The Cauldron

by Colin Forbes

  "They're more like photos I've seen of the devastation during the Second World War bombing. Isn't that the street where you made calls from a public booth?'

  'Yes, it is. Half the buildings - art galleries, restaurants, shops - are rubble. Monterey escaped any damage. The San Moreno fault zigzagged inland after levelling Carmel. "The greatest earthquake in history" is how the papers are describing it. Moloch has a lot to answer for.'

  He looked up. Newman was driving along a dual carriageway and a car was overtaking them like the wind. Behind the wheel Vanity waved saucily to them and roared on ahead.

  'She's pushing it a bit,' Paula remarked.

  'She has to get there first,' Newman said and again lapsed into silence.

  'Where are we staying, by the way?' Paula asked Tweed.

  'At Nansidwell again. It provides a good view of the waters off Falmouth. I got Monica to book us all rooms while I was in Jim Corcoran's office.'

  'Literally back to where it all started. Well, at least we saw Mrs Benyon safely off to Cheltenham in that car waiting for her. I think she was so relieved to be back on British soil. I wonder who arranged to have the car waiting for her?'

  'I did.' Tweed replied. 'During the night aboard the plane when you dropped off to sleep I sent a message to Monica. The least I could do for her.'

  'What happened to Alvarez? I never had time to thank him for all his help.'

  'I did that. He asked me to give you his affectionate regards. He was in a hurry to catch the next flight back to the States.'

  'I still don't understand the role he played.'

  'Tell you about that later. We have two major tasks aheadRIGHT SQUARE BRACKET' He broke off to call out to Newman. 'Don't forget we're calling in at Truro on the way. We have to hire cars for Butler and Nield. I want everybody mobile for what lies ahead of us.'

  'What exactly does lie ahead of us?' Paula asked.

  'First, to locate Moloch's spy. Second, and far more important, to prevent Moloch from ever leaving Britain, no matter what means have to be used. I'm really worried about what he could do. His conglomerate has invented the Xenobium bomb - with more than ten times the power of a hydrogen bomb. Cord Dillon said. Supposing he is in a position to sell the details of its make-up and construction to certain hostile Arab countries? They could destroy the Western world.'

  'What a terrifying thought.'

  'The only alternative is to destroy Moloch.'

  * * * *

  At Newquay airport, an airfield in the middle of nowhere, VB and his new assistant, Heather Lang, transferred themselves and their luggage to a waiting chauffeur-driven Rolls-Royce.

  Before settling back beside her, Moloch closed the glass partition between them and the chauffeur to provide privacy. As the car drove off sedately for Mullion Towers Moloch rested on his lap the briefcase attached to one wrist by a locked handcuff. Heather glanced at it.

  'I suppose I shouldn't ask, but you keep that close to you as though it contains a fortune.'

  'A great fortune,' he replied with a bleak smile, 'but not in banknotes or jewels. Rather in sheafs of stuffy papers.'

  She didn't press him any further. She had already realized her boss would tell her only what he wanted her to know so she could do her job properly. One of Heather's many talents was to keep her nose out of matters which did not concern her.

  Yes, a great fortune, Moloch was thinking as the Rolls drove on through arid countryside. Like travelling through a stony desert. Inside the briefcase were the formulae, the details of the constructions of the Xenobium bomb. He had no doubt that the leaders of certain Arab countries would pay millions for the information.

  Always meticulous in planning, Moloch had phoned Heather before she had left the Des Moines plant. He had ordered her to shred a whole batch of documents in a certain file labelled Project Eclipse. Now all details of how to construct a Xenobium bomb had been destroyed - nothing was left to give the Americans a clue as to how to set about building such a bomb. The only data in the world was inside the briefcase on his lap.

  'Not my idea of Cornwall,' Heather remarked, staring out of the window.

  'Oh, the tourist attraction is the beaches and the coves enclosed inside magnificent cliffs on the coast. That's where holidaymakers flock. This is the real Cornwall. When we get to Mullion Towers I want you to transmit this message via the radio operator on duty to the skipper of the Venetia.'

  As he was speaking Moloch scribbled a cryptic message on a pad. The meaning would be clear to the skipper but to no one else. He handed her the message, then closed his eyes and fell asleep. It was by taking brief catnaps that he could work through the nights.

  I wonder what it could contain? Heather thought as she folded the message, slipped it inside her wallet.

  She was looking at the briefcase nestling in her boss's lap. From what he had said, little though it had been, she had the impression that its contents were worth millions. It never crossed her mind that the data could herald the end of the world.

  46

  It was evening when Newman drove his Merc, down the sloping entrance to Nansidwell and parked in front of the country hotel in exactly the same place he had parked when they were last there. It seemed a decade ago to Paula.

  "The place looks just the same.' she said, then stared at another vehicle. 'Isn't that Vanity's car?'

  'It is,' Newman said without enthusiasm. 'And don't blame me. I didn't know we were staying here until you told us on the way down, Tweed.'

  'I don't see why anyone should be surprised,' Tweed replied.

  Other cars came down the drive, parked. Marler was behind the wheel of one, Butler another and Nield a third. They had successfully hired extra transport in Truro. One of the staff came out, told them the proprietor was away on business, but greeted them with equal warmth. Everyone found they had been allotted the same rooms as on their previous visit.

  Later, walking down the staircase behind Newman for dinner, Paula saw Vanity, wearing a snug gold dress with a high collar, sitting on the banquette opposite the compact bar. Jumping up, Vanity grasped Newman's right arm, her full red lips smiling.

  'I waited for you, Bob. They have the same table for us.'

  'Isn't that just dandy,' Newman replied.

  'I love the warmth with which a man greets an old friend,' said Vanity, addressing her remark to Paula.

  'Maybe he's jet-lagged.' Paula responded without a smile.

  'A bottle of good wine should oil the works. It will most certainly oil mine,' the irrepressible -Vanity shot back, still smiling. 'Come on, you old curmudgeon,' she said to Newman.

  They were entering the dining room when Newman saw Tweed outside on the terrace. He had a pair of field glasses glued to his eyes and was gazing fixedly out to sea. Newman escorted Vanity to their table, excused himself, then joined Tweed.

  There was an autumn chill in the evening air which reminded Newman of California. For a long minute Tweed said nothing, then handed him the glasses.

  'I've been studying the Venetia. Lit up like a cruise ship again. I'm trying to identify those large objects on the fore and aft decks covered with canvas.'

  'Could be anything,' Newman replied as he scanned the vessel. 'No sign yet that it's on the verge of departure.'

  'You've seen the helicopter on the helipad?'

  'Yes. A Sikorsky. Big job. But the Venetia is a big ship. Must have cost a few million.'

  'I think it's waiting for a VIP to board it. Oh, look. A chopper has arrived, is circling over the vessel. I suspect the PM has at long last pressed a few buttons.'

  'It will be from Culdrose near the Lizard. As you probably know the RAF has a big training airfield there for chopper pilots.'

  As he watched the helicopter, lights winking to port and starboard, continued to circle high above the Venetia. Newman grunted.

  'I think it's photographing the Venetia from all angles. Maybe it is also trying to identify those mysterious objects on deck.'

  As he sp
oke the chopper flew away inland. Newman lowered the glasses, handed them to Tweed. They wandered back into the entrance hall on their way to the dining room.

  'I'd better get back to Vanity before she starts kicking up.' Newman mused.

  'You appear to have a firecracker on your hands,' Tweed observed with amusement.

  Earlier he had told everyone in Truro they no longer needed to keep up the pretence they didn't know each other. When he entered the dining room Newman saw two guests seated at separate tables. He clapped a hand on Grenville's shoulder.

  'It's a small world, to coin a phrase, Brigadier.'

  'Colonel.' Grenville snapped, startled. 'And as a journalist I'd expect more original language.'

  'Waiting for someone? Or something to happen, Colonel?'

  Newman moved on before Grenville could reply. The ex-officer looked rattled, disturbed by Newman's unexpected intervention, Tweed noticed.

  'Well, if it isn't Maurice.' said Newman with a broad grin. 'A long way from the Standish murder apartment, aren't we?'

  'Do you have to bring that up? And do keep your voice down. Half the dining room is listening.'

  'Yes, it has gone quiet, hasn't it? Enjoy your trip down in Vincent Bernard Moloch's jet? I expect you did -having the Brigadier ... beg his pardon, the Colonel -with you.'

  'Why don't you just shove off - and enjoy your dinner with your licentious girl friend.'

  'Maurice.' Newman bent down, put an arm round Maurice's shoulder. 'If you don't wash out your mouth with soap and water I'll close it for you with my fist. Now get on with your meal and I hope it chokes you.'

  He removed his arm, still smiling. A silence you could hear gripped the dining room. Grenville, who had heard every word, was paying undue attention to the pattern on his plate. Newman strolled over to his table, sat down facing Vanity, still smiling.

  Time a bottle was opened. Ah, here is the wine list.'

  'I've never seen you like that before.' she whispered.

  'Stick around. The show has just started.' Newman said in a loud voice.

  Tweed sat down at Paula's table, facing her. In another corner Marler sat by himself, an amused expression on his face as he lit a king-size. Muted conversation began again but people kept casting glances at Newman. Grenville and Maurice were also aware they had become centres of interest. Both men looked uncomfortable and were careful not to look round the dining room.

  'What was all that about?' Paula asked in a low voice.

  'Newman doing his own thing, improvising brilliantly on the spur of the moment. He's shaken the nerve of two of my suspects.'

  'And he's dining with the third one.' "That's right,' Tweed said cheerfully.

  Most of the thirty or so guests were drinking coffee in one of the two lounges when Tweed strolled out of the exit into the courtyard with Marler. He then led him round to the terrace to a point where they could stand with the now empty dining room behind them.

  He gave Marler special and very detailed instructions, then handed him the field glasses. Marler focused them on the Venetia, nodded, handed back the glasses.

  'I think you're right,' he said.

  'Pity you hadn't got the Armalite.'

  'But I have,' Marler assured him 'When we parked our cars in Long Stay at Heathrow I chose a quiet slot. Then I dismantled the Armalite, crawled under the car and attached it to the underside of the chassis with medical tape. At this moment it's resting snugly in the boot of my car parked not thirty feet from where we're standing.'

  'It's too late tonight to make arrangements.'

  'Dear boy, it's never too late. I have a wad of fifty-pound notes in my back pocket. I'll try the Marina Club down by the harbour first. May be a trifle late to bed. A red pennant at the stern of the craft will enable you to identify me.'

  'I'm guessing,' Tweed warned him.

  'And in the past you've shown yourself to be a good guesser.'

  Marler was getting into his car when Paula, in search of Tweed, saw him. Curious as to where he could be off to at this time of night she went over to him.

  'And where might you be off to?'

  'Goin' fishin'.'

  * * * *

  Paula was just disappearing round the corner to the terrace as Marler zoomed off when she heard someone coming out of the hotel. Pressing herself against the wall, she watched. Grenville hurried across the courtyard, got into his car, backed it and proceeded slowly up the drive. Seconds later Butler, who had dined with Nield, ran out, dived behind the wheel of his car, drove off.

  Wearing her short fur coat, Paula pulled out a pair of kid gloves, was putting them on before joining Tweed on the terrace when Maurice came out, went to his car, started up the engine and in turn disappeared. 'What the hell is going on?' she said to herself.

  She turned to go, heard the door to the lounges open yet again. Nield ran out, slipped inside his car and vanished up the drive. Her head was spinning as she walked up to Tweed, told him what she had just seen.

  'It was like something out of a film,' she ended.

  'Which means Butler and Nield are on top form, despite enjoying a good bottle of wine between them.'

  'On top form to do what?'

  To carry out my orders. Butler is shadowing Grenville and Nield is shadowing Maurice. It's logical to presume that now Moloch is back the spy will contact him at Mullion Towers. Some time tonight we'll know who the spy is.'

  'Vanity's car has disappeared from the yard,' Paula reported.

  'I see,' said Tweed grimly.

  When they arrived at Mullion Towers Moloch and Heather were greeted by a short, squat woman with grey hair and fierce-looking eyes. Her mouth above her squarish jaw was a thin line. At the front entrance she gave Heather a brief hostile stare, then her mouth cracked into what Heather presumed must be a smile.

  'This is Mrs Drayton, the housekeeper,' Moloch explained. 'Drayton, meet my new assistant. Heather Lang.'

  'You'll want your coffee, sir,' Drayton said, ignoring the new assistant.

  'In my office, please. We have a lot of work to do. The radio op. is on duty?'

  'Carson is always on duty.'

  Leading the way, Moloch ran swiftly up a wide curving staircase from the spacious entrance hall to the first floor landing. He pointed to a door.

  "That's the powder room if you'd like to use it. My office is the one with green baize cloth on the outside...'

  Seating himself behind his desk in the small room -Drayton had already switched on all the lights - he opened a file. The windows were uncurtained. Moloch felt shut in if they were closed after dark. He had unlocked the handcuff attached to his briefcase, had perched the briefcase by the side of his chair when Heather walked in.

  'I'm ready for work.'

  'First, I'm expecting a visitor later this evening. When they arrive I'll want to see them privately. You can go to the communications room, two doors along on the opposite side of the corridor. Wait there until I ask you to come back. You can get to know the radio op., Carson. Unlike Drayton, he's good-humoured.'

  'I don't think Drayton likes me. Not that it matters.'

  'She's never liked any of my assistants. Some elderly ladies like to think they're running the show, but Drayton is very reliable. Take no notice of her.'

  'That shouldn't be difficult.'

  As he spoke Moloch had been scribbling a message on a radio pad. He handed it to Heather.

  'You can read it. Then take it to Carson for transmission to the Venetia.'

  Not expected to sail for two weeks. Keep the system running. All hands to remain on board. No shore leave. VB.

  'So we shall be here for quite a while,' Heather observed.

  'On the contrary, we will be sailing very shortly. That message means the opposite of what it says. The skipper will understand. I expect the signal to be intercepted by GCHQ at Cheltenham.'

  'GCHQ?'

  "The government signals station. It listens in to all radio transmission. Now we're in Britain I have to assume
all our radio messages are recorded by that outfit.'

  'I'll take it along now ...'

  Waiting until she had gone, Moloch pressed buttons on his phone. He was calling Nansidwell. When one of the staff answered he asked to speak to one of the guests urgently, giving a name. When the guest came to the phone Moloch's order was brief.

  'Get over to my HQ here when you safely can tonight.'

  He put down the phone, stood up and stared out of a window into the night. There was a different atmosphere about Mullion Towers and it bothered him. He had never liked Joel Brand but he had always felt secure with Brand in charge of security. Now there were no guards left.

  Normally, Brand would have brought a large team of men back with him. They had all been wiped out in California. It gave him an eerie sensation to be alone in the large mansion with only Mrs Drayton and Heather.

  The thought crossed his mind that he could have summoned a team from the Venetia.lde rejected the idea. It was vital that everyone aboard remained on the ship. Any sign of men coming ashore, making their way to Mullion Towers, might draw attention to him.

  He went to a large cupboard, opened the doors. Inside were various clothes, including some outlandish ones. He put on a check peaked cap, then a shabby old raincoat. Looking at himself in a mirror he was surprised at the transformation in his appearance. At that moment Heather returned.

  'Oh, I'm sorry.' she began, 'I was looking forRIGHT SQUARE BRACKET'

  Then she stopped, staring at the figure in the peaked cap who was gazing back at her.

  'VB! I scarcely recognized you.'

  'You've said the right thing. The opposition may be out there. Instead of riding in the Rolls to the harbour we shall use the old Ford Escort in the garage. I would like you to drive it when we leave. Take only one case - you can buy what you like when we reach Beirut.'

  'How do we reach the ship from the waterfront?'

  'A large launch will be waiting to take us out to the Venetia. We go aboard as inconspicuously as possible when the time comes.'