by Colin Forbes
'I understand Mr Robert Newman has checked out. Is that true?'
'Yes, indeed, madame.'
'Something has happened he must know about. Where has he gone to?'
'I have no idea, madame.'
'Has he caught a plane, a train, or left by car?'
'I really have no idea.'
'But he knew I was going to call. He must have left a forwarding address. Check your records.'
'He has left no forwarding address.' The concierge's tone was becoming brittle. 'I cannot help you.'
'You're useless!' she shouted at him, and broke the connection.
She packed in a rage, stuffing expensive clothes into her suitcase, ramming in the folds which protruded over the edges. The laundry could sort out the creases. They'd better make a perfect job of it or they'd hear from her.
'Damn and blast you, Bob Newman.' she muttered. 'Well, the price has just gone up to a hundred and fifty thousand pounds.'
The only items she took care with were the sheets she had later photocopied from the files in Gustav's cabinet. These she folded neatly, tucking them into a flap after taking out the canister of Mace gas Jose had given her. She put the Mace back last, zipped up her shoulder bag. It contained a fortune – with those sheets inside it.
After locking the case she sat down, crossed her legs, tapping one foot as she glanced at another fashion magazine, deciding what she would buy next. She never looked at the prices.
Aboard the jet at Kloten, Tweed sat patiently, reading a paperback. He had brought a collection from Shopville. Newman sat opposite him across the aisle, reading the latest reports.
Marov had sealed up Russia tight. No ships were allowed to leave the two ice-free ports – Murmansk in the west, Vladivostok on the Pacific coast. A new organization of secret police, called MOVAK, was patrolling the streets of Moscow and other major cities, rounding up the Mafia. Parliament had been dissolved, 'pending new elections'. No date was given for when they would be held.
Behind him Butler, in the most comfortable seat, normally occupied by Brazil when aboard, was fast asleep. Pete Nield, keeping an eye on him, was also reading a newspaper. Paula, seated in front of Tweed, was immersed in her own paperback. She had one more in reserve in her lap. Paula read swiftly. Across the aisle from her sat Philip. She glanced over, saw him gazing into space, put down her book, and went over to perch by him.
'Thinking of Eve? Or shouldn't I ask?' she said quietly.
'Lord, no! I mean I don't mind your asking,' he said hastily. 'I was thinking of Jean. The only other time I've passed through the Valais was when the two of us were returning from a holiday in Verona. Had a marvellous time. Jean loved Verona – so old. We explored the amphitheatre, which is in perfect condition. Then we had a day trip to Venice – Jean thought a day there was long enough, magical though it is. I agreed with her. We returned aboard an express from Milan. It was dusk when we passed through the Valais, so we didn't see much of it. We were moving on to spend the last few days in Geneva. Had kir royales at Les Armures. A wonderful evening – although I don't expect you to recall it with any pleasure after what we experienced there.'
'A pleasant memory.'
'Yes.'
Philip gulped, turned his face away, said he had to go to the loo.
Marler appeared from the crew cabin. Restless as ever, he had been strolling up and down the aisle, smoking a king-size, spending time chatting with the aircrew. He continued his slow patrol up and down the aisle, went back into the crew cabin.
He returned quickly, stopped by Tweed's seat.
'The pilot has just told me Brazil has arrived with a woman. They've boarded their jet. Expected to take off at 11 a.m. Destination still Bournemouth International.'
'How time has passed.'
Tweed glanced at his watch, surprised to see it was close to eleven in the morning. He closed his book, saw that Newman had heard what Marler had said.
'Here we go.' said Newman. 'The last phase, I suspect, of a long saga.'
'Let's wait until we're sure the control tower can let us take off soon after Brazil.' Tweed warned. 'This is a busy airport these days, even in March.'
'I agree.' said Newman. It's going to be tricky. We have to land at Bournemouth International soon after he has left for Grenville Grange – but not too soon after.'
'In fact.' Paula pointed out, 'this jet has to land when Brazil is far enough away not to see it landing with his name splashed along the fuselage.'
'You're right.' said Newman. 'It's going to be a nerve-racker.'
50
In the absence of Jose, Brazil held Igor's leash as the wolfhound bounded up the steps and inside the Lear jet. Igor loved flying. Sitting in his favourite seat, the dog peered out of the window as Brazil tied the leash to the arm of the seat.
He went back for his case and met Eve, wearing the trench coat, and carrying her own suitcase. She dumped the case, went and sat in the seat behind Brazil's swivel chair. The moment he occupied it the outer door was closed, the mobile staircase removed. The whine of the engines, already warming up, climbed to a roar. Brazil swung round in his seat to face her, checked his watch. 'Splendid! We're taking off exactly at eleven o'clock.' 'Great. You got your money from the bank?' 'Who said it was money?' He tapped the smaller executive case on his lap. 'Important documents.' he lied. He was carrying one million Swiss francs in high-denomination banknotes, the proceeds from the bearer bonds he had sold.
I don't believe you, she thought as she lit a cigarette, puffed a smoke-ring into the air. She stuck her finger through it. The steward appeared.
'I'll have a large vodka.' she called out.
'Bit early, isn't it?' suggested Brazil.
'It's never too early.'
The jet, tearing down the runway, became airborne, left behind the stands of fir trees surrounding that part of the airport, soared up through clouds, emerged above them into brilliant sunlight.
'One of these days,' Eve said, 'you'll have trouble with Igor. You're not supposed to take him into Britain like you do. Igor should spend six months in quarantine.'
'Oh, I'll put him inside his special crate before we land. The top compartment is stacked with boxes of Swiss chocolates in case it is ever opened by customs, which it won't be. They know who I am at Bournemouth International, that I'm a friend of the Prime Minister.'
'Where the hell's my vodka? You ought to change that steward, get someone who knows how to do his job.'
She had just spoken when the steward appeared with a large glass, the equivalent of three normal vodkas. Eve brightened up as he pulled out a tray, set down the glass inside a deep aperture.
'At least you remembered I wanted a large one.' she said ungraciously.
'Another is available as soon as Madame requires it.'
The steward knew her tastes. He couldn't understand how she could consume so much hard liquor and leave the aircraft sober. He gave her a smile, which she ignored. Never coddle the staff was her motto – if you did they became familiar with their betters.
She had folded her trench coat carefully because she was always fond of her latest purchase. Striding down Bahnhofstrasse after she'd bought it, hands in her pockets, she had felt like a general commanding his troops.
'When we land a car will be waiting for us.' Brazil informed her. 'We'll drive straight to Grenville Grange.'
'I hope you've alerted servants to clean up the place before we get there.' she responded.
'I did put in a phone call. Let's hope they got the date right.'
'Well, if they haven't, I'm not doing it. I wasn't hired to do menial work.'
'It would be a waste of your talents in other directions.' Brazil said, smiling.
'Is that a compliment?' she asked, eyeing him warily over her glass.
She had already drunk three-quarters of the contents, was thinking it was time the steward reappeared.
'Of course.' Brazil smiled even more broadly. 'A genuine compliment to a unique lady.'
The steward managed a smile as he took away her glass. He was wondering whether he ought to look for another job if Brazil persisted in travelling with this woman.
'Look, there's the Bernese Oberland.' Brazil said, pointing. 'As spectacular a sight as you can find in the world, including America – where they think they have the biggest and the best of everything.'
Eve didn't bother to look at the distant range of massive, jagged peaks, covered in snow and glinting in the sunlight. Brazil gazed at the Jungfrau, thought it impressive, but no more so than the Kellerhorn. Then he put all thoughts of the Valais out of his mind as the jet sped on, heading for France.
***
The airport controller had radioed to the pilot of Tweed's jet, as requested to by Beck. The pilot left his cabin, stopped by Tweed.
'I'm sorry, sir, but it will be at least half an hour before we can take off. Scheduled flights have got in our way. The other jet took off on time at 1100 hours.'
'Can't be helped,' Tweed said, amiably. 'I understand. The controller has his priorities.'
"That means.' Newman called out after the pilot closed his cabin door, 'that we'll have the devil of a job catching up Brazil until long after he reaches Grenville Grange.'
'Not necessarily.' said Philip, again sitting opposite Paula. 'I have an idea.'
'Tell me.' Paula coaxed him.
'Not yet. Let's see how things turn out when we arrive.'
Paula took out the cream pastry Beck had given her, which she had kept in the fridge overnight. She began to munch it, using the extra napkins Beck had thoughtfully supplied to keep crumbs off her suit.
'You'll get fat as a piglet.' Philip joshed her.
'No, I won't. I can eat as much as I like and my weight remains constant. You're just jealous because you haven't got one.'
'My mouth is watering.' he admitted.
She selected a crust with plenty of cream, got up, told him to open his mouth, and popped it inside.
'That was good.' he said when he'd finished it. 'Thank you. In my book you are a generous lady.'
Philip then took out from his case a map of Dorset. It intrigued Paula that he was studying it. She called out as he folded it up, put it away.
'I'd have thought you knew Dorset like the back of your hand by now.'
'Just checking something.'
'Connected with your mysterious plan?' she pressed. 'Maybe…'
'England, beautiful England.' said Brazil, peering out of the window.
The jet was coming in to land at Bournemouth International. Eve was more concerned with putting on her trench coat when she should have been sitting with her seat-belt fastened. The plane was descending at a gentle angle so she wasn't bothered.
'I hope the chauffeur is waiting with the limo.' she called out.
'Joseph is off colour, won't be there.'
'Then we have a different chauffeur.'
'Yes.' He swung round in his seat. 'You're looking at him.'
'You mean you're driving?' she asked with a note of disbelief.
'Maybe I should remind you I passed my Advanced Motoring Test.'
'I could drive,' she said. 'I'm a good driver.'
'Maybe later. I'm taking the wheel to begin with. It's a pretty short drive via Corfe, anyway.'
'The roads will be flooded. I looked out of the window. They must have had more rain. The countryside is a lake.'
'We're landing,' he said, swivelling round to face the crew cabin.
The pilot landed the jet smoothly, cruised along the runway, stopped. They waited. A green light came on over the entrance to the crew cabin. Eve got up, buttoned her trench coat, but couldn't be bothered with the last few.
Carrying her case, she alighted down the steps first, her coat flapping all over the place. Brazil called for a porter to take his two cases. Earlier he had lifted Igor in mid-flight and lowered the dog into the bottom compartment of the crate, well padded with blankets, with air-holes cunningly disguised. The huge dog had been quite at ease, trusting his master, knowing he had to keep perfectly quiet until released.
Brazil had then replaced the second compartment holding several large boxes of Spriingli chocolates. Finally, he had attached the lid, held in place by four large screws. All this had been completed when the jet was within fifteen minutes of landing. The steward had been told to stay in the crew cabin while Brazil discussed something highly confidential with Eve, who had sat watching her boss do all the work.
Now, with the jet on the ground, Brazil showed his fitness and strength by carrying the crate off the plane to the waiting stretch limousine himself. The customs officials had joked with him.
'More sweetmeats for your lady friends, sir?'
'That's the trouble with having so many.' Brazil had joked back.
Fifteen minutes later, driving by a devious route into the open countryside, which skirted Bournemouth, he had backed the car into a quiet field in the sunlight blazing out of a clear blue sky. A gusty wind was blowing as he released a sleepy Igor from the crate and resumed driving.
He hit his first snag when he arrived at the car ferry which, crossed the entrance to Poole Harbour. ferry out of use until Thursday, a large notice proclaimed. He climbed out of the limo, swearing.
'What's the trouble?' he asked a workman in yellow oilskins.
'A freighter comin' in grazed the ferry as it was crossin' the exit. It's berthed on the Shell Bay side over there while they works on it…'
Brazil returned to the limo, was sitting behind the wheel when the workman approached him.
'Where you goin' to?'
'Corfe,' Brazil answered through the window he had lowered.
'Only way there is by Wareham. And you'll run into more trouble. Roadworks. Lights, single-line traffic, the lot. Take for ever,' the workman said with satisfaction.
'Thank you for the warning. Why do these people love to give you bad news?' he snapped as he drove off, heading for distant Wareham.
'Because the lower orders love to take a smack at someone driving a decent car,' she commented. 'I'd like a drink. Can't we stop at that hotel over there?'
'No, we can't. We'll just keep going,' he snapped.
'No need to be such a boor.'
'Don't ever talk to me again like that,' he replied in a calm voice.
They drove off round Poole Harbour. Brazil noticed what looked like storm clouds coming in from the west. The wind also was rising.
At Kloten Airport the Controller was as good as his word. The jet was given permission to take off. Inwardly, Tweed sighed with relief. Waiting until the machine levelled above the clouds, he went back to have a word with Butler and Nield.
By now the steward had served coffee and sandwiches on Coalport china he had found in a cupboard. Mr Brazil does well for himself, thought Tweed as he reached the seat where Butler, now fully awake, had devoured his plate of sandwiches, was asking for a second helping.
'Harry, I've been in touch with the Controller based at Bournemouth International. There'll be a car there waiting for you.'
'Not another ambulance!' Harry bridled.
'I did say a car.' Tweed reminded him. 'A car to take you with Nield to a rest home. You stay there two days and then Pete drives you to London. You have had a bullet in you.'
'Which is no longer there. The doctor in Zurich said I should take gentle exercise as soon as possible.'
'Fine. Go for a walk along the front.'
'I might drive Pete to London.' Butler said aggressively.
'I'm giving you an order. Pete drives you back.'
Having sorted that out, Tweed returned to his seat and his meal. Newman, who had heard his conversation with Butler and Nield, walked along the aisle, bent over Tweed, keeping his voice down.
'Without Butler and Nield we'll be short of manpower, just supposing Brazil has another gang of thugs at Grenville Grang
e.'
'We'll cope. We have done before,' Tweed told him firmly. 'Go back and finish your meal. We don't know when we'll eat next.'
Marler, who had been passing with a plate in his hands, waited until Newman had returned to his seat. He also kept his voice down when he spoke to Tweed. He was carrying a satchel over his shoulder.
'I don't think we need worry, whatever's waiting for us. Bypassing Passport Control and Immigration, we have kept what's left of our armoury, which is quite a lot.'
'Just keep it under cover when we land,' Tweed warned.
Paula was gazing out of the window, fascinated by the sight of the grim but magnificent Bernese Oberland. Tweed tapped her on the shoulder, told her to eat while she could. From now on he was taking over control as they approached the climax of their long trek from Dorset to the Valais.
51
Landing at Bournemouth International, still in brilliant sunlight, Tweed supervised the transfer of a protesting Butler to a waiting car. He had a driver, so Nield sat in the back. As it vanished in the direction of Poole, Marler pointed to two four-wheel-drive vehicles parked nearby.
'That's what I ordered, as you suggested,' he told Tweed. 'I'll deal with the paperwork, then we can get cracking.'
While he was doing this Tweed had a word with the Controller, referring to his friend Jim Corcoran, Chief of Security at Heathrow. He was told that Brazil had left with a lady in a large limo three-quarters of an hour earlier. He went back and told Newman and Philip while Paula listened.
'He's got a head start on us.' Newman said grimly.
'The hazards of chance,' Tweed replied.
They drove from the airport with Philip behind the wheel of the vehicle carrying Tweed and Paula. Marler drove behind them with Newman by his side, his case in the back.
They drove a more direct route to the car ferry than the one taken by Brazil, were confronted with the same depressing notice informing them the ferry was out of commission. Tweed pursed his lips, then took his next decision.
'We'll have to go via Wareham, it's a long roundabout route, but there's nothing else for it.'
