Vorpal Blade

by Colin Forbes

  'As a politician don't you read the newspapers?'

  'Of course I do. But I don't understand German.'

  'I don't remember saying that the newspaper report was in German.'

  Straub had slipped up again. For an experienced politician to make so many mistakes so quickly told Tweed he had underestimated the pressure Straub was under.

  The Vice-President settled back in his chair in a clear attempt to relax. To regain complete control. He used the technique he always fell back on when faced with a dangerous opponent. He attacked.

  'Tweed, I came here to suggest you dropped this investigation. It is crazy. Why not go home and leave it to the Swiss?'

  'Because I am cooperating with the Swiss. Two of these awful murders - so similar to the ones in Britain and the States - have taken place on Swiss territory.'

  'You mean you won't go along with my suggestion?'

  'No. I will not.'

  Straub jumped up from his chair. He strode to the door, opened it, then turned before he left. His usual bland expression was transformed into a glare of pure hatred, reminding Tweed of the painting of Roman shown to him by Marienetta when Roman was 'in a bad temper'. Straub's voice was a snarl.

  ' Sonofabitch.'

  He slammed the door shut behind him.

  26

  The reception hall was crowded when Paula entered with Newman. Several guests were waiting to consult the concierge. Three more heading towards registration. Behind the counter the temporary clerk was in a flap. He caught sight of Paula, waved to her holding a fat envelope. Puzzled, she took it and then the clerk was immersed in guests. With Newman she took it over to a couch facing the entrance to the lounge. She assumed it was something Tweed had ordered. The flap was tucked inside, not sealed.

  With Newman seated beside her she took out a large sheaf of rail tickets. First class. Dated the next day. Departure time of express 13.07. Zurich HB Lugano. Smoking compartments. Four tickets. She frowned, looked at the front of the envelope. It was addressed to Herr Roman Arbogast. The idiot clerk had given her Roman's envelope. She looked at Newman who had watched as she checked the tickets.

  'Now we know,' he whispered. He raised his voice to catch a waiter. 'What are you drinking, Paula?'

  'Coffee and a bottle of still mineral water. I must get rid of this . . .'

  The clerk was having a rough time with a guest who was complaining about his bill. Two other guests stood impatiently waiting for the dispute to be settled. Paula eased her way to one side, dropped the envelope on the counter.

  'This isn't for me. Look at the front of the envelope.'

  The clerk pushed the envelope to one side. He continued his conversation with the guest who was not in a good temper. She walked back and sat by Newman. Refreshments had arrived. Newman's drink was a double Scotch. As she sipped her water she looked into the lounge.

  Seated by himself at a table near the entrance was a typical banker type. The usual black suit, white shirt, executive case, a number of A4 sheets in his hand. Youngish, he had been gazing at her through his gold-rimmed spectacles. He looked away immediately. Damned sauce, she thought, he can see I'm with someone.

  'Four tickets,' Newman whispered.. 'Roman, Marienetta, Sophie and Broden.'

  'Or Black Jack. As soon as you've finished your drink we'll go up and let Tweed know what we've found out. No hurry.'

  'Zurich to Lugano tomorrow,' Newman remarked. 'The 13.07 express from the Hauptbahnhof. So—'

  He stopped speaking suddenly. Paula glanced at him. What had disturbed him? He finished his drink quickly. They made their way to the lift, which was waiting, empty. Once the doors had closed and it began ascending Newman spoke.

  'Did you notice that banker type sitting by himself?'

  'Yes, he seemed interested in me. Probably my imagination.'

  'He can lip-read. He probably digested the data I spoke of.'

  'Does it matter?' she said dismissively as they stepped out.

  She knew Newman had been on a course at the Surrey mansion which had included spotting a lip-reader. Their eyes widened. They stared at their target with a certain intensity. Now she thought it was Newman's imagination. Tweed opened the door, ushered them into his suite.

  36

  They were having a late lunch at Sayonara, a bar with a good restaurant. Tweed had chosen the place carefully -in the middle of Lugano it was close to the funicular which transported passengers up to the rail station. Newman had already bought four return tickets to Chiasso.

  'The service and food are excellent here,' Tweed remarked as he rapidly consumed paella, clearing his plate before anyone else.

  Paula sat next to Tweed, who faced Newman and Marler. At this late hour the restaurant was quiet. Tweed had planned their departure from the Splendide Royal carefully. First, Newman had taken a taxi by himself into Lugano, where he had hired a people carrier. Driving it back along the lakeside road he had parked it in the nearby street not far from where Black Jack's body had been found at the foot of the funicular. Police tape still cordoned off the area, uniformed police were taking more photographs. He walked back to the hotel.

  'The people carrier is parked,' he informed Tweed in his suite.

  'People carrier, my foot,' Tweed had protested. 'What you have hired is a minibus. People carrier is a stupid phrase. All cars, small, medium and large, carry people . . .'

  In mid afternoon they had left the hotel one by one on foot, strolling along the promenade until they arrived in Lugano. None of the four had encountered any Arbogasts when leaving the hotel.

  They had plenty of time to eat their meal. Paula, feeling tense, was the last to finish. She drank some more of her single glass of Chardonnay, spoke softly even though no one was near them.

  'What do you think is going to happen at Chiasso?' she mused.

  'No idea,' Tweed replied. 'Going into breakfast, as you know, I bumped into Roman. He seemed relaxed and confident.'

  'Would he be like that if there is poison gas in the oxygen cylinders? And if there is where would they be going to?'

  'Middle East. To Muslim fundamentalists. They'd pay a huge fortune to get their hands on poison gas. I imagine after leaving Chiasso they'd travel in freight cars to Milan, then on to the port of Genoa. There they could be put aboard a ship.'

  'Roman,' Newman commented, 'would be relaxed and confident if you pointed a gun at him. One very tough

  guy.'

  'But would he take the risk?' Tweed pondered. 'He's built up ACTIL into a world conglomerate without anyone accusing him of unsavoury dealing. We'll soon know. Beck told me he will be there with a team of specialists to check every cylinder. Meantime, if we can, I don't want Roman to know we'll be travelling aboard the same train . . .'

  It all happened quickly. Tweed checked his watch, said it was time to leave. Turning right when they walked out of the bar they entered a large empty square surrounded with old well-preserved buildings, the 'Mayfair' of Lugano. The ground was pave, the Italian version of cobbles but much smoother to walk on. It was dark now but the square was illuminated by lanterns suspended from wall brackets.

  The small funicular had just arrived after its descent from the station a distance above them. As they entered a car the automatic doors closed and the funicular began moving up its steep climb, passing through a short tunnel. Newman was wearing an old well-used overcoat, had put on tinted glasses and a beret.

  The moment she left the restaurant Paula was aware of the penetrating icy chill. In the funicular she sat down, still clutching her fur coat round her neck. Again it had all been planned in advance by Tweed. The funicular jerked gently to a halt, the doors opened and Newman stepped out, disappeared. Paula waited until Tweed, followed slowly by Marler, had left the car before she alighted and climbed the steps up to the platform. At that moment a limo arrived, pulled up close to where Newman had parked their minibus.

  Roman stepped out, muffled in a fur coat and wearing a Russian-style fur hat. He was followed
by Sophie and then ? Broden. No Marienetta. From her hiding place behind an iron pillar Paula decided Marienetta had thought it was a boring exercise - or was disassociating herself from some lethal discovery.

  The train glided in. The three Arbogasts entered the front first-class coach. Newman appeared, hardly recognizable. He beckoned for them to board the second coach. Paula sat in a window seat when the train moved on. It was a two-minute stop. Tweed sat in the window seat facing her while Marler, in his usual way, occupied a seat at the rear as Newman sat in a seat on the opposite side of the aisle to Paula. The upper regions of Lugano passed swiftly and they were in the wilds.

  'Until we get close to Chiasso,' Tweed said, his manner relaxed, 'this is a scenic trip by daylight - and even by night. If you go and sit by Bob you'll soon see the summit of Monte San Salvatore.'

  She was studying a map of the area picked up in the hotel. She looked across at Tweed.

  'Lake Lugano is like an octopus with tentacles spreading out in all directions.'

  'A good simile,' he agreed.

  Staring out of the window she saw, as the train swung round a curve, the lights of Lugano, chains of lights as bright as diamonds coiling high up what she imagined must be Monte Bre. She crossed over to sit in the seat opposite Newman, who was pointing upwards. An immense limestone crag was soaring up, reminding her of the approach to the Gotthard tunnel, but here she could see the summit, a red beacon light flashing on and off to warn aircraft. Tweed called out for her to come back to her original seat.

  She moved back, fascinated by the moon glowing on the surface of the lake which was the colour of mercury. She felt she could almost reach out and touch it. She sighed with pleasure. It seemed unreal, like a beautiful dream.

  'It's so romantic,' she commented.

  'From this point on for a while,' Tweed explained, 'the rail track runs alongside the lake.' He checked his watch. 'And soon we cross the lake over a large road-and-rail bridge. When we do look up the lake. In the distance you'll see Monte Bre again.'

  He had just spoken when the train swung left onto the long bridge. She looked straight up the lake and saw a long way off the glittering lights of Monte Bre sprawling up towards its summit. She was entranced. And she had slipped off her coat, savouring the warmth inside the train. Too soon for her the train swung right off the bridge onto the mainland and the view was gone.

  'From here on,' Tweed warned, 'it gets rather dull. And don't expect much - if anything - from Chiasso. It's just a rail junction, a big one.'

  She did have a view of the lake through the windows on Newman's side for a while. Then it was gone. As if it had come out for their benefit, the moonlight vanished, blotted out by clouds. She settled back in her seat, calling out to Tweed.

  'If there's trouble, at Chiasso, I imagine Beck can handle it.'

  'Told me apart from the specialists he had half the local police force sent there. Better put on your coat. We'll be pulling in shortly. Train's slowing down.'

  She stared out of the window as it slowed to a halt. The station sign announced CHIASSO. She thought she had never seen such a dreary deserted platform. She wondered why she had, after her heaven-like experience, suddenly felt nervous.

  37

  Wandering along the platform, which seemed to go on for ever, Paula thought she had never seen a more dreary and depressing station. Even the roof above her was a dirty grey and she soon realized the vast junction was hunched inside a gulley. On either side beyond the station, boring low hills rose up, their slopes a tangle of miserable undergrowth and small stunted trees. A short distance behind her Newman strolled, taking in everything.

  She had not seen a single uniformed railwayman until the platform curved for quite a distance. Now she saw cylinders laid out, men in white coats, wearing masks, bending over the cylinders. One held what looked like a glass pipette which he held in one hand while with the other he turned a tap. There was a hissing noise as the contents were released into the pipette he had inserted. He quickly turned off the tap, held up the pipette to check its contents.

  Roman, in his fur coat, hands inside his pockets, looked on. She expected him to be furious since the huge number of cylinders piled in crates showed they were checking every one. Instead Roman sounded amused.

  'Again clear as crystal,' he remarked. He turned and smiled at Paula. 'If the contents changed colour that would indicate something else.'

  'Poison gas,' snapped Broden, who stood near him. 'Anyone with sense would stop fooling around now, let the consignment proceed.'

  'The Swiss are very precise,' Roman replied as Beck appeared out of nowhere. 'Very precise,' he repeated, staring at Beck. 'Which is why they take so long to make a cuckoo clock.'

  'We check all suspect goods,' Beck answered.

  'So why are these oxygen cylinders suspect?' Roman enquired with a note of sarcasm. 'Because of a rumour spread by one of my competitors. Haven't you worked that out yet? Another rumour tells me you are the Chief of Federal Police.'

  'Which I happen to be. These oxygen cylinders are supposed to be en route to Cairo.'

  'Supposed to be?' Roman flew into a rage, moved closer to Beck. 'Now listen to me, because obviously you are plain ignorant when it comes to international trade. The Egyptians need these for their hospitals. The stuff they manufacture is not pure. Typical of Arabs, but they have now seen the light of day. So you understand now, Mr Chief of Federal Police?'

  His tirade over, Roman stepped back, as though close contact with Beck was obnoxious. He pushed up his coat sleeve to check his watch. Then he started again.

  'With your Swiss precision, Mr Beck, is it possible to calculate how much longer this farce will take?'

  'About half an hour, maybe a few minutes longer.'

  Beck's expression was blank as he stared back at Roman. He'd shown no reaction to Roman's insults, to his bullying manner. While this was going on the specialists had checked another three cylinders, which were then carried by staff and placed very carefully in the waiting crate, which was almost stacked full. Between each cylinder, which they had wrapped in some kind of paper which looked like polystyrene, they packed a large quantity of straw.

  It seemed to Paula the Swiss team was proceeding very efficiently. Beyond the roof it had started to rain, not the first shower recently to judge by the gleaming metal of various goods wagons parked on another line. At least half an hour, she thought, in this dump. She began to walk further along the curving platform, leaving the checking exercise behind. Then she spotted Sophie huddled on the only seat in sight. Stacked at the end of the seat were three large suitcases.

  'Hello, Sophie,' she said, easing herself onto the damp seat. 'Might just as well be outside in the rain.'

  'The roof leaks but this is the only seat,' Sophie grumbled.

  She was dressed to repel the wet in a heavy rainproof coat. On her head she wore a large rainproof hat with a wide brim. She showed no pleasure at Paula's arrival. In one of her moods, Paula decided. She nudged her and tried to cheer her up.

  'At least you're dressed for this weather, which is more than I am.'

  'Don't touch me. I don't like people touching me. And no one asked you to sit here.'

  'You did say this was the only seat . . .'

  'No, I didn't. I suppose because you can't see another one you think this is the only seat. It is,' she added maliciously and giggled.

  'Why did you bother to come here? Roman is watching them.'

  'Because I am a scientist. I supervised the filling of those cylinders in London - after checking the quality. When I got off the train I could see immediately they were checking properly. Father thinks that by standing over them they will get on with the job. Good luck to him.'

  'I haven't seen Marienetta.'

  'Hardly surprising. She said she wasn't coming and went up to her room. Which probably means she'll turn up on the next train. She's such a liar. Can't believe one word she says.'

  A drop of water fell on the brim of Sophi
e's unusual hat. By now Paula had wrapped a scarf over her own head. Sophie stood up, took off the hat, shook it so water splashed on Paula. Sophie's ponytail was tucked well down inside the collar of her raincoat. She put on the hat, sat down again heavily.

  'You two seem to love each other,' Paula remarked with a hint of amusement.

  'We don't. We never have. Never will.'

  Paula heard an engine trundling on the line behind them. It continued a short distance and then there was a loud clang which made her jump. She looked in that direction but the angle of the curve now hid the engine from view.

  'What on earth was that?' she asked.

  'They're shunting freight cars behind us, forming a convoy.'

  'Wish they'd blow a whistle first.'

  'You get used to it. This really is fun,' she grouched.

  Paula was inclined to agree with her. More light rain was falling, like a watery veil. It was very quiet where they sat together - apart from the dang she had just heard. I think this is one of the loneliest places in the world, Paula was deciding. And to think Lugano and the lake with the lights on Monte Bre was only thirty minutes north of them.

  She glanced to her right and a dozen yards away saw Newman standing by one of the ugly iron pillars supporting the roof. He had just finished a cigarette, stubbed it, placed it in a litter basket. He gave her the thumb's-up sign.

  'The stupid Swiss,' Sophie began to rave. 'Do they really think we'd export poison gas to the Middle East? The oxygen is costing them a fortune. I negotiated the deal with a real haggle over the phone. I ended up by telling him that if he wouldn't accept our price he could buy inferior material elsewhere, then slammed down the phone. He was back on the line within ten minutes, accepting my price. I made the thug wire the money in advance.'