Precipice tac-14

by Colin Forbes

  'Brazil?' Howard repeated in a dazed voice.

  'Yes, Brazil – the individual, not the country. The nice man the White House, Downing Street, and the Elysee hold champagne dinners to entertain. That Brazil.'

  'You're sure?' Howard bleated.

  'No, I'm not sure, I'm certain. I have had it from the horse's mouth. The horse in this case being Brazil. Get that camp bed out in your office, throw some blankets over it, flop there, and go to sleep. Monica will come and tuck you up.'

  'That won't be necessary.' Howard forced himself to stand up. 'I'll do as you say. How are things out on the front in Europe?'

  'You don't want to know. They are – and will be -taken care of. Bedtime, Howard…'

  Monica glared at Tweed as soon as they were alone. Tuck him up, indeed!'

  'I thought that would get you.' Tweed told her mischievously. 'Now get the PM's private secretary on the phone. You speak to him. Tell him I'll be arriving at Downing Street thirty minutes from now to talk to the PM. If there's any protest tell him in that case I won't be coming. Now or ever.'

  'That's pretty tough.' she said, reaching for the phone. 'I feel pretty tough.'

  In his office in Geneva, where he had earlier returned from Zurich, Bill Franklin picked up the phone. It was Lebrun, his man watching Cornavin Station.

  'Yes, what is it?' Franklin enquired amiably.

  'The Zurich express came in five minutes ago. One of the passengers who alighted was Robert Newman. He went into the buffet and is eating breakfast. Another intriguing point is three other men off the express came in by themselves at intervals. It's early and there are normally hardly any customers in the buffet at this time. I think they may all be together.'

  'What types are the other three men?'

  'I wouldn't like to cross swords with any of them.' Lebrun replied. 'And I'm pretty sure they're waiting to board the Milan express, due shortly. In about half an hour.'

  'What makes you think that, Lebrun? Rather a wild assumption.'

  'Not so wild. I wandered into the buffet and Newman was studying a rail timetable – open at the page with trains for Milan.'

  'And he let you see what he was looking at?' Franklin asked sceptically.

  'Well, I only paused a moment by his table.'

  'A pause which Newman would notice. He deliberately let you see the page he was looking at. I must get moving. Get me two tickets for Milan – one first-class, one second-class. Wait on the platform and hand the tickets to me when I arrive. I'll be boarding the Milan express myself. Better go to the ticket office now…'

  Franklin sat thinking for a short time just after the call had ended. Milan? He doubted it. He had just discovered Leopold Brazil had a villa in the mountains outside Sion. 'I'd better go and see what's happening in that part of the world.' he said to himself as he got up to collect an already packed case from a cupboard.

  Newman didn't give a damn who else boarded the express. He could find out by sending Marler on a patrol along the train once it began moving. So, as his team entered other coaches, he didn't see Bill Franklin, carrying a suitcase and wearing a trench coat, climb aboard near the back. But Franklin saw him disappearing inside a coach midway along.

  Fifteen seconds before the train left Cornavin another passenger entered a coach at the very rear. Wearing a black beret and glasses with plain lenses, he chose a corner seat, parked his bag on the next seat in the otherwise empty compartment. Archie was unrecognizable. He had even got rid of his half-smoked cigarette stub.

  Much earlier, during the night, he had been standing in Zurich Hauptbahnhof when Beck's army of detectives had invaded the station. The detective who checked his identity saw no reason to be suspicious of the mild-mannered little man.

  Archie had immediately grasped why the round-up of a number of ugly-looking characters was taking place. He had rushed to his small hotel nearby, used mostly by travelling salesmen, had paid his bill, collected his bag, and returned to the main station. There he had resumed his vigil.

  Archie could wait for ever without becoming impatient or tiring. His persistence had been rewarded when eventually he had seen Newman boarding the first express for Geneva. He had then boarded the same train himself and had gone to sleep until shortly before it arrived in Comavin. Now he was aboard yet another train.

  Anton Marchat, he thought as he sat in his corner. I'm sure they are forgetting Marchat. I will go to see him myself when this train reaches Sion…

  Marler had not yet begun his patrol of the express to check who was on board when Newman, in a compartment by himself, heard the door opening. He slipped his right hand inside his jacket, grasped the Smith amp; Wesson as he looked up.

  'No cause for alarm, Bob.'

  Bill Franklin was grinning when he entered the compartment and closed the door. He dumped his bag on a seat and sat opposite Newman. He carefully folded his trench coat and placed it on top of the bag.

  'Hope you don't object to the intrusion. You're like lightning with a gun.'

  Momentarily annoyed that Franklin realized what he had done, Newman recalled his new companion had once been in the army.

  'You just never know.' he responded.

  'You never know.' Franklin agreed. 'Mind if I light a cigar?'

  'Go ahead. I'd have thought you'd have smelt the smoke from the cigarette I've just extinguished.'

  'I did. But it's polite to ask.' Franklin said with a smile.

  Newman had heard that Franklin played the devil with the ladies. He could understand the reason for his success with his amorous adventures. Franklin had an easy manner, was courteous, smiled a lot.

  'How did you know I was on this train?' he asked suddenly.

  'Because I have a good team of detectives. I've had one man watching the airport, another down at Anne-masse, a sleepy station on Geneva's southern frontier with France. Just the place where Brazil would bring in his thugs – and he did. Then a third man watching Cornavin. He spotted you.'

  'So you decided you'd come along for the ride?' Newman enquired, watching Franklin's reaction closely.

  'No. I decided you needed all the back-up you can get. I don't think you know what's waiting for you in the Valais.'

  'What is waiting for me?'

  'At least forty of Brazil's professional thugs have passed through Geneva, then boarded a train for the east.' He paused as, having trimmed the end of his cigar, Franklin passed a match backwards and forwards, getting it alight to his satisfaction. 'And undoubtedly we missed some of them.'

  'So you've come as back-up?'

  Franklin heaved his case across to the seat next to Newman. Unlocking it, he lifted the lid, exposing a neatly folded jacket. He lifted the jacket after glancing into the deserted corridor. Nestling on a pair of pyjamas was a Heckler amp; Koch MP5 9mm sub-machine-gun.

  'You don't believe in doing things by halves,' Newman commented as Franklin quickly put back the jacket, closed the case. He took a long puff at his cigar.

  'No, I don't believe in doing things by halves. You'll know that little baby has a rate of fire of six hundred and fifty rounds per minute. And I've got plenty of spare mags.'

  'I'd call you a pessimist,' Newman said with a smile.

  'I'd call myself a realist. We're approaching a major battlefield. You know Brazil has a villa up the Col de Roc, overlooking a glacier? Above Sion.'

  'No, I didn't.' 'Had it built to his own design. It's equipped with a high-power radio transmitter. Yes, Bob, that's what is ahead of us. A major battlefield.'

  35

  Tweed returned to Park Crescent two hours after leaving for Downing Street. He walked into his office, took off his coat, put it on a hanger after putting his gloves on his desk. Monica watched him with growing impatience, sure that he was being tantalizing. Then she saw his pensive expression, realized he was thinking. He sat down behind his desk, still with the abstracted look on his face.

  'Would you like some coffee?' she ventured.

  'Yes, please.' He pause
d. 'After I've told you what happened.'

  'The PM is still at sixes and sevens,' she guessed.

  'No, not any more. I talked to him pretty frankly and he listened. By the time I'd finished he'd calmed down. He can even take a decision now.'

  'And did he?'

  'Yes. He agreed to several suggestions I made. First he's alerted the Rapid Reaction Force to be ready to fly to Europe. Then he phoned the German Chancellor and told him to have the airfields ready to receive it when it lands.'

  'Told him? Told the German Chancellor?'

  'That's what I said. Actually the Chancellor was glad to have someone taking a decision. I also suggested the PM refused any calls from the President at the White House, telling him to inform the President the PM was not available, that his Private Secretary should take the calls.'

  'What was the idea of that?'

  'To stop Washington spreading their frenzied mood.

  The White House is in the greatest panic ever known. All in all I've poured oil on the troubled waters.'

  'Not petrol, as you told Howard?'

  'That was just to shut him up. How is Reginald coming on with his computer toys?'

  'He's still upstairs with his team. They're frantic.'

  'They would be. I'll pop upstairs and sort them out. If a pot of coffee was ready when I get back I'd be most grateful…'

  Tweed strolled up to the next floor. The door to the computer room was open, lights were flashing. He went in to find Reginald, long hair trailing down over his neck, staring fixedly at the master computer. His two assistants seemed equally hypnotized by their equipment.

  'Getting anywhere?' Tweed asked.

  'I'll say we are.' Reginald's bulging eyes gleamed as he turned to look at Tweed. 'The trouble is we can't cope with the amount of data coming in.'

  'Data? The rubbish you're being fed? Nothing major has actually happened so far.'

  'You're wrong, sir. Look at the screen. It's reporting extensive troop movements converging on Moscow from all sides.'

  'Do the satellites confirm that? They'd see those movements.'

  'Well, not yet.'

  'Don't you find that puzzling?' Tweed asked gently.

  'Modern communications are a complicated business,' said Reginald, sounding pretentious.

  'You haven't answered my question.'

  'We are getting reports from all over the world…'

  'I did query whether the satellites confirm these reports.'

  'Well, Washington may be sitting on what they're getting from that source.'

  'Why should they?' demanded Tweed.

  'I've no idea.'

  'Then I'll tell you. It's because the satellites have not picked up what those alarming reports are saying. They haven't picked them up because they're not happening. Yet.'

  'What does that mean, sir?'

  'Keep up the good work. Soon you may really be overwhelmed with shattering news.'

  Before Reginald could ask what he meant Tweed left, went back to his office. Monica poured coffee from a large pot, added milk. Tweed sat down, drank a whole cupful at one steady gulp. Monica refilled the cup.

  'I'm going to have a nap in this chair,' Tweed said when he had drunk the second cup.

  He had just closed his eyes when the phone rang. He kept them closed until Monica called out.

  'Sorry, I have Beck on the line…'

  'Hello, Arthur. I arrived here in record time. Your aircrew are superb. They're standing by at Heathrow for when I want to take off again.'

  'Good. More news. Brazil has again delayed his flight departure aboard the jet at Kloten. He's playing cat and mouse.'

  'What he doesn't know is I'm the cat, he's the mouse. If you call again and I'm not here, speak to Monica. She will know how to contact me. What's the weather like in Zurich?'

  'A typical British question. It's snowing, not heavily. Brazil's pilot gave that as the reason why he's changed the flight plan.'

  'But he could have taken off?'

  'The security chief at Kloten told me he most certainly could have done.'

  'Which means Brazil is working to a timetable. Thanks for keeping me in touch. Appreciate it if you'd keep doing so…'

  'So what are you waiting for?' Monica asked as she put down her phone after listening in.

  'Brazil's big bang. The trouble is I'm not sure what form it will take. But we'll know when it happens.'

  Tweed closed his eyes again and fell fast asleep after pulling his tie loose and unfastening his collar.

  In Zurich Brazil had summoned Craig to his living room. Igor, seated by Brazil's side, stood up and bared its teeth as the visitor entered the room…'

  'Sit down, Craig. Is everyone travelling aboard the jet ready to leave?'

  'They have been ready for several hours.'

  'It's time to go.' Brazil looked at his watch. 'It is a short flight so I should reach the villa in time. I want you to contact the flight controller at Sion airfield to have the runway ready for us to land.'

  'The cars are standing by to take us straight to Kloten.' Craig reported smugly.

  'I should hope they are.'

  'Who will look after Igor aboard the plane?' Craig enquired, eyeing the hound without enthusiasm. 'Jose?'

  'No. You will. He likes resting his forepaws in a lap when he's airborne. Your lap should serve nicely.'

  'You said you would reach the villa in time. In time to do what?'

  'To send the first signal to the laboratory across the valley.'

  'The signal to do what?' Craig rumbled on.

  'You'll find out when it happens, won't you?' Brazil smiled broadly. 'Now, off you go, get the others on their way to the airport. And send Eve in to me for a word.'

  'She's probably asleep.'

  'Wake her up, then.'

  ***

  Eve was still up, drinking and smoking, when Craig hammered on her door.

  'Can't you knock more quietly?' she demanded when she opened the door and saw who was there.

  'No. The boss wants to see you. This very second. So make with the feet.'

  'You know, Craig, you have the most charming way of expressing yourself.'

  Her retort was wasted. Craig was already clumping off down the corridor to tell everyone they were leaving. Eve checked her appearance in the mirror, used a brush to smooth down her jet-black hair behind her neck.

  She then walked slowly along the corridor, entered Brazil's room without knocking, closed the door, drifted across to the chair in front of the desk, sat down and crossed her shapely legs. No one was going to hurry her.

  'You can certainly move,' Brazil said sarcastically.

  'Where is the doggie?'

  'Craig will shortly be taking him to the airport. You get on with Robert Newman rather well. Is that right?'

  'Yes, I do,' she lied. 'Why? Do you want me to make up to him?'

  'Why, I wonder, do men fall for you so easily?'

  'Men are propelled by desire for attractive women. It must be my irresistible personality,' she said cynically.

  'If you say so.' Brazil checked the time by his watch. 'I must go in a minute.'

  'What was the point of asking me about Newman?'

  'I was coming to that. I will, in due course, return to Zurich. Some unfinished business I have to attend to. It's just possible Newman will follow me back here. If he's still alive. In that contingency you can practise your black magic arts on him. I would want to know where Tweed was. You could manage that, couldn't you?'

  'Shouldn't be impossible. I worked it with those bankers you asked me to get to know.' She leaned forward. 'The ones who were murdered by some unknown creature. After all…' She leaned back again. 'I do have Philip Cardon salivating over me.'

  'Gustav will stay behind to give you moral support.' Brazil said as he stood up, put on a heavy blue overcoat which had lain folded on a chair beside him. 'He'll be company for you.'

  'Company I could do without.'

  'He's really quite a
nice chap – when you get to know him.' Brazil said with a smile as he picked up a briefcase.

  'I have no intention of getting to know him. That man.' she said through her teeth, 'is a creep. Have a quiet trip.'

  'I can assure you, it will be anything but quiet.'

  'I think Sion looked better in the mist.' Paula said as they walked away from the car park next to the Hotel Touring where Philip had left their vehicle. 'It could be any small modern town. Oh, Lord, here they come again.'

  Two Leather Bombers had appeared on their machines, riding slowly towards them. No one else was about. Philip slipped his hand inside his brown leather jacket and gripped his Walther.

  'Keep walking. Don't look at them. We're lovers on holiday.'

  He wrapped his left arm round her waist, stopped, kissed her on the cheek. As they started walking again one of the motorcyclists called out something filthy in French.

  'Minds like sewers.' Philip commented. 'Just keep walking.'

  The motorcyclists had passed them, were continuing down the street towards the station. Paula resisted her impulse to look back.

  'I'm hungry.' she said. 'I suppose it's too early for lunch.'

  'Not at the restaurant we passed just up the street. So we'll have a leisurely meal. And, if you're very polite to me, I'll start off by buying you that brandy you wanted back at the hotel before we started off up the mountain.'

  'That seems a hundred years ago. Yes, sir, I do believe I would appreciate a brandy. Is that polite enough?'

  'It will do…'

  They ordered Tweed's favourite dish, escalope Zurichoise, a substantial dish, and ate two servings. The restaurant was small and tidy with crisp white tablecloths and no one else in the place. Over their meal they tried to work out what to do next.

  'We could explore the Col de Roc where Brazil has his villa, on the mountains on the other side of the valley,' Paula suggested.

  'We could, but we'd be pushing our luck.'

  'What do you mean? I think it's a good idea. Now we've got into the swing of driving up these mountain roads.'