Precipice

by Colin Forbes

  'I feel good for another twenty-four hours. Amazing the way a bath freshens you up. I can recommend it.'

  He stopped speaking, went behind his desk as the phone rang yet again. Monica took the call.

  'It's Rene Lasalle from. Paris. Sounds urgent.'

  Tut him on. Good morning, Rene. So you, too, are burning the candle at both ends

  'Tweed, this you should know. I've just heard it myself. Brazil sent a team to Cayenne - French Guiana. I heard about it, sent my own team with special cameras. You know about Ariane, our rocket-launching system in Guiana. Ariane. Brazil has had his own satellite flown out by plane for launching by Ariane into orbit. You know we make money by renting out the system for anyone with the funds to use Ariane to launch a satellite into space.'

  'I know.'

  'Well, something tricky took place. Brazil's team said they were checking the satellite, erected a canvas screen, but my team flew over in a helicopter just at the right moment and took a lot of pictures. A different satellite was substituted and we have the pics flown back from Guiana. They don't make sense to my so-called top experts, even though they have shots of what's inside the satellite.'

  'Strange.' said Tweed.

  'I know you have that weird man who has cracked scientific problems when no one else could. I have taken the liberty of sending you copies of the photos. A courier is in the air now, is being flown to Heathrow in a light aircraft.'

  'When may I expect them?'

  'Within an hour or two. At Park Crescent. I've phoned Heathrow and arranged for a car to be standing by.'

  'I'll call Professor Grogarty now.'

  'Won't delay you. I was summoned to the Elysee again and given a dressing-down by the President himself. Threatened with instant dismissal if my people went anywhere near Brazil. That's it . . .'

  Tweed put the phone down, told Newman, Marler, and Monica what Lasalle had said.

  'What on earth is that man up to?' Monica asked.

  'We may know more if Grogarty can detect something from the photos. He's invented an extraordinary microscope which can read three-dimensional ciphers of a minute size. Monica, try and get Grogarty on the phone. He works through the night.'

  The phone rang once more before Monica could start dialling. She listened, called out quickly.

  'It's Paula on the line for you . . .'

  Tweed grabbed the phone. He took a deep breath to hide his anxiety.

  'Very good to hear from you. I've been thinking a lot about you.'

  'Thank you.' said Paula quickly. 'I'm speaking from the Hotel des Bergues,' she warned him. 'From my bedroom. I had a call recently from our friend who smokes cigarettes but doesn't smoke. You know who I mean?'

  'Yes.' Tweed was careful not to mention the name Archie.

  'He's had information from a reliable source. It's odd. Just one word. A girl's name. Ariane . . .'

  'I know who she is, what he is talking about.'

  'Thank heavens. Philip is with me, trying to sleep on the couch in the living room. Neither of us can go to sleep. Too alert.'

  'Are you all right? I know about the Old City. Beck has called me in a rage. Don't worry. How are you?'

  'OK. Quite OK. So is Philip. Our competitors seem to know every move we make in advance.'

  'They're well organized and have plenty of money at their disposal. It helps.'

  He was listening carefully to every word she said, trying to detect any signs of strain and stress. There were none.

  'Has a certain important man Newman met in Dorset a base in Berne?' Paula asked.

  'Yes, he has. Why?'

  'We'll be going there tomorrow.'

  'In the Kochergasse.' Tweed said swiftly. 'You're both going? Good. I want you both to try and see me at the Schweizerhof late tomorrow afternoon. We've stayed there before. Remember?'

  'I'm sure we can make that. We will. Hadn't you better get some sleep?'

  'I could say the same to you. I have to take another call. Take great care . . .'

  He nodded to Monica, who dialled the Professor's number, said Tweed was on the line.

  'Tweed! So, like me, you're an owl.' Grogarty gave a hoarse chuckle. 'My best work is done in the early hours. You have another problem. Of course! Otherwise you wouldn't be getting in touch.'

  Tweed had a wild whim to ask him whether his pince-nez was crooked, but desisted.

  'Yes, I do have a problem. A very strange one.' He explained about the call from Paris without mentioning Lasalle's name, ending with the fact that a courier was flying in with the photos of the satellite which had been secretly substituted for the original one.

  'Sounds intriguing.' Grogarty commented. 'And you want my opinion yesterday?'

  'No.' said Tweed, 'the day before yesterday.'

  'Then why don't you hold the courier, look at the photos yourself, then send them straight on to me by the same courier.'

  'I'm going abroad early in the morning. Soon after daylight.'

  'Then you'd better send that courier over here pretty damned quick. Another thing, Tweed, it would help me if I knew its orbit - the areas of the Earth it passes over.'

  Tweed put down the phone and swore aloud mildly, which he rarely did.

  'Won't he cooperate?' asked Monica.

  'He'll pull out all stops for me. But he wants now to know its orbit - what parts of the planet it is crossing. There's a problem for you.'

  'Easy.' Monica began dialling a number from memory. 'I have the answer, with a bit of luck. Cord Dillon, Deputy Director of the CIA, and your old pal. He works late, and in any case the headquarters at Langley is on Washington time, so they're five hours behind us . . .'

  'What would I do without her?' Tweed asked Newman as he stood up.

  'Collapse.' Newman snapped.

  'I'm going to the loo. Maybe you'd like to come up in a minute and we'll look in on Reginald and all his junk. I have a key to that room.'

  Tweed found the door to the communications centre, as it had been called, was open and Reginald was inside with his staff of two. Newman entered the spacious room with Tweed, followed by Marler.

  'Do come in, Mr Tweed.' said Reginald, seated in front of the largest machine in the place.

  'I am in.'

  'What I meant was I'm delighted you are at long last taking an interest in our work, that you have been converted to modern techniques.'

  'I haven't.'

  The three visitors looked slowly round the room which had smaller computers and PCs on metal tables against the walls. Green screens were flashing madly, some even showing wording, line after line of it.

  Reginald was in his twenties, lean and wearing pebble glasses, his face almost cadaverous. He gestured towards the big machine he was sitting in front of, his fingers poised over the keyboard.

  'This is the master computer, which is why it's bigger although the trend now is for computers to be smaller and smaller. The master computer I'm sitting in front of is linked to the telephone system - as are the others. And our security is foolproof.'

  'No, it isn't,' said Tweed. 'I asked my bank director recently could he guarantee no one could hack into my account. He looked embarrassed, then agreed that it could be done, that it had been done on a number of occasions. Do you normally work so late?'

  'Well, no. But since Monty arrived we're all keen to complete the link-ups.'

  'Monty?' queried Tweed.

  That's what we call my master computer.'

  'I'll leave you to get on with the good work . . .'

  'Monty!' Tweed said with disgust as they went back down the stairs to his office. 'I wonder what those flashing lights will do to their eyes.'

  As they went back into his office Monica was putting down the phone, looking pleased.

  'Cord came up trumps. They're furious at Langley that Paris hasn't informed them they were launching a new satellite.'

  'Paris?' queried Tweed. 'It's Brazil's satellite.'

  'Obviously he has concealed his ownership by pass
ing it along the line that it's a new French satellite. I suppose being on such good terms with the President in the Elysee he's got his support. Cord said they had heard about Ariane launching Rogue One and they've been tracking it.'

  'Rogue One?'

  'That's what Langley has christened it. Rather a good name, I thought.'

  'A good name for Leopold Brazil.' said Marler.

  * * *

  'Mr Brazil has arrived back.' Jose told Eve. 'He wants to see you in his study.'

  'I haven't had breakfast. I need my breakfast.'

  'You've had sleep. Mr Brazil hasn't had any. When he does have sleep he only needs four hours. He has great energy, is a dynamic personality.'

  'Shouldn't you wait until you're in his presence before you butter him up?' sneered Eve. 'Telling me isn't going to earn you any medals.'

  The dark-skinned Jose's expression didn't change. It hardly ever changed. He told Eve Mr Brazil was waiting for her in his study.

  She went downstairs to the first floor, didn't bother to knock on the study door, walked straight in. Igor, sitting alongside Brazil who was in his chair behind his desk, stood up, snarled.

  'Igor prefers you to knock.' Brazil said mildly. 'He thinks it better manners.'

  'Oh, I see.' Eve tossed her head. 'Would you like me to go out again, knock respectfully on your door, and wait for your command to come in?'

  'Don't be impertinent. Sit down.'

  Brazil was dressed in a smart heavy grey business suit with a regimental tie he had bought in Bond Street. He radiated an aura of power and purpose. On his desk was a fat envelope. He was amused to watch Eve trying not to look at it. He began talking again in his deep voice as soon as she sat down facing him.

  'I am going to meet Tweed later today. I employ you because you have a flair for weighing up men, for spotting their weak points, for moulding them in your hands like putty. What sort of man is Tweed? Could you lure him so you had him in the palm of your hand?'

  'He's an enigma.'

  'Come. You can do better than that. You told me you had dinner with him one evening at the Priory Hotel.

  Seeing someone at dinner is a good time to tell what they are really like.'

  Eve frowned, forcing herself not to look at the fat envelope which was the only object on Brazil's desk. She was, as usual, trying to work out what reply would make her boss happy.

  Brazil waited, appeared to read her mind.

  'I don't want what you think I would like to hear. I want an honest assessment. You are supposed to be shrewd where men are concerned.'

  'He's the most difficult man to analyse I ever met. He has changes of mood. Sometimes he's quite amiable, even jokey. At other times you can't tell from his expression what he's really thinking,' she said truthfully.

  'He's insignificant?' Brazil suggested.

  'No, far from it. I'd say he is cautious, likes to be sure of his ground before he moves. No woman could trap him. If they appeared to be doing so they'd get a nasty surprise. He likes women, but he's very discriminating in those he mixes with.'

  'Go on. This is better. Much better.'

  'Take Paula Grey. She's someone I'd say he trusts.'

  'All right. What sort of woman is Paula Grey?'

  'Attractive.' Eve said reluctantly. 'She's shrewd, probably very loyal to Tweed. I think they have a very special relationship built on mutual respect. Sometimes I thought she was in love with him.'

  'And he with her?'

  'If he is, he never shows it. At least I couldn't detect it.'

  'You think they have ever been intimate together?'

  'I'm sure they haven't. It's a very permanent relationship, but without that, I'm certain. A woman can tell.'

  'Getting back to Tweed, if he was up against an enemy he regarded as very dangerous, what would be his reaction? I get a picture so far of a very intelligent, thoughtful man, very self-controlled and quiet. What would be his reaction?' he repeated.

  'He'd be ruthless. He'd take decisions very quickly and move like lightning.'

  'Interesting. You've done well. Now you can take the envelope on my desk you've had trouble keeping your eyes off. It's your salary plus a large bonus.'

  'Thank you.'

  The envelope disappeared inside her shoulder bag like a conjuring trick. She was dying to open it, had felt crisp banknotes inside it, but she knew opening it in front of Brazil would be a mistake. It would indicate greed.

  She had no idea that when Brazil had originally hired her he had detected greed as the main motive in her makeup. Now she had the envelope she decided to ask the question which had been bothering her.

  'After I'd got to know the chairman of the Zurcher Kredit bank I went to his house with a man you told me to meet at the station under the clock. You told me to introduce him as Mr Danziger Brown, the man I'd persuaded the chairman had an idea as to how the bank could make a huge profit. I introduced this man to the chairman after dark and went away, as instructed. Later, I read in the papers the chairman had been murdered.'

  'So?'

  'Was I introducing the chairman to the man who killed him?'

  'Describe Mr Danziger Brown.'

  'I couldn't make out whether he was tall or of medium height. He seemed very fat. The buttons of his overcoat were strained. He stooped, as though he was round shouldered. I couldn't see the colour of his hair - he was wearing a black beret. I couldn't see his face. It was a cold night and he had a muffler across most of his face.'

  'He was a financial consultant. Whoever killed the chairman must have gained entry after he had gone.'

  'The same thing happened when I made friends, on your instructions, with that banker in Geneva. And he was murdered the same night I took another man to see him.'

  'A coincidence.' Brazil said blandly.

  'I see.' She hesitated. 'Have you heard of someone called The Motorman?'

  'Who?'

  'The Motorman.'

  'No. Sounds like a racing driver.'

  Brazil was lying, but nothing in his expression gave away the fact. In this respect only he was like Tweed.

  When Eve had left the room Brazil stroked Igor, began talking quietly to the dog.

  'Tweed sounds very promising. If only I can persuade him we would make an unbeatable partnership . . .'

  22

  In the middle of the night in her suite at the Hotel des Bergues Paula and Philip had an argument and for a while neither would give way.

  'I say we ought to take an early morning train to Berne.' said Paula.

  'Don't agree with the method of transport.' Philip rapped back. 'We are going to hire a car and drive there.'

  'The roads will be hell.' Paula said vehemently.

  'I'll drive. You're not questioning my ability to do that, are you?'

  'Of course not! Don't be so touchy. A train will get us there. Swiss trains always do . . .'

  'Then later we have to get to Zurich, in case you've forgotten.'

  'I have not forgotten!' Paula began to pace up and down the living room, like Tweed. 'But you have obviously forgotten there are express trains from Berne to Zurich.'

  'I am aware of that. . .'

  'Then why are you being so stubborn?'

  'Not stubborn. Just looking ahead.' Philip shot back at her. 'We can drive from Berne to Zurich and get there by the time Tweed suggested.'

  'I think a train will be safer . . .'

  'No, it won't. If Craig's thugs have found out we're staying here they can board the same train we do.'

  'How on earth could they find out we are here?' she demanded. She paused. 'Or maybe they could?'

  'Yes, by impersonating detectives, asking to look at the hotel register downstairs. You believe Craig wouldn't have thought of that, provided some of his men with forged police credentials ages ago?'

  Paula stood still, folded her arms. Philip poured more coffee for both of them.

  'Thanks.' said Paula automatically. 'Philip, I think you are right. We'll hire a car. I
wonder what on earth Ariane means? Tweed seemed to know.'

  At Park Crescent the French courier had arrived with the photographs from French Guiana. Tweed asked him to wait downstairs and, taking out a batch of large glossy prints from the envelope, spread them out on his desk. Marler, Newman, and Monica came to stand behind him.

  'They don't tell me anything.' Tweed said after examining them under a magnifying glass. He handed the glass to Newman, who studied the photos quickly.

  'Just a jumble of nothing. Let's hope Grogarty is cleverer than us.'

  'Monica, put these in an envelope addressed to the Professor, go down to the courier, who I found when I saw him speaks English. Get Butler or Nield to drive the courier to Grogarty in Harley Street, tell the courier to wait if Grogarty wants to send them back quickly.'

  'I've got the envelope ready . . .'

  Marler spoke up when she came back and reported the courier was on his way with Butler driving him.