by Colin Forbes
She approached it cautiously, turned the handle, tried to push it open but it stuck. She remembered Anderson had used his shoulder to push open the door when she was last there. She stood surveying the room, trying to imagine any other hiding place Standish might have used to hide a vital document. She couldn't see anywhere she had missed.
With a certain trepidation she sat down in Standish's chair behind her desk, pulled it in. She had a hope that from this angle she might see a fresh hiding place. Her mood was not helped by the fact that the police had left the IRS tax returns Standish had been working on scattered across the desk. They were soiled with fingerprint powder. They never clean up properly, she thought, but she had had the same experience in Britain.
She noticed the faint bloodstains which still covered the desk in different places. Opening the top right-hand drawer she found it empty. The police had taken away the gun Standish had never had a chance to use.
'There has to be something here they overlooked.' she said to herself. 'Why didn't they send a policeman to check the place? Maybe they did.'
The silence in the room was stifling. She felt cut off from the outside world. But she was determined to stick it out, to stay until she was sure there was nothing more she could find. Then she noticed the camp bed, folded and standing against a dark corner. Beside it was a pile of blankets and a folded sheet. Had an American version of a squatter taken over the place?
She opened all the other drawers in the desk and found them full of notebooks which appeared to concern previous cases Standish had worked on. Paula skim-read each one, hoping that she might find something which would give her a clue as to why Standish had been killed.
Behind her the handle of the toilet door began to revolve. It was turned with great care from the inside. The freshly oiled door opened a few inches. The handle was released with the same slow care. A hooded figure in loafers emerged as Paula crouched over a notebook, rejected it and selected another. The figure made no sound, the feet clad in loafers. The gloved hands held a garrotte.
Paula was still crouched over the notebook when, too late, she was aware of another presence in the room. Two hands whipped the garrotte over her head, pulled it tight round her throat. The pressure increased. For a few seconds Paula was in shock.
The wire had immediately cut through the turtleneck of her jumper. Then it met the fine-mesh collar of chain metal Alvarez had supplied at Tweed's urgent request. Even so, it began to affect her breathing. She snatched the Browning out of her shoulder bag, still slung from her shoulder. Resting the barrel on her right shoulder, she pulled the trigger, firing at random. The bullet missed the hooded figure but the pressure on her neck relaxed as the garrotte was dropped to the floor.
The assassin stepped back, took hold of her chair, tipped her over sideways. Falling, Paula always subconsciously went limp. She took the force of the fall on her shoulder, but still held on to the gun as she heard soft footsteps running for the door leading to the outside staircase.
Forcing herself upright, she took a deep breath to counter shock. Then, gun in hand, she ran to and down the staircase. Her attacker had disappeared. She ran on towards the exit from the courtyard, held the gun behind her back as she was confronted by a coachload of tourists who had just disembarked, crowding the pavement. She pushed her way through them, looked up and down the street. The only people she could see were normal couples, strolling in the sun.
Concealing the gun inside the shoulder bag she had thrust back into position, she ran to the nearest corner, stood looking down an avenue. More couples, some stopping to gaze into shop windows. She waited, breathing heavily. No one seemed to notice the ragged tear across her turtleneck. Then she saw a familiar Mercedes approaching. She stood in the road, waved it down.
Tweed was out of the car almost before it had stopped. He noticed the tear immediately.
'What happened? Are you all right?'
'I'm OK. Could I get into the car?'
Like Newman, Marler had jumped out of the back of the car. Tweed helped her into the rear seat, joined her. Peeling down the damaged turtleneck, he carefully unfastened the zip at one side of her neck. All he could see were faint imprints where the chain mail collar had pressed against her neck. Again he asked her if she was all right.
'I'm OK.' she repeated and then told him what had happened. 'My throat's a bit sore but apart from that all is well.'
Newman had returned to his seat behind the wheel. Marler sat beside him. Tweed's reaction surprised them both.
'Drive me to the nearest phone booth...'
'Take Paula into that restaurant, both of you.' he ordered as the car stopped. 'Get her plenty of still water - no alcohol.'
He leapt from the car, dived inside the phone booth. He pressed numbers from his memory of a phone he had seen on Moloch's desk. The rough voice of a guard answered the call.
'I wish to speak urgently to Luis Martinez.' Tweed snapped.
'He's gone into Carmel to interview someone.'
"Then I'll speak to Byron Landis.'
'Gone to a lunch, also in Carmel. Say, who is this?'
'A close friend of VB. Obstruct me and you've lost your job. Put me on to Joel Brand.'
'He flew to the AMBECO building earlier this morning.'
"Then put me on to Mr Moloch.'
'He's not here. Look, buddy...'
He was talking into air. Tweed had put down the phone to join the others in the restaurant. Any of the people he had asked for could have been involved in the attempt on Paula's life. When he sat down opposite her he was surprised how normal she seemed. She was polishing off an omelette and drinking the strong American coffee. He waited until she used a napkin to wipe her lips.
'How are you feeling now?'
'Perfectly all right. Incidentally, when The Accountant - it has to be the person who tried to kill me - bent over me from behind I caught a whiff of an aroma I thought could be perfume. As you know, I have a good sense of smell. I was not able to identify it but I'd recognize it if I whiffed it again.'
'I see.' He looked at Newman. 'Where is Marler?'
'I sent him back to the Standish flat. Oh, here he is. Did you find anything, Marler?'
'Only the weapon - whoever tried to attack Paula dropped something I have inside a sample bag I took from the car.' He held up a large plastic carrier. 'I bought something from a shop to disguise, it. Inside here is a garrotte - with two wooden handles at either end of the infernal wire. I think there's blood on the wire - it could be the garrotte used to murder the Standish woman. There's also old blood on one of the wooden handles -probably used to inscribe the letters AC on her.'
'We'll hand it to Alvarez,' Tweed decided. 'His technicians will be able to check whether it's Linda Standish's blood.'
'I have to go.' said Paula, standing up. 'Vanity will be wondering where I have got to. I arranged to meet her.'
'Not by yourself.' Tweed warned.
'It would look peculiar if I turned up with a bodyguard.' she protested.
'She'll never see the bodyguard.' Marler informed her as he also stood up. 'But I'll be close to you c'
Vanity was not waiting on the corner where they had arranged to meet. Paula began to wander down into the town, peering in every shop. She already knew from Vanity that she had a passion for shopping.
She was passing a perfumery when she saw Vanity inside. A saleswoman was showing her a new perfume. As Paula watched, the saleswoman sprayed a small quantity of perfume and Vanity sniffed at it. She smiled warmly as she saw Paula entering the shop.
'Sorry I wasn't on the corner. I waited a while and then had a look at the shops down here. What do you think of this? It's a new perfume called Paramour. At least the name's enticing.'
'A bit strong, isn't it?' Paula suggested.
'I think you're right. Not quite me.' she said to the saleswoman. 'I'm in a rush. Come back another day.'
As they walked out Vanity chattered on in her engaging manner. Paula was very t
houghtful as they continued to explore the shops. The spray of Paramour had effectively masked whatever perfume Vanity normally used.
27
Vanity had gone inside an antique shop and Paula was looking in the window of another shop when Marler approached her, appearing out of nowhere. He stood a few feet from her and lit a king-size, then spoke quietly.
'Get back to Spanish Bay immediately. A Yellow Cab I've called will arrive any minute. Ah, here it is. Tell Vanity you've just realized you're late for a meeting with Tweed.'
Trouble?'
'Yes. We're being followed. Don't let Vanity take you back in her Audi. Tweed, Newman, Butler and Nield have gone to Spanish Bay in the Merc. I've borrowed the BMW.'
'Didn't see you.'
'Didn't intend you to. Go and tell the driver of the cab you'll be with him in a minute. Then go in that shop and make your apologies to Vanity
He turned, had gone before Paula could say anything else. From inside an alley he watched until she was safely inside the cab. Then he ran to the BMW parked among other cars higher up the street.
As he took off he glanced in his rear-view mirror. The grey Chrysler which had been tracking Paula moved faster, overtook Marler, followed the Yellow Cab which had Paula as a passenger. When, later, the cab took the road towards Spanish Bay the Chrysler gave up, soon turning on a route which would take it back to Highway One. Luis Martinez was behind the wheel.
'Thickhead.' Marler said to himself. 'You were so busy following the girl you never dreamt I was on your tail...'
There was more traffic on Highway One. Marler kept one vehicle between himself and Martinez, whose appearance had been described to him by Tweed. The Chrysler kept up a good speed along the magnificent coastal road. Marler presumed Martinez was returning to Black Ridge but he never relied on assumptions.
The wisdom of this attitude was proved later when Martinez suddenly swung left off the highway and vanished. Marler slowed down, glanced up the side road where Martinez had disappeared. Palo Eldorado, a signpost proclaimed. He continued driving along the highway until he reached a safe place to make a totally illegal U-turn.
He glanced up Palo Eldorado again as he paused. Narrow, the side road was shrouded in trees on both sides and mounted the hillside before going out of sight at a bend. Marler also noticed that near the exit from the side road, oil slicks smeared the road surface. He wondered whether this was where the two juggernauts had waited before attempting to push them over the cliff. Worth mentioning to Tweed.
In the living room of his apartment at Spanish Bay Tweed was holding a battle conference. Present were Newman and Nield. Outside in the corridor Butler strolled up and down to make sure they were not overheard. When Paula arrived Tweed began again.
'Time we summed up the present position. What we do next.'
Track down this bastard, The Accountant?' Newman suggested.
'No! Moloch remains the main target. And we must find out definitely what he is planning. I don't think we have much time left.'
'What did you think of him when you were at Black Ridge?' Paula asked.
'He has a first-rate brain, tremendous drive and the most persuasive personality - especially when he is being frank, which he was with me. I want you to look at these maps.'
He spread out on a table a detailed map of California and the map with zigzag lines given to him by Professor Weatherby. He waited while his team gathered round and looked at the maps, comparing one with the other. Tweed's index finger stabbed down on an area in northern California.
'That's Silicon Valley.'
'The main zigzag line runs right through it,' Paula observed.
'Exactly. Let me tell you what Moloch told me...'
They listened while he recalled every-word of his conversation at Black Ridge. When he had finished he gave his own reaction.
'This man came to America with high hopes. He worked like a Trojan to build up his first plant. With the new microchip he was a great success. Then five top firms in Silicon Valley combine to smash him. They use every dirty trick in the book, as you'll have gathered. They ruin him. Before that I'd say he was a decent, hardworking man who honestly built up his own company. It all turns to ashes. What more could turn him into an embittered man - determined to destroy those who destroyed him? With the help of Ethan Benyon, a genius in his field, he plans to wipe out Silicon Valley wholesale.'
'But how?' Paula asked.
'By triggering an earthquake along the San Moreno fault - and that, as you observed, Paula, runs straight through Silicon Valley.'
'But is it possible?' Newman asked. To do that?'
'A month ago I'd have said no. Now I'm not so sure. Science is advancing by leaps and bounds in so many fields. So why not in seismology? When a man like Professor Weatherby is worried about what Ethan is working on, then so am I.'
'Sounds so unlikely,' Pete Nield commented, fingering his moustache. 'But there was a time when landing on the moon would have seemed a pipe dream.'
'So how do we go about finding out?' Newman asked.
'We explore every avenue...'
He had just spoken when Marler walked in. He had heard what Tweed had just said.
'One avenue I suggest we explore now is Palo Eldorado. For two reasons c'
Tweed agreed immediately that they should check the mysterious road. Paula pressed to be allowed to join them and he decided it might be safer if she was with them. It was mid-afternoon when they were driving along Highway One. Paula sat in the front of the Merc, beside Newman while Tweed and Marler occupied the back seats.
Behind them Butler and Nield followed in the BMW. Marler had warned them all to have their weapons ready when they reached their destination. He hadn't liked the look of the strange side road.
The Pacific was not living up to its name. As they drove further and further from Carmel great waves rolled in and broke against the jagged capes which spread away along the coast. A strong wind was blowing offshore and storm clouds were building up.
'You're close to it.' Marler called out to Newman. 'Next turning on your left. You're on it before you realize it.'
Away from the scenic wonders of the highway Newman turned into a strange world. On the tarred road near the exit he saw the dried-out oil slicks Marler had noticed. He thought Marler had been right - that this was where the two juggernauts had waited in ambush.
As soon as they entered the road they were hemmed in on both sides with a dense screen of redwood and eucalyptus trees. In a gap a strange house was built on the slope, three floors, each stepped one above the other. They turned a corner and the highway was gone. They were driving through a dark tunnel where foliage from the trees arched over the winding road.
'Look at those weird places.' Paula called out.
To their left, where a slope rose steeply, were several tumbledown shacks which had an abandoned look. There was even an ancient stone fireplace among the trees. It had a chimney but the rest of the building had gone. More shacks, scattered at random and different levels, appeared amid the trees. Here and there old wooden bridges spanned stream beds. Paula thought she saw movement behind the shacks, shabby figures in bedraggled clothes, one carrying firewood.
'We've left civilization behind, I suspect,' joked Tweed.
He glanced at Paula in front of him. She looked recovered from her ordeal at the Standish apartment. As they climbed higher under the tunnel of trees Paula saw moss-covered walls, huge motionless ferns. The wind off the ocean had no chance of penetrating this wild place. This was a side of California the tourist never saw.
'And just look at that.' Paula called out again.
They had rounded a bend, still climbing, when she saw a small bus sagging to one side under the trees. Without wheels, its sides were smeared with psychedelic signs. More shacks came into view and crude fences made of bark, tilting over and covered with green from damp. Other figures lurched across the slope, dressed like scarecrows, and there was a lot of scrub oak, stunted, miserable
versions of oak trees.
A propane gas cylinder perched on wooden struts stood on the slope - presumably for heating and cooking. Again shacks were piled up the slope, some with sagging balconies. Newman gestured upwards where overhead power cables were slung from ancient posts alongside the road.
'People live here,' he said with a note of wonderment.
'I think they're drop-outs,' Tweed commented. 'Relics of the hippies in the nineteen-sixties. They're the debris of so-called Californian civilization. We've gone back a good thirty years.' His voice sharpened. 'Look to the right, Bob.'
Parked up a track was a modern cream Jaguar. A uniformed driver with a peaked cap was slumped behind the wheel, so fast asleep he never noticed the two cars passing. Tweed spoke again, this time sharply.
'Stop, Bob. Switch off the engine. Look to your right.'
Paula was already looking. The trees were now giant sequoias, mighty trunks soaring up towards the invisible sky. Under them, on a level area halfway up the slope, a figure familiar to Tweed was dancing with a girl as a ghetto-blaster spewed out rock-and-roll.
The man was stripped to the waist, wore only a pair of denims and loafers. Without touching the girl, he was dancing back and forth, waving his arms, his hair all over the place. The girl had dark greasy hair, wore a shabby dress and tights with holes in them. Neither seemed to have heard the cars coming.
"That's Ethan Benyon.' Tweed said grimly.
'One way to get your kicks.' Marler drawled.
As they watched, Ethan approached more closely to the girl, his hands reaching out to clutch her. She retreated up the slope, picked up a heavy branch as he came after her. Using the branch as a weapon, she hit him across the ribs. Ethan froze, then let out a chilling scream which went on and on.
'Drive.' Tweed ordered. 'Find a turning place and get out of this Dante's Inferno ...'
He said nothing else until Newman had turned back on to Highway One. Paula took a deep breath of sea air through the window she had opened. The total silence inside Palo Eldorado had got on her nerves - until she heard the scream.
