Precipice

by Colin Forbes

  'Curious. I've heard he has offices in Paris and Zurich but notRIGHT SQUARE BRACKET'

  'Let me finish. In Ouchy both unmarked cars lost him. I've had an unkind word with the drivers. But the chap on the motorcycle was brighter. He saw Brazil and Craig switch to another identical limousine in Ouchy - with the same number plates as the one which left Geneva. He followed it to Berne, to here. Brazil has a secret HQ not a hundred yards from where I'm sitting - in my own HQ.'

  Tricky chap.' Tweed commented.

  'I think he'll be on the move again soon. You know we have a small airport at Belp, outside the city. Well, the executive jet which flew him to Geneva has landed here. And the pilot has filed a flight plan for guess where?'

  'I never guess.'

  'You do it all the time. The flight plan is for the jet to fly to Geneva this evening. I have watchers at Belp Airport.'

  'Like a perishing grasshopper, our Mr Brazil.'

  'Must go now. Will keep you in touch - even if it does cost me my job . . .'

  Tweed sighed, put down the phone, told the others the gist of Beck's call.

  'What do you think?' he asked.

  'That Geneva keeps cropping up.' Newman said.

  'I'm suspicious after what you've told us.' Paula said slowly while she drew faces on her notepad. 'If I were Beck I'd have someone waiting at this Belp Airport who can definitely recognize at least Brazil - and Craig if possible. To make sure that if two men board that jet they really are who they're supposed to be.'

  'I think you've just had a flash of inspiration.' Tweed thought for a moment, then looked at Monica. 'Would you call back to Beck and give him Paula's idea? Tell him it came from Paula - he respects her - and that I'm in full agreement with the suggestion.'

  He had just finished speaking when the phone rang yet again. Monica answered, frowned, looked at Tweed.

  'Bill Franklin is waiting downstairs. Says he'd like to see you briefly if you have the time.'

  'Then we'll make the time for Bill. Call Beck after he's gone . . .'

  In a small stone villa on Kochergasse in Berne, not far distant from Federal Police Headquarters, Brazil sat behind a huge Louis Quinze desk. The only other occupant of the room, its walls covered in ancient tapestries, was Jose, a tall lean man wearing a grey business suit. He sat in a corner behind his own much smaller desk.

  'Well, Jose,' Brazil boomed cheerfully, 'would you say I fooled them all last night? Your idea of changing limousines was brilliant.'

  'From what I've heard of Tweed I would assume it was dangerous to feel too confident.'

  'I was talking about Beck, not Tweed,' Brazil said sharply.

  'My comment stands.'

  Brazil stared at his most trusted confidant. In his late thirties, Jose came from French Guiana, the one-time French colony in South America, now a departement of France. Jose had a poverty-stricken childhood but, working hard, he had saved enough money for a one-way ticket to the States.

  There he had sold newspapers on the streets, washed up in restaurants, living in one slum of a room while he studied in the early hours to be an accountant. Achieving top marks in his exams, he had applied to a conglomerate run by Brazil in America for the job of junior accountant.

  Brazil had wandered into the office where Jose was being interviewed, had taken over the interview himself. He was so impressed by Jose's intelligence, by his ethics, he had appointed him as his deputy, a post Jose had held ever since Brazil had moved to Europe.

  His skin was coffee-coloured. Clean-shaven, he always dressed impeccably and was the only man who didn't hesitate to disagree with his chief. It was a quality which Brazil admired.

  'Now you have a moment free,' Jose began, 'I can tell you of a phone call from England which came in early this morning, our time. It was from the informant you nicknamed the Recorder.'

  'Interesting information?'

  'The Recorder told me a few names of key personnel on Tweed's team. Robert Newman, Paula Grey, and -subject to confirmation - William Franklin.'

  'Is that all?' There was an edge to Brazil's voice. 'I must have at the earliest possible moment the names of all the key members of Tweed's team. That reminds me, I must put in a phone call to England.'

  Paula thought how smart Franklin looked as he came into the office. He wore a thigh-length navy-blue coat and a matching pair of well-tailored slacks. Taking off the coat, he revealed a navy-blue blazer with gold buttons, a blue-striped shirt, and a pale grey tie.

  'Morning all,' he greeted the occupants. 'It's cold enough outside to freeze an Eskimo. Thank you,' he said as Tweed invited him to sit down.

  'A cup of coffee?' Monica suggested. 'No sugar and with a dash of milk.'

  'You have angels on your staff,' he said with another smile, looking at Paula. 'Yes, please, Monica.'

  'Where is Eve now?' asked Tweed.

  'I think Philip dropped her off at her flat in South Ken. Not far from your pad.' he told Newman.

  'I gather she was unwell soon after we left.' Tweed continued quickly.

  'She was. She'd had a big meal and no sooner had you gone than she said she felt ill. She had some stuff in her suite which she said settled stomachs, so off she went. So I was left on my ownsome. I lit a cigar and a few minutes later went outside for a drop of fresh air in the square. Felt like a bit of silence and what did I get? A motorcyclist roaring at top speed up South Street towards North Street. He must have been doing sixty.'

  'How long was that after we had left?' pressed Tweed.

  'Ten minutes at the outside.'

  'And how long.' Tweed asked, looking at Newman, 'do you reckon it took us to reach Bowling Green?'

  Twenty-five minutes at the outside. I checked the time we left and looked at my watch again after we found what we did.'

  'And what did you find?' Franklin asked after thanking Monica for the cup of coffee she handed him. 'Or is it a state secret?' Tweed shook his head.

  'Sorry!' Franklin raised an apologetic hand. 'Guess I shouldn't have asked. Also, I shouldn't waste your time so I'll get straight to why I'm here. You said down in Dorset you might want to use me. A big job has just landed on my desk. It's boring and I'd just as soon give it to one of my staff - that is, if you want me to carry out an investigation.'

  'I do. Just a small one.' Tweed smiled grimly. 'A man called Leopold Brazil.'

  'I see.' Franklin smiled back drily. 'A mere nothing. What do you want to know about that gentleman, where do you suggest I start?'

  'I want to know everything you can dig up. Especially all the places he operates from. Geneva is the place to start. You said you had an agency there.'

  'Geneva, here I come.' Franklin swallowed the rest of his coffee, stood up, slipped on his coat, looking across at Paula. 'Tweed, if you have to send someone out there to meet me I'd be quite happy if it was Paula.'

  'And Paula would be quite happy to come.' said Paula.

  Franklin gave everyone a little salute. He looked now at Marler, who was leaning against a wall, smoking a king-size, and had said nothing.

  'I don't think I know your name.'

  'No, you don't,' Marler replied.

  'Another state secret,' Franklin said to Tweed, grinned, and left the room.

  'He doesn't waste much time,' Paula remarked.

  'And you find him interesting, don't you?' Tweed teased her.

  'Yes. He's courteous, intelligent, and good fun. And he likes women.'

  'What more could you ask for?'

  'Why were you so interested in the timing of that motorcyclist Bill heard just after we'd left the Priory to go and meet poor Ben?' she asked, changing the subject.

  'Because I think that could have been The Motorman, getting to Bowling Green to kill Ben before we arrived.'

  'But how on earth could anyone have known the timing and place for our meeting him?'

  'You've forgotten,' Tweed told her. 'When we did make the arrangement Ben lifted his voice several times -and there were two strange men waiting at
the bar, the ones who tapped on the counter with a coin. They could have told someone else who instructed The Motorman. I feel I should have spotted the danger.'

  'You can't think of absolutely everything. And I wonder how Philip is getting on with Eve?'

  * * *

  Philip had driven back from Wareham in his Land Rover with Eve behind him in her Porsche. Whenever she could she overtook him to be in the lead. Philip then waited until the road ahead was clear and would overtake her, waving a hand at her as she had waved to him. They continued this leap-frogging until they ran into London's traffic.

  Philip was surprised at how close her flat was to Bob Newman's. Eve lived in a large red-brick house which had been converted into flats and looked expensive. Inside her first-floor flat she threw her coat carelessly on to the end of a long couch.

  'The drinks cabinet is that thing over there.' she informed him. 'Make me a large vodka while I go to the loo.'

  He opened the cabinet, took a glass, and put a modest amount of vodka in the glass - modest for Eve. Then he went over to the bay window and looked down into the South Ken road. In mid morning it was quiet.

  At the Priory Eve had arrived very late for breakfast, had then eaten two fried eggs with bacon and tomatoes. She had explained her lateness between mouthfuls.

  'I hardly slept all night. Just sat up in bed and read a paperback . . .'

  Which, at the time, had seemed odd to Philip. Before going to bed he had wandered round the outside of her suite and there had not been a light on in any room.

  He was thinking of this as he stared down and she came back into the room. He handed her the glass.

  'Call that a large vodka? For God's sake.'

  'Isn't it a bit early . . .'

  'No, it isn't.' she snapped as she filled up the glass. 'Aren't you drinking? You could always pour yourself an extra strong orange juice.'

  She flopped down on a long couch, stretched out her legs. He sat down at the far end, watched her while she drank her vodka in two separate gulps. She had calmed down. He reached out and clasped her hand.

  'Not yet. We hardly know each other, darling.'

  Jumping up, she sat in a nearby armchair, flashed him her warm smile. She leaned forward.

  'I don't even know anything about your job.'

  'I'm in insurance.' replied Philip, suddenly guarded.

  'What kind of insurance? Who are the key people? Is Tweed the top man in your outfit? He's nice. Who does he work with besides yourself? I'm interested.'

  'You don't tell me anything about your job,' he reminded her. 'Except to say it's hush-hush . . .'

  'Is yours hush-hush?' she asked quickly.

  'No, it's boring to talk about. And I told you before I was in insurance.' He looked at his watch. 'I have to get to the office now I've seen you safely home.'

  Annoyed with her swift changes of mood, he just wanted to get out of the place. She leapt up from her chair, threw her arms round him, kissed him full on the mouth, and then broke away.

  'Call me tonight, Philip. Before six. I may have to go abroad on a job.'

  'Where to?'

  'God knows, but my boss does. I'll know when he tells me.'

  I'll give you a buzz . . .'

  Tweed was pacing round his office, his mind racing as he played with the pieces of the jigsaw he was trying to assemble.

  'You're putting an iron curtain round Leopold Brazil,' Paula commented. 'First Keith Kent going off to Geneva. Now Bill Franklin heading for the same Swiss city to activate his detectives.'

  'It will need an iron curtain to pin down what Brazil is up to.'

  'You're sure he is up to something?'

  'I am after what Beck told me. Otherwise why go to all that trouble to elude anyone following him - switching cars at Ouchy, arriving in Berne, summoning his jet to Belp Airport? He's putting up smokescreens to hide something. The question is what? By the way, Bob, you came here early after delivering Archie to Heathrow. How was he?'

  'I collected him from the Black Bear.' Newman pulled a face of resignation. 'It seemed like the dead of night - it was early morning. And Archie was freshly shaved and perky as a squirrel. We arrived at Heathrow in good time for him to catch his flight.'

  'Did you check quietly where he was going?'

  'You don't play games like that with Archie - he expects to be able to trust you. When we reached the concourse he told me to wait by the bookstall. I saw him heading for the Swissair check-in counter and thought that would be the last I'd see of him. Then I was going to drive here.'

  'Something happened then?' Tweed enquired.

  'Something unexpected. Archie did come back to me. He showed me his flight ticket - the copy and his boarding card. Just guess where he was flying to. He'll have arrived several hours ago.'

  'Just tell me.' Tweed said impatiently.

  'Geneva.'

  15

  There was silence in the office for a few minutes after Newman had reported Archie's destination. Tweed sat in his chair staring at a map of Europe Paula had earlier attached to a wall at his request.

  Tweed had stuck pins with coloured heads in the map marking certain cities. Paris, Zurich, Berne, Geneva, Ouchy, and Montreux. Paula had the impression he was not looking at the map at all, that his mind was miles away. Suddenly he sat up very straight.

  'Monica, call Butler at his flat, tell him to pack a bag for cold weather, and then come over here. When Pete Nield calls from Dorset tell him to make record time getting here. If he doesn't phone within the hour keep trying him at the Black Bear.'

  'What about us?' asked Paula.

  'Be ready at a moment's notice to fly to Europe, all of you. Cold-weather kit.'

  'Why cold weather?' enquired Marler, still standing against the wall.

  'Because the moment I arrived back here I checked in a newspaper the temperatures in Switzerland. They're way below zero and there's been heavy snow. Because of the latter factor pack footwear for snow - and for ice.'

  'Action this day.' said Paula. 'We're going on our holidays.'

  'Not yet.' said Tweed. 'But I want everyone ready to go.' He stood up. 'And now I have to keep appointments I've made with two people . . .'

  He paused as the phone rang. Monica answered, looked surprised, and it was rare for her to show any emotion. She covered the mouthpiece.

  'Tweed, you won't believe this but I have on the line Leopold Brazil. Not an assistant - the great man himself. He wants to speak to you.'

  Take down this message which I want you to repeat to him word for word. Mr Tweed is away for the whole day. . .' Monica scribbled in swift shorthand on a notebook the exact wording as Tweed continued. 'I know Mr Newman passed on your request to him to meet you but at the moment he is heavily involved. That's the message. Begin the conversation by saying it's a bad line and you're transferring to another phone. Then pause and start talking as soon as I lift the phone so I can listen in . . .'

  Tweed picked up his phone when Monica nodded, listened with great concentration. When she had finished passing on the message Brazil began speaking again.

  'Could you kindly tell Mr Tweed when you see him that I need to see him urgently before there is a catastrophe. I have an executive jet at my disposal which can pick him up from Heathrow and fly him to any airport in Europe of his choice. I would prefer him to come alone. I shall be on my own. Thank you so much . . .'

  Tweed put down the phone at the same moment as Monica. He repeated to the others what Brazil had said, then looked at Newman.

  'I once met him but it was quite awhile ago and it was a brief conversation. Listening to him on the phone I had the impression of a man of great charm, also one of great authority but without a trace of arrogance. His voice has a strong timbre. I also detected a ruthless streak. What was your impression on the day you met him at Grenville Grange?'

  'Exactly the same as yours.'

  'Interesting. And I'm glad I've taken the precautions Monica is about to put into action.'


  'I'll have to make a quick trip to my pad.' said Marler.

  'Better go now then.'

  'You're not going to meet him under those conditions, for heaven's sake, are you?' protested Newman. 'Travelling aboard his jet he'll have you in the palm of his tough hand.'

  'We'll see . . .'

  'You must have back-up. Very heavy back-up.' Newman insisted.

  'We'll see.' Tweed repeated as he stood up and quickly put on his coat. 'Now I must hurry. . .'

  'You didn't tell us who you were going to see.' Paula said anxiously.

  'Sorry, I had my mind on something else. My first outing is to see Miss Maggie Mayfield. I've reserved a room at Brown's Hotel so we can have privacy.'

  'Who on earth is she?'

  'General Sterndale's niece and only surviving relative. She was due to stay with him on the night the mansion was burned down - but had a bad cold so she never went.'

  'And your second appointment?' Paula went on.

  'With Professor Grogarty in Harley Street. Does that name ring a bell with anyone?'