by Colin Forbes
'Why didn't you go and see Anton Marchat after you arrived?' she queried. 'Archie said he was very important and you have the address.'
'Deliberately gave it a miss. We'll go and try to find him later today – after dark. There are too many motorcyclists floating… floating…'
'The people of Geneva call them Leather Bombers.' she interjected.
'All right. Too many Leather Bombers on the road. After dark we'll have a better chance of eluding them. We have to protect Marchat as far as we can.'
They left Sion behind, began the tortuous ascent to the Kellerhorn. Suddenly they emerged from the mist, leaving it below them as a white layer with the castle-like building perched on the mist like a strange ship on a sea. Then they really began to climb, the road hardly wide enough for two vehicles to pass safely.
The wheels of their vehicle gripped the ice patches on the road firmly, to Philip's unspoken relief. On his side a sheer abyss dropped into the distant valley. On Paula's side the mountain wall sheered up vertically. She was so close to it she felt hemmed in, but reminded herself it was better than looking down the abyss with no barrier to keep them on this fiendish road.
An added hazard was the way the road kept turning round sheer bends. Philip was constantly expecting to meet something descending the road but so far it had been clear. The gradient was also much steeper. He concentrated all his mind on driving.
Paula, no longer needing to navigate, looked across him and down into the valley far away. The sun had come out, the mist had dissolved, tiny Sion looked like a street map. They were very high up now and still Philip was having to turn the wheel as he negotiated yet another hairpin bend. He was also watching the road surface as the sun had appeared. Snow was melting, exposing the ice below it had masked. He came to a large alcove in the rock wall, turned into it.
'Thank heavens,' Paula said. 'Time for a rest. Why don't I take over the wheel?'
'Not yet. I've got into the swing of it. Let's get out. I feel like one of my rare cigarettes.'
'You can give me one.' she said as they got out of the four-wheel-drive, stretched their legs.
'You don't smoke.'
'Just occasionally. I used to smoke at boarding school just to keep up with the other girls.' She took the cigarette he offered, bent down so he could light it, took a careful puff, spread out her arms. 'What a spectacular view…"' She stopped. 'Where are you off to?'
'Just exploring.' he called over his shoulder.
'You've left the engine running.'
'You want a breakdown up here?'
Philip had walked to the back of the large alcove where there was a narrow gash in the rock. Beyond he found a narrow valley snaking down the mountain. The waterfall inside it was frozen solid, the ice gleaming in the sun. At frequent intervals rocks protruded above the ice, the snow on them melting. He pointed upwards.
'There's the summit of the Kellerhorn. And there's the so-called weather station.'
Paula stared in fascination up the ravine. A cluster of one-storey buildings of white concrete huddled together not so far above them. A forest of aerials sat on the flat rooftop of one building, surrounding what looked like a slim conning tower in their midst.
Philip had hauled out a pair of high-powered binoculars given to him by Marler, was studying the buildings, when he suddenly stiffened. He pressed the binoculars closer to his eyes.
'See that conning tower effort?' he said. 'It's elevating and a thick rod of some kind has slid out above it. The rod is flexible, is moving round, pointing at various angles.'
'I see it. What can it be?'
'The rod has become vertical again,' Philip reported. 'Now it's disappearing back down inside the conning tower. If that's a weather station my aunt is a bloater.'
'Didn't know you had a bloater for an aunt,' Paula commented to break the tension.
Philip put the binoculars back in his pocket. He gazed up the ravine.
'You know something. With the right footwear you could climb that ravine and get close to the buildings unseen.'
'I think a guard up there has spotted us.'
'I didn't see anything. Probably your imagination.'
But he slipped back quickly inside the alcove, following Paula. She went back to their transport, climbed into the passenger seat. She said as soon as Philip was behind the wheel: 'I still think a guard saw us.'
'Imagin…..'
'If you say imagination I'll clonk you one.'
'Not while I'm driving, you won't.' He grinned. 'We're going higher up. Reach into my pocket on your side – you'll find a camera, a small job. When we get a closer look at that place take pictures. That camera is fast. Take one picture, press the button on top – to take your pic. The mechanism then automatically moves the film along so you can take another in the next second. Use up the whole film.'
'I'll do my best.'
It seemed to Paula that Philip was driving faster. Not dangerously so, but he was now fired up having seen their objective. He swung round blind corners, causing Paula to hold on to the hand-grip. They climbed and climbed and climbed. No sign of an emotional crisis in Philip now, she was thinking. Tweed did know what he was doing.
She was beginning to wonder when they were going to get to the top when Philip turned round another overhanging outcrop, slowed, drove on to a small plateau, stopped under the cover of a ridge like a tank, hull down. The weather station was less than a quarter of a mile away.
She had the viewfinder of the camera to her eye, was taking shot after shot. Philip had taken out the binoculars again, focused them above the buildings, lifting the glasses slowly until they reached the enormous summit.
'You can see why, as I told you, it's called the Kellerhorn,' Paula said, still taking shots.
'I most certainly can.'
The summit was shaped like a gigantic boar's head. It looked incredibly sinister, coated with a slime of melting ice and snow. What interested Philip was the slanting slope running steeply down from the summit towards the weather station. Enormous boulders and a shale of smaller rocks thrust their shark-like snouts above the snow. The slope looked extremely unstable. He could see the ravine they had observed from the rock alcove lower down continuing up the slope.
'Look at those weird old houses inside the perimeter.' Paula commented. 'They look like some old village.'
Philip focused on the houses. Built of wood long ago, they had all their shutters closed. There were signs of the shingle roofs having been renewed. Most odd, he mused.
'That wire fence round the whole caboodle must be twelve feet high,' he said, examining it through his glasses. 'And it has an alarm wire running along the top with sensors at intervals. You'd think they were guarding Fort Knox.'
I've run out of film.' Paula informed him. 'Let's hope we haven't run out of time.'
'Not a guard in sight.' he told her.
'That's what worries me.'
They began their descent. The sun had gone in, masked by an army of dark clouds drifting in rapidly from the west. Paula had unzipped her shoulder bag. They were approaching the large rock alcove where they had stopped on the way up.
The bend Philip had to drive round just before they reached it was one of the most savage and hair-raising on the whole mountain road. He saw ice, slowed down to a crawl. Below them Sion, the entire plain, had vanished. He cruised, still crawling, up to the alcove.
'Look out!' yelled Paula.
With both hands on the wheel Philip couldn't react. He glanced to his left, saw three Leather Bombers inside the alcove. One held a machine-pistol, had raised it, was taking aim. Paula lobbed the grenade she'd taken out of her shoulder bag. It landed almost at the feet of the three men.
There was a vicious crack. All three men twisted, fell back against the rock wall, lay very still. Philip realized he was sweating. He looked at Paula before getting out.
'You were suspicious.'
'Yes, I was. No guards in sight. And you'd said when we were here earlier it
would be possible to climb up that ravine. So I worked out it would be possible to climb down the ravine – and this is a perfect place for an ambush.'
'I'll have to get rid of those bodies. They'd be a dead giveaway when they were found. No pun intended.'
'Not funny. Maybe they're still alive…'
'Doubt that. Inside that confined alcove – with rock walls – the shrapnel from a grenade would kill.'
'Please make sure.'
'I will.'
He checked the brakes, left Paula, went inside the alcove. He felt the carotids of all three men. No pulse from two of them. The third did have a faint pulse. If he recovered he'd report what had happened. Heaving the first body by its legs, he dragged it behind their vehicle to the edge, peered over. An endless abyss, probably a thousand feet down. He toppled the body over. It spun through the air into space.
He went back for the second body, dealt with it in the same manner. Paula was looking the other way. Then he collected the man who was still breathing, hauled him to the brink, levered him over.
'As I thought,' he lied as he climbed behind the wheel. 'All were dead.'
Then you did the right thing.'
Not another word was exchanged as they descended the road and eventually entered Sion.
34
The Lear executive jet with BRAZIL splashed along the outside of its fuselage was flying over France, would soon cross the sea prior to landing at Heathrow.
Tweed spent most of his time chatting with the pilot and the co-pilot in their cabin. He had found out both men were once fliers with the Swiss Air Force. The radio op. swivelled in his chair to speak to Tweed for the fifth time. He spoke in English as a courtesy to his guest.
There's a real storm of reports building up. Something weird is happening in Moscow. Rumours that the President has resigned due to ill health. Rumours that a General Marov is bringing armoured divisions into the city. Rumours that the frontiers of Russia have been closed.'
'Pretty much what I expected.' Tweed replied.
'And a personal message from Chief of Police Arthur Beck for you. I didn't understand it first time and asked them to repeat it. He says the rumours are all originating from Zurich.'
'Again what I expected. Thank you.'
The plane was descending rapidly. The pilot turned to Tweed.
'We'll be landing shortly, sir.'
'I'm very grateful to you. You know that this plane and the whole crew are to be placed at my disposal again after you have landed?'
'Yes, sir. You expect to be flying again soon?'
'Very shortly. Now I will return to my seat.'
It was a very satisfied Tweed who sank into the luxurious seat and fastened his seat belt. He would arrive in London three hours ahead of the first scheduled flight.
Beck was furious. He sat in his office, staring at the sheets he'd taken from the teleprinter, giving reports from the international news services. Moscow… Moscow… Moscow… He looked up at Joinvin, who had just entered his office. He waved the reams of sheets.
'We know all this stuff is coming from rumours Brazil is spreading from here – in Zurich. Have you found out where from?'
'No, sir. The detector vans are out trying to trace the source of the radio transmissions but we have a problem.'
'I know we have a problem. Tracking his source.'
'What I meant, sir, was that he appears to be using some kind of vehicles to jam our detector vans.'
'He's also using jamming equipment! Let's face it -the man is a genius at organization. How do we get round that one?'
'We have found one van we know is using jamming apparatus near the lake at the bottom of Bahnhofstrasse. The trouble is we have no authority to search a private vehicle. I have an idea.'
'What is it, then?'
'I'll draw up a list of people who have complained their radios are being interfered with. I'll get names out of the telephone directory.'
'Go ahead. You know, Joinvin, I'm going to think about whether I should promote you.'
'That's all you will do.' Joinvin said good-humouredly. 'Think about it.'
The intercom buzzed, Beck answered it, listened, then pressed the button to shut it off. He looked at Joinvin.
'A brilliant idea of yours. Forget it. The radio transmissions have stopped. That man is playing with me – he's always one step ahead in the game. And now I hear from the security chief at Kloten that the pilot of Brazil's private jet has filed a new flight plan – to leave for Sion later this morning. Always one step ahead of me.' he repeated.
'Not always.' Joinvin reminded him. 'He doesn't know that Tweed has already arrived in London.'
Eve, fully dressed, walked into Jose's office, her expression livid. She always got on well with Jose, who looked up, smiled, then frowned.
'What's wrong?'
'I couldn't sleep, so I went for a walk. What happens? I turn down a side-street off Bahnhofstrasse and two young Yanks ask me the way. Then they try to assault me.'
'They didn't…'
'No, they didn't. I scraped my heel down the shin of one lout. He yelped, let go. I swung round and kneed the other in the groin. They cleared off damned fast. But I feel I need some protection.'
'Not a gun.' Jose unlocked a drawer in his desk, took out a canister with a nozzle on top, handed it to her.
'This is hairspray.' she said, reading the printing on the outside. 'If I'd thought I could have got this from a shop.'
'No, you couldn't. And don't press the button. That canister contains Mace gas. The wording is camouflage. It's illegal.'
'Would it kill someone?'
'No. But it would disable them for some while. Keep it in your shoulder bag at all times.'
'Thank you, Jose. You know I'm being left in charge while you're all away in Sion? I've been wondering, does that include Gustav, who is also staying in Zurich?'
'I wouldn't try giving orders to Gustav. He's an ugly man – and not only to look at.'
'I'll take your advice.' She hesitated. 'I went out for my walk about an hour or so ago. I saw a lot of men who are on Brazil's staff going into a building on Bahnhof-strasse. They were in a hurry. What were they doing at this time of night?'
'I shouldn't tell you.' Jose himself now hesitated. 'I will, though. They were operating what Brazil called his radio exchange, contacting people all over the world. I don't know why.'
'Sounds bonkers. I'd better get back to bed, try and get some sleep. Thanks again for the canister.'
***
Newman and his team were aboard the night express to Geneva. They had boarded the almost empty train separately. Newman sat in the corner of a first-class compartment by himself. He knew Marler was patrolling up and down the corridor at intervals, keeping guard. Newman appeared to be asleep but came awake the moment Marler entered his compartment.
'All's quiet.' he reported. 'What do we do when we get to Cornavin Station?'
'We eat in the buffet – at separate tables. Then we're boarding the Milan express. Only a few stops and we'll arrive at Sion.'
'And when we get there?'
'We check all the hotels until we've found Paula and Philip. I don't like them being on their own in that area. It will be crawling with Brazil's thugs.'
'And after we've found Paula and Philip – assuming we do?' asked Marler.
'We try to locate this ground station which controls the satellite orbiting over our heads. When we have found it – because we will.' Newman said decisively -'then we destroy the damned thing.'
'There may be a little opposition that will object to that.'
'Then we destroy the opposition.' Newman glanced out of the window. 'In a minute we'll be coming into Cornavin.'
Monica, baggy-eyed, looked up from her desk, astounded as Tweed entered his office.
'This is magic.' she said. 'I had a message from Beck to say you were catching the first early flight out of Zurich. You're three hours early…'
'Sometimes a little magic is cal
led for – it catches people on the wrong foot. Present company excluded, I emphasize.' He had taken off his scarf and coat, dropped his bag by his desk. 'Where is Howard?'
'Just back from Downing Street.'
'How many times has he been to the holy of holies?'
'Three times in the past twenty-four hours.'
'Too many visits. He'll just wind up the PM. I'll have to go to perishing Downing Street myself, calm them all down.'
'You've heard about the rumours? They're coming in from all over the world – including Tokyo.'
'Yes.' Tweed was not in a forgiving mood. He looked up from his desk as Howard came in like a whirlwind. 'Have you been wasting your time chatting up the PM?'
Howard, normally immaculately dressed, was a sartorial mess. The jacket of his business suit was crumpled, and the creases in his trousers were still there, but only just. His tie was askew and he'd unbuttoned his collar. Tweed, by comparison, was a fashion plate.
'Thank God you're back… Never expected to see you so… soon,' Howard almost stuttered. 'You don't know what's happening.'
'Actually, I do.'
'Downing Street is in a frenzy. Washington's gone berserk. Paris is running round in circles…'
'Calm down,' said Tweed quietly. 'And do sit down. You are moving round like a tango dancer on cocaine.'
Howard flopped into the largest armchair, arms hanging loose over the arms, staring at Tweed with a glazed look as he went on.
'It's international. It's everywhere. The world has gone mad.'
'So let's not go mad with it,' Tweed said in the same calm voice. 'You're flaked out, exhausted. I'm going to see the PM, put him right about a few things.'
'You'll be careful.'
'No, I won't. I'll be blunt – blunt as the notorious instrument the police talk about when someone's murdered.'
'Oh, dear, you'll add fuel to the flames.'
'Exactly. I'll be taking along a can of petrol with me.'
'How is everyone?' Howard asked in an off-hand tone.
'Thought you'd never ask. They are your people. Newman nearly got killed but is all right. Paula and Philip were engaged in a firefight in Geneva. The outcome was six dead bodies – fortunately not theirs among them. The thugs involved in both cases belong to Leopold Brazil.'