by Colin Forbes
'Early bird.' a voice behind him said. 'Up to see the dawn.' Paula went on.
He swung round, saw she was dressed in a turtle-necked sweater and a dark trouser suit. She tucked her arm in his, smiling. As they walked towards the main terrace overlooking the links and the sea he asked her the question.
'Did you use the precaution I asked Alvarez to supply you with when he called after we'd got back from the party?'
In reply she glanced around. Then she rolled down the turtleneck below her neck, waited while Tweed looked at her, then rolled it up again.
'Good.' said Tweed. 'Did you notice Joel Brand last night at the bar which served the party?'
'Yes. Looking very smart, wearing a duck suit.'
'Quack, quack.' said Tweed. 'That poor sister of Linda Standish's washed ashore in Cornwall knew what she was talking about.'
'I don't. You last said those words when we saw Byron Landis had a duck-waddle.'
'So I did. Look at the view. Magnificent.'
A new day was dawning, the sun, still invisible, rising behind them. It coloured the ocean with weird light, a mix of rainbowlike tints. They stood watching it as the colours changed and the ocean glowed.
'I can understand why people come to live here.' Paula said. 'Pity they don't just visit it instead of settling down here. Then they're trapped. An evil paradise.'
"There's a lot of misguided evil here,' Tweed replied. 'Or so I suspect.'
'Misguided?'
'Just a thought.'
It was eight o'clock in the morning when Joel Brand burst into Moloch's office at Black Ridge. Moloch made him wait, checking a sheaf of papers which he eventually inserted into a file. Only then did he look up.
'What is it, Joel?'
'We have to do something drastic which will throw Tweed off balance. I think he's getting too close.'
'I doubt it. What do you propose?'
'Haven't worked it out yet. Something to shake those friggin' glasses off his nose.'
'I thought you were due to fly to the AMBECO building this morning. Time you departed and got on with your work.'
Without a word Brand left the room and walked rapidly along to where Byron Landis was working. He slammed the door behind him as the accountant looked up from his desk.
Moloch heaved a sigh of relief. He'd been careful not to tell him Tweed was visiting him later in the morning. Joel was getting out of control.
He stood by the window later when he had polished off a mountain of work. At precisely eleven o'clock he saw a BMW drive in through the open gates and up the steep drive. Moloch appreciated punctuality. He sat behind his desk, waiting for Tweed to be shown up. He was surprised his visitor had come alone.
'Mr Tweed, welcome to Black Ridge. Please do take a seat, and what can I get you to drink?'
'Nothing at the moment, thank you. What did you want to talk to me about?'
'You've probably heard some wild tales about me. I thought I ought to set the record straight. I came here from Ghent in Belgium with great hopes. I met a man who had invented a new form of microchip - more advanced than anything on the market. I backed him with money borrowed from a bank, built a plant, went into production. That microchip was so revolutionary it sold like wildfire. I paid the bank back the loan. I was prospering - because I'd worked night and day to get my company off the ground. Then the opposition struck.'
'The opposition?' Tweed enquired.
'Five of my biggest competitors up in Silicon Valley combined to ruin me. First, they produced a microchip similar to mine - but sufficiently different so I couldn't take them to court. They undercut me by fifty per cent -far more than I could do to fight them. They were making huge losses but they had the money to stand them. That, Tweed, was just the beginning.'
Moloch sipped tea which had been brought in by Vanity Richmond. This time Tweed accepted tea himself. He had been watching Moloch as the words poured out. In his office, his host radiated a dynamism he hadn't noticed at Grenville's party: he seemed to exude energy and determination. His shrewd pale eyes stared at Tweed's as he continued.
'The next move my competitors made was to sabotage my trucks carrying supplies to customers. Brake fluid was tampered with. Three drivers died. Six more trucks exploded and four more drivers died. I had trouble finding good drivers who would work for me - the word got around that I wasn't a safe employer. I'll never forgive them for the lives they took. Finally, a bomb exploded inside my plant - seriously injuring ten key workers. My losses in profits mounted and I was ruined. But it was the loss of lives which changed me. I learned one thing.'
'What was that?'
'How to win in America.'
'How do you do that?'
'By being tougher than the competition. I borrowed money again from a bank. That took some fast talking. I rebuilt my plant, but this time it had the most sophisticated protection systems. I hired tough men like Joel Brand to run a security system, to hit back at the opposition. I gave orders...'
He paused as Vanity returned with tea for Tweed. She smiled at him.
'I liked your assistant, Paula. Makes a change to have a nice English friend.'
'I'm sure it must do,' Tweed said briefly.
'I gave orders.' Moloch continued, after Vanity had left, 'to send in saboteur teams to the opposition's plants. They had strict orders to overpower any guards without hurting them. Tear gas was used. Then they entered the plants and sabotaged key machinery, holding up production. I'm being very frank with you.'
'You certainly are.' Tweed agreed.
'Visitors from Britain make the mistake of thinking they're coming to a larger version of their own country. They couldn't be more mistaken. Especially where business is concerned. And American society - especially in California and New York - is unstable. I keep meeting women •who've got married four, five, six times. They think marriage is a pastime, not a permanent relationship. This is an alien land with alien customs and ethics.'
'Things aren't too good back in Britain.' Tweed observed.
'You're right. But the rise of a great leader is overdue
- someone who will clean up the mess, laying the emphasis on self-discipline, order and stability. It will come. Over here it may have gone too far. The drug epidemic started in California.'
'It's arrived in Britain,' Tweed reminded him.
'I know. Another thing about American business and politics. Corruption here is a way of life. It's gone so deep many Americans don't regard it as corruption - it's just business, Tweed. I found out that to succeed I had to get down into the pit with the hyenas. I didn't like it, still don't. But this is a jungle and the toughest fighter wins. When the bank I'd borrowed money from called in the loan at what they thought was an awkward time, I paid it back. Then I bought the bank. They hadn't realized how powerful I had become. Which sounds immodest. But this is America. Then I branched out into armaments
- because that gave me a grip on the government. I hired top men from other companies in the industry, stole them by offering huge salaries. It paid off. They produced armaments more advanced than any other company -and I got government contracts. Can you tell now how I built up AMBECO?'
'I'm beginning to get the idea. Why keep on expanding? You must have enough money to last you a dozen lifetimes.'
'Because work is my only pleasure. I was married once. My wife was killed in a motor accident. Now I just have girl friends
'Seven of which have been murdered, so I heard.'
"That's true.' Moloch looked concerned. 'Why should they be a target? I don't know. I hired a private investigator to track down the killer, known as The Accountant...'
He paused as Byron Landis entered the office with a sheaf of files under his arm. He excused the interruption, put the files on VB's desk.
"The latest figures,' the bald man said, blinking at Tweed through his glasses.
'Give them to Vanity to check.' Moloch ordered.
'Vanity?' A resentful look crossed Landis's face. 'Wh
y her?'
'Because I say so. Now take the files and leave us alone.'
Landis retreated with the files, his expression venomous as he closed the door. Moloch shrugged.
'Another problem. Rivalry among top members of the staff.'
'Have you a deputy?' Tweed asked.
'I mentioned him. Joel Brand. He's flown to the AMBECO building in San Francisco. You must visit that with me. It's a weird shape, but it impresses the Americans. That's the name of the game over here - to impress Americans. As you'll have noticed, I only have a small office. What was I saying when Landis barged in? I remember - that private investigator I hired, a nice woman called Linda Standish, was also murdered by The Accountant. That fiend has to be tracked down. I'd shoot him.'
He jumped up from behind his desk as a lean olive-skinned man came in. Moloch stared at him.
"This is Luis Martinez, the guard master. He works under Joel Brand. What is it, Martinez? I'm busy.'
Martinez studied Tweed, who stared back without any expression. He didn't like the look of the man. Martinez grinned at Tweed, showing his flashing teeth, then turned to Moloch.
'I'm going into town to interview a new recruit.'
'Why not interview him here?'
'If he's any good he'd ask for more money if he saw this place first.'
'He probably knows about it anyway. Still, it's your job.'
Martinez left after another glance at Tweed. Moloch picked up his visitor's tray, went towards the door.
'I'd like you to see where I meet an American businessman I need to impress ...'
Tweed followed him out of the room, along a corridor and down some steps when Moloch had opened double doors. He looked round as Moloch placed the tray on a solid marble slab. The room was vast, had curved walls of marble, a huge picture window overlooking the drive and the Pacific beyond. Green leather button-backed couches were spread along the walls and a marble statue in a pool gushed water down into an oval pool.
Tweed sat down on a couch by the slab where Moloch had placed the tray. He stared up at a huge crystal glass chandelier. Moloch sat beside him, gestured.
'A load of hooey, but millionaires have been impressed out of their socks. I find it vulgar.'
'Must have cost a mint of money,' Tweed ventured.
'All put down to promotion. Landis is a strange man but he's good at tax rebates. You find it impressive, Tweed?'
'Maybe a bit overdone.'
'A whole lot overdone. But I had a wealthy businessman who wanted to photograph the whole room so he could reproduce it in his home. I told him he hadn't the money. He ended up signing a contract I had ready for him. Crude, I know, but we're in California.'
Tweed looked at Moloch and realized he was expressing his real feelings. He remembered the modest office his host worked in. Moloch looked at him.
'Maybe you shouldn't have come here. You might never be seen again,' he teased.
'Look out of that window.' Tweed suggested.
Moloch stood up, stared down to the highway by the entrance gates. A Mercedes was parked with Newman behind the wheel. The aerial on the roof was elevated.
'If I'm not out of here in one hour the Marines arrive.' Tweed remarked.
'Formidable, Vanity said you were. I can see why now. And I gained that impression when you were listening to me in my office.' He had just returned to the couch when a lean-faced man with his hair all over the place rushed in.
'What is it, Ethan?' Moloch snapped. 'I have a guest.'
"There's been a technical hitch.'
'Fix it. Just a minute. Our guest might be interested in your chart recorders. Unlock the chamber door and we'll be with you ...'
He jumped up a minute later, escorted Tweed up the marble steps and along the wide corridor. A steel door hung open and Moloch warned Tweed to watch the staircase. Beyond the door a steel spiral staircase twisted its way down into a large room. On tables screwed to the floor stood machines with rolls of graph paper. Tweed followed Moloch and stared as a needle traced a fairly regular line across the paper. The needle jumped up suddenly, then dropped, creating a steep triangle. Ethan, who seemed to take a liking to Tweed, pointed to it.
'A small earthquake tremor.' he explained. 'I use an advanced form of the VAN system. We have stations all along the coast both north and south of here. A series of really steep reactions like that, much larger, indicate a major earthquake is imminent. WeRIGHT SQUARE BRACKET'
'I don't think our guest wants to hear a lot of technical jargon.' Moloch interrupted him.
'What is that huge steel door over there?' Tweed asked.
'A safe.'
'A safe?' echoed Ethan, sounding puzzled.
'Where I keep a lot of money.' Moloch whispered to Tweed. 'For bribes. Now we'd better go ...'
'And I'd better take leave of your hospitality.' Tweed said as they reached the hall. 'Thank you for a most interesting conversation.'
As he walked down the drive towards Newman's car - the gates had opened - Tweed was a worried man. He'd found the chart recorders sinister. But now he knew Moloch's terrible motive.
26
Vanity drove down the drive from Black Ridge as Tweed walked towards the exit. She pulled up alongside him, smiling as usual.
'Mr Tweed, can I give you a lift somewhere? I'm off to meet Paula in Carmel.'
"Thank you, but I have transport.'
'So long as you have wheels, as the Yanks say.'
She drove off and Tweed climbed into the front passenger seat beside Newman, who had retracted the aerial as soon as he saw Tweed coming.
'She certainly moves.' Newman remarked, nodding towards where Vanity was swinging at speed round a bend and up a hill before disappearing. 'Like a whippet. Get anywhere with VB?'
'Drive me to Spanish Bay.'
Newman started the engine, drove off, realizing he was going to get nothing out of Tweed. In the back Marler, hunched up on the floor behind the front seats with his Armalite, waited until they were out of sight of Black Ridge before settling in the rear seat.
Behind them the BMW appeared, driven by Butler, who had collected it from outside Moloch's house. Nield sat alongside him. Tweed realized that the whole team had been watching over him. All the way along the highway he sat without saying a word, thinking of his recent experience. Nothing in his expression gave away the anxiety he was feeling.
'Go through Carmel.' he said suddenly. 'Drive around it. I want to get thoroughly familiar with it. Go up and down the streets and avenues.'
'Something wrong?' Newman enquired.
'I just have a sixth sense something unpleasant is going to happen...'
It was brilliantly sunny when they began. Newman drove along the avenues which climbed up from the sea, turned along the streets which intersected the avenues. The attractive town was laid out very precisely, its pavements lined with shops and restaurants.
"There's Paula with Vanity,' Newman said.
As they cruised past slowly Paula turned her head, waved a hand and smiled at them. Tweed told Newman to drive on.
'Still got that feeling something unpleasant is going to happen?' Newman asked.
'More than ever c'
'What a glorious peaceful day,' Paula said to Vanity as they strolled along, stopping every now and again to look in shop windows.
'It's wonderful.' Vanity agreed. 'We're on Junipero now, near the top of the town. Here's my Audi. Would you mind if I slipped off for half an hour to see a friend? She's had a bad time of it - lost her husband to another woman. I don't think you'd find the conversation entertaining.'
'Meet you on that far corner. Then we can have coffee together...'
Paula was not sorry to have time to herself. She had recognized Junipero and was close to the courtyard where Linda Standish had been murdered. She wanted to see if she could get inside the apartment Linda had occupied in case she could find something else the police had missed.
From a sunny street where locals were -walking a
nd chatting she turned into the narrow entrance to the courtyard, stepping into a different world. The sun had gone, a disturbing silence filled the deserted courtyard and her heels echoed on the cobbles.
There was no breeze and the hanging baskets of flowers were motionless. She walked on into the main courtyard, turning a corner. When she looked back the streets of Carmel had vanished. She paused, gazed at the shops on the ground floor and they all had 'Closed' notices. The memory of Linda's horrible death hung over the place like a sinister shadow. Clearly business was temporarily at a standstill.
She looked up at the apartments above the shops. No sign of life anywhere. The silence, the lack of people, of movement gave her a creepy feeling. Why on earth had she come here? It had been purely on a whim. Then she stared at the iron staircase leading up to Linda's apartment. The door was slightly open.
Gritting her teeth, she opened her shoulder bag, gripped the butt of her Browning nestling in its special pocket. Then slowly, step by step, she began to ascend the staircase.
She wished she'd worn loafers. On the metal treads the soles of her shoes made a noise. She paused again, took off her shoes, held them in her left hand, crept silently up the remaining treads. The police had obviously abandoned the place - the tapes across the bottom of the staircase had been removed. There were no longer any signs of the macabre event which had taken place inside the apartment.
'Anyone at home.' she called out, standing by the open door.
She didn't want to walk in on Anderson, the detective who had been there when she had visited the apartment with Tweed. If startled, he might draw a gun on her. There was no response. Only an uncanny silence. She eased the door open with her foot.
In the gloom - the curtains were half-closed - the room looked just as she had last seen it. The empty desk with the chair pulled back gave her a weird sensation. Linda Standish had lived and worked here for heaven knew how long. She walked in, put on her shoes, held her automatic in her right hand, looked all round. The door to the toilet was closed.
