Precipice

by Colin Forbes

  'That's what Jean always insisted on.' Philip recalled. 'Tweed, I need to talk to you. There's a crisis.'

  'I need food.' said Paula.

  'You go and eat and I'll join you later.' Philip told her as they all entered a lift.

  Tweed accompanied Philip to his room while Paula went along the corridor to hers in the opposite direction. Inside the bedroom, which overlooked Bahnhofplatz, Philip began unpacking swiftly as he talked while Tweed sat in a chair.

  'We met Archie in Berne . . .' he began and then informed Tweed of everything that had happened in that city. When he had concluded by describing their experience with Bill Franklin and the thug in the alley, he turned to Tweed.

  'I haven't unpacked everything because I'm leaving by myself soon.'

  'Are you? May I ask why and where?' Tweed enquired with an edge to his voice.

  'Archie's last words were that we shouldn't overlook Anton Marchat, who apparently lives in the Valais. At Sion. He gave me Marchat's address. We heard on the radio, driving here, that all the mountain passes are still closed. So I'll hand in my hired car and catch a train to Geneva.'

  'Why Geneva? You could catch an express en route at the Lausanne stop.'

  'No, Geneva.' Philip said stubbornly. 'Then I can board the express where it starts - that way I see who else gets on. If I'm followed I want to know who is after me -so I can deal with them later. I don't want you to tell Paula until I've gone. She'll try and come with me.'

  Philip looked at the clothes he had hung up, blinked, walked to the window to gaze out with his back to Tweed and his hands in his trouser pockets. Tweed realized he was upset. Memories. Thinking back to the times he and Jean had travelled together. Philip blew his nose loudly.

  Tweed was in a quandary. His instinct was to order Philip to stay in Zurich where he had the company and protection of his friends. But if he did that Philip would immediately think Tweed was pampering him, still did not trust him to strike out on his own because of emotional instability. I'll have to let him go, he thought.

  'Philip.' he said when his team member had come back from the window, his mouth tight. 'There is information provided by Beck, Chief of the Federal Police, which I think you ought to know . . .'

  He explained what Beck had told him and Newman about the influx of fake tourists into Geneva. How they had boarded expresses travelling east with their ultimate destination, Milan - but travelling via the Valais.

  'There you are.' Philip exclaimed, 'again a reference to the Valais. And Archie so far has proved a most reliable informant. Marler wouldn't use him if he wasn't first class.'

  'Yes.' Tweed agreed. 'I'd better tell you all the data we have.'

  He tersely recalled Professor Grogarty's opinion of the list of missing scientists; his theory as to what such a team of the world's top-flight scientists could be used to create; about Lasalle's calls from Paris, the satellite launched by Ariane in French Guiana, the photos Grogarty had examined of the satellite prior to launch, his conclusions.

  'I still can't imagine what significance the Valais could have.' Tweed mused. 'It's a wild, desolate region and there's nothing there.'

  'So maybe.' said Philip, 'bearing in mind what you have just told me, it's the location of the ground station controlling the satellite which seems to worry so many people.'

  When he entered the Hotel Gotthard and asked for Marler Newman was given a room number. The door was opened cautiously by the sturdy Butler, even though Newman had rapped on it with a familiar tattoo. When he got inside Newman understood why.

  'Welcome to the arms dump.' said Marler, looking fresh as paint.

  A cloth was spread out across a double bed and the contents of two large canvas bags were spread out. Newman stared.

  'Are you getting ready to start a small war?' he asked.

  'That's almost the same question Rico Sava asked me.' Marler said with a grin.

  Newman's expression became poker-faced. He realized Marler would not have heard the news of the murder of Sava at the hands of The Motorman. And Marler had liked Sava. Bad news can wait, he decided.

  Arranged on the cloth was a large array of tear-gas pistols with plenty of spare shells, a .38 Smith & Wesson Special revolver with ammo, five 7.65mm Walther automatics with an ample supply of magazines, a large number of grenades, both stun and shrapnel, a generous amount of smoke bombs, a .32 Browning automatic for Paula, several pairs of small high-power binoculars, and an Armalite rifle, Marler's favourite weapon.

  'How the devil did you smuggle this lot here safely? Supposing you had been stopped by a patrol car? I assume you drove here?'

  'I did. They'd have seen these.'

  Marler picked up the two canvas bags he had zipped up. At one end of each of the bags protruded the heel of an ice-skate.

  'I doubt if they'd have even asked when they saw those.' Marler remarked. 'If they had I'd have said it was equipment for a party going up into the mountains.'

  'Clever, I'll give you that. And when I've told you what happened when I was walking with Tweed, not long ago in this city of peace, I think you'll hand out tear-gas pistols . . .'

  A few minutes later Newman was equipped with his Smith & Wesson inside a hip holster Marler had provided. He also had concealed inside his bulky suede coat a tear-gas pistol, as had the others. He also carried certain extra armoury in a small canvas holdall Marler gave him.

  I'm off back to the Schweizerhof,' he announced. 'And Marler, I think it might be an idea if you and Butler mooched round Bahnhofplatz to give back-up.' He turned to Nield, who had sat in a chair smoking a cigarette and saying nothing. 'Pete, you stay here as a reserve. If you want to peek into Bahnhofplatz every now and again that's your decision . . .'

  Eve, on Brazil's instructions, had arrived at the Baur-en-Ville Hotel, located near Parade-Platz, roughly halfway down Bahnhofplatz before it reached Zurichsee, Lake Zurich. She approved of the luxury of the hotel. After unpacking her bag, and drinking several glasses of vodka from the bottle she'd ordered from room service, she felt bored.

  Against Brazil's instructions, she had walked out into Bahnhofstrasse with a scarf wrapped round her jet-black hair. She also wore a pair of tinted glasses which, with the scarf, completely altered her normal appearance. She spent some time gazing into the treasure house of shop windows displaying jewels, watches, expensive clothes.

  Eventually she bought a matching gold jacket and skirt. The cost took most of the five thousand francs she had prised out of Craig. With the carrier bag over her arm she walked slowly up towards Bahnhofplatz.

  I'm going to have to get some more money from someone, she was thinking.

  The large salary which Brazil paid her disappeared within days on clothes and cosmetics. She was strolling along slowly when she almost stopped, but forced herself to keep moving at a leisurely pace. Newman had just walked out of the Hotel Gotthard, carrying a small holdall.

  'So, I've got lucky.' she said to herself. 'Stuff Mr Brazil and his stay-in-the-hotel routine. I smell more money. . .'

  She followed Newman as he turned into Bahnhofplatz and watched him enter the Schweizerhof.

  * * *

  Across the far side of Bahnhofplatz, standing just inside the station, Keith Kent munched a sandwich, then paused as he was about to take another bite.

  He saw Newman appear, walking quickly, disappear inside the Schweizerhof. But what caught his attention was a woman in a headscarf who seemed to drift along until she reached the corner, pausing to peer round the corner as Newman entered the hotel.

  Keith Kent had trained himself to be a first-class observer. There was something in the woman's movements which told him she was tailing Newman. She stood at the comer, adjusting her scarf, when a blast of bitter wind caught her and tore the scarf off her head; only her quick grab prevented her from losing it. But for a few moments her head was fully exposed. Kent gazed at the jet-hair moulded close to her skull like a helmet.

  'Something is going on here.' he said to himself.<
br />
  Newman checked with the concierge in the lobby.

  'Miss Grey is in the dining room.' he was told. 'Mr Tweed is still upstairs. He went up with a friend.'

  'Mr Cardon, you mean?'

  'Yes, sir.'

  'I've forgotten their room numbers . . .'

  The concierge obliged, gave him both room numbers. On the second floor Newman first tried pressing the bell outside the door of Tweed's room. When he got no reply he went back to Philip's room. Tweed opened the door a few inches, then opened it wide.

  'How are the others?' he asked. 'Have they all arrived? And what have you got in that holdall you didn't have with you when you left me?'

  'Is Philip going somewhere?' Newman asked.

  He posed the question because Philip was fully dressed to go out and had just picked up his case. Tweed gestured for Newman to sit down.

  'Yes.' he said. 'Philip is going to take the train to Geneva, then an express from there to Sion in the Valais. He feels he should visit Anton Marchat since Archie was so insistent Marchat was contacted.'

  'By yourself?' asked Newman.

  'Yes. Why not?' Philip demanded aggressively.

  'Just a simple question, which you've answered. Are you armed? From the little I've heard the Valais is a lonely place.'

  'I've got a Walther, thanks.'

  'Here's another, with spare ammo.' Newman had opened his holdall. He paused as Philip took what he'd offered. 'If you run into trouble stun grenades can come in rather useful.'

  He produced several, rewrapped in polythene by Marler. Philip unfastened his bag, carefully packed the grenades under clothes, closed the bag, looked at Newman.

  'I'm grateful, Bob.'

  'Have you a way of getting in touch with us?' Newman checked.

  'Yes. Tweed is letting Monica know wherever he may be. Leaving her a phone number. All I have to do is to call Monica to get the number.'

  'Then you're organized. Good luck.'

  'See you both . . .'

  Tweed waited until he had left the room before he said it to Newman.

  'I hope to Heaven we do see him again.'

  27

  Keith Kent had decided it was time to revisit the Zurcher Kredit Bank. He felt confident that Brazil would have left some time ago. In any case, he could check to see if the limo was still waiting for him.

  Driving out of the Globus garage, he followed another devious route. In Zurich you could hardly ever drive straight from A to B. The insidious one-way system was a guarantee against that happening.

  Later, driving down Talstrasse for the second time, he saw the limo had gone. He parked his car, was careful to feed the meter with coins. You don't get lucky twice - not where parking attendants are concerned.

  Walking slowly into the bank, he studied the tellers behind the counters guarded by grilles. He had deliberately left his coat in the car, and he was wearing the type of expensive business suit Swiss banks associated with reliable customers. He chose a dopey-looking girl at the end of the counter. She had just suppressed a yawn.

  Smiling, he leaned on the counter, gazed at her with admiration before he spoke.

  'My name is Benton. I shall shortly have to make a very large transfer of money into Mr Leopold Brazil's main account. He insisted it must be deposited in his main account.'

  'That would be at Sion,' the girl informed him.

  'In the Valais.' Kent gave her another nice smile. 'I am most grateful to you. So will be Mr Brazil . . .'

  He left quickly before she had time to mention what he had asked to another teller. He had persuaded her by his easy manner to break all the rules of secrecy.

  'Now.' he said to himself, 'where Newman is Tweed cannot be far behind. So back to Globus once more, dump the chariot, walk to the Schweizerhof . . .'

  Kent had almost reached the top of Bahnhofstrasse where it merged with Bahnhofplatz when he glanced across to the opposite side of the street. Standing on the corner so she could see the entrance to the Schweizerhof was the girl with jet hair he'd seen following Newman earlier.

  He couldn't see her hair but he recognized the scarf round her head, the well-cut camel-hair coat. Kent was a man who made up his mind quickly. He waited for a tram to trundle past, crossed the street, stood in front of her, and smiled.

  'Hello there, you look lonely. I'm Tom Benton.'

  'Or Tomcat,' she replied instantly, eyeing him up and down.

  'So we're both English, both on our own in a foreign city. I know the best place in town for dinner. It's in the Altstadt. What do they call you?'

  'Sharon Stone. And I'm waiting for my boy friend.'

  She had hardly finished speaking when Bill Franklin arrived out of nowhere. He grinned.

  'Well, if it isn't Eve Warner. Long way from Dorset.' He looked at Kent and was about to recognize him when Kent spoke quickly.

  'Hello, Bill. I've just introduced myself as Tom Benton to the lady, asked her out to dinner, but she's playing hard to get.'

  'I told you my boy friend was on his way,' Eve replied swiftly. She took hold of Franklin's arm. 'I thought you were never coming. Let's go down to the lake.'

  'Hold on. Half a mo'.' Franklin responded, standing still. 'What is all this, Eve? I didn't even know you were in Zurich.'

  'You're a big help!' she snapped and stormed off down Bahnhofstrasse.

  'Funny lady,' Franklin commented, holding out his hand. 'What are you doing in the city of gold, Keith?' he asked when they had shaken hands.

  'Business. Confidential.'

  'Close-mouthed as ever.' Franklin grinned again. 'Well, since you've undertaken assignments for me in the past it does inspire confidence. Now I've got to slip into the Schweizerhof to visit a mutual friend.'

  'The friend has a name?' Kent enquired casually. 'Because that's where I'm going.'

  Franklin paused, then threw back his head and burst out laughing. Taking out a handkerchief he wiped tears from his eyes.

  'Let's go there together. You sit in the lobby while I have a word with the concierge. This could be very funny indeed. And what a coincidence - meeting Eve Warner and you.'

  'I'm lucky with coincidences. They've made me a lot of money . . .'

  Eve was puffing furiously at a cigarette as she walked down Bahnhofstrasse back to the Baur-en-Ville. She was livid. No matter how she tried to dismiss the idea, she felt sure Bill Franklin would, sooner or later, phone Tweed in London and report her presence in Zurich. And I was so careful on the way out, she recalled. Then a thought struck her which stopped her in her tracks for several seconds.

  She had seen Newman enter the Schweizerhof. Was it possible - even likely - that Tweed also was at the same hotel? She cursed under her breath, resumed walking. Twice she glanced back but Franklin and the man who had introduced himself as Tom Benton were nowhere in sight.

  Inside her room at the hotel she threw her coat and scarf over a chair. The coat slid to the floor but she ignored it. Her first priority was the vodka bottle. She poured herself a large glass, kicked her shoes off across the carpet, sprawled out on a couch, drank half the glass. Then she noticed the lighted cigarette she had dropped inside an ashtray had fallen on the floor.

  Cursing again, she picked it up, used it to light a fresh one. There was a burn mark on the carpet but that didn't bother her. The place was costing a fortune to stay at, she felt sure. Lucky Brazil was paying the bill.

  Settling herself on the couch again, she drank the rest of the vodka and concentrated as she smoked.

  'How can I make some money out of what's just happened? I'd like to make a really big pile.' she thought aloud.

  Franklin stood by the concierge's counter, holding the phone he'd been handed.

  'Bill Franklin downstairs in the lobby. Can I come up, Tweed?' He took a deep breath. 'Oh, there's someone else also waiting to see you. Keith Kent. We met in the street.'

  'Both of you had better come up then.' Tweed said without a pause. 'Get the concierge to give you the room number. I alway
s forget them . . .'

  In his room Tweed put down the phone and turned to Newman. He chuckled.

  'Bob, I've been caught out. Franklin's on his way up. With Keith Kent. They bumped into each other in the street.'

  'Does it matter?'

  'I don't think it matters at all. Might help. They now know they're in competition with each other. And there's nothing like a bit of rivalry to give them both an extra edge.'

  'I didn't realize they even knew each other.' said Paula, who had returned from lunch.

  'Neither did I,' Tweed admitted. 'But I can see how it probably happened. Keith Kent has a great reputation as a money tracer. Franklin's detective outfit may well have had a request from a client to trace a large sum. Bill would immediately think of Kent, who has expertise he doesn't possess. Let's see what they have to tell us.' He stood up. 'And here, I think, they are . . .'

  Paula and Newman knew both men so no time was wasted as Tweed ushered his visitors to seats. He invited Kent to speak first, knowing how terse he was.

  'Leopold Brazil has now made his main bank the Zurcher Kredit branch at Sion. In the Valais.'

  Tweed, who had just told Paula about Philip leaving for the Valais on his own, saw her mouth tighten.