Precipice

by Colin Forbes

  'No, of course not. I haven't the transfer with me but I can get it in an hour.'

  'I see, sir.' the teller replied, not seeing at all.

  'Mr Brazil particularly asked me to pay it to his main account. The transaction is urgent.'

  'I understand, sir.'

  'I don't think you do.' Kent said in his most aggressive manner. 'May I have your name?'

  'What do you want that for? Sir.' he added a little late.

  'So I can report to Mr Brazil the lack of cooperation I encountered.'

  'We always wish to cooperate with clients.' the teller said, this time his manner showing signs of nervousness.

  'But you're not giving me any. Not to worry.' he continued in French. 'I have your description.'

  'You put me in a difficult position, sir.'

  'You've no idea how difficult it will become. I am talking about a transfer of one million Swiss francs.'

  'Into Mr Brazil's account?' The teller was looking very concerned.

  'I said into his main account.'

  'Yes, of course you did, sir. One million francs, you mentioned, I believe?'

  'I did.'

  'May I say we will look forward to your arriving again with the transfer?' The teller was smiling.

  'It is for the main account. I am fast losing patience.'

  Kent began to turn away as though about to leave the bank for the last time. The teller became almost frantic, calling through the grille.

  'Sir! Sir! The main account of the individual you named is at this bank. Would you like to give me your own name?'

  'When I come back. There's a deadline for this deal to be completed.'

  Kent walked out of the bank, pulled the collar of his coat up round his neck. Now he had the information he needed.

  He was looking for somewhere to eat when Newman appeared, carrying his bag and a canvas satchel over his shoulder.

  At Park Crescent the phone rang. Tweed was either asleep or not prepared to be disturbed. Monica answered it.

  'Beck here, Monica. Can I speak to Tweed?'

  'He's not in his office. I'm not sure where he has gone. Can I help?'

  'Yes. It's urgent. We're tracking Brazil's jet on its flight to Sion by radar. Tell Tweed Brazil will be landing within fifteen minutes at the outside. It's a difficult approach -too many mountains.'

  'Maybe he'll hit one.' Monica said cheerfully.

  'You are full of constructive ideas. But I very much fear the devil looks after his own.'

  'Then we must be talking about the same person. I'll let Tweed know, as soon as he surfaces.'

  The recumbent form in the chair behind his desk opened one eye, winked at her.

  'Tweed has surfaced. For a moment, anyway. What was that all about?'

  Monica told him, repeating word for word what Beck had said.

  'Then it won't be long now.' Tweed said.

  He winked at her again, closed his eyes, and fell asleep for the second time.

  Because Newman was such a good organizer he had earlier sent Butler to a travel agency while they were still in Zurich to collect all the brochures he could on Sion.

  During his brief conference with Marler aboard the express, he had given very detailed orders with the aid of a street plan of Sion and the list of hotels. These Marler had passed on to his subordinates.

  So the moment the train stopped at Sion, Marler, Butler, and Meld left it in a hurry, but not in time to see Keith Kent, who could move like the wind, hurtling down the steps and into the town.

  Returning to his compartment, Newman had told Franklin he had urgent tasks to complete. Franklin, the one-time soldier, had understood at once.

  Tell you what.' he had said to Newman who was gathering up his luggage, 'why not meet me for a drink this evening? I'm staying at the Hotel de la Matze. It's just off the Rue de Lausanne.'

  'I'll give you a call first.' Newman had replied, prior to leaving the compartment.

  Newman had chosen to stay at the Hotel Elite because it was just off the Avenue de la Gare and instinctively he wanted to be near the station. Butler and Nield were staying in a small hotel nearby while Marler, striking out on his own, had been instructed to stay at the tallest hotel, to get a room on the top floor - facing west so it overlooked the airfield area. His first job was to report back to Newman any sightings of a plane landing. They all knew where the others were staying.

  Leaving the express ahead of Franklin, Newman hurried down the steps. Like Franklin, close behind, he failed to see the last passenger alight from the rear of the express. It is doubtful whether he would have recognized the passenger. Archie's disguise was very effective.

  'What on earth are you doing in this back of beyond?' asked Newman.

  He concealed the fact that he was startled to meet Keith Kent emerging from a side-street onto the Avenue de la Gare.

  'You sound a mite aggressive.' Kent replied with a smile.

  'You haven't answered my question.' Newman rasped.

  'Extracting more information Tweed will value.' said Kent, refusing to be intimidated by Newman's unusual attitude.

  'Well, maybe you wouldn't mind letting me in on it?'

  'Since we are on the same side - in case you've forgotten it - I've been checking to make sure where Brazil's main bank account is now. He moves it about, you know. Or.' he added acidly, 'maybe you didn't know.'

  'No, I didn't know.' Newman said more quietly.

  He had been testing Kent's nerve to see how he stood up to his verbal onslaught. He knew from Tweed that Kent was interested in guns, that he regularly practised on a shooting range. He was a first-rate marksman - not as good as Marler, but no one was. But in the present situation it wasn't impossible he'd find Kent alongside him in a firefight. He decided he wouldn't have anything to worry about.

  'Well, you know now.' Kent smiled, adapting to Newman's sudden change of mood. 'And if you're in touch with Tweed you can tell him Brazil's main account is definitely here in Sion. At the Zurcher Kredit Bank. Where are you staying? I don't imagine you're just on a day trip.'

  'At the Elite.'

  'I know the place. Now, if I find out anything else I can contact you. Good hunting . . .'

  What bothered Newman as he walked on up the Avenue de la Gare was his recollection of Tweed's remark made to him at the Schweizerhof.

  I have a strong feeling that we have already met, and know, The Motorman.

  Now he found Keith Kent and Bill Franklin had both turned up in Sion. He found it difficult to imagine either in the role of professional assassin. What motive could either have?

  Then he remembered that Bill Franklin spent a fortune on keeping his string of expensive lady friends happy. And Kent had extravagant tastes. For a money tracer it was odd how money slipped through his hands like water. He heard a vehicle coming down the road towards the station, looked up.

  Philip was behind the wheel and beside him Paula was waving madly. The vehicle pulled over to the kerb and Paula, jumping out, ran towards him.

  37

  The Lear jet was losing height rapidly. It was a brilliant sunny day now and from his window Brazil looked down at his ground station below the Kellerhorn. He smiled with satisfaction. So much research, so many months to obtain the capital by any means to build it. Now he was about to succeed.

  Some time before leaving Zurich, he had phoned Ivan Marov in Moscow, had confirmed the vital timetable they would both work to. It was fortunate that Marov spoke perfect English, albeit with an American accent. Marov had once been an unnoticed attache at the Soviet Embassy in Washington.

  Brazil turned round in his chair. Craig had at long last managed to attach the harness to Igor, prior to landing. Igor did not like the harness and only sharp commands from Brazil had enabled Craig to complete his unwanted task.

  'Excellent!' he said to Craig. 'We'll make a good dog handler out of you yet.'

  'Not with this animal.' Craig grumbled.

  Swivelling his chair further round, B
razil was amused by the fat Luigi, who ate too much pasta. On take-off from Kloten he'd had trouble fastening his belt into the last hole, unlike the white-faced slim Marco, who had closed the belt and sat quite comfortably.

  'We are coming in to land, sir.' the pilot's voice informed him over the tannoy.

  Brazil swivelled his seat round again, so he could look out of the window. From that height he could just see the long white block which was his villa, and the glacier below it on the other side of the valley.

  He checked his watch, trusting it more than the time shown on the illuminated panel. Yes, he would have time to spare before sending the first signal to the ground station. Probably well over an hour - even allowing for the drive up the diabolical road into the mountains.

  He glanced across at Jose, who occupied a seat on the other side of the central aisle. The smooth-skinned man was fast asleep. Brazil's expression became grim - he was recalling his treachery, the recording he had listened to supplied by Gustav, the recording which had proved beyond any doubt that Jose had been informing on him. Well, he had worked out how to deal with that problem before they reached the villa.

  From the high window in his hotel Marler watched the jet landing through high-powered glasses. His binoculars were so good he saw Brazil with his dog, descending the step-ladder, followed by three other men.

  A limousine with tinted windows was waiting close to where the aircraft stopped. He saw Jose run to the car to bring it to Brazil, get in behind the wheel. He waited a moment longer before reporting to Newman at the Hotel Elite. Five minutes later, after trying to start the limo, Jose got out, spread his hands in a gesture of frustration. Men in overalls appeared, began to fuss with the engine. Marler made his call.

  'Black Beaver has landed. There seems to be some delay in leaving. The limo won't start. Mechanics are looking at the engine.'

  'That gives you extra time then. Get into your four-wheel-drive and wait across the Rhone at the agreed point.'

  'On my way.'

  There had been furious activity after Newman had met Paula and Philip in the Avenue de la Gare. He had asked them where they had obtained the vehicle. Climbing aboard, he had stopped on the way to the Elite to get the phone number of the vehicle display room. Immediately on arrival at the Elite he had phoned Marler, given him the number, told him to phone up the company to ask them to send him a four-wheel-drive with chains on the wheels and he'd pay in cash if it arrived in fifteen minutes.

  The vehicle had arrived at Marler's hotel in ten minutes. He had paid over the money, adding a generous tip, then confirmed to Newman that it had arrived.

  In the meantime Newman had taken Philip and Paula up to his suite, had listened for ten minutes without once interrupting while they told him of their exploits when they had visited the ground station on the Kellerhorn. He watched both of them as they took turns putting him in the picture. Philip insisted Paula explained what had happened when they were nearly killed at the rock alcove on the way down. While they talked, he occasionally glanced at the map Paula had spread out over the bed.

  'I'm truly staggered,' he said when they had finished, 'staggered at what you have achieved. I thought that would be our great problem RIGHT SQUARE BRACKET locating the ground station - and you've done it while I was on my way here.'

  'Couldn't just hang around and get bored,' said Paula, being very British and glancing at her fingernails.

  'You look very fit,' Newman said, gazing at her.

  'It was good exercise. Exciting at times, but I don't waste time meditating on that bit.'

  'So what do we do next?' Philip asked.

  'I'm sure Brazil, when he lands, will drive up to that villa of his. It sounds like his control point. I'm amazed you traced that.'

  'Well.' Philip pointed out, 'it is really all down to that waitress in the station restaurant where I called in for a cup of coffee.'

  'Yes.' said Newman, 'but you talked to her and - even more important - you let her talk to you. Now, when Butler and Nield arrive, I will outline the master plan for tomorrow. At least.' he grinned ruefully, 'I hope it will turn out to be a master plan.'

  'Why don't we attack the ground station today?' suggested Paula.

  'Because.' Newman explained, 'having intruded today the enemy will be on the alert. Tomorrow morning they will be more relaxed. Then we hit them with all we've got.'

  'What is Marler doing?' Philip asked.

  'He's going to follow Brazil's limo - when they get it going - up to his villa. Marler is a man who can do a lot of damage.'

  'Shouldn't he have back-up?' Paula objected.

  'No. He functions much more effectively on his own. By the by, Bill Franklin was on the express which brought me here. Called in on me in my compartment.'

  'He's good company.' Paula remarked.

  'Also.' Newman continued, 'Keith Kent is in town. I bumped into him just before you arrived. Interesting, isn't it?'

  'If we're going to be in Sion this evening.' Philip said in a determined voice, 'Paula and I can visit the elusive Anton Marchat. After dark.'

  'Good idea.' Newman agreed.

  'What did you mean when you said interesting?' Paula enquired. 'After you'd mentioned that Kent and Bill Franklin are here?'

  'Well, it just occurred to me that when poor Ben, the barman at the Black Bear in Wareham, was murdered, both Franklin and Kent were in the area. And from the way Ben died we know it was the work of The Motorman.'

  Eve, feeling at a loose end in her room at the Baur-en-Ville, decided she would go along to see Gustav. It was time she got sorted out whether or not she was in charge of the whole staff who had remained behind.

  Reaching a corner, she heard a door close. Peering round she saw Gustav, dressed far more smartly than was normal for him, walking furtively away from her until he disappeared round the corner leading to the stairs.

  'I wonder?' she said to herself. She knew Gustav had a liking for the strange ladies you could encounter on the streets in certain parts of Zurich. She tried the door handle. He'd left it unlocked. In a hurry to get on with it, she thought contemptuously.

  Opening the door she was met with a strong stench of cheap hair oil. That confirmed her suspicions. So he wouldn't be back for some time. She looked round the untidy room, was about to leave when she saw a bunch of keys almost merging with a cushion on a couch.

  'He's forgotten his keys!'

  This was too good an opportunity to miss. She picked up the keys, checked to make sure his car key wasn't among them. No car key. Nothing to bring him back unexpectedly.

  She walked over to the steel filing cabinet which, she had noticed earlier, he always kept locked. In no time she found the master key which unlocked every drawer. Thetop drawer was full of files which held papers concerning accounts, bills.

  She opened the second drawer. This drawer held files with their contents marked on tabs attached to each file. She riffled through them, stopped at one file labelled Scientists.

  Something echoed in her memory. An article in the Herald Tribune. Just a short piece tucked away on an inside page. Headlined Missing Scientists Mystery. She began to study the sheets inside the fat file. Each was devoted to one scientist. Gave a lot of personal data, the kind of data she had mugged up before getting to know one of the bankers Brazil had told her to go after.

  ED REYNOLDS

  Age: 45.

  Nationality: American.

  Marital status: Wife, named Samantha.

  Salary: $400,000.

  Children: None

  Address (home). . .

  Weakness: Samantha an alcoholic

  Expertise: sabotage, communications.

  Sabotage?

  The word stopped Eve. And earning that kind of money he had to be tops. She got out the notebook she always carried in her shoulder bag, scribbled down the wording about Reynolds.

  She then checked other sheets. Irina Krivitsky. Her speciality was laser control of satellites, whatever that might mean. She s
cribbled down more details. As she examined more sheets she noted down several other names, none of which meant anything to her.

  'You'd better get the hell out of here,' she told herself. 'You've got enough and Gustav might come back early.'

  She was careful to leave the files as she found them. Then she locked the cabinet, put the bunch of keys where she had found them. As she opened the door she heard footsteps approaching. She froze with terror. If she closed the door the sound might be heard. A waiter, carrying a tray of food, walked past, never glanced at the partly open door. She went back to her room.

  Locking the door, she opened a secret compartment in her shoulder bag, took out a folded newspaper cutting going brown. Pouring herself a vodka, she lit a cigarette, sprawled on the couch, read again the newspaper cutting she had rescued from Brazil's wastepaper basket in his Berne office. She had overheard what he had said and had slipped into the office after he had left it. The cutting had been screwed up before being tossed into the basket. The text under the small headline was brief.

  Strange rumours are circulating that top scientists are abandoning their jobs with private outfits. For bigger pay they are joining some international organization located abroad. Among those mentioned are the brilliant Ed Reynolds, Irina Krivitsky (from Russia) . . .

  Several other names were listed, all of them with sheets in the file Eve had examined. She carefully folded the cutting, put it back in the secret pocket.