by Colin Forbes
Paula slipped ahead of him, turned a corner, still going down, stopped. She pointed. Vague lighting showed a trapdoor, the lid raised vertically. Followed by the rest of the team she descended six steps after crossing a platform. The cellar-level room was large, dim except for a desk lamp at the far end. A figure was hunched over a desk with its back to her.
Harry paused, used a blurred torch to check the edges of the opening. Electrically operated. He took a small tube from his pocket, squirted a small amount of gunge between two of the electrodes. The gunge hardened immediately.
With their thick-rubber-soled boots they made no sound as they all descended to the platform. Beyond six stone steps led down into the weird room. Paula crept down to the floor.
Blinding lights flashed on. Calouste had crept up onto the platform above his desk. The team's eyes blinked in the glare. Calouste held a Glock pistol in his hand, aimed point-blank at Paula. Tweed, now at floor level, glanced anxiously at her as she stood with her back to the wall. Calouste spoke sneeringly in public-school English. `All present and correct. If anyone moves an inch I will shoot Miss Grey in the chest.'
The team froze.
Paula glanced along the wall. Close to Calouste's platform an air-conditioning grille of some size was dribbling water. Calouste, in his velvet suit, was speaking again, theatrically. `None of you will leave the Chateau alive.' His tone became sadistic. 'Your bodies will be eaten by crows, which round here are vicious. Not vegetarians.'
He chuckled. Not a pleasant sound. His eyes were as dead as his soul. Paula noticed the floor sloped down from where they stood. She fainted, sliding down the wall. Calouste was amused. `She is scared to death. Quite rightly so. This is what is coming to her…'
The air-conditioning grille near Calouste was hurled across the room under the pressure of the water which had built up. A great flood rushed into the room as the second grille gave way. Calouste was momentarily distracted. Paula aimed her Browning, shot him in the left kneecap. Screaming with agony, Calouste dropped his Glock pistol, used both hands to clap his knee, still screaming. He lost his balance, fell off the platform into more than a foot of water.
The entire lake seemed to be entering the room.
Water surged towards where Tweed was standing. It was now at least three feet deep. He ran up the steps, ordering a general evacuation. When they had all reached the corridor the water below was six feet deep. Calouste was desperately trying to swim to their steps, with an odd dog-paddle of a movement. He reached the steps, clawed his way up to the platform as water slid across it. His face was now a picture of terror as he looked up, waving a claw-like hand. `Please save me,' he screeched. 'Save me. I will give you millions!'
Harry stared down at him. He used one hand to lever the heavy trapdoor shut. Paula was sure she heard the crunch of skull bone. They were hurrying along the corridor when Harry pointed at water seeping through the walls, mortar coming loose. `Let's get the hell out of here – the whole place is coming down.'
From near the summit of the knoll, where they had parked the cars, they watched the dramatic scene below. The Chateau was coming apart. The tall turret in the middle of the roof, with the fabulously expensive communications equipment, was tilting slowly towards the front wall. Its tempo of disintegration increased. It fell towards the wall facing the Ardennes slope, split into several sections and hammered a huge hole in the wall. `Time we got moving,' Philip said. `We're going to run the Brussels gauntlet again,' suggested Paula. `No. We're driving down through the tiny state of Luxembourg. Heading for the airport outside the city. A late plane will leave for Heathrow. You've all got reserved seats. Here are your tickets. We must leave now.'
Philip's Land Rover led the way south. Tweed was seated next to him. Paula travelled in the rear seat. They quickly descended from the heights into narrow roads through defiles. On either side massive limestone cliffs hemmed them in with an occasional clump of trees by the roadside. Paula felt relieved to look at different scenery.
As a golden dawn glowed in the east they approached the airport, which was very quiet. A single plane waited some way out on the tarmac. Before passing easily through the formalities Tweed used Paula's mobile to call Monica and instruct her to use staff from Communications. His second call was to Jim Corcoran, Chief of Security at Heathrow, who said a bus would meet their plane. Finally, Tweed turned to Philip, shook him by the hand and thanked him warmly. `Isn't Philip coming with us?' Paula asked.
Not this time,' Philip said with a grin. 'My work is here in Europe. I'll be travelling a long way east…'
It was broad daylight when their plane took off. Paula looked at Tweed, asked him what he was thinking about. `Who killed Bella, then Mrs Carlyle.'
37
Jim Corcoran, Chief of Security at Heathrow and close friend of Tweed's, met the plane with a small bus as soon as they landed. `We're bypassing all security,' he told Tweed when they were all aboard. 'Explained you were SIS and pursuing a lead re. Terrorists. They phoned your Director, Howard, who confirmed it. Your transport is waiting in the parking lot.'
Tweed was soon behind the wheel of the Audi with Paula beside him. As they left the airport with the rest of the team in two Land Rovers he explained. `I've spoken to Newman. Being a top newspaper writer he knew where to go. I need urgently to check November and December 1912 issues of the Clarion. Newman said Peg-Leg Pete was the answer. Peg-Leg is an eccentric. Collects old copies for a song and charges outrageously for you to see them on his rotating screen. Bob phoned him to have the issues ready.'
It had been broad daylight, sun blazing, when they landed at Heathrow. From there Paula navigated and eventually they reached Watersend Lane, at the wrong end of the East End. In the quiet cobbled street they saw a dirty window with the name Peg-Leg Pete's just visible in fading gold lettering.
They followed Newman inside while the rest of the team took up guard outside. A short burly individual appeared, with a wooden leg which tapped as he walked with the aid of a stick. `Two hundred nicker,' he growled, hand held out. He glared at Tweed. 'Two 'undred pounds to your educated friend before you use the machine. Clarions you want to see all ready for viewing.' `No you don't, Peg-Leg,' Newman said roughly. `Back into your office while my friend checks that he has what he needs.'
Taking Peg-Leg gently by one arm Newman guided him inside a small room, shut the door. Tweed had seated himself in a chair before a large microfilm reader. He turned a lever, scanned the page, used the lever again, then once more. `Got it,' he said. He pointed to a paragraph with a headline.
MURDEROUS BANK ROBBERY
`Five copies of the whole paragraph, please.'
He waited while Paula used her non-flash camera. Then he put a finger on the date. Wednesday 7 November 1912.
When she had taken her photographs of the whole page he used the lever again. He found nothing until December issues appeared. Then he put his finger on another paragraph with a large headline. When she had her copies, automatically ejected from the camera, she knew what else he needed. She photographed the whole page with the date Thursday 12 December 1912. `That's more than two 'undred nicker,' Peg-Leg shouted after he emerged again from his office, stick and leg tapping madly. Newman produced an envelope with two hundred pounds in banknotes, shoved it into the top pocket of Peg-Leg's well-worn woollen jacket. `That's the fee you agreed, you old thief. So shut up. We're off.' `I don't understand,' Paula said after they had left London and the three-vehicle convoy was heading south. `You will,' Tweed assured her. 'Now it's full speed to the manor at Hengistbury and the solution of two horrible murders.' `I hope that's all that faces you,' Paula mused who had on many occasions shown a deadly intuition.
38
Driving through the tunnel created by the mighty firs which closed above them Paula again had the same eerie feeling she had experienced when they first arrived. Relieved when they reached the entrance, they only had to wait seconds before the tall wrought-iron gates swung open. `It's such a lovely day
,' she remarked as Tweed drove to the foot of the steps, a remark she wished within minutes she'd never made. Behind them the other two vehicles drove round the back to park.
They ran up the steps and the left-hand door opened. Crystal was waiting to greet them instead of Lavinia. Like her half-sister she wore a white polo- necked sweater and a pleated white skirt. She stood very still, hands clasped in front of her. `Welcome back,' she greeted them with the shadow of a smile. 'I have grim news for you. I'm determined not to give way to my volatile temperament.' She paused. 'Leo has been murdered.' `We'll go into the library so you can sit down,' Tweed said, gently grasping her arm. `Not necessary. But thank you.'
Tweed was shocked but concealed it. Paula watched Crystal closely but there was no sign of her breaking down. She had a stronger character than Paula had realized. As they entered the hall Chief Inspector Hammer came forward, his tone surprisingly sympathetic as he spoke to Crystal. `I've kept my word. Let you tell Tweed what has happened. Now please, if you will, have a rest in the library while I have a private word with Mr Tweed'
Crystal walked slowly away and into the library. She left the door open. Paula realized she was going to listen to make sure Hammer got it right. `All the details, please,' Tweed requested. `Killed the same way the others were. One of those unpleasant – I mean horrible – collars slipped over his head and neck from behind him in his apartment. He was sitting in a chair. Throat ripped out. I called Buchanan, who called Professor Saafeld. The Professor came straight down in the middle of the night in his Rolls with a team of medics. Until the autopsy, he calculates the murder took place between midnight and 2 a.m. this morning, subject to the usual et ceteras. I've interviewed everyone and they were all, so they say, asleep alone in their apartments. No alibis again.'
Where is Lavinia?' Tweed asked. 'She usually opens the gates.'
Crystal came walking steadily out of the library. Paula marvelled at her self-control. She spoke firmly. `I'm worried about Lavinia.' `Why?' Tweed asked. Where is she?' `Just after breakfast Marshal said he was going down to Seacove. He pressed Lavinia to come with him.' `Pressed?' Tweed queried. `She didn't seem too pleased at the idea. She accompanied him to the car dressed in that large overcoat because it was cold at that hour. He leaned over from the driving seat, caught hold of her by the arm and she agreed when he said he needed some company. She got in and Marshal drove off.' `How long ago was this?' Tweed asked anxiously. `About an hour ago. Oh, there was something else peculiar. I went out to Snape's cabin and found the gun cupboard had been broken into. Someone has stolen the Winchester shotgun.' `Hammer,' Tweed said speaking rapidly, 'I'm leaving you in charge again. We have to rush off.' `Where to?' asked Paula as they ran down the steps. `To Seacove,' he replied as he jumped behind the wheel. `Why?' she asked as she settled beside him. `I just hope we're in time – to prevent a fourth murder.'
Paula would never forget the long drive to Seacove. Tweed swung round steep bends like a driver at Le Mans, always just inside the speed limit. He avoided the motorway often a short distance above them. He had chosen the country road the motorway had replaced. `Too much traffic,' he replied when Paula referred to the motorway. 'Heavy trucks delivering to the West Country. That Rolls is an hour ahead of us.' `What had disturbed you?' she asked. `The missing Winchester shotgun.' `You want to get there as fast as we can?' `That's the idea. `Then call in at the first garage we come to.' `Can't waste the time.' `So how do we make it on no petrol? Look at the fuel gauge.'
Tweed glanced down. The needle was close to zero. How much longer before the engine simply stopped? He glanced at Paula. `Good job somebody aboard has brains.' `Don't worry.' She touched his arm. 'We're bound to find a petrol station soon'
But are we? He wondered. This was a lonely country road. No car had passed them in the opposite direction for miles. We could be sitting out here in the middle of nowhere for ages, he thought. He kept the anxiety to himself.
The sun blazed down on beautiful countryside. Purple and gold crocuses in clumps flared on the verge, backed by masses of yellow daffodils. Rolling green hills swept up on either side. Spring had at last flourished. Tweed forced himself not to check the position of the needle on the gauge. They were in Dorset now and Paula revelled in the freshness of the world.
They rounded a bend and a hundred yards ahead several pumps were spaced in front of a small petrol station. Paula dug him in the ribs. `See?' Paula called out to him. 'I'll get out to fill up.'
For Tweed the process seemed to take forever. Then it seemed to take an age for her to pay inside the station. He realized his fingers were rapping quietly on the wheel. He stopped. A tapping on the window on the passenger side. It was Paula. She pointed at the gauge. A full tank. He gave her a great big smile. She came back, sank into her seat. `The Audi Express is rolling again. Would Leo have let anyone into his apartment at that early morning hour?' `He was surrounded by family, people he lived with.
Could have been anyone. Let's hope the weather lasts.' `Any theory as to why he was killed?' she persisted. `At a pure guess he may have overheard the unknown spy phoning Calouste to tell him we were all leaving the manor. Now will you please keep quiet. I don't like conversation when I am concentrating on driving at this speed.'
Paula kept very quiet. She knew Tweed was thinking about Leo's brutal murder. In her mind she listed the people who were in the manor that night. Marshal, Lavinia, Warner, Crystal and Mrs Grandy who, so far, had not figured prominently at all in the events at Hengistbury.
She suddenly leaned forward. They were crossing the border into Cornwall. Instead of rolling green hills there were now bleak limestone ridges inland looming towards the sea, which had made its first appearance to their left.
Worse still, the sun had vanished. Drifting in rapidly from the west, menacing black storm clouds filled the sky. So dense, so low there were like mobile mountains. Tweed switched on his headlights. Heavy mist vapours were sliding over the ridges, blotting them out. A wind was rising, smearing the windscreen with the mist. Tweed started his wipers. The atmosphere was abruptly warm and cloying. `Let's hope they haven't taken out that so-called wonder yacht, as Marshal once called it, in these conditions,' Tweed said aloud to himself.
They crested a ridge, saw ahead the long steeply sloping road and Seacove. In the distance below them they saw the white cottages, bunched together with a gap where the Sea Sprite's ramp plunged down to the edge of the pebble beach. No sign of anyone. Paula gave a little gasp. `What is it?' Tweed asked. `Look out to the south. That fool Marshal is taking out the yacht across Oyster Bay. And he's heading straight for the gap between the capes. He's steering the vessel out into the ocean. The waves out there are storm-high.' `Maybe we are too late,' Tweed said quietly.
39
Arriving at the beach they parked the Audi. Paula rushed out and ran through the open door into Marshal's cottage. She was only inside a short time and ran out to where Tweed was standing about ten feet away from the ramp. `Lavinia's not in the cottage,' she said breathlessly. `The crazy Marshal has taken her aboard.' `Not completely crazy,' Tweed assured her. 'He's coming back in. Didn't like the look of what he saw.'
No wonder, Paula thought as she stared out at Oyster Bay and what lay outside. A fresh storm was churning the sea into mountainous waves which collided with each other, hurling up massive clouds of spray.
The yacht was racing towards the shore as oceanic waves came into the bay as though pursuing the craft. Paula watched its progress, praying the vessel would make it to the ramp. `It does look very like a miniature cruise liner,' she remarked. Her voice changed, she gripped Tweed's arm. 'Oh my Lord – he's going off course, must have been gripped by that underwater current.'
Tweed stared. For a few minutes it was very quiet. Paula had the impression she'd heard another engine, then realized that Marshal had adjusted the throttle in a desperate attempt to change course. He failed to do so. The yacht was heading at speed for Pindle Rock. They stood close together in silence as the
forward part of the vessel smashed into Pindle with a breaking sound they clearly heard. The forward section seemed to climb up the craggy rocks, then slowly sink back. They were stunned by the next development.
The rear section split away, became a separate craft as doors opened at what became the prow. At the rear an emergency wheelhouse, enclosed with glass, stood above the forward deck with a rudder projecting from the new stern. `My God!' Paula exclaimed. 'It works.' `Never thought it would,' Tweed agreed.
He focused his binoculars on the elevated wheelhouse. He saw Marshal with his flamboyant blue peaked cap operating the wheel. He saw the amateur skipper slip into a yellow oilskin, pulling the hood down. To see clearly, the skipper had lowered his front window and was being splashed by the wild sea. `He might just make the ramp,' Paula shouted now the wind had risen. `It's possible.' `Be more optimistic,' she snapped. `There's a giant of a wave coming up behind him.' `It might just help him to make the shore. Do be positive,' Paula chided. `There's blood on Pindle Rock,' Tweed warned. `He must have been injured. It was one hell of a crash when the ship hit.' `Possibly.' `You have to be so downbeat?' `I have to be so realistic,' he shot back at her. `I don't see any blood,' she argued, scanning the rock with her binoculars. `Not now A burst of spray just washed it clean.' `You imagined it,' she snapped. `You're tense,' he told her. 'Take a deep breath, slow down.' `I'm never tense,' she snapped again. `I'm ordering you to take a really deep breath. Now!'
She was almost leaning against him. She took a really deep breath, held it, let it go. Salty air filled her lungs. She felt the tension ease out of her. Tweed had been right. `Here it comes,' Tweed said cheerfully.
The strange vessel was being hurled in on the crest of a huge wave, skilfully steered to reach the ramp. The engine was switched off to slow it down. It cruised up the ramp close to them, stopped opposite to where they stood. Paula heaved a sigh of relief.