by Colin Forbes
He had no hesitation in hurrying, wearing only a suit and no coat in the bitter raw cold which gripped Washington despite the sun. Again he heard the crowd roar, this time more prolonged. As he walked towards where he had parked his car Norton could picture the scene.
Bradford March climbing the steps of the mobile staircase slowly, pausing at the top. Then swinging round suddenly and hoisting both arms with clenched fists high in the air. Another louder roar from the crowd. Norton smiled to himself grimly as he climbed behind the wheel of his car and drove off. He parked his car a good half-mile away from the air base, positioning it so he could look towards Andrews.
Air Force One suddenly appeared, climbing steeply as it flew away from the parked car. Norton was peering out of the open window as he heard the scream of its jets, saw the diminishing silver dart ascend to five thousand feet.
He was wearing wrapround tinted glasses so he wasn't blinded by the sudden brilliant flash. There was a rolling boom as the plane disintegrated and tiny fragments of the fuselage spun out of a cloud of black smoke which had disfigured the duck-egg blue of the sky. Norton, who had kept his engine running, eased the car out of the side road and drove on to his house in Georgetown. While serving with the FBI he had been attached to the Explosives Division.
'Well, you haven't lost your touch,' he said aloud.
He used his remote-control device to open the door of the garage located under his house. Having parked the car, he came out, closed the door, mounted the steps to his front door. In the house opposite a woman looked out of her first-floor window, saw him climbing the steps. She was not surprised – her neighbour, security officer for some large international bank, often spent long periods away from home. She left the window to go downstairs.
Norton held his front door key in his hand when he got to the stoop. He inserted the key in the lock, frowned when it seemed difficult to turn. For once Norton's nose for danger deserted him – his mind was on what he had achieved out at Andrews. He turned the key and shards of the fragmenting front door pierced his body. The force of the explosion was so great it hurled his mangled body straight across the road. Peering down out of her shattered window, the woman opposite saw Norton's crumpled form lying on her own stoop.
54
Tweed never did keep his appointment to meet Senator Wingfield. He heard the news of the President's plane blowing up soon after take-off from a bell-boy in his hotel, saw it on television with Newman, Paula and Barton Ives in his hotel room.
Time to leave America while we're still alive,' he said, using remote control to switch off the TV. 'You'd best come with us, Ives.'
'Reckon I had,' Ives agreed. 'They play rough over here – and I told you Wingfield was a patriot, a ruthless patriot. But can we make it? They could be coming for us now…'
'So we put into operation Plan Omega,' Tweed told him. 'Worked out in advance for just this situation by Bob Newman and Paula – although we never anticipated a resort to assassination. Ives, you just stick with us and remember from now on your name is Chuck Kingsley when you check in at the airport.'
'Dulles?'
'No, not Dulles. That's a key part of Omega. I have to call Marler's room, let him know we're leaving within thirty minutes. No time to explain any more…'
They were driving by a devious route which could have taken them to Dulles Airport. Newman was at the wheel of the rented Lincoln, Tweed was beside him while Paula sat in the back next to Ives. They hadn't hit rush hour but there was traffic. Paula kept glancing back through the rear window.
'Those two black sedans which started tailing us as soon as we left the hotel are still there. With a lot of men inside I don't like the look of.'
'Can you see the three Chevrolets?' Tweed asked Newman.
'Yes, they're coming up behind us now, appeared out of side streets. Marler in the green Chevy, Butler in the white, Nield in the brown Chevy. Marler checked the map of the city with care, decided where they'd make their play. Any moment now those characters in their black sedans are in for a shock…'
The leading black sedan was driven by an ugly bald-headed thug, surprisingly nicknamed Baldy. He had three armed men as passengers and the twin sedan behind him carried four more armed men. As they arrived close to a complex intersection Baldy saw Newman suddenly turn right. He was about to follow when a green Chevrolet swung in front of him, stopped as its engine stalled. Baldy swore and braked so abruptly the sedan behind rammed him.
'Get off the friggin' road,' Baldy yelled as Marler got out of his car, strolled back to him.
'I say, old chap,' Marler drawled. 'Awfully sorry and all that. The old engine stalled, couldn't help stopping. These Yank chariots aren't much cop.'
'I said get off…'
Baldy broke off as a white Chevrolet stopped alongside and Butler got out, shaking his fist, shouting at the top of his voice.
'You want to learn to drive, buddy. Now we've missed the goddam lights…'
In his rear-view mirror Baldy saw a brown Chevrolet stopped behind the second sedan so his back-up couldn't move. What the hell was going on? Marler strolled back to his car while Butler continued shouting. After two attempts Marler let the engine start, waved his hand over his shoulder, drove on. Baldy rammed his foot down to catch the green lights, turned right, saw no sign of Newman's Lincoln.
'We'll catch the bastards at Dulles,' he informed his passengers. 'We know they booked aboard the London flight…'
Still working to the Omega Plan, Newman drove to a Hertz office near a cab rank. He was handing in the Lincoln when Marler, Butler and Nield arrived to hand in their rented cars. Two cabs took them to the railway station where they caught the Metroliner to New York.
'How did you work that one?' Ives asked Tweed as the train sped through the afternoon. 'We were dead ducks.'
'A small precaution. Paula has booked us in our own names on two flights out of Dulles Airport from Washington to London. Also in our own names she's booked us on two more flights from New York to London – in case they check. In fact, we'll be aboard a British Airways flight leaving Kennedy at 7p.m. Seats all booked in assumed names. We use our false passports made in the Engine Room – so that's why you're Chuck Kingsley.'
'What made you foresee we might be targets?'
'We know about the six serial murders. Above all, Wingfield knows we've seen the film which could destroy America's reputation. So all witnesses have to be eliminated. 'I realized that as soon as I heard Bradford March's plane had been blown up. It gave me the measure of Wingfield's ruthlessness – something I couldn't be sure of beforehand.'
'And those three different-coloured Chevies?'
'Newman sent a radio message renting them, plus the Lincoln. He specified the colours to make it easy for him to spot the cars if an emergency arose. It did.'
'What are you going to do?' Paula asked Ives.
'Stay in Europe, I guess. To stay alive. Rather like my new monicker, Chuck Kingsley. Think I'll keep it. And the way things are developing in the world I guess I'll build up a security agency. I'm sure you folks will be glad to get home, have a long rest.'
'We're going straight off the plane to a place called Padstow,' Tweed said. 'There was a mass murder down in Cornwall, Paula nearly got killed, and I know who committed that cold-blooded crime.'
55
A wild gale was raging as they walked slowly, leaning into the wind, along the road in Padstow leading from the Hotel Metropole to the centre of Padstow town. Paula clung to Newman's arm while ahead of them Tweed marched with a brisk step.
'Look, the Old Custom House,' Paula shouted to make herself heard. 'Where we used to have a drink. How marvellous to see it again, to be back in England.'
'I think that's where Tweed is heading for,' Newman replied. 'No, what's he up to now?'
Tweed had paused, gestured towards the inner harbour, entered the phone box he'd used on their previous visit. From inside he pointed towards the Old Custom House, mimicked a man drinking.
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Huge waves were crashing against the outer wall, hitting the stone with a tremendous crash, hurling water and spray high into the air. Paula tugged at Newman's arm to make him stop at the point where Tweed had paused. Moored to a wall inside the inner harbour the Mayflower III rocked up and down, but was safe from the fury beyond the closed gate of the dam.
'Gaunt must have arrived back,' Paula shouted. 'Let's get inside out of this tumult. I wonder who Tweed is phoning…?'
Inside the box Tweed had dialled the number of police HQ in Launceston on the far side of the moor – a distance beyond it, in fact. Responding to his request, he was at once put through to Chief Inspector Roy Buchanan.
'Have you arranged what I asked you to at Tresillian Manor?' Tweed asked.
'Since you called me from London Airport I've been run off my feet organizing your mad – not to say macabre -idea.'
'You want the criminal who committed that hideous crime? It needs shock tactics to smoke this murderer out. Go to the manor at once. Keep out of sight and hide your cars. I'll be there with the suspects as soon as I've rounded them up.'
'I don't know why I've agreed to this insanity…'
'Because you've got nowhere solving the mass murder yourself…'
Hurrying with Newman into the shelter of the warm bar Paula stopped abruptly. The scene was pure deja-vu.
Gaunt sat in one of the large leather armchairs on the elevated level facing the long bar. He was holding court, waving a large hand at his audience. Beside him sat Eve Amberg, wearing a white polo-necked sweater which did nothing to conceal her rounded breasts. She also wore a grey pleated skirt and grey pumps. A suede riding jacket was folded on the arm of her chair as she sipped her drink,
Facing her at a three-quarter angle to Paula was Jennie, listening while she fingered her pearls. A string of pearls? Why did they disturb Paula? The fourth member of the group, seated next to Jennie, was a surprise for Paula. Amberg sat very erect in his black business suit, his slick black hair gleaming. Didn't he ever wear anything else but black – and what was he doing in Padstow, Paula wondered.
'We had a whale of a trip down the Rhine in the Mayflower, Amberg,' Gaunt boomed. 'Kept going through the night. Advantage of being able to get by on four hours' sleep – I can. Eve took over the wheel when I needed a bit of kip. Make a good team, you and I, don't we, Eve?'
'Well, we got here in one piece,' she said unenthusiastically. 'Rounding Land's End in this gale wasn't frankly my idea of a whale of a time.'
'Nonsense! You revelled in every second of the voyage. Put a sparkle in your lovely eyes…'
'Isn't it illegal to sail on the Rhine at night?' asked Amberg.
Paula had the impression it was the first time the banker had spoken. He sat with his drink in front of him untouched.
'Oh, bureaucratic regulations,' Gaunt snorted contemptuously. 'Never get anywhere if you don't display initiative. Not in this world run by those fat-cat commissioners in Brussels.' He looked at the door. 'I say! Look who's turned up. Your favourite boy friend, Eve.'
'Why don't you shut your trap?' she snapped.
Newman waved briefly, took Paula to the bar, ordered Scotch for himself, a glass of white wine for Paula. He perched on a stool, whispered to her as she sat next to him.
'I've no idea what Tweed is up to. Best to wait until he arrives.'
'I can't fathom the relationship of those three,' she said quietly. 'I mean Gaunt, Eve and Jennie. Something very odd is going on …'
Tweed walked in when they were sipping their drinks. He ordered mineral water, stood by the bar. He gave them the order as he picked up his drink.
'Let's join them over there. A few questions I'd like to ask. Paula, you did park the Land-Rover by the harbour earlier?'
'Out of sight, round the corner. As you suggested.'
'So, we're all back where we started from,' Tweed greeted Gaunt's group amiably. He sat perched on the arm of Eve's armchair, staring diagonally across at the banker. 'Except for you, Amberg. What brings you to this remote part of the world?'
'I have come to see where Julius died. I felt it was the least I could do. Then I wish to collect his body so it can be returned to Switzerland for decent burial.'
'You did say Julius?'
There was a sound of breaking glass. Jennie had knocked over her wine. She glanced across at the banker, who was ashen-faced, then spoke in a strangely remote voice to the bartender who had rushed across with a cloth to mop up the spilt liquid.
'I'm so sorry. That really was frightfully careless of me. Do be careful not to hurt yourself – there are pieces of broken glass you can hardly see.'
'Which is why I brought over this wash-leather. If you would just sit back and relax. Bring you another glass on the house…'
Paula was studying Tweed, expecting him to show sympathy to Jennie who was embarrassed by the accident. Instead, he sat very still, looking at each person seated round the table, as though assessing them one by one. Paula was conscious of a sudden change in the hitherto peaceful atmosphere. Now she sensed it was fraught with tension. If only she could identify the source. Tweed waited until the waiter had finished cleaning up, had brought a fresh glass and placed it in front of Jennie.
'I think I know why everyone's here,' he began, his manner and his tone authoritative. 'It's understandable that no one is anxious to go back to Tresillian Manor, considering the tragedy. That being so, the sooner we all do go there the better. It's called laying ghosts.'
'Bloody sauce!' Gaunt protested. 'In case you've forgotten, I happen to own the place.'
'But last night after you'd landed here in the harbour you took Eve and Jennie to the Metropole where you stayed the night. Bracing yourself for going back today. I can understand it,' he repeated.
'How on earth do you know all this?' asked Gaunt in a very subdued tone.
'I checked the hotel register, then had a word with the Harbour Master. Because it's your house you're the one most likely to be affected. No more protests. Drink up and let's get the show on the road.'
Paula glanced swiftly round the assembled company. She saw Jennie fingering her pearls, twisting her mouth, then, aware of Paula's scrutiny, she gave a cold smile. Eve sat calmly. Amberg had an expression which could have been bewilderment or controlled fury. Gaunt sat back in his chair, staring into the distance and she couldn't read his expression.
One thing she did know. By sheer force of personality Tweed had dominated them, persuaded them to do his bidding. He said one more thing before he beckoned to Newman and Paula and marched out of the bar.
'I insist that our Land-Rover leads the way. No attempt to overtake me, Gaunt. Let's get moving…'
The gale had reached a new pitch of frenzy on Bodmin Moor. Hunched over the wheel, with Paula by his side and Newman in a rear seat, Tweed drove the Land-Rover at high speed but within the limit, then slowed to turn off along the side road leading to Tresillian Manor.
Paula slid her hand inside her shoulder bag, gripped the. 32 Browning in the special pocket. She had phoned Monica from Washington, and when they passed through Customs at London Airport Monica handed her the small cloth bag containing her gun.
'The gate's open,' she commented.
That's Buchanan. I asked him to open it so we could not waste any time…'
He parked the Land-Rover at the foot of the long stone terrace in front of the house. They waited on the terrace for Gaunt to arrive in his BMW, Tweed met the car, held out his hand for the front door key.
'This is my house…' Gaunt began.
'The key. We're going in first.' Tweed looked at Jennie as she slowly stepped out of the car. 'You do want to know who killed them, don't you?'
'Why look at me?' she snapped back at him.
'Wait, everyone.' It was Eve, snug in her riding jacket, walking towards the stables at the side of the manor. She looked back at Gaunt. 'You said you'd look after Rusty, my beautiful mare.'
'Ned, a reliable chap, has come in ever
y day, cleaned out her quarters, fed her, given her a trot over the moor.'
'I'll give you two minutes,' Tweed told her. 'We'll wait here on the terrace…'
Eve was as good as her word, returned in two minutes with a glowing smile for Gaunt.
'She's in beautiful condition, and so glad to see me.'
'We'll now all go inside,' Tweed announced.
Opening the heavy front door with the key, he strode inside the hall with the woodblock floor. With a firm tread he walked over to the closed dining-room door and looked back before he grasped the handle. Eve stood behind him, Jennie, looking grim, was close to her. Amberg came next, prodded forward by Newman.
Tweed flung open the door, strode quickly inside. The others followed and stopped dead in their tracks. A grotesque scene met their stunned gaze. Seven figures dressed in black men's suits were sprawled round the long table. Two were still seated, slumped across the table in pools of dark red blood. Four more, toppled out of their chairs, lay in more pools of blood on the floor. The ultimate macabre horror was at the head of the table -where Amberg had sat. This figure was bent over a broken-backed chair, its face eaten away by acid, skeletal bones like steel rods exposed, revealing the skull beneath the skin.
Epilogue
'The monster responsible for this obscene crime is in this room,' Tweed announced. 'She was seen in Padstow on the day of the mass murder – even though she was supposed to be in Zurich. Eight people – including the butler – died. Add Helen Frey, Klara and Theo Strebel and she has coldly ended the lives of eleven human beings. Add Celia Yeo and the real postman…'
Jennie stifled a scream. Eve sucked in a deep breath and whipped a 6.35-mm. Beretta out of her jacket pocket. She aimed it point-blank at Tweed as Paula produced her Browning, pointed it at the widest target – Eve's chest.