by Colin Forbes
'They'll kill you thirty minutes after you leave the plane,' Newman warned.
'I have a powerful friend. He'll meet me at Dulles Airport with a large entourage, smuggle me into his house. Then it's up to him.'
'I think we'd better come with you,' Tweed said.
'I'm not coming,' Dyson protested.
'You'll be held in cold storage in Britain. After you've made a statement describing what you saw when you made the film.' Tweed's manner was harsh. 'A sworn statement made before a Swiss lawyer. That or come with us to Washington.'
'I'm not sure ethically I can release these items,' Amberg asserted.
'Ethically?' Tweed stared at the banker. 'You have to be joking. If you'd handed these over to me earlier think of how many lives would have been saved. Why did you hang on to them? You'd watched this film on your own much earlier, hadn't you?'
'Yes. When I saw what was on it I realized my own life was in danger…'
'So, ethically,' Tweed rasped, 'you kept quiet. If those are ethics I'll do without them. Amberg, from now on you had better shut up – if you want to stay alive…'
52
The man with long shaggy grey hair peered over his half-moon glasses at the entrance to the Zurcher Kredit Bank. Norton was too smart to sit in the car he'd used to follow the Tweed group from the Chateau d'Ouchy. The rush-hour traffic had helped to mask his presence behind Nield's station wagon following the familiar Espace. He was standing in front of a book-shop, pretending to study a volume he had bought at random.
Norton, staying at the Chateau d'Ouchy, had watched Tweed having breakfast from his corner table, seated by himself. He was confident that the transformation in his appearance would save him from recognition – and so it had turned out.
Called to the phone, Norton had left his breakfast to take the call in his room.
'Mencken here,' the urgent voice had begun.
'I told you not to call except in case of a major crisis.'
'Which is what I'm dropping in your lap. All our troops have been rounded up, taken away in cars. Official…'
Which was Mencken's cautious way of saying 'police' over the phone.
'I'm glad everything is going so well. Thank you so much for calling…'
For Norton it was a panic situation, but Norton, ex-FBI, never panicked. He had created the core of Unit One when Senator Bradford March had offered him a large salary as his personal chief of security. It was Norton who had organized the attempts to kill Barton Ives before Ives had fled to Europe. Norton had proceeded methodically.
He paid his hotel bill, put his bag in the hired Renault and returned to the dining-room. Five minutes later he watched Tweed and his companions leaving. Later he was ready to follow them in his Renault to the Zurcher Kredit Bank. Now he waited patiently, then saw Marler coming out with the same equipment he'd taken inside earlier – a long cylinder which could contain a viewing screen, a tape recorder, a canvas hold-all which was more tightly packed.
Pressed against the canvas was a circular shape about the size of a film canister. Turning over a page of his book, Norton shrewdly summed up the situation.
'If only I still had the troops…'
But he hadn't any troops left. They had all been taken by the police. Standing with the book in his hands Norton took a major decision. He couldn't report to March that he had failed – that would be committing suicide. Time to change sides again, to survive.
'That film March was raving to get his hands on must contain some deadly material. Otherwise why send such a large body of Unit One to Europe?' March was losing a battle – Norton's sixth sense, developed during his years as a top FBI agent, told him this.
He recalled a certain powerful senator he had once done a favour for, suppressing certain incriminating documents which would have ruined his career on the hill. Yes, it was time to contact Senator Wingfield, to offer him his services again. For a substantial fee…
Norton followed the Espace and the station wagon and was not surprised when the. two vehicles entered the car park at the Chateau d'Ouchy. Parking his car near where the boats left for Evian in France, he walked back to the hotel. He strolled into reception just in time to hear Tweed giving instructions to the girl behind the counter.
'We shall be leaving today. Could you please make up the bill for myself and Miss Grey. No hurry. We'll be here for lunch…'
Which gave Norton time to clear up a loose end. Mencken. Norton was very careful about clearing up loose ends. He was not going to risk Mencken reaching Washington first – maybe even telling March how all the failures had been Norton's fault.
Returning to his car, he crammed a Swiss hat on his head, pulled it well down over his forehead. On the seat beside him, next to the mobile phone, rested a walking stick he had also purchased. Picking up the mobile phone he dialled Mencken's mobile phone number, hoping he was within range.
'Yes, who is it?' Mencken's voice demanded after a long wait.
'Norton. Where are you? We have to meet, urgently. To make future plans.'
'I'm halfway between Ouchy and Vevey. Away from the activity.'
'Very wise. Everything is quiet here now. But you are right – it would be wise to keep away from the town. As you drive along the lakeside road towards Vevey there is a point where the road turns away from the lake. By the edge of the lake there is a small wood near the path continuing along the lakeside. You noticed this? Good. I will meet you there in three-quarters of an hour. Best to make sure your car is hidden just off the path. And I did say it was urgent.'
'Understood,' Mencken replied tersely.
In his room at the Chateau d'Ouchy Tweed was giving his own urgent instructions to his whole team. Barton Ives listened as he spoke briskly. Action this day, thought Paula.
'All of us – except Philip Cardon, who is guarding Joel Dyson in his room – are driving direct to Cointrin Airport, Geneva. From there we catch a flight to London. Which puts us on the spot to catch the afternoon Concorde flight to Washington non-stop.' Tweed looked at Ives. 'I do know Senator Wingfield, met him while attending a security conference in Washington, but are you certain you can trust him?'
'Wingfield,' Ives assured him, 'was born and raised a patriot. Not many of them about. That doesn't mean to say he has the track record of a saint – how else would he get to the position of great power he occupies?'
'You mean he can be ruthless?' Paula suggested.
'Maybe that's exactly what I do mean. But this horrific situation kinda suggests ruthless measures. I have phoned him,' he told Tweed. 'He's expecting me, with the evidence, but I omitted to tell him you'd be along too.'
'Thank God for that,' Newman said vehemently. 'Before we land at Dulles I want to radio ahead, hire several cars. I strongly urge that along with Butler, Nield and Marler, I go aboard Concorde as though I've nothing to do with you.'
'What danger could there be to you guys?' queried Ives.
'We have all seen that diabolical film which could wreck the entire government of the United States. I foresee that very strong measures will be taken to see that does not happen.' Newman looked at Tweed. 'This trip is going to take some organization…'
'All dealt with,' Paula interjected. 'Tweed told me some time ago to prepare for this contingency. Flights are booked, tickets waiting to be collected at airports. I'm wearing my skates, Bob.' She turned to Tweed. 'We take the film and the tape with us, then?'
'We do – to show Wingfield. Marler brings his equip ment with him to save time. I want a quick in-and-out trip.'
'Preferably coming out alive,' Newman warned.
'What about Joel Dyson?' Paula interjected again. 'I've booked tickets on a separate flight from Geneva to London for Cardon and Dyson.'
'Where, after arriving, he will escort Dyson to a safe house. Where Howard is,'Tweed added.
'And what do I do with this?' enquired Marler, lifting up a second hold-all. 'With the weapons you've taken off us it's jolly heavy.'
As though
on cue, there was a knock on the door. Newman jumped up, unlocked and opened it cautiously. He said, 'Wait a minute,' closed and relocked the door before he handed an envelope to Tweed.
'A Swiss in a business suit,' he reported.
Tweed opened the envelope, scanned the letter, nodded.
'It's from Arthur Beck. Among the men picked up was one with a suitcase containing twenty million dollars. He had experts open it and they defused a thermite bomb inside. That detective outside is to collect the weapons. We can hardly try to board an aircraft carrying them…'
'What about Gaunt, Eve and Jennie?' Newman asked when he had handed the hold-all to the Swiss and closed the door.
'I had a word with Gaunt before we came up,' Tweed went on. 'He's changed his mind about trying to identify who assassinated Amberg in Cornwall. Maintains it's now a hopeless task – at least that's what he said. He's driving back to Basle with Eve and Jennie. Remember, he berthed his yacht, cabin cruiser- call it what you will – the Mayflower III on the Rhine at Basle. He's sailing back to Padstow.'
'With Eve as well as Jennie?' Paula queried.
'So he said.'
'I find that curious, very strange,' she commented.
'So do I. But as soon as we get back from Washington that's where we're off to. Padstow. We still have to track down who committed mass murder at Tresillian Manor and why. To say nothing of who pushed that poor servant girl, Celia Yeo, off the top of High Tor…'
Marvin Mencken was excited as he sat behind the wheel of his Renault with the window open. As instructed, he had parked the car off the road inside a copse. Invisible to traffic passing along the road, it was close to the footpath running by the lakeside.
Mencken was excited because for the first time he was going to meet the mysterious Norton face to face. He had never liked taking orders from someone he'd not even recognize if he sat next to him in a diner.
Despite the sunshine it was a raw cold day. Mencken kept the engine ticking over so he could turn up the heaters full blast. When it became stuffy he had lowered the automatic window. He also took precautions – protruding from under a cushion on the passenger seat was the butt of a 9-mm. Luger.
He stiffened as he heard the click-clack of heels approaching, then relaxed when he realized it had to be a girl. He caught a glimpse of her as she passed along the footpath towards Vevey. A tall good-looking blonde. Mencken sighed. He had been so busy he hadn't had time to indulge in his favourite form of relaxation with a girl.
The elderly Swiss man with one of their funny hats trudged slowly along the promenade towards him. From under the hat a lot of untidy shaggy grey hair protruded. Perched on his nose was a pair of those weird glasses looking like a couple of half-moons.
The old character walked leaning on a stick, staring out at the lake. Probably came this same walk every day if the weather was OK. Bored as hell with life. Mencken promised himself a lot of fun before he ever got into that state. He put a cigarette in his mouth as the old man was turning on to the footpath. In the next second Norton rammed the muzzle of an HP3S Browning automatic against Mencken's chest through the open window, pulled the trigger. The sound of the shot was muffled by the thick scarf round Mencken's neck which fell over his chest. His head dropped forward.
Norton's gloved hand reached in through the window. He extracted the portion of the unlit cigarette Mencken's teeth had bitten through, dropped it into undergrowth. Opening the door, a wave of foetid heat swept into his face. He quickly shoved the body over sideways on to the floor, grabbed hold of the Luger, pressed the button to shut the automatic window, closed the door.
There was no one about, no traffic in sight when he first hurled the Luger way out into the lake and followed it by throwing the Browning in the same direction. A glance at the car before he left showed him that the windows were already steaming up, masking the view of the corpse even if someone peered in. He had already phoned Senator Wingfield and, with luck, he'd be aboard a flight for Washington before Mencken's body was even discovered. Yes, you must tie up loose ends.
53
Senator Wingfield had operated the projector screening the film himself. When he'd seen who starred in the horror of the burning log cabin he was glad he'd taken this precaution. His audience in the Chevy Chase study -the banker and the elder statesman – had sat in stunned silence through the viewing, listening to the girl's agonized screaming.
Wingfield switched on the lights, quickly packed film and tape away in the canisters. The banker reacted first in a hoarse voice.
'My God! I need a drink. Bourbon…'
Wingfield, a rare drinker, joined his companions with a stiff bourbon, seated again at the table. The statesman cleared his throat, spoke in a controlled tone.
'Well, now we know the worst. And if I had to dream up a nightmare scenario I couldn't have come up with anything to touch this.'
'And he's still adding to the deficit,' the banker reminded them, for something to say.
'He's also not taking any action to counter the threat from the East,' the statesman commented.
'Kids' stuff,' Wingfield snapped. 'Compared with what we have seen. I ran it through before you arrived. This is a national crisis. March can't be allowed to sit in the Oval Office any longer. I've taken the most difficult decision of my whole life.'
'Which is?' enquired the statesman.
'An ex-FBI man called Norton has arrived in Washington. I knew him years ago. March has announced he's flying down South tomorrow. I've given Norton certain orders. A serial murderer in the White House – calls for drastic action.'
'How did you get hold of that terrible film?' asked the banker.
'Sent here by the very cautious special FBI agent Barton Ives. A messenger delivered it – together with a highly detailed report on the six serial murders never solved in certain Southern states. Damning evidence against Bradford March.'
'Why very cautious?' enquired the statesman with a quizzical expression since he'd guessed the answer.
'Because Ives is somewhere in Washington hiding. I doubt I'll ever track him down. And in his letter he says Tweed, a top security officer from Britain, will be calling on me. I remember Tweed – the kind of man you don't forget. He is the one who eventually obtained the film and tape.'
'What the hell are we going to do?' the banker asked in a desperate tone.
'I can't imagine you doing anything. Someone has to take the responsibility for initiating drastic action. Guess I'm elected. I'm using Norton. I met him secretly early this morning. He has his instructions. The President is due to fly south today from Andrews Air Force Base.'
'What does that mean?' the banker asked, showing a great degree of nervousness.
'Sure you want to know?' Wingfield fired back.
'The Senator is more than capable of handling the problem,' the statesman said emphatically. 'Remember how the John F. Kennedy situation was solved when his domestic policies were going wildly wrong.'
'I don't think I want to know any more about this,' said the banker, draining his glass. Time I got back to my desk…'
'What about this Norton?' the statesman queried when he was alone with Wingfield. 'He could know too much for your health.'
'I've thought about that too. We don't have to worry about Mr Norton. He's a top pro, bought and paid for to do the job. But I don't delude myself I've bought a tight mouth. Arrangements have been made. Just wait for this afternoon…'
In the Oval Office President Bradford March was checking his shave in a mirror – got to be smart when you're making speeches to the people. Sara came in without knocking. March grinned as he turned towards her.
'Tell me I look OK for the trip.'
'You look OK, but I think you ought to cancel this trip.' She was talking at machine-gun rate. 'I've heard plenty of rumours someone high up is gunning for you. Dallas all over again is the word…'
'Crap! Now I have Unit One pros guarding me. I've even got a Unit One crew to fly Air Force One from Andrew
s. Time I talked to the folks, whipped up the support with some of the most rabble-rousing stuff of my career.'
'Don't let anyone hear you call them rabble,' Sara warned.
'That's what they are.' He gave his famous grin. 'Look, I should know, that's where I came from. I know the crap that gets them throwing their hats in the air.'
'Listen to me.' Sara felt she had to make one more effort. 'Our watchers reported there was a meeting of the Three Wise Men an hour ago. At Wingfield's place again…'
'That old political hack…'
'This time both his guests arrived with an FBI guard – who surrounded each man as he dashed from his limo into the house.'
'So they're running scared. Is my limo ready to take me to Andrews?'
Norton left the President's plane carrying a case which was supposed to contain explosive-detection equipment. As he descended the staircase he blinked in the strong sunlight. Dressed in an orange boiler suit zipped up to the neck – it carried a badge Ul, Unit One – he made himself resist the temptation to hurry away from Air Force One.
He was the last maintenance man to leave the aircraft and a motorcade was approaching. The TV crews were already penned up by guards who were careful to let the technicians have a clear view of the aircraft's staircase March would walk up. The President was very publicity-conscious.
Underneath his boiler suit Norton wore a grey business suit. Earlier, arriving at the checkpoint, he had passed through without trouble – simply showing his Unit One card issued before he'd left for Europe weeks ago.
He had prowled the maintenance shed looking for a mechanic close to his build and height wearing one of the distinctive orange suits. Approaching him from behind, Norton had put him out of action by using a tyre iron on the back of his skull.
'Sleep well, baby,' he had whispered after taking off the boiler suit and stuffing the man inside a large waste bin.
In this way, and by again flourishing his Unit One card, he had boarded the plane, choosing a moment when most of the maintenance crew had left. Now, out of sight of the crowds, which were already roaring with delight, he stripped off the boiler suit, stuffed it into the waste bin on top of its unconscious owner, smoothed out the creases of his grey suit and hurried out of the main entrance, again showing his card.