by Colin Forbes
'His movements?' Alvarez shook his head. 'Any shyster attorney could cut you to ribbons in the witness box.'
'Well, didn't anyone see him coming out of the sea?' demanded Paula, turning to a policeman standing by his patrol car. 'He must have crossed the highway to reach Black Ridge. He'd be soaked to the skin.'
'Sorry,' the policeman answered, 'but our attention was focused on waiting,for you folks to come back.'
'No evidence,' Alvarez repeated for the third time. 'All in a day's ...' He stopped. 'No it isn't. I hate losing one man. Now we've lost three. Newman, you'd better get back to Spanish Bay. I'll get those photos - if any - to Tweed.'
24
At Black Ridge in Moloch's office Vanity had heard the sound of the explosion. She jumped up, ran to the window, was just in time to see the powerboat going up in flames. She told Moloch, seated behind his desk, what she had seen.
'Defective engine, I suppose.' Moloch was absorbed in his work. 'Come back, I want to talk to you.'
'What about?' she asked as she sat facing him.
'I'm thinking of handing over some of the key accounts for you to check. You know about figures, don't you?'
'I worked in an accountant's office in London before you hired me. I think I could cope. But won't Byron be resentful?'
"These are key accounts handled by Joel.'
'Doesn't the same objection apply? I don't want to make an enemy of him.'
'I decide who handles what. There are people here who seem to forget I built up AMBECO with my own sweat and energy. Incidentally, I'm going to Grenville's party at the Anglo-Pacific Club tonight. I'd be happy for you to join me. I can take you in the Lincoln Continental.'
'Travelling in luxury,' she teased him. 'But why are you going to this party? Not like you at all. To appear in public.'
'Grenville told me among the guests will be a man called Tweed. I'd like to get to know him.' He smiled drily. 'If I'm escorting you the whole place will be abuzz. The idea amuses me.'
'I'll have to change, have a shower. What time do you want me to be ready?'
'How long do you need?'
"Thirty minutes.'
'Most women would need a couple of hours. The party starts at eight o'clock. Allow three-quarters of an hour to reach Spanish Bay. Half an hour for you to get ready. We'll leave 7.15 p.m. precisely.'
Inwardly Vanity smiled to herself. VB was always so precise about timing. Which was probably one of the secrets of his amazing success. He never wasted a minute.
'I'll be happy to come with you.' she said. 'Time you got out more into the outside world. You lock yourself away too much.'
His pale eyes looked at her. Besides her ability at her work, one of her great attractions to Moloch was the way she never hesitated to talk back to him. He hated staff who fawned. He smiled cynically.
"The outside world? California is a sewer. But I'm sure we'll have an enjoyable evening.'
Newman had just parked the car back at Spanish Bay when a red light started flashing. After making sure no one was in sight, he pressed the button which elevated the aerial. He knew it was Washington. He reached for the microphone. 'Newman here.'
'Cord speaking. How is life in California?' 'Sunny,' Newman replied quickly. He wasn't sure whether Tweed would want him to report the tragedy near Big Sur. 'Can I help?'
'If Tweed is available I need to speak to him urgently.'
'Hold on. He'll be here in a couple of minutes ...'
He asked Paula to fetch Tweed. The moment he had elevated the aerial Marler had left the car, gesturing to Butler and Nield to fan out. The three men took up observation positions. The car was hidden from the hotel by a high wall and was parked in a rarely used section.
More quickly than he'd expected he saw in his mirror Tweed running to the car with Paula close behind. She took up a position a distance from the car indicated by Marler. Newman handed the microphone to Tweed, left the car.
Tweed here.'
"This is a very secure line.' Dillon began. 'I assume no one else can hear us at your end ...'
'Correct.'
'What I have to tell you is top secret. We managed to insert an agent inside VB's armaments factory in Des Moines. A most delicate operation. He's still there.'
'Understood.' Tweed assured him.
'The agent has reported Moloch has perfected an explosive of enormous power. Ten times the power of a hydrogen bomb - as I mentioned earlier. He smuggled out a small sample.'
'Raid the plant.' Tweed said immediately.
'We can't. VB's under government contract to produce the most powerful explosive he can. He hasn't told us he has succeeded. The explosive is called Xenobium. He tested it at that old silo in the Nevada desert.'
'How do you know that?'
'We compared traces of the Nevada explosive with the sample smuggled out of the Des Moines plant. They match.'
'I still don't see why you can't check Des Moines.'
'Because Moloch's accumulated so much political power on the Hill. If we did raid he'd say he'd just perfected it. He would then retaliate by using his political muscle to make sure the existing President lost the coming election. Our hands are tied behind our backs.'
'Xenobium, you said?'
'That's what the stuff's called. Sends shivers down my spine.'
'Doesn't exactly make my day, to paraphrase Clint Eastwood.'
Tweed, are you getting anywhere?'
For the first time in their long relationship Tweed detected a note of desperation in the American's voice. He replied carefully.
'Pieces of the jigsaw fall into my lap every day. I think I am close to the whole picture. I need to meet Vincent Bernard Moloch. I have to be sure of his motive. We'll keep in touch...'
He had a cheerful expression when he left the car. More cheerful, Paula thought, than she'd seen him look for several days.
Moloch chatted away amusingly to Vanity as he drove his cream limo along the highway towards Carmel. He wore a smart dinner jacket and his manner was animated.
'When you met Tweed what was your impression of him?' he asked suddenly.
'Formidable,' she replied promptly.
'I think he must be to hold down the job he does. I want you to introduce me to him. Not as soon as we arrive but later in the evening.'
'I'll do that,' she promised.
'The idea is not for me to go round chatting to other guests,' he warned. 'I'd like a table to myself - just for the two of us.'
'I'll arrange that with Grenville as soon as we arrive.'
"The point is,' he explained, driving expertly, his headlights flashing round the curves, 'I want to observe who is there. I can't rely on anyone else to spot what I'm looking for.'
'Understood.' said Vanity.
What's he up to now? she was wondering. He's got some idea in that complex brain of his. Maybe I'll detect what it is after we've been there awhile.
Tweed was late leaving for the party. The photographs from Alvarez had been delivered by a plainclothes detective who showed him identity.
A handwritten note from Alvarez informed him that the scuba diver with the camera had obviously reached the seabed before disappearing. The photos showed, he had assumed, the sealed core hole the dredger had made when penetrating the floor of the Pacific.
'Make anything of these pics?' Tweed asked Paula.
She examined them using a magnifying glass. Shaking her head, she returned the photos.
'I can't make it out. It looks as though a giant round plate of some material has been used to close the hole.'
'In his note Alvarez says his experts estimate it is six feet in diameter. Beyond that they're stuck. Get Newman in here. I want to talk to Cord Dillon...'
Fifteen minutes later he had told Dillon he needed to send the photos to an address in London as fast as possible, that the photos could be the key to the whole mystery. Dillon asked him to hold on. Tweed sat in the Merc, with the aerial elevated. Newman had posted his team at strategic
positions round the car. Tweed noticed that Butler and Nield wore new business suits, and called over Newman.
'Why are Harry and Pete dressed to go out on the town?'
'Because they're coming with us to the party. No argument, please. A crowd is just the place to shoot down a target.'
He left the car as Dillon came back on the line. His answer startled Tweed.
'We can't wire these photos. The detail is too important. Give the photos to Alvarez, who is driving to where you are. Should arrive in ten minutes. Give him the package with the address on it. A very new, fast aircraft will be waiting at Monterey airport to fly them to London. A car will be waiting at Heathrow to rush them to the Holland Park address. Will be in touch. Oh, ETA about seven hours from now...'
He was off the line before Tweed could thank him. Calling over to Paula, Tweed told her what was happening, to pack the photos and address them to Professor Weatherby. As she dashed off he beckoned to Newman.
'Drive me to that public phone box again. I have to call Weatherby.'
Marler slid into the back seat just before the car took off. Tweed ran to the phone box the moment the car stopped and Marler ran after him, then waited in the shadows. Above them was a star-studded night. Newman wondered why the constellations looked so much dearer in California. Lack of smog in this area, he assumed.
'Weatherby? Tweed here ...' He explained the new development. The seismologist listened without saying anything until Tweed had finished.
'Very interesting,' he responded. 'Of course, I know a bit about this technique of sinking a special rotating tube to extract a core from the earth deep down, or from the seabed. But I'm not an expert. Luckily I happened to have a John Palister on the line a few minutes ago. He's an old friend, an insomniac, and is coming over for a drink with me in the wee small hours. He's a world expert on drilling cores. When will the photos reach me?'
"They'll shortly be leaving Monterey airport. I calculate they will reach you in about seven hours' time.'
'Seven hours? How are they coming? By rocket?' 'I've got government cooperation. They must be using one of their incredible new supersonic aircraft.'
'Right. I'll get John to stay until they arrive. He'll know what those photos mean. I'll give you a call. But where are you?'
'Spanish Bay. A hotel outside Carmel...' Tweed gave him the number, warned him to wrap up what he had to say since the call would be coming via a hotel operator. Emerging from the phone box, he took a deep breath of chill night air. They drove back to Spanish Bay, picked up Paula, who was wearing a short coat and drove the short distance to where the party was being held. Butler and Nield followed them on foot.
'Now I wonder what this is really all about?' Tweed mused.
The party was in full swing by the time they arrived. Grenville met them at the door, in an evening suit with a scarlet cummerbund. He greeted them warmly, kissing Paula on the cheek.
'More of you than I expected,' he commented, looking at Marler with Butler and Nield behind him.
'We've come to help with serving the guests,' Marler drawled.
Tweed made brief introductions, scanning the large roomful of guests over Grenville's shoulder. At a corner table sat a small neat man, his dark hair brushed back over his high forehead. With him sat Vanity Richmond. Newman, catching Tweed's gaze, whispered to him as Grenville ushered his guests to a large table at the edge of the dance floor.
"That's Moloch. I took a picture of him once, had my camera snatched out of my hands by his bodyguards.'
Tweed followed Paula, who was being escorted to the table by a buoyant Grenville. He noticed Maurice at a table by himself, emptying a glass with a morose look. Sitting down between Paula and Newman with Marler opposite while Butler and Nield occupied each end, Tweed surveyed the room. It seemed to him Moloch was doing the same thing.
The company was made up of mostly elderly and middle-aged men and women. He sensed an atmosphere of forced gaiety. There was a lot of drinking going on. Younger couples were dancing on the floor in the middle looking bored. A hand fell on his shoulder. Turning, he looked up into the lined face of a white-haired man.
'You're new,' the man said. 'Not come to live out here, I hope?'
'Why?'
'Look around you.' He had a perfect upper-crust English accent. 'They're all miserable, like me. They've come out here for the climate, left their friends at home behind, left their lives behind.'
'Then why don't they go back?' Tweed asked.
'Too late. They've lost touch with their friends, have sold up their homes in Britain. It's cheaper to live out here and they couldn't afford to return. They hanker after old things - the pubs, the villages, even London. It's not the same out here. Don't do it.'
'Thank you for your advice,' said Tweed.
'Sounds tragic,' Paula whispered.
'Probably is. Vanity appears to be coming this way.'
Smiling cheerfully, she addressed Tweed, who simply nodded.
'Mr Moloch would be honoured if you would join him for a few minutes. He's at the table I've just left, the one in the corner.'
"Then why doesn't he come over here?' demanded Paula.
'He would like a few quiet words.' She smiled again at Paula, not losing her poise. "The music is rather loud over here.'
Tweed glanced at the four youngsters perched on a platform, hammering out rock-and-roll. He nodded again, stood up and edged his way between the tables. Vanity sat down next to Paula in the chair Tweed had vacated. Grenville came up, a smoking cigar in his hand.
'Everyone having the time of their lives?' he asked, his voice hoarse. He waved the cigar. 'Smoke too many of these things. Still, you can't give up everything. Start with cigars and you find you've gone off drink ...'
Moloch stood up courteously as Tweed arrived, invited him to sit down in Vanity's chair. He resumed his own seat after swinging it round so he could look straight at Tweed, who gazed back into the pale clever eyes.
'I've wanted to meet you, Tweed.'
'Why?'
'Vanity described you as formidable.'
'Depends on the circumstances.'
'I suppose it would. Do you expect to be staying at Spanish Bay for long?'
'As long as it takes.'
Moloch paused. He lifted his glass. He was drinking orange juice so far as Tweed could make out. He put the glass down.
'Can I offer you a drink?'
"Thank you, but I have one at my own table.'
'Are you enjoying the party?' Moloch enquired.
'Not much.'
'Neither am I. I'm going to leave in a minute. Grenville would insist I came. Mr Tweed, we could talk more frankly if you'd be kind enough to visit me at Black Ridge, my home over here near Big Sur. I find the noise distracting.'
'I'll be glad to come and see you.'
'Good. What about eleven o'clock tomorrow morning?
There are gates at the entrance. I'll have them open so you can drive straight in.'
'Thank you. Eleven tomorrow morning. Please excuse me -I have friends waiting for me ...'
Tweed noticed that Butler was standing against the wall a few yards away, looking at the dancers. Not a man to take any chances, Harry Butler. Tweed returned to his table in time to hear Vanity saying something to Paula.
'We could go into Carmel together. I know the best shops. A lot of them are selling junk. I'll give you a ring.'
"That would be nice,' Paula said without enthusiasm.
'Sorry I pinched your chair, Mr Tweed.' Vanity said, standing up and giving him a beaming smile.
"That's all right.'
Vanity hurried back to Moloch who was standing up prior to going. They left together and Moloch moved quickly to avoid Grenville who was heading his way. Then they were gone.
Tweed left soon afterwards, glancing again at Maurice, who was downing another glass of wine. He looked more morose than ever. Am I wrong, Tweed thought -he had noticed earlier that Moloch was staring straight at Maurice.
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On the way back the short distance in the car Tweed told Newman about his appointment with Moloch. Newman's reaction was swift.
'Are you mad? Once inside Black Ridge you may never leave the place alive.'
'I'm going,' Tweed replied. 'I must get inside that man's mind. Time is running out...'
25
It was almost dawn when Tweed was woken by the phone ringing. Instantly alert, he sat up, grabbed the phone.
'Hello?'
Tweed? Weatherby here. I have John Palister here with me. I'll do the talking - because of what you said. Palister has examined the photos. There's something peculiar going on. He has never seen a hole six feet in diameter. It doesn't go with the sort of operation you described.'
'Why not?'
'Because he has never come across so large an instrument of the sort which you said had been used. This is not the sort of cavity you could excavate with existing equipment as he knows it.'
'Has he a theory to explain it?'
'Only a bizarre one. That a special new instrument was used to make the hole and bury something huge. Sounds crazy.'
'Yes, it does.' Tweed agreed, for the benefit of anyone who might be listening to the call. 'We can dismiss that out of hand, I'm sure. Please thank Palister for his help. And thank you.'
'What's going on out there?' a worried Weatherby asked.
'I've no idea. Thank you so much for calling...'
Tweed got out of bed, stripped off his pyjamas and went to the shower stall. Towelling himself, shaving, then dressing he replayed the conversation in his mind.
Dismiss that out of hand? It was the last thing he was going to do. Clearly a massive drill of unprecedented proportions had been invented. He recalled AMBECO -M standing for machine tools. They would have all the facilities to create a giant drill which was undoubtedly aboard the Baja. Another piece of the jigsaw had slotted into place - he recalled his recent conversation with Cord Dillon. A catastrophe was imminent.
Tweed slid open one of the large glass doors he had unlocked. He wandered out from the living room onto the terrace and across the grass. He wanted to see dawn rise over the mountains, to get his thoughts in order. He was now thinking of a conversation he'd had with Weatherby earlier about tectonic plates.
