by Colin Forbes
Too many?' Paula leaned forward. 'How do you know that?'
Beck smiled cynically. 'Oh, we do know what is going on in our country. In late February you might expect a few businessmen, even the odd wealthy tourist from the States. But these men – and we don't like the look of them – all carry diplomatic passports. From my headquarters in Berne I've already phoned their embassy and complained that they're exceeding their complement of diplomatic staff. The Ambassador, an old friend – and one of the few President March has not replaced by some of his cronies and backers – was embarrassed. I found it significant. He told me these men were soon to be routed to other embassies in Europe. Both of us knew he was not telling the truth.'
'So Zurich could be dangerous?' Paula suggested.
'Yes, it could.' He smiled again. 'But not as dangerous as Britain, from what Tweed has told me. How are you going to proceed, Tweed? Or is that top secret?'
'Not at all. I want to locate three men. Joel Dyson – I think it may have all started with him. Then Special Agent Barton Ives and Cord Dillon. One of them has to tell me what the blazes is happening.'
'I do find' – Beck paused to ruminate – 'the most unexpected of those three people to be running is this Barton Ives. FBI – why should someone be after his blood?'
That mystifies me too,' Tweed admitted.
'A pity you don't know what this Norton looks like,' Beck commented.
'I gather no one knows that. Which I find sinister…'
Tweed, carrying his bag, led the way into the Schweizerhof, where he had stayed on previous visits. The same concierge greeted him warmly. As they went up in the lift after registering, Tweed told Paula to come and see him urgently when she'd left her bag in her room.
'I have room 217,' he reminded her as he left the elevator.
She was tapping on his door within three minutes of his arriving in the large corner room overlooking the main station at the front. The side windows looked down on the famous Bahnhofstrasse – the street of great banks and some of the most luxurious shops in the world. He went out of the spacious living-cum-bedroom into the lobby to let Paula in.
'I'm afraid I've got rather a lot for you to do,' he said.
'Fire away!'
'All of us must leave in our rooms here convincing evidence that this is where we are staying. Toothbrushes, toothpaste, shaving kit, et cetera in the bathrooms…'
'The ones we're using now would be most convincing…'
'Agreed. Plus about half our clothes in the wardrobes. Now that means I want you to…'
'Go out and buy six toothbrushes, six tubes of paste, five electric shavers, more make-up for myself,' she interjected.
'Why more make-up?'
'Because you expect to find some in a room occupied by a woman. While I'm buying I'll have to collect a load of large carrier bags. Presumably we need those to sneak out of here to the Gotthard with the clothes we take. I foresee one other problem.'
'Which is?' Tweed enquired.
'We would look suspicious turning up at the Gotthard without suitcases. I know – two of the men wait with new suitcases we buy in the men's lavatory down in Shopville.' Paula peered out of the side window at the escalator leading down into the underground shopping centre. Two more of us, say Bob and Philip, can take the carriers with the clothes into the lavatory and they can be put inside the cases in cubicles.'
'I don't know why I bother planning things like this out,' Tweed said, raising his hands in mock frustration. 'Not when I have you with me.'
'I'll be away for a while on my shopping expedition,' she warned. 'It would look funny if I bought six of everything at one shop.'
'I'm not letting you go alone,' Tweed said firmly. 'I'm calling Butler to accompany you as bodyguard.'
'Harry is a perfect choice. And he can help to carry my purchases. What about the suitcases?'
'I'll phone Newman and Cardon. They can buy the suitcases and call me back when they've done the job. Then they can get coffee at Sprungli and call me again. By then you and Harry should have done your shopping. I'll fix a precise time for Pete Nield and myself to meet you, collect the carriers and make the switch in Shopville. Have you got enough Swiss money?'
'You gave me sufficient at London Airport to go out and buy an outfit Elizabeth Taylor would be happy to wear. Come to think of it, I rather fancy a Chanel suit,' she teased him and left the room.
Tweed summoned Newman and Cardon and gave them their instructions. As they left, the phone rang. Tweed frowned, lifted the receiver cautiously.
'Yes. Who is it?'
'Beck here,' the familiar voice opened. 'I have bad news. Remember that Impala my men stopped on the way from the airport? They found him just ending a conversation on a mobile phone. He undoubtedly warned his chief that a competitor had arrived.' Beck was phrasing his message carefully, knowing it was passing through a hotel switchboard. 'You might have company from the opposition earlier than you expected. Keep in touch. I'm staying in Zurich.'
'Thank you.'
Tweed put down the phone with a sense of foreboding.
16
The move to the Hotel Gotthard, only a short distance behind the Schweizerhof, had been completed by eight in the evening. Tweed arrived in his room, threw back the lid of his case, went down to the bar. He ordered a glass of champagne, paid for it and began exploring the hotel.
With the glass in his hand he appeared to be looking for someone. He tipped some of the contents into a plant pot and continued checking on the few people who sat in the lounge area. No one suspicious anywhere, no sound of an American voice.
Strolling slowly along he passed a man sitting in a chair reading a paper. A slim individual, smartly dressed, he glanced up, folded his paper, followed Tweed to a quiet area near the cheaper restaurant fronting on the Bahnhofstrasse.
'Excuse me, sir. Have you a light?'
Tweed tensed, turned round slowly. The slim man was clean-shaven, his dark hair slicked back over his head. About thirty years old, he held a cigarette in his hand. Tweed continued staring at him as he reached for the lighter he carried for other people's cigarettes.
As he ignited it the man leaned forward, holding one hand to shield the flame although there wasn't a current of air in the place. The man took his time getting his cigarette lit and it was then Tweed saw the open folder held in the palm of the extended hand, the printing inside below a photo of himself.
Federal Police. P. Schmidt. A visiting card had been attached in the lower half with Sellotape. With the compliments of Arthur Beck.
'Thank you, sir,' the slim man said. 'It's very quiet here. February, I expect…'
Tweed went back up in the lift with mixed feelings. It was very good of Beck to post one of his men inside the hotel. But it also indicated that Beck was worried about their safety.
He inserted the key into his door, opened it, reached for the switch to illuminate the room before entering it. On the carpeted floor was a long white envelope which had been slipped under the door.
Tweed closed and locked the door. Using a penknife, he slit open the envelope carefully. There was one sheet of folded paper inside. No address at the top and a brief hand-written message.
Call me from a safe phone at this number… Between 8p.m. and 8.15p.m. this evening. Dillon
He was startled. Dillon must either be staying in the hotel, as he had suggested he should – or he had observed their arrival. Tweed checked his watch. 8.08p.m. He had seven minutes to reach an outside phone. Picking up the phone he dialled Butler's room number.
Tweed here. Harry, we have to go out. Very fast…'
'I'm on my way…'
Tweed had his overcoat on when Butler arrived wearing a padded windcheater. He opened the front, whipped a 7.65-mm. Walther automatic out of a hip holster, grinned and replaced the weapon. Tweed waited until they were hurrying on foot up the Bahnhofstrasse in a bitterly cold night before he asked the question.
'Where the hell did you get that? We di
tched all weapons on our way to Newquay Airport.'
'By courtesy of Chief of Police Beck. You didn't see the canvas hold-all he handed to Paula after you'd left the car outside the Schweizerhof?'
'No, I damn well didn't.'
'It contained Walthers for Pete Nield and me, a. 32 Browning automatic for Paula and a Smith amp; Wesson for Newman. Plus ammo for all the guns. Paula guessed what was in the hold-all, passed it to Newman before she followed you inside. There were also special certificates to carry a firearm, signed by Beck, for each of us.'
For Butler it was a long speech. By the time he had ended it they had arrived at the down escalator into Shopville. Tweed's only reply was a grunt. He liked people to keep him informed but it had been a rush, moving to the Gotthard.
At that time of night the underground complex was quiet and few people were about. Tweed deliberately didn't glance inside the phone cubicles which were occupied. If one contained Cord Dillon he wasn't risking drawing attention to him.,
'I won't be long,' he told Butler as he entered an empty cubicle.
He dialled the Zurich number, standing sideways. Butler was taking an apparent interest in a closed vegetable shop opposite.
'Who is it?' Dillon's voice asked brusquely.
'Tweed here. Got your message…
'Just listen. Special Agent Barton Ives is in town. He will try to contact you if it's safe…'
'Why did he leave the States? I need some data…'
'He was investigating a chain of serial murders in Tennessee, Mississippi, Louisiana, Alabama, Georgia and Florida. All of them women. Raped, murdered
'So why would he need to flee to Europe?'
'Ask him. Got to go now. Zurich is swarming with Norton's gunmen. I have a hunch Norton will be here soon, may be already. Then the earthquake rocks Zurich.'
'Cord, how on earth do these serial murders link up with what's going on…'
'Not over the phone. Ask Barton. Stay under cover. I'm doing just that…'
'Since we don't know what Norton looks like it doesn't help to know we may be enjoying his company…'
'No one enjoys that. They just end up dead. Got to go…'
Again the line was cut before Tweed could ask him a vital question. The abrupt termination of the call worried Tweed as he walked back to the Gotthard with Butler. Dillon was a tough character and he'd never known him be scared of anyone before. This Norton must be quite something.
Norton was waiting at London Airport when United flight 918 landed from Washington. He stood among a small crowd of people who were waiting to greet arrivals. Alongside him stood a porter holding a large heavy envelope Norton had given him together with a?20 tip.
Marvin Mencken appeared first followed by four of his men. A tall well-built man, Mencken had a cadaverous face and behind his back he was nicknamed 'the Skeleton'. Wearing a dark blue trench coat and carrying his bag, his narrow foxy eyes swept the concourse as he paused.
That's him,' Norton told the porter. 'The one in a dark blue trench coat.'
The porter, who had been given very precise instructions, hurried forward. Sidling his way between people he stopped in front of Mencken, presented him with the envelope.
'I've been asked to hand you this.'
'Who by?' Mencken flashed back, his eyes darting round the concourse as he took the envelope. 'Point him out to me.'
'Not part of my instructions, sir…'
'Look, you bum…' Mencken had dropped his bag, his hand grasped the porter by the shirt collar. 'You're goin' to point him out to me. Then you get fifty dollars. Play dumb and I'll tear your throat out.'
The porter, scared stiff, gulped. Indignation overtook fear. This was his airport. Reaching up, he dug his fingernails deep into the back of the hand holding him. Mencken let go, was about to tread hard on one of the porter's feet when his victim spoke.
'Any more of this and I'm calling Security. I can see the Chief over there.'
'Get lost,' Mencken snarled.
He couldn't afford trouble here – especially if Norton was watching him. He ripped open the envelope. Inside were forty one-way Swissair tickets to Zurich, a wad of banknotes, high Swiss denominations, and a typed instruction.
Board the flight with your friends. At Zurich you receive fresh orders.
The instruction ended with a flourishing 'N' written in ink. Norton. Mencken gritted his teeth. Sara Maranoff had told him in her curt way that he was second in command to Norton. Which was something he didn't appreciate. Especially as he had no idea what Norton looked like. Always just an abrasive voice on the phone.
Mencken had divided his group of forty men into sections of five, each with a leader. He began to distribute five tickets to each section leader, gave them the instruction for arrival in Zurich.
'You hang around the carousel at Kloten. I may give you orders then. Or I may wait till we hit the concourse. Just depends the mood I'm in. Well, look at the time – move ass…'
***
'I've made an appointment to see Walter Amberg at the Zurcher Kredit Bank in Taistrasse,' Tweed announced.
They were all having an excellent breakfast at a long table in La Soupiere. This was the high-class dining-room on the first floor of the Schweizerhof. Having slept at the Gotthard they had wandered round to the Schweizerhof in pairs. It confirmed the impression they were staying at the hotel.
At Tweed's suggestion, the previous evening at nine o'clock Newman and Butler, carrying keys to all their six rooms, had paid a brief visit to the Schweizerhof. Each had taken three rooms, had then pulled back the covers, kicked off their shoes and rolled in the beds, rumpling sheets and pillows. This further confirmed the impression to the management that they were sleeping there.
'Waiter is the twin of poor Julius,' Paula recalled in a whisper.
'The identical twin. Seen together you couldn't tell them apart,' Tweed agreed. 'The Swiss do have a sense of humour. Julius and Walter used to wear exactly the same outfits – so often their own staff got them mixed up.'
'And does Walter know about Julius's murder?' Paula asked in the same low voice.
'No. Which is unfortunate. No one – even Buchanan -had thought of asking who should be informed. I think the Chief Inspector was too appalled by the scale of the massacre. I shall have to break the news to Walter. Would you like to come with me?'
'Yes, please,' said Paula. 'Had Julius a wife?'
'He had, but I don't know her address. I did think of trying to get hold of it – but it's hardly the type of news you want to tell people over the phone.'
'A Swiss wife?' queried Paula, her curiosity aroused.
'No, English as a matter of fact. Much younger than her husband was. I think her name is Eve. Walter will have to undertake that unpleasant task. Walter is Chairman – Julius was Chief Executive, the man who really ran the bank and its various branch offices.'
'Is Walter up to it?' asked Newman. To taking over and running the organization?'
'No idea.' Tweed polished off his bacon and eggs, pushed his plate back. 'You know, Paula, among all the things which have happened one stands out, puzzles me.'
'And that is?'
'Why, after shooting down Julius Amberg at Tresillian Manor, did the assassin throw acid all over his face? Not for revenge – we're not dealing with that kind of enemy. So why the acid?'
17
Norton travelled on the same flight to Zurich as Mencken and his large team. But whereas the forty men who were reinforcements occupied economy seats Norton was in the first-class section.
He wore an English suit and spoke with an English accent without a trace of his native American. When he had boarded the plane at London Airport he had chosen the aisle seat next to an elegantly dressed Swiss woman. He was careful that nothing in his manner suggested he was trying to pick her up.
'May I sit here, if you don't mind?' he had enquired courteously. 'There is more leg room and I have business papers I must study before we arrive.'
The
seat is vacant,' she replied after glancing briefly at him.
The plane took off and Norton extracted a folder of papers with statistics about computers. He didn't understand any of it but if Mencken peered into First Class it would seem they were a couple travelling together.
Holding his briefcase, he moved quickly when the plane landed at Kloten. By the time Marvin Mencken arrived at the carousel a uniformed porter was waiting for him. He handed him a large envelope.
'I was asked to give this to you, sir. Your baggage will arrive very shortly.'
Remembering his experience at London Airport Mencken made no attempt to question the porter who was walking away. He glanced round at the passengers – not a chance of identifying Norton, assuming he was near the carousel, which he doubted. Mencken opened the envelope. Another sheet with no address and detailed instructions.
Distribute your men among the following four hotels – two groups should occupy the first hotel listed. Golden Bay Tours have booked accommodation. I will call you at your hotel telling you where to pick up special equipment. Hotels – Baur-en-Ville, Eden au Lac, Dolder Grand, BaurauLac.
The sheet was again signed in ink with the flourishing 'N'. Mencken swore to himself at the familiar abrupt commanding tone of the instruction. He began strolling among the passengers, giving each section leader the name of his hotel. As he did so the luggage started moving along the carousel.
'Special equipment' – Mencken knew that referred to guns and explosives.
Newman had decided to accompany Tweed and Paula to meet Walter Amberg at the bank headquarters in Talstrasse, which ran parallel to Bahnhofstrasse. Paula was intrigued and a little nervous. She couldn't get out of her head 'snapshot' pictures of Julius Amberg before the attack – and how he had looked with his face destroyed by acid. Now she was going to meet the identical twin…
Prepared as she was, it came as a shock when a Swiss personal assistant showed them into a large office and a man came forward, hand extended, to greet them.