open-necked shirt due for a spell at the laundry. His hair was greasy, as was his skin. She recited her story.
'Don't fool me.' He leered at her. 'Lost your boy friend, have you? Will I do? And hotel registers are confidential so there we are.'
With an expressionless face she extracted a ten-franc note from her purse, held it between her fingers. His small eyes gleamed. She thought he was going to lick his lips. He reached out, snatched the note and made it disappear in a flash.
'All right. He's not here. Show you the register…'
'Don't spend it all at once.' she snapped and walked out.
Still carrying her bag, she strolled further down the street, heard a motorcycle coming. The rider in black leather pulled up alongside her.
'Just arriving?' he croaked in French. 'On business or pleasure.'
'Just leaving.'
He said something she didn't catch an
d rode off into the mist. This place is beginning to get me down, she was thinking, when she saw a clothes shop. She went inside, wasted no time buying two polo-neck sweaters, one white, one pale blue.
'I'll be wearing both of them at the same time soon,' she said to herself. Then she trudged on, checking hotel after hotel.
She saw yet another which she hadn't ticked off on her map. Hotel Touring. Taking a deep breath she walked inside, went up to reception.
Paula!'
She swung round. Philip had just come down into the lobby. He rushed towards her. She dropped her bag and the carrier containing the sweaters. He flung his arms round her.
'Am I glad to see you.'
'You can say the same for me. This is the tenth hotel.'
She buried her head in his chest and burst into tears.
33
Philip carried Paula's bag up to her room after she had registered at reception. He was going to leave her by herself when she stopped him.
'Don't go. It will only take me minutes to unpack, so sit down over there.'
'You're exhausted, you need a rest.'
'I need a stiff brandy in the bar…'
He stared at her. Paula's voice had changed, had become strong, normal. He watched with disbelief as she unpacked swiftly. She paused when she had put away her clothes.
'Yes.' she said, 'I know where to hide them.'
'Hide what?'
'Rather lethal travelling equipment supplied by Marler.'
'I see. I hid mine beneath under-clothes in my case and left it open, very much on view. Anyone searching my room will be looking for an obscure hiding place.'
'Good idea. Don't suppose you've had time to find out anything interesting.'
'You'd be surprised.'
'Surprise me, then.'
He told her what he had learned from the waitress at the station restaurant. While he was talking she took out her small armoury, tucked everything away inside the big strong carrier the clothes shop had given her. Then she carefully put back both heavy sweaters, stood the carrier on a stool at the foot of the bed. She was moving quickly but efficiently but it took several minutes before she was satisfied. By that time Philip had finished telling her all he had learned. She perched against the bed and folded her arms.
'So your idea is to wait until the mist clears before we explore the Col du Lemac, the Kellerhorn, and this highly suspect weather station?'
'Yes. We can hire a four-wheel-drive with chains from a place I passed on my way here.'
'We'll go there now.' She was putting on her coat over her windcheater. Underneath that she had a jumper and underneath that two pairs of vests and pants. 'Show me the map and the route.'
He took out the map, spread it on the bed, traced the route for her. She bent over, memorizing the details, then stood up.
'Let's get moving, Philip.'
'Might be better to hire the vehicle later.'
Then we can't set off now – to the Kellerhorn.'
'Why now? The mist…'
'The mist will cover our leaving Sion. No one would dream of us tackling the Kellerhorn route in this weather. And if Brazil – because I'm sure it is Brazil from what you've told me – can fly in by jet later today the action could start pretty soon.'
'You could be right,' he said, getting up and putting on the coat and scarf he'd brought down from his room to go out for a walk.
'I could be wrong. Only one way to find out.'
'What did you slip into your shoulder bag?'
'Easter eggs – in case we meet someone who isn't all that friendly.'
'What about the brandy?'
'Don't drink and drive. I don't need it any more. And I'm sorry I made a fool of myself when I arrived.'
'A natural reaction. What astounds me is the change in you since we came up here.'
'Second wind. I wonder how Tweed and Co. are getting on in Zurich?' she mused as they left the room.
Ignoring Newman's protests, Tweed had left the Schweizerhof in the middle of the night by himself. It had stopped snowing and he looked round the platz as he headed for Police Headquarters after a long phone conversation with Beck. Newman had paid a visit to the loo and had not overheard the call.
It was a bitter night but the air freshened him up. He saw a man on a corner standing doing nothing who glanced in his direction. Tweed waved to him. The man, in a reflex action, half-raised his hand to wave back, then lowered it quickly.
'Damn fools,' Tweed said to himself. 'Amateurs.'
Beck had been waiting for him in his room, curtains closed over the windows overlooking the River Limmat. Tweed took off his coat as Beck finished a phone call.
'It worked,' he said as he replaced the receiver. 'My friend Inspector Vincenau moves like lightning. And he had paramilitary troops waiting at Geneva's airport. They wore maintenance overalls as they approached the second jet Brazil uses, the one with his name plastered all over the fuselage. The white jet is standing by at Kloten.'
'It's fortunate you knew the second jet was waiting at Geneva.' Tweed commented. 'Now it's also at Kloten?'
'Yes I think Brazil had that waiting at Geneva as a getaway in case he needed it.'
'And is there any chance of Brazil hearing about what has happened to his second jet?'
'No chance. Vincenau is good at covert operations. The crew of that jet have been arrested and held incomrnunicado in a secret place.'
'I'd better call Jim Corcoran, Chief of Security at Heathrow, so I can clue him up. May I use your phone?'
Beck pushed one of several phones across his desk to Tweed.
'That's the really safe one…'
He watched with an amused smile as Tweed dialled Corcoran's number from memory. As Tweed had hoped, Corcoran was in his office. He was another man who worked through the night. Tweed spoke rapidly.
'You'll have it tucked away out of sight ready for use later?' he ended.
Corcoran assured him he would see to that himself. Tweed put down the phone and Beck used his intercom to summon a man called Joinvin.
'He's very intelligent. With him as your escort no one will see you at Kloten.'
He introduced a tall well-built man who looked as though he would be an asset in a rough-house.
'Joinvin already knows what he has to do. We talked together after your phone call – cryptic as you made it, I understood you.'
'Then what am I waiting for?' Tweed asked, standing up.
'Bon voyage,' said Beck.
Three hours later a man called Tweed, wearing horn-rimmed glasses and a muffler which hid most of his face, arrived at Kloten. The police car he travelled in was escorted by outriders and travelled with its horn blaring, its light flashing. No arrival could have been more public.
Escorted by Joinvin, wearing a police uniform, he went straight to the final departure lounge, bypassing Passport Control and Customs. Joinvin sat with him while the other passengers for the first flight to London stared in curiosity. Some VIP, undoubtedly.
Joinvin then escorted him to the entrance to the aircraft when Business Class was called. His ticket had been purchased much earlier by a man in plain clothes. As he had arrived a slim, white-faced man observed the spectacle, then hurried to a phone.
'Tweed is just boarding the flight to London,' he reported to Brazil. 'They're nervous as kittens – he had a police escort. The full works.'
'Thank you.'
In his room at the Baur-en-Ville Brazil sat back and smiled at Luigi and Jose.
'That's good news. Tweed is on his way back to London. So he's well on his way and out of my hair for good.' He looked up as Eve entered, again without knocking. 'You couldn't sleep?'
'Too much going on. What is going on?' she asked saucily as she plonked herself in the chair in front of his desk.
'Tweed has gone. He just boarded the early flight to Heathrow. He's said goodbye to Zurich, to Switzerland.'
'What about the others?' she asked shrewdly. 'Newman, Paula Grey, and Philip Ca
rdon? To say nothing of the two men we've never identified.'
'We're not sure.' Jose replied to her. 'Our troops at the main station were rounded up by Beck's men. It was a drug bust. Most unfortunate. They took our people away because they found they were armed.'
'Bad luck,' Eve commented without enthusiasm.
'Eve,' Brazil addressed her, 'I am leaving you in charge here while I am away. I'll be coming back to Zurich for a brief visit. Then you can come with me when we leave.'
'Leave for where?'
'You'll find out when I've made up my mind. But I have decided to leave a little later. I want breakfast first.'
'Just who am I in charge of?' she demanded.
'You are aggressive.'
'No, I'm not. But if I'm in charge I like to know who is my staff. Obvious question, I'd have thought,' she continued in her usual forceful manner.
'Karl, Gunnar, and Francois. I want you to keep an eye on both the Schweizerhof and the Gotthard hotels.'
'When there may be nobody there?'
'I like to cover my bets.'
'Have a nice trip to Xanadu.'
She flounced out of the room, but closed the door carefully and went back to her room.
'Drug bust my foot,' she said aloud behind the closed door.
Lighting a cigarette, she poured herself a large vodka and sat down to think. Then she called Brazil on the internal phone.
'Eve here. What about Igor?'
'It will be coming with me.'
'Just checking.'
Well, that's a bonus point, she decided. Not having to look after a damned dog. She sat thinking again. Philip Cardon, whom she'd spent quite a lot of time with, never entered her mind. So Brazil is coming back to Zurich -that means Bob Newman won't be far behind him.
Philip was driving through the mist in Sion with Paula by his side. He carried a canvas bag with the shoulder strap attached. Paula was navigating, the map on her knees, giving him instructions when to turn.
