Precipice

by Colin Forbes

  'Come back to Zurich, Mr Bob Newman,' she said aloud.

  After they had repaired the limousine at the airfield Brazil surprised Jose.

  'I'll drive. I just feel like some action after being cooped up in that plane.'

  'Are you sure, sir?'

  Tut Igor in the back, then get into the front passenger seat.'

  'I feel I'm not doing my job, sir.'

  'Just do as I tell you. Get on with it.' Brazil checked his watch again. 'We'll arrive at the villa in good time in spite of the delay, so I won't be hurtling up that mountain road, if that's what's making you nervous.'

  'I'm not nervous, sir.'

  Jose was telling the truth. Brazil was a superb driver. Once, while in America, he had competed in a racing car on the West Coast. He had won, being proclaimed Champion of the Year.

  'Igor will be quite happy on his own in the back.' Brazil continued as he drove away from the airfield. 'He likes looking out of the window. Incidentally, I think it is time we considered giving you more money. We will discuss it after we have got to the villa . . .'

  Brazil was driving up a steep road which reproduced many of the features Philip and Paula had encountered during their journey to the Kellerhorn. On Brazil's side a rock wall sheered up vertically hundreds of feet above them. On Jose's side an ever-deepening abyss fell away and the drop was not guarded by a barrier.

  The road turned and twisted as it climbed ever higher and its surface was covered with hard-packed snow. Brazil observed this with a sense of some relief - he knew that under the snow there would be a sheet of ice.

  'There's a helicopter.' Jose remarked. 'It's not one of the Swiss weather planes.'

  'No, it isn't, Jose. You probably saw it with another one waiting on the airfield. That machine has Marco aboard. He will arrive to make sure everything is ready for me at the villa before we get there.'

  'You didn't tell me.' Jose replied.

  'I don't tell you everything.' said Brazil and chuckled.

  'Now it's hovering. I wonder why?'

  'Obviously he is checking our progress up the mountain.'

  * * *

  Aboard the helicopter Marco, sitting next to the pilot, was not interested in Brazil's progress. What had caught his attention was a four-wheel-drive proceeding up the mountain some distance behind Brazil. In the vehicle Marler also saw the chopper hovering and knew the reason why.

  'Well.' he said aloud, 'I've been spotted. That means a reception committee will be waiting for me. I think I can handle that.'

  As soon as the helicopter disappeared he slowed down, braked beyond a bend. He unzipped the canvas hold-all nestling on the seat beside him, took out several objects, slipped them into each of the pockets of his fur-lined, thigh-length coat. Then he continued his arduous drive up the mountain, constantly turning the wheel to take another bend.

  'Jose,' Brazil said as they reached a great height, 'I think we are being followed.'

  It was a lie. Brazil had no idea that Marler was coming up behind him. Jose peered back, shook his head.

  'I think you are wrong. I have been keeping a close eye on my wing mirror and I have seen nothing.'

  'Call it instinct.' Brazil said cheerfully. 'You know the turn-off we shall soon come to - the one taking us up on to a plateau?'

  'I remember it well. It is a good viewing point.'

  'For a certain distance, anyway. I think we will drive off up the turn-off. We have the time. Then you can check to see if I am wrong. Am I usually wrong?' he enquired breezily.

  'No, you are nearly always right.'

  'Not sure I like the phrase "nearly always", but I will overlook it.'

  Jose glanced sideways at his chief. Brazil seemed to be in an exceptionally good humour. He decided it must be because soon they would be at the villa where something - he had no idea what it might be - was going to happen.

  They reached the turn-off, little more than a wide gash in the rock wall, and Brazil swung off the mountain road, easing the large car up a steep track with inches to spare on either side. At the top they emerged on to a flat, arid, rock-strewn plateau, layered with snow. Brazil drove across the plateau, did a U-turn about fifty yards from where the ravine he had driven up ended. He looked at Jose.

  'Now, go and stand on the overhang and look back as far as you can down the road. Watch it for a few minutes until I call you back. If you see another vehicle you raise your right hand and run to the beginning of the ravine. I will pick you up there. Then we drive down almost to the mountain road and wait. A perfect ambush point. There is a machine-pistol on the floor at the back under the travelling rug.'

  'I take the weapon with me,' Jose suggested. 'Then I can kill the people in the car.'

  'No, you can't. If they reach the overhang they will be hidden from you. Just do as I say, Jose.'

  Brazil waited until Jose was away from the car before he gave Igor a one-word command. The wolfhound jumped over into the passenger seat previously occupied by Jose. It began to get excited as Brazil opened a compartment, took out a black glove, pulled it over his right hand.

  He had had Igor trained, when younger, at a special school for dogs in Germany. He had told the master of the school that it was a game he wanted to play - then had given him details. He had stayed, putting on the black glove to activate Igor - papier-mache dummies the size of men had been used.

  Jose had reached the brink of the outcrop or overhang which shielded the portion of the road below him. He stared for a moment down into the endless precipice falling well over a thousand feet, then switched his attention to the section of the road he could see.

  Inside the car Brazil pointed at Jose with one finger of his gloved hand, leaned over to open the passenger door. In his mind he recalled the recording Gustav had played back to him of Jose's treacherous phone call. An informant, a traitor . . .

  Igor left the car. It bounded forward at increasing speed, its paws making no sound on the snow. As it came close to Jose, still standing with his back to the car, Igor leapt high into the air, thudded into the exposed back, then dropped flat onto the plateau, as trained to do when it hit a target.

  Jose, perched on the brink, lost his balance, raising his arms as he fell forward, plunging down into space, missing the mountain road by feet, his body cartwheeling as his yell of terror echoed into eternity. Then the silence of the Valais returned; an ominous silence.

  38

  Igor sat beside his master in the front passenger seat for the remainder of the journey up to the villa. He knew he had performed his 'trick' well.

  Brazil drove up the final steep section, came out onto a large plateau. In the near distance, beyond a large concrete blockhouse which guarded the approaches, the white villa sat near the edge of the plateau. Immediately below it lay the chilling glacier, partially melting due to the sun shining on it with even feeble warmth.

  'Why wasn't there anyone in the guardhouse?' Brazil wondered aloud. 'They need shaking up here.'

  The chopper which had brought Marco rested on its helipad inside the twelve-foot-high perimeter fence of wire mesh. The protective fence was quite close to the villa. On the flat roof of the building was a tangle of aerial masts.

  Pulling up, after passing through the gate which Marco had opened, Brazil left the limo, followed by Igor. He ran up the steps to the long terrace which fronted the villa. In the clear fresh mountain air he felt in the peak of fitness. Marco opened the heavy front door backed by steel.

  'Marco, where the hell is everyone? There was no one in the guardhouse.'

  'I found there was only the cook-housekeeper Elvira here when I arrived. The guards misunderstood the message you sent them while we were airborne.'

  'Misunderstood! I said they were to send a section of the guards over to the laboratory to reinforce it.'

  'I know, sir,' Marco agreed in a placatory tone, 'but the message must have been garbled. They thought you ordered all the guards to go to the Kellerhorn.'

  'Their bloody
commonsense should have told them I would never send such a message. Does that mean you are the only one here - except for Elvira?'

  'Yes, sir, I'm afraid it does.'

  'You know.' Brazil commented, looking back, 'we should have had that fence erected further away from the villa. It can't be helped.'

  'There is a small problem,' Marco informed him as he followed his chief into a vast hall with a marble floor. 'You had better know about it now.'

  'Well, get on with it. I have to go to the transmitter to send the first signal in the next thirty minutes. No, in less time,' he said, checking his watch. 'The satellite will be in orbit over Germany.'

  'You were followed up the mountain,' Marco said quickly, expecting an outburst.

  'You are sure?' Brazil asked quietly.

  'Yes. A four-wheel-drive with one man inside it.'

  'One man? Heavens, Marco, that should be no problem for you.'

  'Oh, it won't be.' Marco said confidently. 'But I thought it best you should know. You may hear noise from outside.'

  'Just get rid of him. Make sure he never drives back down the mountain again. There are plenty of places to hide a body easily. The glacier, for example.'

  'I had already thought of that.'

  'I must go to the transmitter . . .'

  He paused as a short stocky woman, very fat, with a swarthy face, came into the entrance hall. She bowed.

  'Good to see you back, sir. What would you like for your meal?'

  'I must go to the transmitter!'

  He had walked briskly to one of several doors leading off the hall, was taking out his keys, selecting the two which opened the double-locked heavy door, again backed by steel, when Marco followed him.

  'What is it now?' snapped Brazil.

  'Do you mind if Elvira gives the helicopter pilot his meal before you eat?'

  'She can stuff him to the gills.'

  Unlocking the door, he walked into a huge room with a large picture window of armoured glass. From the window he saw the distant Kellerhorn summit - below it, the buildings from which Luigi would send the first signal to the satellite. He could also see the huddle of old houses which accommodated the scientists and their wives or girl friends.

  'The first signal will throw the world into panic.' he said to himself. 'But that will be nothing compared to what happens when the second signal is sent, probably tomorrow or the day after.'

  Brazil had never felt more confident in his life as he sat in the padded secretarial chair in front of the transmitter, put on his headphones, took off his watch so he could time it perfectly, his hands hovering over the keys.

  Leaving the airfield with Jose, he had seen in his rear-view mirror fat Luigi climbing aboard the other helicopter, on his way to the Kellerhorn. With Luigi in charge the system would operate perfectly. Once Luigi had received his signal he would operate the mobile conning tower to track the satellite, would lock on to it with the flexible directional mast, then press the button.

  As the second hand on his watch reached the correct position he began tapping out the signal. All hell was about to break loose.

  'What did Professor Grogarty tell you when you phoned him?' asked Monica.

  Tweed smiled grimly. He had woken up earlier, had gone to the bathroom, taken a shower, and changed into clean clothes. When he had come back he had asked Monica to see if she could contact Grogarty.

  'He's been studying those photographs again - the ones you sent by courier a second time. The photos taken secretly in French Guiana just before the satellite was launched, when its innards were exposed.'

  'He's been brooding about them, worrying over them when he's thought some more about them?'

  'You hit the nail on the head,' said Tweed. 'He's totally convinced that it's a highly sophisticated system designed to sabotage global communications. He hasn't worked out yet completely how it could be done. But he insists that somewhere there is a ground station controlling the whole system.'

  'If only Newman would phone us,' Monica said wistfully.

  'He will at the right time. What's that . . . ?'

  Returning from the bathroom, he had left the office door open because the room was stuffy. Suddenly a terrible screeching sound filled the office. Worse than that, brilliant lights, almost blinding, were flashing. The phenomenon, Tweed realized, was coming from the upper floor and down the stairs. Monica had her hands over her ears, an agonized expression on her face.

  Tweed jumped up, ran to Paula's desk where he knew she kept several polythene bags containing earplugs. She used them when she was close to a large helicopter landing. Grabbing one of the bags, Tweed ripped it open, saw Paula's smoked glasses, grabbed them, too.

  He rushed to Monica's desk, slipped a pair of the dark glasses over her eyes. When she opened them he pointed to the earplugs, gesturing to his own ears. She was inserting them as Tweed inserted a pair in his own ears. He snatched his own pair of smoked glasses from a drawer and put them on as he ran onto the landing outside. Looking down the stairs he saw Howard, obviously just woken up, stumbling into the hall.

  'Howard!' he roared. 'Get back into your office, close the door and stay there. Get a bloody move on . . .'

  Shocked by the violence of the orders, Howard obeyed, disappeared into his office, slammed the door shut.

  'George!' Tweed shouted at the top of his voice to the ex-soldier who guarded the front door. 'Run into the waiting room. Stay there with the door closed until I come down.'

  George, looking dazed, staggered into the waiting room, shut the door.

  Tweed took a deep breath, adjusted his earplugs. The fiendish shrieking, very high decibels, was reverberating inside his head. He forced himself to run up the stairs. The door to the communications room was open. Once again they had been working late. The emphasis was on had.

  Appalled, Tweed entered the large room. The computer screens had gone mad. No longer green, they were flashing at immense velocity, a variety of incredibly brilliant colours, blindingly bright. The colours seemed to recede for a fraction of a second, and then lurch out of the screens again.

  The screeching sound emitted from the screens varied in intensity, a deafening blast which he could hear clearly despite his earplugs. But what appalled him most was the state of the three men who had worked there. Reginald was flopped back in his chair, his head hanging over the rest. Tweed checked his pulse. Nothing.

  He compelled himself to fight the sense of disorientation which was in danger of overcoming him. The other two men lay sprawled on the floor beside their chairs. When he checked their pulses he found nothing.

  He glanced round the room, saw the main cable. Taking a grave risk, he grabbed hold of it, hauled it out of its socket. The screens died quickly, fading away into blanks. The diabolical noise, rising and falling, rising and falling, also faded. Tweed pulled out his earplugs, was struck by the heavy silence, took off his smoked glasses. Leaving the room he ran downstairs, opened the door to his office.

  Monica, looking very shaken, had just taken out one earplug. She removed her dark glasses when she saw Tweed was without his.

  'What happened?' she croaked.

  'I imagine the telephone is out of action.'

  Tweed lifted the receiver, was surprised to hear the normal dialling tone. He handed the receiver to her.

  'Call an ambulance urgently. Paramedics vital. Three men unconscious, may be dead.'

  He left his office as Monica began dialling madly. He had little hope that even paramedics could do anything, but in medicine you never knew. He dashed downstairs to the ground floor, opened the door to the waiting room.

  'What was that, sir?' George asked. 'Start of World War Three?'

  'Not as bad as that. You can go back to your desk.'

  He ran to Howard's room, opened the door. His chief was staring out of the window. He turned round with a bemused expression. Shock.

  'What's happening?' he whispered.

  'Brazil has started. That's just the first phase.
We have to stop him before he launches the second one. You look flaked out. Go home to bed. I'm taking charge . . .'

  He left before Howard could reply but he sensed he would not be protesting. Running back upstairs, he opened the door to the room where the night duty staff worked. Fortunately, there were no computers here or any of the junk which went with them. Four men looked up at him as though emerging from a dream. The fact that their door had been closed had saved them from a dreadful experience.

  'What was that, sir?' the senior member asked. 'I opened the door and then slammed it shut.'

  'Damned good job you did. You're all right, then - all of you?'

  'Yes, sir.'

  'Then carry on with what you were doing before it started. It won't happen again. I've immobilized the equipment in the computer room. Don't go down there.'

  On his way back to his office, running down more stairs, Tweed called down to the guard.

  'George, paramedics will arrive at any moment. Show them up yourself to the Computer Room, then go back to your post. Tell them where I am.'

  He went back into his office, closing the door. Monica was on the phone. She gestured madly to his phone.

  'Paramedics are coming. I've got a chap at the MoD on the line. Manders. He's scared out of his wits.'

  'Hello, Manders. Tweed speaking.'

  'There's been a catastrophe. All our computers have gone down. The operators are dead. There were violent flashing lights andRIGHT SQUARE BRACKET'