by Colin Forbes
THE MAIN CHANCE
COLIN FORBES
First published in Great Britain by Simon & Schuster UK Ltd, 2005
This edition first published by Pocket Books, 2006
An imprint of Simon & Schuster UK Ltd
A CBS COMPANY
Copyright 0 Colin Forbes, 2005
This book is copyright under the Berne Convention.
No reproduction without permission.
and C 1997 Simon & Schuster Inc. All rights reserved.
The right of Colin Forbes to be identified as author of this work has
been asserted in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright,
Designs and Patents Act, 1988.
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ISBN 1-4165-1123-7 EAN 9781416511236
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents
are either a product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.
Any resemblance to actual people living or dead, events or locales is
entirely coincidental.
Typeset in Plantin by M Rules
Printed and bound in Great Britain by
Cox & Wyman Ltd, Reading, Berks
Author's Note
All characters portrayed are creatures of the author's imagination and bear no relationship to any living person.
The same principle of pure invention also applies to all residences, villages, towns, districts, apartments, their occupants, institutions, organizations and mountains both in Great Britain and abroad.
Prologue
There was nothing to warn Tweed he was setting out on the strangest case of his career, as Deputy Director of the SIS and, earlier, as Scotland Yard's ace detective.
It was a glorious March day as he drove well south of London with his second-in-command, Paula Grey, seated beside him. She studied a map, navigating for him; they had left the motorway on her instructions, were now driving south-west along a wide country road. On either side rose steep banks topped with hedges, green leaf-shoots already showing. The sun shone down out of a clear blue sky. Occasionally they passed an isolated house, its front garden covered with crocuses and sheaves of daffodils.
`This is the life,' Paula remarked, glancing out of the window. Attractive, slim, thirty-something, jet black hair reaching her neck framed a well-shaped face.
`Any idea where we're going?' Tweed asked.
`Of course I have. Hengistbury Manor is buried deep inside what they call The Forest, which is vast. A weird area to site the headquarters of the Main Chance Bank.'
`Richest private bank in the world, so Buchanan said.'
It had started early that morning, when Tweed arrived at SIS headquarters, at Park Crescent in London. All his key staff were assembled in his spacious first-floor office. The tall ex-reporter Bob Newman sprawled in an armchair. Typically, Harry Butler, the Cockney, perched on the floor, Paula sat at her desk in a corner near the windows. Marler, ace marksman, stood next to Pete Nield.
Tweed had hardly settled behind his antique desk, a present from his staff, when the phone rang. He raised his eyebrows. 8 am. Who was calling at this hour?
Monica, his secretary for many years, a middle-aged woman who wore her hair tied back in a bun, answered. Covering the mouthpiece she called out: `Commander Buchanan of the Yard is phoning you urgently.'
`Bit early, Roy,' Tweed began, after signalling Paula to listen in on her extension.
`It's an emergency,' Buchanan's crisp voice told him. `I need to ask you an important favour. You've heard of the Main Chance Bank, richest in this country, maybe in the world. Totally independent. No shares on the Stock Exchange. Controlled by Bella Main. Eighty- four years old with all her marbles. Met you at a party a year ago. Was very impressed. Could you make it down to see her today?'
Where is she?'
`Hengistbury Manor. Located in an area called The Forest.'
`So where the devil is that?'
Paula, a map open, was signalling She had already located it. Tweed nodded, spoke again to Buchanan.
`Forget that question. Paula has it. Now why on earth does Bella Main want to see me?'
`I don't know. She wouldn't say...'
`Roy,' Tweed growled, 'then why is it important to you, for Heaven's sake?'
`The government thinks there's something funny about that bank.'
`Funny in what way?' Tweed demanded.
`I don't know.' Buchanan was sounding desperate. 'I think maybe several rich ministers have money in the bank. Just a guess. But at the moment I'm choked up with my present job, all my present problems. You know I've been appointed Commander of the Anti-Terrorist Squad? Please make the effort. Could be important...'
`In what way?'
`No idea.'
`You're a barrel of information. When does she expect me?'
`This morning, Tweed. As near eleven as you can make it. I've made an appointment on your behalf.' `Without consulting me? Thanks a lot!'
`I'm sorry, but I'm really in a jam. I told her you might take Paula with you. I do apologize.'
`Get back to chasing terrorists. We'll go. You owe me a big one.' Tweed slammed down the phone before Buchanan could say anything else, looked across at Paula. 'Is it easy to find?'
`No, but I'll get us there.' She turned to Harry, who was peering over her shoulder. 'Why are you so interested?'
`Just curious about where you're going.' He jabbed a thick finger on her map. 'That's it?'
`Yes, it is.' She stood up. 'I'd better put something on. It could be chilly down there. And Tweed is pawing the floor.' Her chief had already slipped on a camel-hair overcoat, was standing by the door. She was inside a fur-lined leather jacket in seconds. She sat on her chair, checked her 6.35mm Beretta automatic was tucked snugly inside the holster attached to her lower right leg. She had earlier checked the 7.65mm was inside her hip holster. She jumped up.
`Ready and willing!'
`Then let's get moving,' Tweed said.
The phone rang. Tweed shook his head as Monica answered. 'I'm not here,' he warned.
`You are for this one,' Monica told him. 'It's Philip Cardon. From abroad as usual, I expect.'
Tweed perched on the edge of his desk, signalled to Paula, who darted back to her desk. They lifted their receivers at the same moment. Tweed's impatience was replaced by a tone of genuine pleasure.
`Philip, you old dog. Haven't heard from you for ages. How is the world?'
`Is this line secure?' Philip's voice was unusually abrupt.
`If it isn't we're out of business.'
`This call will be brief. I have a deep-cover agent. He tells me Calouste Doubenkian is on his way to Britain. Could be there already. You know who I mean?'
`Vaguely. Never made his acquaintance.'
`You don't want to. He's very dangerous, enormously powerful. My information is that he's on his way in connection with something concerning you.'
`In what respect, Philip? I can't imagine why.'
`Neither can I. But watch your back. I'll call when I've dug up more data.'
Tweed heard a click. Philip had ended the call suddenly. He put down his phone as Paula and Monica replaced theirs. He shrugged as he opened the door, ready to dash down the stairs to his car with Paula at his heels. As Tweed opened the front door she glanced back. Harry had followed them silently down the staircase, was now scuttling out the back way where the transpor
t was kept.
`I wonder what Harry was up to in such a rush?' she mused as she fastened her seat belt.
Working on some job. You know I give them all latitude to do their own thing.'
`Philip sounded unusually tense,' she remarked as Tweed drove away from Park Crescent, heading towards the motorway which would take them south. `Maybe we should bother about this Doubenkian,' she suggested.
`Oh, I don't think so,' he said dismissively.
Well I think we should bother,' she persisted. 'Philip knows what he's talking about. Always.'
`Belt up,' Tweed said cheerfully. We're going to have an uneventful day in the country in this lovely spring weather. Relax.'
`Said he was dangerous,' Paula went on.
Tweed looked at her, smiled. He didn't make any further comment, settled down behind the wheel to enjoy a peaceful day.
1
They were driving deep into the countryside, having left the motorway ages ago. The sun still shone out of a clear sea-blue sky. They had met no traffic for a long stretch. Nor were there any more isolated houses with front gardens blooming with spring flowers. Paula's mobile buzzed. She had a short conversation.
`That was Monica,' she said as she pocketed it.
`Really?' said Tweed as though his thoughts were miles away.
`Monica traced where Philip called from. Somewhere in Belgium. Don't know where. They'd only give Monica the country. I didn't think that was one of Philip's happy hunting areas.'
`It isn't normally. But he roams round the Continent.'
`Have you noticed the light aircraft that has been flying roughly on a parallel course to this road?'
`Yes. I have noticed.'
`Maybe it's Marler watching over us.'
`No. Not his aircraft.'
`It's flashing a light now, on and off. What's it doing?' `No idea.'
`It's stopped. It's flying away north now.'
`So it is.'
She glanced at Tweed. He was answering automatically, as though his mind was elsewhere. He had slowed down as they approached the crest of a high hill, was almost crawling. From the crest they had a panoramic view of the countryside ahead before the lane sloped downwards to a long straight stretch. No more than half a mile ahead, a huge tractor was perched on top of a small hill. The field behind it was ploughed. Large chunks of soil paraded back as far as the eye could see. Tweed stopped, turned off his engine. In the sudden silence the only noise was a faint whine. The digger was stopped but the driver, a vague motionless figure, had kept his motor running. Tweed started his own engine, began moving slowly down the hill. Paula had expected speed. Checking the speedometer she saw they were crawling at a maximum of 25 m.p.h.
Puzzled, she glanced at Tweed. She had never seen him look more relaxed. She was itching to press her foot on the accelerator.
`You could move faster along this stretch,' she suggested. 'We can see miles ahead. Nothing coming the other way.'
`You're right,' he agreed quietly.
They began moving at forty towards the bottom of the hill. Paula sank back in her seat. This was the life. She had her window down and the freshest air in the world filled her nostrils.
They reached the bottom of the hill and Tweed slowed to thirty. Paula glanced at him. He was in a strange mood, but he was probably turning over in his mind aspects of his visit to Bella Main's HQ.
`I'm looking forward to seeing what Hengistbury Manor is like...' she began.
`You have got your seat belt fixed properly?' he asked with an edge to his voice.
`Of course I have. Ever since we left Park Crescent.' `Then sit up straight. And don't chatter. I want to concentrate.'
`All right.' She was peeved. 'I'll be as quiet as a church mouse.'
`Do that.'
They were now moving at forty. Tweed suddenly dropped to thirty again. Then down to twenty-five. He braked suddenly. Paula saw the giant digger just ahead, almost above them, its fearsome caterpillars grinding down through a gap in the hedge. It was making the devil of a noise as it crashed down onto the road.
For a second the massive left-hand caterpillar track, revolving like a terrible mincing machine, filled the windscreen. It passed within inches of their front bumper. Paula was terrified. Tweed sat very still.
The digger's momentum carried it forward across the road as it headed into a gap in the hedge on the other side of the road, out of control. Paula had a glimpse of the driver, wearing a cloth cap and workman's clothes. Panicking, he was desperately trying to find the brake lever, wobbling about inside the cab. Beyond the gap was a smooth slope on the right-hand side, just wide enough for the digger to ascend it to safety.
But to the left of the smooth slope half the gap fell sheer into a rocky gorge. Still panicking, the driver lost control. As the machine mounted the slope the left- hand caterpillar slid over the edge. The whole machine toppled over sideways, plunging into the gorge at speed. Paula had a grisly glimpse of the cab with its driver falling upside down and heard the hideous sound of crushing metal.
The driver had managed to jerk open a window, his head and shoulders projecting. The immense weight of the machine thundered down onto his skull, crushing it to less than half its normal size. Paula let out her breath. Tweed gazed at the carnage for only a brief moment, then drove on down the lane.
`Shouldn't we check on him?' whispered Paula.
`No point. Dead as a dodo. Which was how we were supposed to end up.'
`Maybe we should report it to the police,' she suggested.
`We should not! We were supposed to end up inside this car, our bodies flattened like pancakes. Getting involved with the police would cause hours of delay, explanation we don't want to give.'
`Why?' she asked, her voice stronger.
`Obviously someone doesn't want us to reach Hengistbury Manor. It was well planned by a good organizer.'
Paula sensed Tweed didn't wish to pursue this notion. Tactfully she changed the subject.
'Hengistbury is a strange name.'
`Comes from hundreds of years ago. The Jutes — from Jutland — had landed on the Isle of Thanet. Under the command of Hengist and Horsa. They destroyed the Picts who were swarming south to kill the locals. They moved off Thanet and took over large sections of fertile land. It was the beginning of the establishment of the English race. Whoever founded the manor had a sense of history.'
They had reached the top of another hill. Tweed paused. Below the landscape changed dramatically. Instead of rolling open fields they were looking down on an endless sweep of dark green trees as far as the eye could see. Huge tall firs were so close together they looked like an immense cushion, branches often intermingling. Paula almost gasped.
`This must be The Forest, marked on my map. Seems to go on forever.'
`And somewhere inside there is the mansion.' `Well, I've guided you on the right track.'
As they reached the bottom of the hill she indicated an ancient signpost pointing the way they were headed. Hengistbury. The sun, still blazing down, vanished. They were now driving through a dark tunnel, hemmed in overhead and on both sides by stands of firs with massive trunks. Tweed had put on his headlights full beam. Soon a massive ten-foot-high stone wall appeared on their left, continued for a long distance. It was topped by rolls of barbed wire.
`Have we reached Mrs Bella Main's property?' Paula wondered.
`I think so. She must have scores of acres...'
He had just spoken when his headlights illuminated closed wrought-iron gates breaking into the sky-high wall. Tweed glanced in his rear-view mirror, slowed, stopped. Paula glanced back, frowned.
`That car has been following us for a while. I saw it earlier.'
`It's Harry. He's pulled up behind us. Here he comes.'
This had happened before when either Tweed or Paula drove off on their own or together. A member of his dedicated staff would quietly follow them. Prior to the digger incident there had been other attempts in previous cases to kill Tweed.
Tweed lowered his window as the Cockney arrived on foot.
`Lost you for a short while on the motorway,' Harry remarked. 'Got stuck in a traffic jam. Then caught on you'd taken the side road south-west. I—'
`Harry,' Tweed ordered, 'don't be seen. Creep up to those gates, see if there's a drive leading straight to the manor. Also check that track on the right opposite the gates. I'll want you to park your car out of sight but so you can see the manor if possible.'
Harry was off at a run, keeping close to the wall. He dropped to his knees, crawled a few paces, peered. He jerked his head to the right to glance at the track. Then he was racing back to the cars.
`What are you up to now?' Paula wondered.
`Wait.' Tweed turned to Harry, back at his window. The Cockney was grinning.
`Piece of cake. Drive runs straight to Buckingham Palace. I'll take the car into the undergrowth here, come round onto that track from behind. What's the game?'
`I'm hoping I'll be near a window so I can signal you by flashing my lighter. That is if anyone leaves the manor by car while we're inside. If so, follow them discreetly.'
`I'm always discreet. Have fun... Oh, there's a speaker-phone in the nearest pillar. Let's hope they think you're respectable enough to let in!'
Tweed was on the move as Harry's car disappeared into a wilderness of undergrowth. Paula shivered. With the canopy of firs overhead it was chilly. Arriving opposite the tall gates, Tweed swung the car round ready for entrance.
Wow!' exclaimed Paula. 'I see why he said Buckingham Palace.'
A wide straight drive of small pebbles led straight across parkland for a couple of hundred yards to the manor. The HQ of the Main Chance Bank was an ancient and enormous house obviously built in Elizabethan times. Twirly chimneys reared up everywhere from the roof. At each end of the immense span of the manor projected small extensions, the roofs again supporting more palisades of corkscrew-shaped chimneys. Smoke coiled up from many of them into the windless sky.
Tweed had opened his door to get out and approach the speaker-phone when a man's cut-glass voice exploded from the instrument.
`Mr Tweed, Miss Grey, welcome to Hengistbury.'