by Colin Forbes
'What about Grenville?' Newman asked. 'You were going to question him when he arrives.'
'He's very late.' Tweed checked his watch. 'I don't think he's coming.'
'Isn't that in itself suspicious?' Paula suggested.
'Maybe. Now, I think we'll all go to Moss Landing. We don't know what might be waiting for us...'
After finishing her full English breakfast at the Little Swiss Cafe, saying goodbye to Maurice, Vanity drove back along the coast road to Black Ridge. At one stage she patted her stomach. She'd eaten two fried eggs, the very appetizing American streaky bacon and potatoes, all washed down with strong coffee.
Well, she thought, you may be putting on weight but this is the moment to keep up your strength.
She didn't have to use the speakphone at the entrance to announce her arrival. Brand had seen her coming, had opened the gates. He was waiting for her on the terrace as she parked.
'VB wants to see you. Now. Yesterday.'
'You mean immediately?' she asked sweetly and swept past him.
He glowered viciously, but by then she had disappeared inside the mansion. Moloch was waiting for her in his office. He invited her to sit down, asked if she'd like come coffee.
'Thank you, but I'm awash with it. I gather you wanted to see me. Brand displayed his usual good manners.'
'Brand doesn't know the meaning of the word manners. Vanity, this is very confidential.'
He had shared many confidences with her. For years he had regarded the right woman as far more trustworthy than any man. A high-ranking male always had his eye on Moloch's job, was capable of the most elaborate intrigue. There had been many abrupt sackings the moment a man close to him stepped over the line.
'Understood.' was all Vanity said.
'America is a cesspit. Society over here, as I've explained to you before, has collapsed. In private life - as in public - anything goes. I've had enough of the place -its lack of any ethics or morals. Which is why I've been transferring my assets secretly to the East.'
'Not to Russia, I hope.'
'Of course not. No, to Asia, to the Middle East. The moderate element in the Muslim world still reveres the family, can still keep to a business deal, once concluded. I'd like you to come with me - in the same capacity you have here. But with a large increase in salary.'
"That's very generous of you.' Vanity paused. 'When were you thinking of leaving for the Middle East?'
'You know me.' He smiled. 'Once I've made up my mind I get on with it. I may leave any day now. First stop, Britain.'
'May I sleep on it?' she suggested. 'I do have that new job in New York waiting for me. And I've signed the draft contract.'
'Draft?' Moloch smiled again. 'You mean you haven't yet signed the final contract?'
"That's the position.'
'If they kick up I'll buy them out. Everyone is for sale.'
'I'm not.'
'I didn't mean you.' he said hastily. 'I was referring to the potential new employer in New York. If he wants compensation because you've changed your mind I'll pay him off.'
Inwardly Vanity was amused. Nothing stopped VB when he wanted something. It was like trying to stand in the path of a tornado.
'I'd still like to sleep on it.' she insisted.
'Do that. I'll triple your present salary.'
"Thank you.' She stood up. 'Now I have a pile of work I need to get through...'
While they were talking Ethan walked into Joel Brand's office. He hadn't bothered to knock and this irritated Brand. He thought everyone - except VB - should knock before they entered his room. But he was too smart to protest. Ethan, he sneered to himself, was VB's little pet.
'What is it?' he rasped.
'Moss Landing. You still have guards on the waterfront there checking for suspicious intruders, I assume.'
'You assume wrongly. I had a team up there for weeks and no one suspect ever appeared. So I withdrew them.'
'Withdrew them!' Ethan began to get excited, his voice was shrill. 'Are you mad?'
Brand made a supreme effort to control himself. If anyone was stark raving crazy it was Ethan Benyon. Out of sight below the edge of his desk he clenched his huge fists. Ethan went on yelling at him.
"The other dredger, the Kebir, is working off Moss Landing! The work it is doing is vital to the interests of AMBECO. It must not be interfered with. Haven't you heard about the three frogmen who tried to sabotage the Baja?'
"They were dealt with - as you doubtless know.' Brand replied in an ice-cold voice.
'Supposing the same thing happens at Moss Landing? Then the Kebir will be successfully sabotaged. The work of years will be destroyed. You've disobeyed orders!' he screamed.
Brand remained seated. He knew if he got to his feet he would hit Ethan. No one had ever spoken to him like this before. The real trouble was he was short of manpower - the battle at McGee's Landing had reduced his security force.
'I'll send a fresh team up there this morning.' he said.
'Then why are you sitting with your great backside in that chair? Send the team north immediately, tell them to break speed limits to get there. Do something, you ugly hulk!'
Fortunately, for Ethan's sake, he stormed out of the room. Brand was steaming with rage, but he wanted to counter the danger that Ethan would complain to VB. He pressed a switch on his intercom.
'Hogan, assemble a tough, armed team now. Have them ready in five minutes - sooner if possible.'
'Will do.' said Hogan quickly. 'It will weaken the security on Black Ridge ifRIGHT SQUARE BRACKET'
'Just do it, for God's sake. Get to Moss Landing.'
'I could use the chopper to go on ahead.'
'No, you can't. VB has impounded that for his own personal accommodation. Use wheels. When you get there, stay there. As soon as you arrive, trawl the whole of Moss Landing. If you see any suspicious characters, get rid of them. The ocean is close enough. I want your team at Moss Landing in half an hour.'
'Half an hour? There are patrol cars.'
'I said thirty minutes. You know where the patrol cars are. So slow down when you have to, then take off like Concorde again. Why are you still on this intercom?'
From Spanish Bay the Merc, led the way, driven by Newman with Tweed alongside him. In the rear sat Paula and Alvarez, who had insisted on coming with them.
Behind them Marler drove the BMW with Butler and Nield as his passengers. All of them except Tweed carried large satchels. It was Marler who had overridden Tweed, saying they must have a variety of weapons, that they didn't know what they were walking into.
'You look worried.' Paula called out to Tweed.
'I am. Moss Landing is well north of Big Sur, where the Baja has been working. The two vessels are covering a huge stretch of coastline. I suspect Moloch's operation is on an even vaster scale than I had imagined. Can't we go any faster, Bob?'
'We can. I can drive at eighty, we get stopped by a patrol car, then we never do reach Moss Landing. I'll leave the worrying to you if you'll leave the driving to me.'
'Bob is doing his best.' Paula commented as they drove onto Highway One, turning north.
'Yes, he is,' Tweed admitted. 'It's just that the news came as a shock. We'll get there when we get there.'
'Marler told me he'd checked Moss Landing on the map.' Paula went on. 'When we arrive he'll peel off in another direction. He's planned a kind of pincer movement on the area.'
'Sounds good strategy.' Newman remarked and concentrated on his driving.
'I wonder what happened to Grenville.' Paula mused aloud. 'We did wait another hour for him.'
'He'll turn up.' said Alvarez, 'alive - or dead.'
On this sombre note they continued north. Once Monterey, with its pine forests, hilly roads and panoramic views, is left behind the journey along Highway One becomes boring. Paula made a comment to this effect.
As they passed a sign post to Castroville, vast fields, like plains, spread away to their right almost for ever. There was a dis
tant view of hills, vague silhouettes just below a bank of inland clouds. Sunshine blazed down on the two cars, making the interiors uncomfortable.
In the distance ahead of them loomed a huge concrete structure with a tall chimney. It did not add to the beauty of the landscape.
"That's a power station.' Alvarez called out. 'And here we come. To Moss Landing. Turn left just ahead, Newman.'
Paula peered out of the window and thought she'd never seen a more derelict-looking, shabby collection of buildings: mainly one-storey, and made of wood. After turning off the highway the road had narrowed, its surface left something to be desired, and Newman had slowed to a crawl. Behind him the BMW disappeared down another turning.
'Isn't it charming,' Paula said.
They passed a large cabinlike structure with the invitation Phil's Fish Shop - for a cold beer. Beyond were rundown antique shops and the arid ground was littered with broken old rowboats, discarded tyres and other unwanted rubbish.
'In America.' Paula commented, 'they don't take away their junk. They just dump it on the nearest vacant lot. Travelling once from New York to Boston by train I saw expensive houses with flat lawns. Then a steep slope covered with rubbish the owners had just thrown over the edge. What a strange place America is.'
'A friend of mine in New York,' Newman said, 'a third generation American he was, and very intelligent, explained to me that the crowd of immigrants who once flooded through Ellis Island were the people who couldn't make it in Europe. If they had, why would they have emigrated? So, he said, the immigrants had only one thought in mind. How to make money. Ever since the dollar has been their symbol, the more of them the better. Now, what have we here?'
To their right a large freighter was berthed. Its hull was rusted but men were working on it. Further along the wharf was a large fishing vessel. Paula could now see the exit to the ocean.
'Despite its scruffy appearance,' Tweed commented,
'Moss Landing is a working port. It's tucked away, so anyone up to no good would find it a good place to use as a base. Bob, pull up by the harbour exit, then loan me your field glasses ...'
They were now deep inside what seemed to Paula to be an enormous junkyard. Not exactly a tourist attraction. As the car parked at the edge of the wharf she saw what had caught Tweed's attention. About half a mile offshore was a giant dredger, the duplicate of the Baja.
Alighting from the Merc., Tweed focused his glasses on the ship. He scanned it from stern to bow.
'That's called the Kebir,' he informed everyone. 'Bob, there's some equipment on deck - big stuff concealed under canvas. Does it remind you of the ?'
'It does.' Newman agreed, after using the glasses Tweed handed to him. 'In every respect. So much so that if the name wasn't different I'd have said it was the Baja.'
'You folks are way off limits.' a growly voice shouted.
They swung round. Hogan was standing a few yards away, holding an automatic rifle. Perched behind derelict cars Paula saw more men, all with weapons.
39
"This is a public wharf.' Newman shouted back. 'Have you a permit for that rifle?'
He had seen something the others had not. A slim figure was creeping up behind Hogan, crouching low as he dodged from one wrecked car to another. Newman kept trying to hold Hogan's attention.
'Don't need no permit for this little killer.' Hogan shouted back, giving a croaking laugh as he raised the rifle, aiming it at Paula. She froze. 'Anybody makes the wrong move and she'll need a new body.' Hogan went on. 'Got a pretty nice body...'
Pete Nield reached him, his Walther gripped by the barrel. He brought it down on the back of Hogan's large head. The stocky man fell forward and Nield fell on top of him. Hard as he had struck, Nield's blow had not knocked out the tough Hogan.
He twisted sideways, his hands clutching Nield's throat. He swung him sideways, closer to the edge of the steep drop over the brink of the wharf. The slim Nield was in trouble. Newman dashed forward and bullets began to ricochet close to him.
'Get your friggin' heads down or I'll blow them off!'
Butler's voice. Perched on top of a rickety water tower with an iron ladder up its side, he swivelled his submachine-gun. A rain of bullets swept over the heads of Hogan's men. They ducked. No more bullets were fired at Newman for the moment.
Hogan had Nield, gasping for breath, at the brink of the drop when Newman fell on him. He grasped Hogan's hair, hauled him back as he released his grip on Nield, who slithered away from the edge. Pulling Hogan's hair with a fierce tug, Newman suddenly slammed it down on the concrete rim of the wharf with all his strength. Hogan's body convulsed, slid sideways, went over the brink and hit the water with a wild splash. As he peered over, Newman saw the body drifting away. The tide had started to go out.
Butler's gun ceased firing as he ran out of ammunition. The only sound, briefly, was the distant grinding buzz of men with power tools working on the freighter, effectively muffling all sounds of the life-and-death struggle now taking place.
One of Hogan's men stood up quickly, hurled something at the foot of the water tower where Butler was perched, ramming a fresh mag. into his weapon. The grenade exploded, tearing a gaping hole in the tower which began to collapse. Butler ran down the leaning ladder like a squirrel. He had just reached the ground when the whole tower toppled away from him.
Newman was running towards Paula, pointing towards the satchel he had dropped. Flat on the filthy ground, she slithered towards it swiftly, plunged her hand inside, came out with the hand holding a grenade. Tweed was crouched behind a bollard, holding the Walther Marler had slipped into his pocket just before they left Spanish Bay.
'Paula, Bob, get down!' he ordered.
Paula hugged the ground even closer as Newman flopped beside her. Between them lay the satchel Paula had grabbed hold of. In the doorless doorway of a single-decker coach, red with rust, one of Hogan's men was taking a careful aim with an automatic rifle at both Paula and Newman.
First shot gets him or they're dead, Tweed thought.
He held the Walther in both hands, took careful aim, then pulled the trigger. The man aboard the wrecked coach stood quite still, an expression of disbelief on his face as a dark red stain on his shirt blossomed. Then he fell forward, head first, into a mess of scrap metal. It made a jangling sound as his dead body disturbed it.
Both Paula and Newman had a grenade in their hands as more of Hogan's men, screened by sheets of scrap metal, began firing nonstop. They each lobbed their grenades at the same moment. The two flying objects arced in midair, dropped behind the screen, detonated. The shooting ceased abruptly.
'Any more for the Skylark?' an upper-crust voice called out.
From behind his bollard Tweed saw Marler standing inside the huge barrel of what remained of the water tower. It gave him a commanding view of the entire area, even though the height was much lower than it had been when Butler had opened fire. Two more of Hogan's men, crouched behind a large ugly square of metal - the remains of a car which had been through a crusher -reacted.
They stood up on either side of the square block, rifles swinging to aim. Marler shot each one of them using his sniperscope. He waited, his gaze covering every point of the compass. No one else appeared.
'I think that's the end of the party.' he called out.
They drove slowly past the freighter. The workmen were still intent on using their power tools, which made a deafening sound close up. None of them looked up -time was money in their pockets.
Before leaving, they had had to help a hobbling Butler inside the BMW. He had injured his knee when the ladder up the water tower had crumbled. Paula insisted on examining the knee, used a first-aid kit to disinfect and bandage it.
'Lot of fuss about nothing.' the sturdy Butler had grumbled.
'Just keep quiet and rest it.' Paula had reprimanded him.
They continued to drive slowly as they left the mess which was Moss Landing. Turning onto the highway, Newman accelerated, with M
arler following suit behind him. Tweed was anxious to get clear of the battlefield before a patrol car appeared.
"That was quite something.' said Paula and let out a sigh. 'Do you think they were waiting for us - or does Moloch keep the place under heavy surveillance as a matter of course?'
'We'll never know.' Tweed replied. 'The main thing is we all survived. America is an eventful country.'
'Well, at least it's peaceful on the highway.' Paula replied. 'And I'd better stop thinking that way. Every time I do something horrendous happens. I could do without any more events.'
It was not a characteristic Paula remark. Tweed was careful not to look back at her. Was the strain telling on his team? His worry was increased by her next remark.
'You said.' she began cheerfully, 'that Moss Landing wasn't like McGee's Landing. Remember?'
Tweed said nothing. He knew when it was best to keep quiet. Napoleon had once said that in war morale was to the material as three to one. Something close to that. Perhaps it's my fault, he was thinking. I've been brooding too much recently. I must pay more attention to keeping up morale.
'Well, we have again reduced the strength of the security forces at Moloch's disposal.' he pointed out.
'Very considerably.' Newman agreed. 'He must be very short of manpower now. Maybe the only solution is for us to storm Black Ridge, find out what's really going on inside that place.'
'Under no circumstances.' snapped Tweed. 'He'd immediately inform the police. We'd be arrested and no longer free to do anything.'
Tweed's right.' said Alvarez, speaking for the first time. 'I suspect he may have one or two top men in his pocket. That we don't do. By the way, I was able to get a buddy to sneak out a copy of the report on the examination of the juggernaut stopped at the roadblock. The time when the driver was killed in the shoot-out.'
'Did it reveal anything?' Tweed asked.
'Yes. Traces of a new incredibly powerful explosive called Xenobium. The scraping samples were sent to Washington - experts there came up with the findings.'
