by Colin Forbes
He handed her a grenade with a pin. This she recognized as he spoke.
'Stun grenade. You've practised with it down at the training centre in Send. As you know, when it explodes near your opponent the deafening explosion puts him out of the picture for long enough for us to get away. Here's another, Paula.'
He gave two more to Newman and Butler, then stood away, closed the door quietly. He lit a king-size.
'I'd say we're ready to take on a whole army of thugs - which we must assume is what's waiting for us. You all know where I'll be. What are we waiting for?'
Tor you to shut up,' Newman told him with a grin.
The convoy then took off, driving at speed, again with Butler in the lead. Well behind him, Newman followed in the Merc, with Paula alongside him and Marler bringing up the rear a distance behind them.
They sped down a hill and then up a much steeper, higher incline. At the top of the ridge they passed the closed high wrought-iron gates leading down a long drive to Mullion Towers. The tactic was to confuse the enemy - by driving at speed it appeared they were on their way elsewhere. Only Butler had stopped just beyond the gates, hiding his machine in a hedge.
He took a grenade out of the satchel Marler had given him before they left Nansidwell Country Hotel and waited. Crouching in the hedge, he watched both the entrance gates and the crest of the road where it crossed the ridge.
A few minutes later Marler appeared, carrying his telescopic ladder, with his Armalite slung over one shoulder, and ran back down the hill, shielded from view of the house by the high granite wall. By the time he came close to Butler, the latter had studied the wire along the top of the wall. Newman and Paula appeared, running after Marler. All wore soft-soled shoes and ran silently. When Marler stopped a hundred yards or so from Butler, he signalled and the operation began. A dog was snarling somewhere close to the mansion.
Butler emerged, hurled the grenade expertly so it landed at the foot of the gates. It detonated, blew the locked gates open. The guards would assume it was a frontal attack straight up the drive.
'Can you eliminate that electric wire?' Marler snapped at Butler.
'I told you. Child's play. Get the ruddy ladder up against the wall. We haven't got all day.'
Marler swiftly pulled out the sections of the metal ladder to their fullest extent, propped it against the wall at a point where it turned at a right angle behind the house. Shinning up, he glanced over the wire. Two guards, armed with shotguns, one holding a huge Dobermann on a leash, ran past near the house, half-hidden by Ali Baba pots containing large shrubs. They were heading for the front. Marler heard a loud voice calling out.
'Mass on either side of the front gate - that's where the bastards are coming through.'
Marler smiled to himself: the plan was working. He shinned down again and Butler climbed the ladder, a leather tool kit slung from his side. Marler had placed the ladder at precisely the point he had indicated.
A master electrode was supporting the wire through an iron ring covered with rubber. Taking a tube from his kit, Butler squeezed out a thick, glue-like liquid over the whole electrode and part of the wire on either side. Then he pulled out a pair of secateurs, clipped the wire on both sides where it was covered with the liquid. The entire electric wire was now out of operation and no alarm would sound inside the house. He descended the ladder to where Marler waited with Paula and Newman.
'Wire's out...'
He had hardly spoken when Marler shot up the ladder, again peered over. No one in sight. He uncoiled the knotted rope with a weight on the end attached to the top of the ladder, lowered it over the far side of the wall after wrapping it several times round the iron ring embedded into the stone. This was their escape route.
Climbing rapidly down the rope, he crouched low, running from one Ali Baba pot to another until, unseen, he reached the side wall of the house covered with creeper. He tested the strength of the creeper, tugging it with one hand. Satisfied that it was strong enough, he clawed his way up the creeper with the skill of a cat burglar.
Reaching the gutter, he clambered over it on to the flat roof of the mansion. Further on it had a tiled slope but here were several massive chimney stacks. Still crouching he ran across to the front of the house, shielded from view by another chimney stack. He had the Armal-ite in his hands as he peered over. He had a bird's-eye view of the scene in front of the house, men with shotguns a short way back from the entrance, directed by a black-haired giant waving his hands, ordering them to spread out.
Marler ran back to the side of the house, lifted his head, saw Newman's head waiting at the top of the ladder. He waved his hand once, then ran back to his viewing point. The assault was about to begin.
Newman descended the knotted rope, followed by Paula and Butler. Paula, shoulder bag close to her, held her Browning as Newman led the way towards the front. Both had weapons concealed behind their backs. Butler stayed behind to guard their escape route, his hand inside a small canvas satchel.
Newman's approach was peaceable and he had a smile on his face as he arrived at the front. Brand was the first one to spot him. Not expecting anyone to take him in the rear, his first reaction was one of surprise. Newman called out to him genially.
'Excuse me, is this Mullion Towers? If so I'd like a word with the owner, Mr Moloch.'
'About what?' Brand demanded, playing for time.
'I'd have to explain that to Mr Moloch himself. It's kind of personal,' Newman explained amiably.
'So is this.' Brand replied and aimed his shotgun straight at Newman. 'How did you get in?'
'Through the back way. The front gate looked a shambles. Couldn't just drive in there.'
'You're trespassing. Tell me who you are or I'm shooting.'
Paula aimed her Browning at Brand's stomach. She held the weapon in an unwavering grip, her voice like a whiplash.
'Pull the trigger and I'll blow your stomach open.'
Brand swung his shotgun so the muzzle was aimed at Paula. He grinned as though confident he held the upper hand. Paula continued aiming the gun at his stomach.
'Pull the trigger,' she repeated, 'and my finger will fire as a reflex action. You'll still end up with your stomach blasted open.'
Again Brand looked taken aback. It was the last reaction he had expected from a mere woman. He hesitated, then gave a braying laugh, throwing down his shotgun. With an evil grin he advanced towards Newman, hand held out. As he did so Newman slipped his revolver into his holster. Brand grinned again.
"That's right. A man like you doesn't need a toy pistol. Shake hands with the devil and we can talk...'
As he came close his left hand bunched into a huge fist, came forward with lightning speed. He grazed Newman's jaw with enough force to send him falling over on his back. Still grinning, Brand lifted a boot with metal studs on the toecap to give his opponent a brutal kick in the side which would have broken ribs. Paula stood back, her Browning aimed at other men who were advancing.
Newman moved even more swiftly, both hands gripping Brand's ankle, twisting it savagely. The large man yelped, lost his balance as Newman jumped to his feet. Bending down, he took hold of Brand's shaggy hair, pulled at it and when the giant instinctively jerked back Newman shoved the head down with great force. It connected with one of the paving stones of a path crossing the thin lawn. The noise sounded like a hammer crashing into the stone and Brand lay still.
Other men were continuing to advance, shotguns aimed despite Paula's Browning, and they knew she couldn't cover all of them. Then a series of shots rang out, each shot landing just in front of each advancing man. They stood stock-still, in a state of shock, wondering where the shooting was coming from as Marler continued to pick off one man after another, always firing just in front of him. Newman had just dealt with Brand when Paula called out a warning.
To your right, Bob!'
Newman swung round. Gene was walking slowly towards him from the side of the mansion, holding Brute on a leash. He releas
ed the dog, which leapt towards Newman who had no time to reach for his revolver. Brute was leaping into the air, aiming for Newman's throat, when he stopped, for a moment suspended in mid-air as the bullet penetrated his skull - the bullet from Marler's Armalite. As the animal flopped, Gene came rushing towards Newman, a long stiletto-like knife in his hand.
Newman stood very still, hands on his hips. Again no time to reach for the Smith & Wesson. He called out to Gene in a calm voice.
'Before you stick that in me could I take a few puffs at a last cigarette?'
'Smoke away. It will be your last chance on this earth.'
Newman carefully withdrew a packet from his pocket with a lighter. He lit the cigarette while Gene gloated at Newman, taking deep drags. Scared to death, Gene told himself with sadistic glee. The cigarette end was glowing strongly when Newman glanced behind Gene.
Take him, Ed,' he called out.
Gene felt compelled to glance over his shoulder. In that moment of distraction Newman plunged the cigarette end down onto the hand holding the knife. Gene screamed with pain, dropped the knife. Newman's right knee rammed into his attacker's groin and Gene yelled, crumpled forward. Snatching his revolver from the holster, Newman brought the barrel down on Gene's exposed skull. The would-be killer collapsed.
Chaos broke out as Paula hurled her stun grenade. Three men fell unconscious to the ground. She threw a smoke grenade into the middle of the remaining opponents and they were lost, coughing, their eyes streaming inside the dense fog. From somewhere inside the smoke a series of shots was fired at them. Newman recognized the weapon as an automatic rifle. One of the guards had, he guessed, dropped to the ground, closed his eyes and was shooting at random in the hope of getting a hit.
'Time to move out.' he told Paula. 'Get back over the ladder. Now!'
He glanced up at the parapet of the flat roof and saw Marler peering down, waiting for an enemy to emerge from the fog. Newman gestured to him to come down immediately, to make for the ladder. Then he moved a few paces closer to where Butler stood on guard while Paula climbed the knotted rope, and disappeared over the top of the wall with the agility of an acrobat.
Marler, Armalite slung over his shoulder, was clawing his way down the ancient creeper. Newman waited, watched him, his Smith & Wesson in his hand. Marler reached the ground, dropping the last few feet. An automatic rifle, Newman was thinking. These thugs were professionals.
As Marler stood up he saw a plastic bin for litter at the corner of the house. He ran to it, prised off the lid. A load of rubbish. Then he saw a screwed-up ball of paper, grabbed it, shoved it inside a pocket as he rammed the lid back on.
'What the hell did you think you were doing?' demanded Newman as Marler ran up to him.
'Never know what you can pick up ...'
'Get up the rope. Move!'
As Marler shot up the knotted rope, vanished, Newman took a few steps closer to the escape route. He would be the last man out. Ordering Butler to leave, he kept his eye on the fog, which was thinning. A guard appeared, a handkerchief wrapped round his mouth, tight-fitting goggles over his eyes. He was holding an automatic rifle which he aimed at Newman, who dodged sideways. He hurled a stun grenade at the guard, followed that up with another smoke grenade. The guard was falling when smoke enveloped him.
Newman climbed the rope, heaved himself over the wall, then hauled up the rope, used a knife to cut it free from the iron ring it was twisted tightly round now, dropped the whole rope to where Marler, waiting, swiftly coiled it. The moment Newman was off the ladder they telescoped it and Marler ran with it to his Saab.
When Newman reached the Merc, he found Paula behind the wheel, the engine running, ready to take off the moment Newman was aboard in the front passenger seat. Ahead of them Butler revved up his machine, shot down the hill. As he was passing the damaged gates he threw another shin grenade, sped on.
The Merc, followed him at high speed with the Saab behind them. Newman wiped sweat off his brow.
'Exciting enough for you?'
'We've been there before,' she replied calmly. 'In similar situations. Do you think we achieved anything?'
'We'll have put the wind up Moloch. Which I'm sure was Tweed's idea. Someone was gazing down at us from a side window when we left. It could have been the emperor himself, I suppose. Anyone following us?'
'Only Marler,' she replied after another swift glance in the rear-view mirror. 'Back to Nansidwell, I suppose? Good job Moloch doesn't know where we're staying.'
'I wouldn't count on that.'
Moloch had witnessed the entire operation. Standing by the window of his first-floor office, hands clasped behind his back, he had heard the first grenade which damaged the gates. As he watched Brand assemble his large force of guards near the gate he guessed it was a diversion, that the attack would come from elsewhere. Still, Brand usually knew what he was doing.
Later he left his office quickly, went along a corridor to a room with a side window. He was in time to see Newman put out of action the guard with the automatic rifle, saw him climbing up the rope, haul it out of sight, disappear.
'A very well-organized operation,' he said to himself. 'I have underestimated Tweed. We'll have to close in on him.'
4
Howard burst into Tweed's office, looking worried. As he sat in the armchair he shot his cuffs, revealing a pair of gold cuff links, each like a flower with petals. Monica shuddered inwardly behind her desk - not the style of links a man should wear.
"The PM's getting worked up about Vincent Bernard Moloch,' Howard began in his lofty voice.
'I know.' replied Tweed. 'He called me this afternoon.'
'You mean he called you first?' Howard demanded indignantly. 'I'm supposed to be running the show.'
"Then complain to the PM.'
'You know I can't do that. He wants to get his priorities right. Anyway, VB has bought up a key electronics plant in the Thames Valley. You know that's our version of Silicon Valley in California.'
'I know.'
'You mean you know about the Thames Valley?'
'I mean I know VB has bought up that plant. He's already put in hand plans for doubling its size and capacity.'
'May I ask how you know all this?'
'I have a contact in the area I can't name. I was informed earlier under a seal of secrecy.' Tweed said firmly.
'What is infuriating - worrying - the PM is that VB already has several important members of Parliament on his payroll. The usual racket - they're called consultants. He thinks Moloch is getting too powerful.'
'He is. What do you want me to do? Go out and shoot him?'.
'Might be a good idea.' Howard replied in a rare flash of humour. 'How is your investigation proceeding?'
'It's proceeding. When I have something positive you'll be the first to know.'
'I would hope so ...'
Howard stood up, left the room. Monica raised her eyes to heaven. Tweed grinned at her.
'I'm going to say it,' Monica insisted. 'That man is a pain. I notice you tell him as little as possible.'
'Well, I do know that when he's had three double whiskies at his club he can get talkative. What do you think
of the call I had from Newman?'
Newman had called him from the phone box in Mawnan Smith on his way back from Mullion Towers. Monica frowned.
'Sounds to me as though he cleverly outmanoeuvred a pretty tough bunch. What was the object of the exercise?'
'To unsettle Moloch, to show him we're on his track. In that mood he may make a wrong move. I'm interested in that paperwork Marler took from the litter bin. A map of California with strange lines on it.'
'Is that why you sent Pete Nield haring down to Nansidwell?'
'Yes.' Tweed responded. 'He's bringing the map straight back with him. I want to see that for myself. Oh, by the way, did you find out any more about the Buddha, Mrs Benyon, VB's stepmother - and her son, Ethan?'
'Mrs Benyon has a small amount of stock in the priv
ate company controlling VB's empire. The rumour is she's always going on at VB about giving her more stock, that she'd like a bigger say in the conglomerate.'
'Fits in with that photo you showed me. What else?'
'Her son, Ethan, seems a strange character. He hates his mother, who bullies him when she can. He doesn't live with her - he's living at Black Ridge, VB's HQ down the coast from Carmel and near Big Sur. They say he's brilliant at his work...'
'What exactly is his work?'
'He's a seismologist - you know, an expert on earthquakes. And that's all I know. Except when he was a student over here, his colleagues thought he had a screw loose. I can only suppose because he's a typical boffin, wrapped up in what he does.'
'Interesting.' Tweed had a faraway look.
'Interesting? Why?'
'Because certain fragments of the puzzle are beginning to fit into the whole picture. Vaguely. I could be wrong.'
'Incidentally, while you were out this morning the photo of Julia Sanchez arrived from Cord Dillon by Federal Express. The girl friend of VB's who vanished into nowhere along with the other six. Here it is.'
She laid it on his desk and Tweed looked at the photo of a very attractive brunette. She had a firm chin, suggesting character, and laughing eyes. The type of girl who would be fun. Tweed guessed her age at early thirties.
'Nothing like the woman Newman pulled ashore down in Cornwall, the one Paula swore was the same woman she hauled out of the sea at Octopus Cove in California. Here is the Identikit pic. Paula worked out with our artist in the Engine Room,' Monica pointed out.
Tweed glanced at the drawing Paula had worked on with the artist. He knew she was very good at recalling individual features. Even before studying it closely he had realized there was no resemblance to Julia Sanchez.
Another dead end - they had encountered so many over the years.
'Not a bit like her.' he agreed. 'Better phone Cord and bring him up to date ...'
He was interrupted by the phone ringing. Monica answered it, told Tweed Cord Dillon was on the phone.
