The Power tac-11

by Colin Forbes

  'You look stunning,' Paula commented as she sat down at the table.

  'Thank you, Paula. After that, I do feel good.'

  Eve had a flair for clothes, Paula mused. With her titian hair the black one-piece costume was a perfect choice. Gaunt, who had stood by the side of the pool, watching her with his arms folded, joined the others at the table. There was a whole array of glasses, bottles and one decanter.

  'I'm mine host,' Gaunt announced. 'Amberg was involved with yet another phone call when we arrived, showed us the way to this palace of pleasures. Talking of pleasure, who's for a double Scotch to get things going?'

  'I'll have a glass of Riesling,' Eve called out. Tweed, maybe you'd pour me a glass – providing you pour one for yourself. It's good Riesling.'

  'Certainly,' Tweed replied. 'You brought a swimming costume with you?' he suggested conversationally as he poured two glasses.

  'I did. This pool is heated. I used to swim here when poor Julius brought me here from time to time. Hate the rest of the place. Like a blasted mausoleum. But the pool is terrific.'

  She had towelled herself all over, brought another dry towel to sit on. She stood very erect while she answered Tweed's question.

  'I'll go change into something decent in a few minutes, but if you don't mind me like this I'm gasping for some wine.'

  'I don't mind you like that at all,' Newman told her and smiled.'Feel free to join us.'

  'I suppose you're both here on a social visit,' Tweed suggested after raising his glass to Eve.

  'You know jolly well I'm not,' she rebuked him, following it up with a winning smile. 'Business is business.'

  'And you, Gaunt?' Tweed enquired, turning in his seat to the large figure occupying the seat next to him.

  'I'm here to find out who used my manor as a blood bath…' Gaunt had lowered his tone so only Tweed could hear. 'I'm not leaving until Amberg has put on his picture show, with talkies.'

  'He's admitted he has those items here?' Tweed queried in a whisper.

  Newman, sensing the two men wanted to talk in secrecy, was joking in a loud voice, causing Paula and Eve to become near-hysterical.

  'Not exactly,' Gaunt confessed in the same grim tone. 'He can be very evasive, very Swiss in the least complimentary sense.'

  'Then I'll have to talk to him. By myself. Now would be a good moment if I knew where to find him.'

  'Show you the way.' Gaunt stood up, bent down as he added the remark, 'Suspect you and I are on the same side in this one.'

  I wonder, Tweed thought, but he smiled agreement as he stood up. Gaunt explained to the others that they had a bit of business to discuss with Amberg, hoped they'd excuse their absence.

  'Take all day as far as I'm concerned,' Newman assured him breezily. 'I'm more than happy chatting with two interesting women. .'

  Gaunt left Tweed in the strange quarters Amberg used as his office, the vast room with the raised dais and behind it the huge picture window with a panoramic view down over the Vosges, across the flat plain to the distant hump which was the Black Forest in Germany.

  Still standing, Tweed studied the small, portly Swiss with his black hair slicked back over his high forehead -no parting – and the thick brows above the shrewd blue eyes. Did he always wear this depressing black suit? Tweed asked himself.

  'Please sit down,' Amberg invited, indicating the low chair placed beneath the dais.

  'Thank you. I'm sure you won't mind if I join you,' Tweed said at his most amiable.

  Picking up the chair, he stepped up on to the dais, walked round the large desk, planted the chair next to Amberg's and sat down, facing him.

  'What is the problem?' Amberg asked in a peevish tone. 'I haven't a lot of time.'

  'You have all the time in the world,' Tweed assured him, 'but first I want to view the film, listen to the tape -the two items Joel Dyson left with you for safekeeping.'

  'I don't understand what you're talking about,' snapped the Swiss, and he pursed his thin lips.

  'I'm talking about murder on a grand scale. Mass murder at Tresillian Manor in Cornwall.' Tweed's manner was no longer amiable. 'I'm talking about the murders of Helen Frey, her friend Klara and the private investigator, Theo Strebel. All of which took place on your home patch – in Zurich.' He paused. Amberg stared back at him with a blank expression, but Tweed thought he detected a hint of alarm in those blank eyes. 'Theo Strebel was an ex-member of the Zurich Homicide force, a close friend of Arthur Beck who, as you know, is Chief of the Swiss Federal Police at the Taubenhalde in Berne. Beck also happens to be a close friend of mine. So produce the film and the tape or Beck will be waiting for you the moment you return to Zurich. Which is it to be?'

  Unusually, Tweed had fired all his guns in one massive verbal barrage. The effect was electrifying.

  'It is a question of ethics,' Amberg began in a feeble tone. 'Joel Dyson gave us those items to keep for him.'

  'Forget the ethics. Didn't you know? Dyson may be dead. He hasn't been seen alive since he visited your bank in Talstrasse. Another fact which will interest Beck.'

  'I do have a small cinema at a lower level,' Amberg said.

  'And the film and the tape?'

  'They are in a safe here. I'll get them now. Also we have a recorder to play the tape on.'

  'Good. I want to synchronize the film with the sounds on the tape. And Gaunt also would like to be present. At long last we are getting somewhere.'

  42

  Like a general planning a major battle, Mencken stood up in the front of the Land-Rover he had driven up into the Vosges. He had hired the vehicle before leaving Basle, anticipating driving over some rough country.

  From where he'd parked the four-wheel drive – on the edge of a small copse of evergreens – he could look down on the Chateau Noir, scanning the interior courtyard with binoculars. In the back two of his men sat carrying machine-pistols.

  'We launch the attack precisely at noon. So synchronize your watches,' Mencken ordered. 'It is now exactly fifteen minutes to noon. Repeat the instructions I gave you. Word for word or I'll break your necks.'

  'At noon,' Eddie began, reciting by rote, 'I blow open those gates to let the cars burst into that yard with the troops they'll be carrying.'

  'Hank?' Mencken prodded.

  Eddie and Hank were the two men who had been on the verge of torturing Jennie Blade when Tweed and his men had stormed into her bedroom at the Hotel Bristol. Both men were still on Mencken's list for liquidation, but maybe someone else would do the job for him in the coming assault.

  'At one minute to noon,' reported the tall lean Hank, 'I neutralize that electric wire running atop the outer wall. The telescopic ladders are in position-'

  'OK,' Mencken interrupted him. He elevated the aerial on his walkie-talkie. 'Calling Blue, Green, Yellow,

  Orange, Brown. Are you in position? Check back in the sequence I called you…'

  'So that's it,' Mencken commented when the last team leader had confirmed. 'Everything really depends on Johnny,' he remarked, speaking half to himself. 'He's an expert at scaling heights. With a rope and grappling iron he'll get to the top of that tower -I guess they call it the keep. Armed with machine-pistols he'll dominate all entrances and exits to the chateau. He'll be way above everyone. And if Newman and his amateurs get in your way, kill 'em. OK.'

  Mencken twisted round, stared down at his henchmen. 'So what are you waiting for? Take up your positions -this is going to be an easy run. Who can stop us? I'll be inside roughing up Amberg by a quarter after noon.' He glanced up at the clear blue sky as Eddie and Hank hastily jumped out of the Land-Rover. 'What a perfect day for a slaughter…'

  Earlier, Marler had arrived at the Ballon d'Alsace high up in the southern Vosges. The controller of the gliding school, Masson, a large genial Frenchman, was apologetic.

  'My own team has been laid low with this accursed flu. I felt I could not let you down – especially after the large deposit you paid me.'

  'So you didn't let me
down? What is the problem?' Marler enquired genially in French.

  'Problem solved. I contacted a Swiss friend who also runs a gliding outfit. He has sent a Swiss pilot with his own machine to take you into the heavens.'

  Marler had wondered why a Piper Tomahawk, a single-propeller plane with Swiss markings, was waiting on the runway. Behind it, attached to the Tomahawk's fuselage, stretched along the runway was the tow-rope linking it with the glider which Marler would be flying a long way north.

  'I got the Met report on my bedroom radio,' Marler told Masson. 'But although it sounded good the data you get is what counts.'

  'For a flight to the north? To the Col de la Schlucht, sir? The wind direction is perfect. At the moment, I must emphasize. The weather' – Masson shrugged – 'it can change its mind faster than the most temperamental woman. But this I am sure you know. It is quite a trip you plan to make. Now, the Swiss pilot is waiting…'

  Marler chose a moment when he was alone with the Swiss to give him instructions which differed from those he had suggested to Masson the previous day. He wanted the pilot to tow him considerably further north – closer to the Col du Bonhomme, and closer to the Chateau Noir, an objective he did not mention.

  It was cold as Marler settled himself inside the cockpit of the glider, adjusted his helmet and goggles. Alone – for Masson had returned to the single-storey admin, cabin -Marler unzipped his canvas hold-all, swiftly assembled and loaded the Armalite. Then he loaded the tear-gas pistol and tucked both weapons by his side in the confined space of his little world. Round his neck he had slung a pair of field-glasses.

  He tested with his feet the pedals controlling the glider, especially the rudder which guided the plane once it was turned loose. Satisfied he had done all he could, he raised a hand, dropped it, signalling to the Swiss pilot of the Tomahawk that he was ready.

  The pilot already had his engine tuned up. The revs increased, Marler saw the Tomahawk begin its take-off down the runway, the tow-rope linking him to the mother plane stiffened, elevated above the runway. The glider moved forward after a brief jerk.

  Less than a minute later the Tomahawk was airborne and so was the glider, Marler glanced at his watch. If he had timed it properly he would arrive over the Chateau Noir just before noon.

  While Tweed had been talking to Amberg in his strange working quarters, pressurizing the Swiss banker, Newman had stayed by the indoor pool with Paula and Eve. From the beginning, Jennie, who had accompanied them inside the chateau, had sat in a chair near the entrance, well away from the pool.

  Seated with her legs crossed, an elbow perched on them, she had supported her chin with her right hand while she appeared to be observing Eve closely as she completed her lengths in the pool, and later when she sat with Newman, Paula and Gaunt. Newman had called out for Jennie to join them but she had smiled and shaken her head. He offered her a drink.

  'Orange juice, no ice, would suit me very well, thank you.'

  'Jennie seems a bit stand-offish,' Paula remarked to Newman in a low tone, standing up and joining him as though stretching her legs. He paused, the drink he was carrying to Jennie in his hand, replied also in a whisper.

  'My impression is something important struck her and she's mulling it over. Let her be.'

  'Struck her?' Paula persisted. 'What do you mean?'

  'At some point since we arrived at the chateau and Amberg let us in. Let it rest. I'll make sure Jennie's not feeling out of it when I give her this drink.'

  'Remember to come back sometime,' Paula chaffed him. 'She is very attractive.'

  'Paula!' Gaunt roared at the top of his voice. 'Paula, I need your company. I always work on the principle that a man should have two devastatingly sensual women so he can play one off against the other. Eve is seducing me with her gorgeous eyes.'

  And not just with her eyes, Paula thought when she saw how Eve had arranged her legs as she sat in full view of Gaunt. It was shortly after this that Tweed appeared briefly and spoke to Gaunt.

  'Amberg has something to show you in the cinema. Can you find it? At a lower level, Amberg said.'

  'Enjoy the picture show. I suppose it's pornographic as we're not invited. Let's time you.' Eve looked at her waterproof Blancpain. 'In ten minutes from now it will be noon. Tell Walter I shall want lunch

  …'

  Tweed was not surprised to be shown with Gaunt into a large luxurious cinema by Amberg. There was row upon row of comfortable seats and the floor slanted downwards towards a large screen.

  'I have set up the tape on a recorder,' Amberg informed them in his fussy manner. 'I will operate the projector to show the film. Make yourselves comfortable. It is air-conditioned, of course.'

  'Of course!' Gaunt whispered to Tweed as they walked together towards a middle row. 'That Yankee millionaire who built this horror wasn't short of a dollar. Damned place reminds me of pictures I've seen in magazines of a pre-Second World War Odeon.'

  'I'll take an aisle seat,' Tweed said, glancing back to where Amberg had retreated to a large projector mounted on a high dais.

  'At least we didn't have to buy a ticket,' Gaunt continued as he settled in a seat next to Tweed. 'Which is a surprise – considering Amberg's love of money.'

  'This should be what we have come all this way to see.'

  'What happened to Newman?' Gaunt enquired. 'He disappeared on our way down here.'

  'Probably gone to the loo.'

  Tweed was lying. Newman had taken Tweed aside and told him he was going outside.

  'I think I'd better see how Butler, Nield and Cardon are getting on with checking the defences.'

  Tweed had nodded agreement. He'd also noticed Newman was carrying the hold-all he had kept close to himself ever since they had arrived inside the chateau. The hold-all contained the Uzi sub-machine-gun Newman had taken off the two American thugs who had kidnapped Jennie at the Bristol.

  'Time, gentlemen, for the big picture,' Amberg called out with unaccustomed humour.

  The lights were switched down. Tweed and Gaunt sat in near darkness. Taking off his glasses, Tweed cleaned them on his handkerchief, put them on again, looked back once more to where the vague silhouette of Amberg was crouched over his projector.

  'How on earth does he keep this place clean without any servants?' Tweed mused.

  'He brings in peasants off the lower slopes,' Gaunt told him. 'Pays them a pittance but in cash. This is France. The tax man never sees a franc of their earnings, which makes it all worthwhile – for the peasants and for Amberg.'

  A glaring light flashed on to the screen, white with odd streaks of black. Tweed leaned forward intently. In the heavy silence he could hear the tape recorder revolving, spewing out atmospherics. No voices yet.

  The light continued to blaze at them. No picture yet. Tweed checked the running time by the illuminated hands of his watch. Almost noon.

  The light continued glaring non-stop. The tape recorder went on spewing out atmospherics. Tweed stirred restlessly. It was about time they saw something in the way of images. He suspected Gaunt was equally irked. Gaunt took out a cigar, lit it, blew the smoke away from Tweed, who now had a grim expression.

  The strong light vibrated for a while longer, accompanied by the recorder's atmospherics. Without warning the light was turned off. Gaunt blinked, but Tweed had earlier taken the precaution of staring at the floor to keep his vision. The screen went blank. Tweed jumped up, made his way along the aisle to where Amberg stood.

  'It's blank,' the banker said in a bewildered tone of voice. 'There's nothing on the film, nothing on the tape…'

  'That's because you've substituted an unused film for the real one,' Tweed said in a ferocious hiss. 'Same with the tape. Where have you hidden the real ones?'

  Then he heard the distant rattle of a machine-pistol and froze. None of his team possessed one. Newman had the Uzi sub-machine-gun, but Tweed could hear the difference. The Chateau Noir was under attack by Norton's murderous professionals.

  When Newman
had left the chateau by a rear exit, armed with the Uzi and his Smith amp; Wesson, his objective had been to take the high ground – to get inside the keep and reach its flat roof.

  Close to the keep's wall, which sheered above him, he had reached a closed door inside an alcove when he saw Butler waving frantically to him. With the Luger in his right hand, Butler was crouched inside and close to the open doors of the old building used as a garage. He appeared to be warning Newman for God's sake to keep under cover.

  Newman then spotted Nield and Cardon pressed against the side wall of the building. What the devil was going on? He suddenly saw a strong rope, knotted at intervals, hanging down the side of the tower. A climber's rope.

  He glanced upwards in the nick of time. Way above him on the roof a man was peering down, aiming a machine-pistol at him. Newman jumped back inside the alcove as a fusillade of bullets hammered down on the cobbles only feet from where he had been standing. They were trapped.

  43

  Marler's glider had been released from its tow-line some time before by the Swiss pilot, who had waved and flown away towards the Ballon d'Alsace. It was a beautiful sunny day and below him Marler saw the savage summits and snowbound ravines of the Vosges drifting past.

  He had crossed route D417 and the formidable endless hairpin bends of the Col de la Schlucht. He was approaching the Chateau Noir. On the lower slopes of the map-like landscape spread out beneath him he saw the tiny figure of a man guiding a snowplough. The driver waved to the pilot of the glider. Marler briefly waved back.

  He was concentrating on operating the controls. Since he was deliberately losing altitude he was wary of down-draughts, sudden gusts of air which could suck him down without warning. Then he saw it. The massive pile of the pseudo-medieval castle which was the Chateau Noir. As he removed his goggles he was surprised by its vast size.