by Colin Forbes
'Sorry, I interrupted you,' Paula said.
'Yes, he had the Italian architects who built the complex convert those apparently unused houses into small palaces. Occasionally the wives are taken with their men to a dinner in a private room at one of the big hotels on Lake Geneva.'
'What worries us,' Philip intervened, 'is how to destroy the fake weather station, which is where Brazil is using his system to annihilate world communications. When Paula and I were up there this morning I noticed the slope above the buildings looked unstable.'
'It is very unstable. One day it will slide down when it is disturbed. That will be the end of Brazil's evil plan. The Italian architects he employed told him it was perfectly safe. They wanted the job of designing the place. He got them in the end.'
'How do you mean?' asked Paula.
'The project is completed, Brazil puts them in an air-conditioned bus to take them to the railway station. He hands out bottles of excellent wine. The bus starts off. Halfway down the brakes fail, it goes over a precipice. No one can talk about what they have built.'
'Can I ask how you know all this?' queried Philip.
'Because I lived here then. Just after the so-called accident to the bus I met General Sterndale and went to England. Earlier I used to walk up the mountain, taking a pack on my back with sleeping bag and food.'
'You walked up!'
Paula was astounded. She couldn't prevent herself glancing at Marchat's stocky legs, bulging against his trousers.
'I took my time. I made friends with one of the workmen, a man from Slovenia who spoke French. He told me what was going on. I went up dressed like one of the workmen so the guards would not notice me. So many workmen.'
'I think we've taken up enough of your time,' Paula said. 'The information you have given us is invaluable.'
'Use it to wreck that man.' Marchat growled.
'Thank you for the wine.' Paula had turned to Karin who, slim and calm, had listened. 'It really was very good.'
'I made it myself,' Karin admitted and flushed with pleasure.
Marchat reached out a gnarled hand, grasped his wife by the wrist affectionately, squeezed it.
'One thing before we go,' Philip warned as he stood up. 'Under no circumstances let any stranger into this house – whatever yarn he spins you. Just keep the door shut.' He deliberately held Marchat's gaze. 'We know The Motorman is in town…'
***
Newman listened to their report of the visit to Anton and Karin Marchat when they had returned to his room at the Elite.
They sound a nice couple.' he said when they had finished. 'And, without realizing it, Marchat has confirmed our plan will work. So, let the morning come quickly.'
'Bob.' Philip said earnestly, leaning forward in his chair, 'I think we should give them a guard. Butler – or Nield – would be ideal.'
'I can't do that. Reluctantly.' Newman replied firmly. 'We will be heavily outnumbered when we attack. Every man – and woman – will be needed. Sorry, but that's the way it is. The top priority is the destruction of that ground station.'
'I'm nervous about their safety.' Philip persisted.
'And I agree with him.' Paula chimed in.
'Then you'll both have to control your nerves.' Newman told them grimly. This is a time when hard decisions have to be taken. I've just taken one.'
He stopped, jumped up at the sound of a peculiar tattoo on the door. Even though he recognized it he had his Smith amp; Wesson in his hand as he unlocked the door, opened it a crack, then wide. Butler and Nield walked in, holding motorcycle helmets, clad from head to foot in black leather. Paula noticed the red crosses painted on their helmets.
'Coffee?' Newman offered as he locked the door. 'It's fresh, delivered for Paula and Philip not ten minutes ago.'
'Black and strong as sin for me.' said Butler. 'And we didn't locate any sin on the streets. No Leather Bombers.'
'And no ladies of the night, unfortunately.' said Nield humorously.
'Shame.' Paula chaffed him.
Newman, still looking serious, waited until Butler and Nield had drunk their coffee and Paula had refilled their cups. Both men were beginning to look fresher after a few minutes in the warmly heated room.
'When you've drunk your coffee – and don't hurry -do you think you could face another patrol of Sion? This time on your feet, checking all the bars and drinking places, including hotels.'
'Just what I was hoping for.' Nield joked, 'a walk out there in a temperature way below zero. And the exercise will be so welcome.'
'What are we looking for?' asked the terser Butler.
'Bill Franklin and Keith Kent. They're somewhere here in Sion. I'd like to pinpoint where they are. Don't approach either of them, just give their locations back to me over a phone. One name, one place, then get off the line.'
'We'd better get going,' said the sturdy Butler.
'What I've always found so endearing.' Nield remarked drily, 'is Harry's enthusiasm. Oh, well. If we have to freeze, then freeze we will.'
'Be back here in one hour.' Newman ordered as they went to the door and he followed them. 'You need sleep for tomorrow…'
'I don't understand what you hope to achieve by that.' Paula said after the two men had left the room.
'If they get lucky and locate one man, or very lucky and locate both, I'll call Beck in Zurich. I can ask him if he would contact the local police chief and request surveillance by plain-clothes detectives on both men.' He looked at Paula. 'More than that I cannot do.'
'But how can you expect them to recognize either Franklin or Kent?' Paula demanded.
'You must be tired. They're pros – Butler and Nield. I gave them two names. Take a hotel. They'll go in with some story cooked up about looking for two friends with those names. If one of the targets is in the bar they'll ask to have him pointed out, then say they have to go to the loo, sneak out, and call me. That's just one angle I thought up on the spur I'd use if I was searching for them.'
'I must be tired.' Paula agreed.
Newman put on the radio, ordered more coffee, and some sandwiches from room service. He sat listening to the flood of reports while he drank and ate, all reports about a breakdown in communications in some other part of the world.
Philip and Paula, seated on a couch, chatted quietly with each other. Precisely one hour later Butler and Nield returned.
'How did it go?' Newman asked.
'It didn't.' said Nield. 'I don't think there's a bar in Sion we haven't visited, plus a number of hotels. No sign of Franklin, no sign of Kent.'
'You did your best.' said Newman. 'Take off that gear, make yourselves comfortable when you come back. I'll order some food and more coffee for you.'
'I think I'm going to bed.' said Paula, standing up as the two men left. 'I'm dog-tired. See you in the morning.'
She went back to her room, forced herself to have a shower, flopped into bed, switched off the light, and turned over. She was depressed by the fact Butler and Nield had failed to track down either man. She was thinking about the Marchats and her anxiety grew. If only Tweed was here, was her last thought before she fell fast asleep.
41
Tweed checked his watch, allowed for Swiss time. The paramedics had gone, taking away their sad cargo. The chief of the team had come in to see Tweed briefly.
'Sorry, sir. No good news. All three men in the computer room are dead.'
'I thought they were.' Tweed said quietly.
'Can't understand what happened to them. The autopsy will tell us.'
'I can tell you. Shock. Brought on by unbearable pressure of sight and sound. Their systems couldn't take it. You haven't heard the news on the world bulletins?'
'Been too busy to listen to any news.'
'You'll hear about it. I won't delay you. Thank you for coming so quickly.'
He made his urgent request to Monica as soon as they were alone.
'Try and get Newman on the phone. Keep your fingers crossed that he's still at
the Elite.'
'Bob's on the line,' Monica called out triumphantly a few minutes later.
'Tweed here. I'll phrase this carefully.' he said, knowing the call was passing through the hotel switchboard. 'You recall what you and Philip were practising with when you were last down at Send?'
'Yes.'
'When is zero hour for the party?'
'At dawn tomorrow morning. At least, that's when we move off.'
'I'm bringing one with me in the jet. With plenty of what you feed into it.'
'That present would be just perfect for the party.' Newman said regretfully. 'But you'll arrive too late.'
'No, I won't. Have a vehicle waiting at that airfield.'
'You'll be too late.' Newman insisted.
'Not if I fly there overnight.'
'You can't do that.' Newman protested. 'It's only a small airfield. Only daylight landings are safe.'
'So I'll inform Beck. He will make arrangements. He'll have to.'
'I have to advise you not to attempt this madness.' Newman said with great force.
'I have to remind you who is in charge. I am. So kindly have transport ready to pick up the present. You can do that, I presume?'
'I could…'
'So you will. Beck will inform you of my ETA. Get a good night's sleep.'
He went off the line before Newman could protest. Monica was clasping her hands in her lap as she spoke.
'He didn't like the idea of a night landing at Sion airfield, did he?'
'Newman is sometimes so cautious,' Tweed replied blandly.
'And rightly so.' she snapped. 'What is your idea of the ETA at Sion?'
'I'd like to take off from Heathrow in that jet waiting for me at about 3 a.m. That should get me to Sion about 4.30 a.m. or 5.30 local time.'
'It will be as black as the hole of Calcutta.' Monica shouted at him in despair.
'You've forgotten something. Swiss pilots will fly me there. They know their own airspace better than any pilots in the world. And the moonlight will help.'
'It may not. The moon is often obscured by clouds.'
'It won't be. I am lucky. Now you have a lot to do.' He counted off items on his fingers. 'First, call Jim Corcoran at Heathrow, tell him when I wish to fly out to Sion. Ask him to alert the aircrew. The present for Newman is downstairs, just brought up from Send on my orders. It is in a jeep, carefully packaged, and George is guarding it along with the men who brought it up. Have it sent to Heathrow so it can be put aboard the jet. It is to be handled only by the men who brought it up from Send.'
'Not an atom bomb, I hope.' said Monica, half-joking, half-fearful.
'Of course not. Although when used it may well have a similar effect. Check that the aircrew agree they can take off at 3 a.m. Warn Corcoran that a delicate cargo has to be put aboard, that it is on the way, ask him to warn the crew that it – the cargo – is perfectly safe, that it is weapons which have not been armed.'
'Is that all?'
'By no means. Get Corcoran to phone you the moment the jet is airborne, then phone Beck. Tell him I'm aboard, that I will be landing at the agreed ETA at Sion. Ask him to warn the airfield to be ready to receive the jet when the pilot contacts the control tower. Above all, do not phone Beck until I am in the air, beyond recall.'
'Beck will blow a gasket.'
'He may, but he'll do all he can.'
'That sounds ominous.'
'Nothing is certain in this world. We are all, at some time, poised on the edge of a precipice.'
Leaving Park Crescent, Tweed drove himself through the night to Professor Grogarty's quarters in Harley Street. He had, earlier, phoned Grogarty to see if it would be convenient for him to call on him. Grogarty's response had been typical.
'Of course. Where do you think that I would be at this hour? Asleep? Surely you know by now I – like you – do my best work when the rest of the world sleeps
Grogarty answered Tweed's ringing of the bell himself and once again his pince-nez was askew. Oh, Lord, thought Tweed, I'll spend my time trying to decide which eye to focus on.
'Have a brandy.' Grogarty said jovially as he escorted his guest to a comfortable armchair. 'Yes, I know you rarely drink, but just a small one. I hate drinking on my own.'
'If you insist.'
'I do, sir!'
Tweed glanced round the large, so well-furnished room while Grogarty poured the drinks. On an antique sideboard he saw a strange microscope, very squat and with a series of lenses. Grogarty caught his glance.
'Yes, that's what I examined those photos from French Guiana with. I designed it myself. Most of my equipment I have knocked up myself – can't get what I need from manufacturers. They tell me what I want is theoretically impossible.'
'Which spurs you on – to prove they're wrong.'
'Exactly. Your health, sir. Now what can I do for you this time?'
'Speaking of time, I won't take up much of yours. I'm due to fly off somewhere at 3 a.m.'
'You're always flying off somewhere. At 3 a.m.? Didn't know there were flights at that hour.'
'I invented one.'
'You would.'
Grogarty, a tall man, was standing with stooped shoulders. Tweed stared at him strangely, so strangely that his host reacted.
'Got a pimple on my nose?'
'Sorry, I just had an idea. Forget it. Now…'
Tweed described concisely – but vividly – what he had experienced in the computer room at Park Crescent. He ended by telling his host that the three operators inside the room were dead.
'This happened, but I wanted to check with you. Does it make sense?'
'Most certainly.' Grogarty had settled himself in another armchair facing Tweed. 'Nowadays we are cursed with TV pictures – and sound – transmitted from satellites orbiting the earth. Scientists have become the devil's disciples. They don't care what happens so long as they can make their names designing some infernal contraption. Mobile phones – so we no longer have privacy, personal computers which can be operated from the home, et cetera, et cetera. But what is the result of all this so-called scientific advance? The world is being brought so close together everyone has become neighbours. Pressures are increased on the human mind -which can only take so much. I am a scientist but I know the world would be a safer place if most of the top scientists were shot.'
'Coming from you, that is an original thought,' Tweed remarked.
'A thought I suspect you have already had. The core of the danger is this – scientists are so intent on making a name for themselves in their chosen field that they never give a moment's thought beforehand about the consequences of what they plan to invent. They are amoral.'
'A profound thought.'
'Also, many think they are kings of the earth. They will mould the future. I have an old-fashioned idea that it is governments who are expected to guide us out of danger.'
'You would advocate controlling science?' Tweed suggested.
'I have done, sir! Many times. At secret seminars which receive no publicity. I said earlier all the world has become neighbours. Where, in private life, does serious trouble so often start? With your neighbour – over the garden fence. Now the bloody boffins are creating a world where all the nations will be at each other's throats. I suspect the man behind what you described as happening at Park Crescent – and all over the planet -is bent on wiping out modern science. Especially in communications, which bring nations too close to each other. I drink to him.'
Grogarty raised his glass, swallowed more brandy, smiled at his guest.
'You don't look shocked.'
'I'm not.'
'So, as I have explained – only briefly – what is happening is perfectly possible, given the murderous advance of science. I use the word carefully. Mentally, they are murdering our civilization, reducing us to the servants of infernal machines. I also believe you are set on countering this terrible menace.'
'I am doing what I can,' said Tweed, standing up to go.
'Then it will be done.'
Brazil had felt relieved when the helicopter landed him inside the perimeter fence surrounding the complex on the Kellerhorn. He immediately held a meeting with Luigi in his subordinate's ornately furnished office. Weird tapestries and old posters decorated the walls. The chairs arranged round a circular table of solid glass were stark, modern, uncomfortable.
Craig had come into the room, was wriggling his bulk trying to find an easy position. He gave up, leaned forward, and rested his thick elbows on the glass.
'Congratulations to you, Luigi.' was Brazil's first remark. 'You did a splendid job.' He looked at Craig. 'You have heard the news?'
'Had my ear glued to the radio. Chaos everywhere. Just what we hoped for. What's next?'
'I will personally send the second signal tomorrow, the one which will totally smash the West's morale. That will enable other events elsewhere to take place. Then we evacuate this establishment – after destroying the equipment.'
'What about those pesky scientists and their grouching women?' Craig wanted to know.
'That is your job. After the signal is sent you will cut off the air-conditioning system to the houses they live and work in.'
'Cut it off?' Craig raised a thick eyebrow. 'You had those old cabins sealed off so not a bit of outside air could get in. Cut off the air-conditioning and they're dead in thirty minutes.'
'That.' Brazil said quietly, 'is the idea. To coin a cliche, dead men tell no tales.'
'True.' Craig agreed. 'Just tell me tomorrow when to do it.'
'Scientists are the curse of humanity.' Brazil ruminated aloud. 'They rush us ever faster into a future I do not wish to contemplate. With Ed Reynolds leading the team I have organized the destruction of the worldwide communications system they created. They were happy to do this – for money, and to prove to themselves it could be done. We have the elite of the world's scientists inside what was a deserted village. Eliminate them and we put science back many years.' He smiled grimly. 'You could say I am a benefactor of humanity – although that is only part of a much greater global plan.'
'Where is Jose?' asked Luigi.
'I left him at the villa. Someone had to be there as well as Elvira. That's a detail you can leave to me.'