Precipice

by Colin Forbes

  'Yes.' she said, 'I know where to hide them.'

  'Hide what?'

  'Rather lethal travelling equipment supplied by Marler.'

  'I see. I hid mine beneath under-clothes in my case and left it open, very much on view. Anyone searching my room will be looking for an obscure hiding place.'

  'Good idea. Don't suppose you've had time to find out anything interesting.'

  'You'd be surprised.'

  'Surprise me, then.'

  He told her what he had learned from the waitress at the station restaurant. While he was talking she took out her small armoury, tucked everything away inside the big strong carrier the clothes shop had given her. Then she carefully put back both heavy sweaters, stood the carrier on a stool at the foot of the bed. She was moving quickly but efficiently but it took several minutes before she was satisfied. By that time Philip had finished telling her all he had learned. She perched against the bed and folded her arms.

  'So your idea is to wait until the mist clears before we explore the Col du Lemac, the Kellerhorn, and this highly suspect weather station?'

  'Yes. We can hire a four-wheel-drive with chains from a place I passed on my way here.'

  'We'll go there now.' She was putting on her coat over her windcheater. Underneath that she had a jumper and underneath that two pairs of vests and pants. 'Show me the map and the route.'

  He took out the map, spread it on the bed, traced the route for her. She bent over, memorizing the details, then stood up.

  'Let's get moving, Philip.'

  'Might be better to hire the vehicle later.'

  Then we can't set off now - to the Kellerhorn.'

  'Why now? The mist . . .'

  'The mist will cover our leaving Sion. No one would dream of us tackling the Kellerhorn route in this weather. And if Brazil - because I'm sure it is Brazil from what you've told me - can fly in by jet later today the action could start pretty soon.'

  'You could be right,' he said, getting up and putting on the coat and scarf he'd brought down from his room to go out for a walk.

  'I could be wrong. Only one way to find out.'

  'What did you slip into your shoulder bag?'

  'Easter eggs - in case we meet someone who isn't all that friendly.'

  'What about the brandy?'

  'Don't drink and drive. I don't need it any more. And I'm sorry I made a fool of myself when I arrived.'

  'A natural reaction. What astounds me is the change in you since we came up here.'

  'Second wind. I wonder how Tweed and Co. are getting on in Zurich?' she mused as they left the room.

  Ignoring Newman's protests, Tweed had left the Schweizerhof in the middle of the night by himself. It had stopped snowing and he looked round the platz as he headed for Police Headquarters after a long phone conversation with Beck. Newman had paid a visit to the loo and had not overheard the call.

  It was a bitter night but the air freshened him up. He saw a man on a corner standing doing nothing who glanced in his direction. Tweed waved to him. The man, in a reflex action, half-raised his hand to wave back, then lowered it quickly.

  'Damn fools,' Tweed said to himself. 'Amateurs.'

  Beck had been waiting for him in his room, curtains closed over the windows overlooking the River Limmat. Tweed took off his coat as Beck finished a phone call.

  'It worked,' he said as he replaced the receiver. 'My friend Inspector Vincenau moves like lightning. And he had paramilitary troops waiting at Geneva's airport. They wore maintenance overalls as they approached the second jet Brazil uses, the one with his name plastered all over the fuselage. The white jet is standing by at Kloten.'

  'It's fortunate you knew the second jet was waiting at Geneva.' Tweed commented. 'Now it's also at Kloten?'

  'Yes I think Brazil had that waiting at Geneva as a getaway in case he needed it.'

  'And is there any chance of Brazil hearing about what has happened to his second jet?'

  'No chance. Vincenau is good at covert operations. The crew of that jet have been arrested and held incomrnunicado in a secret place.'

  'I'd better call Jim Corcoran, Chief of Security at Heathrow, so I can clue him up. May I use your phone?'

  Beck pushed one of several phones across his desk to Tweed.

  'That's the really safe one . . .'

  He watched with an amused smile as Tweed dialled Corcoran's number from memory. As Tweed had hoped, Corcoran was in his office. He was another man who worked through the night. Tweed spoke rapidly.

  'You'll have it tucked away out of sight ready for use later?' he ended.

  Corcoran assured him he would see to that himself. Tweed put down the phone and Beck used his intercom to summon a man called Joinvin.

  'He's very intelligent. With him as your escort no one will see you at Kloten.'

  He introduced a tall well-built man who looked as though he would be an asset in a rough-house.

  'Joinvin already knows what he has to do. We talked together after your phone call - cryptic as you made it, I understood you.'

  'Then what am I waiting for?' Tweed asked, standing up.

  'Bon voyage,' said Beck.

  Three hours later a man called Tweed, wearing horn-rimmed glasses and a muffler which hid most of his face, arrived at Kloten. The police car he travelled in was escorted by outriders and travelled with its horn blaring, its light flashing. No arrival could have been more public.

  Escorted by Joinvin, wearing a police uniform, he went straight to the final departure lounge, bypassing Passport Control and Customs. Joinvin sat with him while the other passengers for the first flight to London stared in curiosity. Some VIP, undoubtedly.

  Joinvin then escorted him to the entrance to the aircraft when Business Class was called. His ticket had been purchased much earlier by a man in plain clothes. As he had arrived a slim, white-faced man observed the spectacle, then hurried to a phone.

  'Tweed is just boarding the flight to London,' he reported to Brazil. 'They're nervous as kittens - he had a police escort. The full works.'

  'Thank you.'

  In his room at the Baur-en-Ville Brazil sat back and smiled at Luigi and Jose.

  'That's good news. Tweed is on his way back to London. So he's well on his way and out of my hair for good.' He looked up as Eve entered, again without knocking. 'You couldn't sleep?'

  'Too much going on. What is going on?' she asked saucily as she plonked herself in the chair in front of his desk.

  'Tweed has gone. He just boarded the early flight to Heathrow. He's said goodbye to Zurich, to Switzerland.'

  'What about the others?' she asked shrewdly. 'Newman, Paula Grey, and Philip Cardon? To say nothing of the two men we've never identified.'

  'We're not sure.' Jose replied to her. 'Our troops at the main station were rounded up by Beck's men. It was a drug bust. Most unfortunate. They took our people away because they found they were armed.'

  'Bad luck,' Eve commented without enthusiasm.

  'Eve,' Brazil addressed her, 'I am leaving you in charge here while I am away. I'll be coming back to Zurich for a brief visit. Then you can come with me when we leave.'

  'Leave for where?'

  'You'll find out when I've made up my mind. But I have decided to leave a little later. I want breakfast first.'

  'Just who am I in charge of?' she demanded.

  'You are aggressive.'

  'No, I'm not. But if I'm in charge I like to know who is my staff. Obvious question, I'd have thought,' she continued in her usual forceful manner.

  'Karl, Gunnar, and François. I want you to keep an eye on both the Schweizerhof and the Gotthard hotels.'

  'When there may be nobody there?'

  'I like to cover my bets.'

  'Have a nice trip to Xanadu.'

  She flounced out of the room, but closed the door carefully and went back to her room.

  'Drug bust my foot,' she said aloud behind the closed door.

  Lighting a cigarette, she poured hers
elf a large vodka and sat down to think. Then she called Brazil on the internal phone.

  'Eve here. What about Igor?'

  'It will be coming with me.'

  'Just checking.'

  Well, that's a bonus point, she decided. Not having to look after a damned dog. She sat thinking again. Philip Cardon, whom she'd spent quite a lot of time with, never entered her mind. So Brazil is coming back to Zurich -that means Bob Newman won't be far behind him.

  Philip was driving through the mist in Sion with Paula by his side. He carried a canvas bag with the shoulder strap attached. Paula was navigating, the map on her knees, giving him instructions when to turn.

  'Why didn't you go and see Anton Marchat after you arrived?' she queried. 'Archie said he was very important and you have the address.'

  'Deliberately gave it a miss. We'll go and try to find him later today - after dark. There are too many motorcyclists floating . . . floating . . .'

  'The people of Geneva call them Leather Bombers.' she interjected.

  'All right. Too many Leather Bombers on the road. After dark we'll have a better chance of eluding them. We have to protect Marchat as far as we can.'

  They left Sion behind, began the tortuous ascent to the Kellerhorn. Suddenly they emerged from the mist, leaving it below them as a white layer with the castle-like building perched on the mist like a strange ship on a sea. Then they really began to climb, the road hardly wide enough for two vehicles to pass safely.

  The wheels of their vehicle gripped the ice patches on the road firmly, to Philip's unspoken relief. On his side a sheer abyss dropped into the distant valley. On Paula's side the mountain wall sheered up vertically. She was so close to it she felt hemmed in, but reminded herself it was better than looking down the abyss with no barrier to keep them on this fiendish road.

  An added hazard was the way the road kept turning round sheer bends. Philip was constantly expecting to meet something descending the road but so far it had been clear. The gradient was also much steeper. He concentrated all his mind on driving.

  Paula, no longer needing to navigate, looked across him and down into the valley far away. The sun had come out, the mist had dissolved, tiny Sion looked like a street map. They were very high up now and still Philip was having to turn the wheel as he negotiated yet another hairpin bend. He was also watching the road surface as the sun had appeared. Snow was melting, exposing the ice below it had masked. He came to a large alcove in the rock wall, turned into it.

  'Thank heavens,' Paula said. 'Time for a rest. Why don't I take over the wheel?'

  'Not yet. I've got into the swing of it. Let's get out. I feel like one of my rare cigarettes.'

  'You can give me one.' she said as they got out of the four-wheel-drive, stretched their legs.

  'You don't smoke.'

  'Just occasionally. I used to smoke at boarding school just to keep up with the other girls.' She took the cigarette he offered, bent down so he could light it, took a careful puff, spread out her arms. 'What a spectacular viewRIGHT SQUARE BRACKET' She stopped. 'Where are you off to?'

  'Just exploring.' he called over his shoulder.

  'You've left the engine running.'

  'You want a breakdown up here?'

  Philip had walked to the back of the large alcove where there was a narrow gash in the rock. Beyond he found a narrow valley snaking down the mountain. The waterfall inside it was frozen solid, the ice gleaming in the sun. At frequent intervals rocks protruded above the ice, the snow on them melting. He pointed upwards.

  'There's the summit of the Kellerhorn. And there's the so-called weather station.'

  Paula stared in fascination up the ravine. A cluster of one-storey buildings of white concrete huddled together not so far above them. A forest of aerials sat on the flat rooftop of one building, surrounding what looked like a slim conning tower in their midst.

  Philip had hauled out a pair of high-powered binoculars given to him by Marler, was studying the buildings, when he suddenly stiffened. He pressed the binoculars closer to his eyes.

  'See that conning tower effort?' he said. 'It's elevating and a thick rod of some kind has slid out above it. The rod is flexible, is moving round, pointing at various angles.'

  'I see it. What can it be?'

  'The rod has become vertical again,' Philip reported. 'Now it's disappearing back down inside the conning tower. If that's a weather station my aunt is a bloater.'

  'Didn't know you had a bloater for an aunt,' Paula commented to break the tension.

  Philip put the binoculars back in his pocket. He gazed up the ravine.

  'You know something. With the right footwear you could climb that ravine and get close to the buildings unseen.'

  'I think a guard up there has spotted us.'

  'I didn't see anything. Probably your imagination.'

  But he slipped back quickly inside the alcove, following Paula. She went back to their transport, climbed into the passenger seat. She said as soon as Philip was behind the wheel: 'I still think a guard saw us.'

  'ImaginRIGHT SQUARE BRACKET'

  'If you say imagination I'll clonk you one.'

  'Not while I'm driving, you won't.' He grinned. 'We're going higher up. Reach into my pocket on your side - you'll find a camera, a small job. When we get a closer look at that place take pictures. That camera is fast. Take one picture, press the button on top - to take your pic. The mechanism then automatically moves the film along so you can take another in the next second. Use up the whole film.'

  'I'll do my best.'

  It seemed to Paula that Philip was driving faster. Not dangerously so, but he was now fired up having seen their objective. He swung round blind corners, causing Paula to hold on to the hand-grip. They climbed and climbed and climbed. No sign of an emotional crisis in Philip now, she was thinking. Tweed did know what he was doing.

  She was beginning to wonder when they were going to get to the top when Philip turned round another overhanging outcrop, slowed, drove on to a small plateau, stopped under the cover of a ridge like a tank, hull down. The weather station was less than a quarter of a mile away.

  She had the viewfinder of the camera to her eye, was taking shot after shot. Philip had taken out the binoculars again, focused them above the buildings, lifting the glasses slowly until they reached the enormous summit.

  'You can see why, as I told you, it's called the Kellerhorn,' Paula said, still taking shots.

  'I most certainly can.'

  The summit was shaped like a gigantic boar's head. It looked incredibly sinister, coated with a slime of melting ice and snow. What interested Philip was the slanting slope running steeply down from the summit towards the weather station. Enormous boulders and a shale of smaller rocks thrust their shark-like snouts above the snow. The slope looked extremely unstable. He could see the ravine they had observed from the rock alcove lower down continuing up the slope.

  'Look at those weird old houses inside the perimeter.' Paula commented. 'They look like some old village.'

  Philip focused on the houses. Built of wood long ago, they had all their shutters closed. There were signs of the shingle roofs having been renewed. Most odd, he mused.

  'That wire fence round the whole caboodle must be twelve feet high,' he said, examining it through his glasses. 'And it has an alarm wire running along the top with sensors at intervals. You'd think they were guarding Fort Knox.'

  I've run out of film.' Paula informed him. 'Let's hope we haven't run out of time.'

  'Not a guard in sight.' he told her.

  'That's what worries me.'

  They began their descent. The sun had gone in, masked by an army of dark clouds drifting in rapidly from the west. Paula had unzipped her shoulder bag. They were approaching the large rock alcove where they had stopped on the way up.

  The bend Philip had to drive round just before they reached it was one of the most savage and hair-raising on the whole mountain road. He saw ice, slowed down to a crawl. Below them
Sion, the entire plain, had vanished. He cruised, still crawling, up to the alcove.

  'Look out!' yelled Paula.

  With both hands on the wheel Philip couldn't react. He glanced to his left, saw three Leather Bombers inside the alcove. One held a machine-pistol, had raised it, was taking aim. Paula lobbed the grenade she'd taken out of her shoulder bag. It landed almost at the feet of the three men.

  There was a vicious crack. All three men twisted, fell back against the rock wall, lay very still. Philip realized he was sweating. He looked at Paula before getting out.

  'You were suspicious.'

  'Yes, I was. No guards in sight. And you'd said when we were here earlier it would be possible to climb up that ravine. So I worked out it would be possible to climb down the ravine - and this is a perfect place for an ambush.'

  'I'll have to get rid of those bodies. They'd be a dead giveaway when they were found. No pun intended.'

  'Not funny. Maybe they're still alive . . .'

  'Doubt that. Inside that confined alcove - with rock walls - the shrapnel from a grenade would kill.'

  'Please make sure.'

  'I will.'

  He checked the brakes, left Paula, went inside the alcove. He felt the carotids of all three men. No pulse from two of them. The third did have a faint pulse. If he recovered he'd report what had happened. Heaving the first body by its legs, he dragged it behind their vehicle to the edge, peered over. An endless abyss, probably a thousand feet down. He toppled the body over. It spun through the air into space.