Precipice

by Colin Forbes

  'The boss isn't too pleased with you.' he said.

  'Oh, really? That's funny. I thought it was the other way round. That he wasn't at all pleased with you. How do you know about me? I think you're lying.'

  She waited. Having provoked him she wanted him to give her more information. It was a tactic she often used. Gustav grimaced again.

  'A little birdie told me.'

  'And what was the name of the little birdie?'

  'Wouldn't you like to know? I have to go out now.'

  The air simmered with hostility between them. Eve was determined to make him talk.

  'I see you're all dressed up for another trip out on the town. Looking for another woman who's cheap enough to accommodate you?'

  'I'm going out to keep an eye on the Schweizerhof.' he spat out, enraged. The boss thinks maybe Tweed and his lickspittles are back in town.'

  'And you haven't caught on to what he really wants?' she snapped, her mind moving like lightning, bent on revenging this insulting creep. She lowered her voice. 'He wants you to kill Tweed. Think of the great fat bonus he'd give you if you could pull that off.'

  Gustav, who was an expert in street fighting - better still in a gun battle - was rather thick, as she had correctly assumed. He stared at her.

  'You think that's what he really wants?'

  'Of course it is, you stupid man.' She was still seething with anger although careful not to show it. 'He often gives instructions in a suggestive way - assuming you'll have the brains to catch on to what he's telling you to do.'

  'I see.'

  Gustav unlocked the door to his room, went inside as Eve peered through the open door. Taking a 7.65mm Luger out of a drawer he had unlocked, he slipped it into his deep coat pocket, came out, locked the door. He leered at her.

  'You don't think I can do it, do you?'

  'Damned sure you can't.' she replied, egging him on.

  As she watched him disappearing round a corner she began to think maybe she had gone too far. Running back to her own room, she put on a cashmere coat, locked her door, and ran along the corridor before he vanished into the street.

  She knew that, in the heat of her rage, she had calculated that Tweed would be well guarded, that if Gustav did attempt to assassinate Tweed he would be shot down. Now she was trying to work out how to prevent any risk of that happening. Brazil had told her how much he admired Tweed, even though he was leader of the opposition.

  She reached the lobby, ran out into the street, was just in time to see Gustav's black-garbed figure hurrying up Bahnhofstrasse. She followed him.

  'I promised the PM I would call him back about now.' said Tweed, checking his watch in his bedroom. 'That means a brisk walk over to Beck's HQ to use a safe phone.'

  'Take a taxi as you did before.' Newman suggested. 'It is dark outside and Brazil will have it in for you.'

  'I'm sure he won't. We got on well together, which is the irony of the situation. Besides, I fancy a breath of fresh air.'

  'Then we're coming with you.' said Paula, putting on her coat and slipping the strap of her bag over her shoulder.

  'I agree.' said Newman breezily. 'I fancy a breath of ice-cold air myself.'

  They descended in the lift. The three of them, with Tweed between his two companions, headed for the exit, walked down the steps after the automatic doors had opened, went out into the night where light traffic sped past the hotel.

  Gustav, in his black overcoat, had plodded purposefully up the street. It never occurred to his limited intelligence to question what Eve had told him. Or why a woman he had ignored or sneered at should do him a favour.

  He was concentrating on what lay ahead. After he had shot Tweed he would run down into Shopville, across the underground plaza, and up into the main station. There he would slip into a cubicle in a public lavatory, wipe his fingerprints carefully off the gun, then stroll along to the River Limmat where he would pause on the bridge, hands on the parapet, and drop the gun into the water with a gloved hand.

  Gustav was one of those killers who worried the police most. They appeared out of nowhere, shot their targets, disappeared by a pre-planned escape route. They were rarely caught. Gustav had killed his first victim when he was eighteen, had shot the man in London's Soho, had then vanished. An older man had trained him, had showed him how to file the serial number off a gun, had emphasized he must know the area where the killing would take place.

  'If the police pick you up after you've got rid of the gun you say nothing.' his trainer had hammered into him. 'If, after hours under the bright lights, you get really thirsty, you say you will talk if they give you a drink. Swallow the whole glassful, then say "Thank you," and nothing else. Except if they persist, then you say "I did talk. I said thank you . . ." '

  Behind him Eve was hurrying to catch up with him. But she couldn't work out what to say to him. Her fear was that he might be angry enough to use the gun on her. She was in one of her periodic moods of uncertainty. She had set in motion something she didn't know how to stop.

  Gustav reached the comer of the platz nearest the Hotel Schweizerhof after crossing the street. He paused where he could see the exit, studied the traffic. Not much of it at this hour, only the occasional juggernaut trundling round past the station, half-circling the platz and then continuing over the bridge which spanned the Limmat.

  His right hand was in the pocket of his coat, gripping the butt of the Luger. He couldn't miss at this range if he was lucky enough for Tweed to come out of the hotel. Gustav was patient, could wait a long time for his target to appear.

  What he didn't know was that there was another man across the street who was even more patient.

  As they stepped on to the pavement outside the Schweizerhof, Newman, Tweed, and Paula paused, adjusting to the bitter cold. From where Gustav stood, Paula was shielding Tweed. He waited.

  A juggernaut with a tired driver at the wheel trundled round the platz past the station. He had driven for too many hours, over the permitted limit. Newman, Tweed, and Paula began walking towards police HQ. Gustav raised his Luger, aimed point-blank at Tweed. Three shots rang out, so swiftly they almost sounded like one.

  Gustav staggered, three bullets in his back, stumbled off the kerb in front of the juggernaut. Too late, the driver applied his air-brakes. His huge truck rolled over the body lying in the road, crushing Gustav's skull and the rest of his body.

  'Keep moving,' Newman said quickly. 'Across the street.'

  Marler, the automatic he had fired back inside a pocket, met them, joined them as they continued towards Beck's HQ. Tweed said nothing until they turned down a side-street. They heard the distant wail of the sirens of an approaching patrol car near the platz.

  'Thank you, Marler,' Tweed said quietly. 'How did you know?'

  'Thought I'd better take up guard duty outside your hotel. Noticed this chap just standing, stamping his feet as though feeling the cold, but he still stayed there. Decided to keep an eye on him.'

  'And you said Brazil admired you.' Newman snorted.

  'I saw Eve near this end of Bahnhofstrasse.' Paula said. 'She hoofed it pretty quick when she saw what had happened. I wouldn't put it past that hellcat to have set this up.'

  Eve's mind was racing as she hurried back to the Baur-en-Ville. She was in a bad jam and knew it. She had to be the first to inform Brazil of what had happened. She was making up a story in her head as she entered the Baur-en-Ville, got into a lift, hurried to her room.

  Once inside she poured herself a stiff vodka, lit a cigarette while she thought. To give herself extra confidence she changed her coat, putting on a long trench coat with wide lapels. Earlier, because of its length, it had flapped against her as a wind blew up Bahnhof-strasse from the lake. She stubbed out the cigarette, took a deep breath, went along to Brazil's room, and, this time, knocked on the door.

  'Come in.'

  Brazil, behind his desk, smiled broadly when he saw who it was. He made his comment as she shut the door and came towards
him.

  'I like that trench coat. You look very smart, my dear.'

  'My latest purchase. There's something bad I have to tell you about.'

  'First, take off your coat. It's warm in here. Then sit down, make yourself comfortable. I expect you could do with a drink.'

  'That would be very pleasant.'

  She waited while he poured two vodkas, a large one for her. Going back to the chair behind his desk, he raised his glass, smiled again.

  'Cheers! Now, compose yourself and tell me what this is all about.'

  'Gustav is dead,' she burst out. 'It's awful. He tried to shoot Tweed, but someone else shot Gustav first. It was ghastly. Gustav fell under a passing juggernaut.'

  'So probably.' Brazil said after sipping his drink, 'the police won't easily identify him. In any case, as you know, members of my staff never carry any identification when on a job. I wonder why he tried to kill Tweed?'

  'When he went out he was drunk. I passed him in the corridor and smelt it on his breath. I was worried as to what he was up to, so I put on this coat and followed him up Bahnhofstrasse.'

  'You say Gustav was drunk?'

  'Pretty high, I'd have said. Not reeling. He walked up the street quite steadily. Then when Tweed comes out of the hotel with Newman and Paula Grey he tries to shoot Tweed.'

  'Fortunate that it sounds as though Tweed had someone posted outside the hotel, someone armed. I've dismissed François and the other guard I left behind, paid them well. So that just leaves you and me to depart tomorrow.'

  'Where?' Eve asked, eyeing him over the rim of her glass.

  'Dorset. Grenville Grange. There's one more banker I want you to soften up for me.'

  'There aren't any big banks - or top men, anyway - in that sleepy county.'

  'Oh yes, there is one. Who lives there in his country farmhouse at the weekends. Separated from his wife, so he'll be interested in some feminine company.'

  'Not the bedroom,' she warned.

  'Of course not. Have I ever asked you to go that far? They're more pliant when they go on hoping. We'll fly there in the jet, land at Bournemouth International, and I've already arranged for a car to be waiting for us.'

  'Sounds as though you've thought of everything.'

  'Believe me, I have. Now let's go downstairs and have a long, leisurely dinner.' He smiled again. 'I could do with some pleasant company myself. You can pack your case tomorrow. I have to call in at a bank.'

  49

  Before Paula and Newman had entered Police HQ, Tweed had warned them not to say anything about the attack on himself.

  'It could make life difficult for Beck - he would have to investigate the circumstances of the shooting of the gunman, whoever sent him. That would involve you, Marler. I don't want anything to delay our departure from Zurich when Brazil leaves - which I'm sure he will soon.'

  Marler had volunteered to stay outside on guard.

  'We can't tell how desperate Brazil is. He may have just changed his mind about you, Tweed. I know this is police headquarters, but four men armed with machine-pistols could rush the place and get inside.'

  'Don't freeze to death,' Tweed told him. 'We'll be as quick as we can be.'

  Beck jumped up from his desk to greet them warmly. He told the officer who had brought them up to order coffee and cakes for everyone.

  'The pastries will be from Spriingli,' he said when the officer had left the room.

  'I'll make a pig of myself,' Paula told him.

  'That's why I ordered them,' he replied with a smile. 'Now, I have news. Brazil is playing tricks, I'm sure. Is out to confuse us.'

  'What tricks this time?' Tweed enquired.

  'The pilot of his jet waiting at Kloten has filed three flight plans provisionally. One for take-off at 11 a.m.

  One for 1 p.m. The third for 3 p.m. All being provisional.'

  'That's to confuse me.' Tweed said. 'For what destinations?'

  'All for the same destination. Bournemouth International Airport.'

  'So he's returning to where it all started. Grenville Grange in Dorset. Interesting. We're going after him.'

  'I guessed you would.' Beck said with a wry smile. 'You never give up. By the way, after you'd landed in Brazil's plane in an obscure area, I asked the controller to keep the jet under wraps - out of sight in the same area. To have the machine fully refuelled and maintained. A Swiss aircrew will be ready to take off the moment you wish to. It will probably be the same crew which flew you from Sion. They are spending the night getting some sleep.'

  A uniformed policewoman had brought in a tray with coffee and pastries. Paula lunged for an exotic concoction with a lot of chocolate and whipped cream.

  'Scrumptious.' she announced. 'What a generous plateful. I'm going to have another.'

  'That's what they're there for - to be consumed.' said Beck, amused.

  'What I'd like to do.' said Tweed, 'is for all of us to be aboard our jet by 10 a.m. Then we're ready to take off soon after Brazil has left - whichever flight plan he uses.'

  'It shall be done.' said Beck. 'In which case I'll have two unmarked police cars pick you up from the Schweizerhof at 8.45 a.m. In case Brazil chooses the 11 a.m. flight, you'll be safely aboard the other jet.'

  'Your service and organization are truly remarkable.' Tweed commented. 'Thank you for all your help.'

  'You'll let me know eventually what has happened to Mr Brazil, please. Heaven knows he's succeeded in turning the world upside-down. Having heard of the decisions in London, the Swiss Army has been put on partial mobilization.'

  While Tweed called the PM, Beck picked up napkins, wrapped them round another of the pastries Paula had liked, presented it to her with a little bow.

  'I will send you some Sprungli chocolates, a really big box. For a brave lady.'

  'Thank you. You're always so kind to me.'

  He hugged her, they left, found Marler chatting up the very attractive policewoman who had served their coffee and cakes.

  'Sorry, said Tweed, tapping him on the shoulder, 'but duty calls.'

  Marler reacted instantly, walking into the night ahead of them, pausing to glance round the paved space in front of the building, then gesturing for them to follow.

  'Tomorrow should see some interesting developments,' Tweed remarked as they made their way back to the Schweizerhof.

  'We've had enough interesting developments for today,' Newman rapped back.

  Throughout their long dinner, Eve had conversed with Brazil with one part of her mind. Another part was trying to work out how she could contact Newman before they left Zurich. She was convinced Newman was playing hard to get.

  The fact that Gustav had been crushed to a pulp under the juggernaut had gone out of her thoughts. It never occurred to her that she was responsible for his grisly death.

  To her concealed annoyance, Brazil stretched out the dinner until well after midnight. When he accompanied her upstairs he opened the door to his suite, showed her the wolfhound lying fast asleep on a couch protected with a cloth.

  'I fed it before we went down to dinner.' he remarked.

  Eve didn't care tuppence whether Igor was fed or not. She said good night and went to her own room. Closing the door, locking it, she lit a fresh cigarette from the one she was smoking, poured herself a large vodka, began to get undressed.

  Psychologically, it was too late to ring Newman now. So in the morning while Brazil went to the bank she would call the Schweizerhof again. The phone rang. She ran to it, sure it was Newman calling her back. Instead, it was Brazil.

  'Make sure you're up and ready for breakfast by eight in the morning. We'll have breakfast together.'

  'Got it.'

  She slammed down the phone. She'd been hoping for a good night's sleep. She decided she couldn't be bothered getting undressed any further. Tossing an unwanted pillow on the floor, she stubbed out her cigarette, got into bed, switched off the light, and fell fast asleep. Conscience had never kept Eve Warner awake.

  T
he following morning she joined Brazil for breakfast. He ordered a full English, strung out the meal while Eve tried to hide her impatience. Brazil was in a good mood, kept chattering away to her, ordering more coffee.

  She smoked cigarette after cigarette, hiding her impatience, wondering when the hell he was going to push off to the bank. It was getting on for nine o'clock when he eventually rose from the table, warned her to be ready for instant departure when he returned.

  'How long will you be?' she asked casually.

  'How long is a piece of string?' he replied amiably.

  'Well, how long is it?' she persisted.

  'You'll know when I get back and knock on your door, won't you?'

  Fuming, she went back to her room, leaving the door ajar a few inches. When she heard him locking his door she waited a few seconds, peered out, was just in time to see him disappearing round the corner, the same corner Gustav had disappeared round on his last fateful walk. It was a thought which never crossed her mind.

  She had decided she'd have to risk phoning Newman from her room. Brazil might return sooner than she expected. Walking up Bahnhofstrasse to the phone booth could land her in a difficult situation. She dialled the Schweizerhof from memory.

  'Please put me through to Mr Robert Newman. He's expecting me to call.'

  'I'm afraid he's checked out.'

  'Put me on to the concierge, then.'

  'Concierge speaking.'

  'I understand Mr Robert Newman has checked out. Is that true?'