Precipice tac-14

by Colin Forbes

  Take you hours to get there,' the same workman who had spoken to Brazil informed them. A minute before he had explained with glee what had happened to the ferry.

  'This is no good.' said Philip. 'I know what we must do.'

  Gesturing for Marler to follow, he backed away from the ferry point, drove along a road which ran parallel to the large harbour. Frequently Paula saw forests of masts swaying gently between trees. They were sitting together in the back and Tweed called out: 'Philip, maybe you'd let me in on what you propose.'

  'When I was up on Lyman's Tout with Eve, the night of the fire, I noticed an old jetty at the foot of a nearby cove. There was a footpath leading down to it. If we hire a boat that's the quickest way to get to the area.'

  'By boat?' Tweed was horrified.

  Take these.' Paula whispered. 'Two Dramamines for sea sickness. You've taken them before. And I've got a small canister of water – Tupperware – in my shoulder bag. Now don't argue. Just swallow them.'

  Reluctantly, Tweed did as he was told, swallowing all the water to get the two tablets down. He hated the sea, as Paula knew.

  'Are you sure it's going to get us there quicker by boat?' he demanded.

  'Absolutely certain.' Philip had the bit between his teeth. 'That's what I was checking on the map aboard the jet. I have plenty of money and I also have a certificate for handling any kind of craft. I used to sail a lot before I met Jean. Hardly more than a kid, I was.'

  He turned off the main road down a side road with a sign, TO MARINA. When they arrived Tweed saw the masts swaying. He turned to Paula.

  'Looks as though the sea is rough.'

  'Just a gentle swell.' Philip assured him.

  'I seem to have heard those words before.' Tweed said without any enthusiasm.

  'The Dramamines will have worked by the time we're aboard.' Paula whispered.

  Philip had been joined by Newman and Marler. He argued with them forcefully, convinced them he knew what he was doing. Marler also knew about handling boats so it was arranged he would back up Philip if necessary. The next thing they discussed was the choice of the craft available.

  Tweed wandered with Paula out onto the marina. Even inside the harbour there was Philip's so-called 'gentle swell'. Tweed began talking to take his mind off the coming ordeal.

  'Brazil is a strange man. I suppose we're all a weird mix, but he has changed the course of the world and his name will never appear in any history book. I'm sure he knows this.'

  'Then why has he done it?' Paula wanted to know.

  'Not for personal glory, that's certain.'

  'Yet he seemed to love being on close terms with the occupants of Downing Street, the White House, the Elysee, and so on.'

  'I think he was just using his powerful personality to weigh up what sort of people were running the world -and was appalled by the lack of ability he found in high circles.'

  'But he's such a ruthless man,' she persisted.

  'If you set out to change the balance of world power you have to be ruthless, I'd say. He's a unique mixture of statesman and villain. The unusual aspect of his character is he must be completely lacking in vanity. And, unlike most of the men at the top, his view is global.'

  'I get the impression he doesn't like modern communications.'

  'I'm sure he doesn't. Neither do I. The way to a truly catastrophic explosion is to bring everyone on the planet on top of each other. People sit in front of their TV and think they're getting the news. All they're getting is sensational horrific pictures, often of something which doesn't have any effect on the way the world is moving. Important news is ignored if it doesn't produce lurid pictures. TV so-called news is entertainment – if that's the right word for the horrors they love to show us.'

  'And we don't like mobile phones. At least, I don't.' said Paula.

  'Carting one of those about means you never have time to think. The knowledge that anyone can contact you even when you're out for a walk is disturbing. Brazil was so right about scientists – they never consider the possible consequences of what they're inventing.'

  They both turned round as they heard someone running up behind them. It was Marler.

  'We've found a beaut. It's costing a mint to hire but it will get us there fast.'

  'I'm looking forward to this.' Tweed said ironically.

  Paula glanced at Tweed with anxiety as they arrived at where the chosen vessel was berthed. A gangplank with rails was in position. It was a huge power cruiser and had a high, closed-in bridge. Philip was already inside, behind the controls. Newman was unfastening a rope round a bollard, waiting to cast off.

  'Has the Dramamine started to work?' whispered Paula.

  'It has.'

  'There's a very luxurious-looking cabin. I think you will be comfortable there.'

  'Well, I'm not going below decks. First, it's closer to the water. Second, I want to see what's happening. I'm going onto the bridge.'

  'If you feel like that.' Paula replied dubiously.

  'I do!' Tweed walked across the gangplank with a firm step. He never grasped the rails although the gangplank was swaying with the swell. Newman called out to Paula, handed her a pair of powerful field glasses he'd dug out of his satchel.

  'One for you, one for Tweed.'

  Philip had started up the engines. He slid aside a window, poked his head out, shouted down.

  'All aboard that's going aboard. Look lively down there.'

  'He's in his element,' Paula commented as she caught up with Tweed.

  Marler and Newman cast off at bow and stern, rushed across the gangplank, hauled it on board. Tweed reached the bridge as Philip began to manoeuvre the cruiser into the main channel. He stared round in surprise at the size of the bridge, at the array of controls, at the chart obtained from the boat hirer on the chart table.

  'It's like the control panel of a Boeing 747,' he said quietly to Paula.

  'Don't worry. It won't become airborne.'

  Below them Marler and Newman were coiling up their ropes. They passed Brownsea Island, a low hulk masked by trees, looking more like Devil's Island than a pleasure resort. Then they were coming up to the exit. Tweed stood grasping a rail, guessing what was coming when they hit the open sea.

  They cruised past the impotent car ferry at a few knots. Paula could see where some other very large vessel had collided with its hull, leaving a brutal graze which men were working on. They emerged into the open and the swell increased in magnitude as Philip opened up the engines and they roared across giant waves. Taking one hand off the wheel briefly, Philip pointed shoreward.

  'That's Studland Bay.'

  'I know.' said Tweed, who was studying the chart. 'In summer on that Shell Bay beach it's near-naked bodies lying shoulder to shoulder. Sardine sunbathing. And look at it now.'

  A strand of sandy beach was deserted, behind it was a ridge covered with miserable gorse, wind-blown and grey. One word summed up the whole stretch of this coast. Desolation.

  'Old Harry Rocks coming up.' called out Philip. 'We're making good progress.'

  The strange large stacks of chalk cliff, standing isolated from each other, projected into the sea and had a prehistoric appearance. Behind them, like a wave, a far larger wave than those which they were swooping up and down over, rose the Purbeck Hills. Almost bereft of trees, they had a grim look and no sign of habitation anywhere.

  'Well, Eve and I drove over those hills.' Philip recalled. 'What a bloody waste of time.'

  Paula noticed there wasn't a hint of nostalgia in his tone. He had spoken in a quite matter-of-fact way. Well clear of the coast, they were passing the chalk stacks. They roared on, past distant Swanage and its long bay. Smoke rose drearily from several chimneys, was blown helter-skelter in all directions the moment it emerged. Paula peered out of the window Philip had now closed.

  Marler and Newman were sheltering on the starboard. On the port side spume and sea water splashed over on to the deck. Philip pointed to a cape.

  'Th
at's Durlston Head. We're getting there. Once we pass that it's only St Alban's Head. Then we're there.'

  When she had peered down to starboard Paula had seen that Marler had his Armalite slung over his shoulder along with his satchel. She began to feel tense. Glancing at Tweed she could see no sign of nerves in his expression.

  'Brazil.' he said, 'must pay for the people who died -for Ben, the barman at the Black Bear Inn, Partridge, an innocent bystander, mistaken for Marchat at Devastoke Cottage, Rico Sava, arms dealer in Geneva, General Sterndale, and his son. To say nothing of the bankers who were murdered. Eve Warner was a willing accomplice. She shut her eyes to what was happening. And Karin and Anton Marchat. Yes, Brazil must pay his dues.'

  Epilogue

  Driving towards Corfe, Brazil was held up for a long time by roadworks. He thought he had never driven along a stretch of road with so many traffic lights controlling single-file traffic. The light was always red when he came to it.

  Eve, in a bad temper because she had been moved to the back of the limo, was grouching constantly, which didn't help Brazil to keep his temper. Her main grudge was that Igor was sitting in the front passenger seat alongside its master.

  'I don't see why I should be stuck in the back just to give a dog the best seat,' she grumbled on.

  'Igor likes to see what is coming, to look at the view,' Brazil replied, waiting for a green light.

  'Damn all for him to see.' she grouched.

  'You never notice scenery.' he reminded her. 'I know what's eating you – the lack of a drink.'

  'I could do with a vodka.' she admitted. 'We should carry a bottle in the car.'

  'Then we're stopped by a young eager beaver policeman, he sees the bottle, and we waste time while I'm breathalysed.'

  'You don't drink and drive.' she nagged on.

  'They don't know that until they've tested me.'

  'I haven't seen one policeman in the Purbecks.' She leaned forward to emphasize what she was saying. 'And I drove all over these sodden hills with Philip Cardon.'

  'Have a good time with him?' Brazil enquired.

  'So-so. He's just another man. Keep your eyes open.' she said suddenly. 'The light's changed.'

  Brazil was wondering how she had charmed all those bankers as he drove on. The threatening storm clouds had passed over without dropping any rain. Again it was brilliant sunshine. Brazil thought the Purbecks had a quiet beauty all their own. He had been wise to buy Grenville Grange. He came up to another traffic light, which turned amber, then red. He braked.

  'You could have got through the amber if you'd rammed your foot down,' Eve ranted on. 'Why not hand over the wheel to me? Then we might get there.'

  'I prefer to get there alive.' he said with an edge to his voice.

  'I'll have you know I'm a damned good driver.' she replied, leaning forward again.

  'Good for you.'

  She lit a fresh cigarette, leaving her previous stub in the ashtray, still smoking. Brazil glanced back, told her to put it out properly. She stabbed viciously with a lipstick holder she took from her shoulder bag. In her impatience she almost pulled out the canister of Mace gas.

  Sitting back, she went on smoking, tipped ash on the edge of the tray so it fell onto the previously flawlessly clean floor. Someone else can clean that up, she said to herself. The light changed to green.

  'Don't miss this one.' she hissed.

  He waited until he'd passed the roadworks before he stopped the car. He turned round and looked at her, his voice cold.

  'If you don't shut up I'll have to consider terminating your contract.'

  'Go ahead. See if I care.'

  He drove on, reached the beginning of Corfe, drove through the old village, turned up the steep hill to Kingston. On the way up he couldn't avoid a large watersplash. Water cascaded up, covering the windscreen briefly, running down the windows on Eve's side of the car. He glanced in the rear-view mirror. She was grinning wickedly.

  'Drive up the middle of the road and you can avoid that happening,' she said, assuming a bored tone.

  'With a blind bend ahead of me and maybe another vehicle speeding down?'

  'There's very little traffic on this road. I remember when I was driving with Philip. He, at least, dodged all the watersplashes,' she goaded.

  'Good for him.'

  A heavy silence descended inside the limo as he drove through Kingston, then later approached the drive leading to Grenville Grange. Even in the sunshine the old pile had a forbidding look. As they slowly came closer Eve leaned forward.

  'I don't see any lights. And all the shutters are closed. I thought you said you'd arranged for staff to have the place ready for us.'

  'Maybe they got the date wrong.'

  'In that case, let's have dinner together at the Priory in Wareham.' Her tone was suddenly pleasant, coaxing. 'The food there is very good, very good indeed.'

  'And the bar isn't bad either, I assume?'

  'You know they have a good bar. You told me you'd had dinner there several times. Let's turn round and head straight for the Priory.'

  'We'll check the situation here first.'

  'Bet there's no one at home.'

  'We'll find out, won't we?'

  The power cruiser had left St Alban's Head behind, was several miles out to sea from the coast, when Philip spotted the steep-sided ridge which was Lyman's Tout. Through his powerful field glasses Tweed could see something Philip, concentrating on steering the cruiser, couldn't.

  Perched like a gigantic guardhouse at the summit of the slope running down away from it, was Grenville Grange. Paula was also using her glasses to scan the mansion. She dropped her glasses, looped round her neck like Tweed's.

  'That's funny, I can't see any lights. The place looks closed for the season.'

  'It's rather early for lights,' Tweed mused.

  'From what I can see it's the sort of place where they need the lights on all the time. Even the shutters appear closed.'

  'Wait till we get nearer.'

  Philip was having to exert all his efforts to control the cruiser. A powerful current was running athwart the direction towards the cliffs he wanted to take. He felt confident that he could guide the cruiser to the old jetty he had seen, but he was bothered by the power of the current. Unless the jetty was protected by a nearby cape it could be a tricky business bringing the boat alongside the jetty so they could disembark.

  Like a good skipper, he kept his worries to himself. Newman appeared, holding his field glasses.

  'I've spotted the jetty you're aiming for. Luckily there's a huge rock projecting out just to the west of it. The sea looks reasonably quiet there.'

  'We'll make it,' Philip said and concentrated on steering.

  'The headlights of a car, a limo, have appeared,' Paula said as she stared again through her glasses. 'It's coming round the side of the house very slowly. Can't yet see who is driving – or who else, if anyone, is inside. Can we speed up a bit? Or shouldn't I make suggestions like that?'

  'The lady can have extra speed.' Philip assured her. 'Just a little more. Here goes…'

  'They haven't even opened the gates.' Eve exploded as they arrived at the entrance to Grenville Grange.

  Brazil didn't reply. Taking out his computer card-key, he leaned over to the box attached to a pillar, inserted the card, withdrew it. The electronically operated gates swung slowly open.

  'That must mean the blasted servants aren't here.' she snapped.

  'Not necessarily. They may have closed the gates after going inside as a security precaution. The shutters at the front are often kept closed, if you remember.'

  'Looks like a morgue to me.'

  'We'll take a look round the back. They may be preparing a meal.'

  'Why no guards, then?'

  'Oh, that's simple. I had every guard despatched to Europe. We'll have to hire some more.'

  As he answered her Brazil was driving slowly up the drive. Coming to where the drive forked, he took the left-hand trac
k, drove on round the side of the mansion. The sea came into view and the wind hit the car. Leaning forward, Brazil continued on to the end of the track where it petered out and the slope towards the cliff edge began. Here, because the ground was so arid, embedded with rocks, the surface was hard. He stopped the limo.

  'What the hell have we come this way for?' Eve demanded.

  'You see that large power cruiser out at sea? It's coming this way – and there's an old jetty with a footpath leading up from it on the other side of Lyman's Tout. We need to find out who is on board.' He reached down by his side, grasped a pair of binoculars, handed them to her over his shoulder. 'Take these, go to the edge of the cliff so you are closer, check if you recognize anyone.'

  'These aren't the high-powered pair.'

  "They'll do. I've lost the others.' he lied.

  'Oh, all right. I suppose I have to work even to get that dinner at the Priory. There's no one in the house…'

  Brazil sat in the limo perched at the top of the slope as she walked away, her trench coat flapping round her like a cloak. The words of the cassette Gustav had played back to him were echoing in his mind. She would have sold him out to Newman for a hundred thousand. And he didn't for a moment believe that Gustav had decided on his own to try and kill Tweed. Someone had put the idea into his head – had probably relayed a fictitious order from himself. He knew who that someone had to be.

  Eve reached the edge of the cliff, glanced down, backed away with a shudder several paces. She pressed the binoculars to her eyes. Couldn't make out who was on board the incoming power cruiser.

  'Damned fool.' she muttered. 'I told him they were the wrong glasses. Now I'll have to wait until the thing gets much closer.'

  Inside the car Brazil unlocked a compartment, took out the black glove, slipped it over his right hand. Igor began to get excited. Brazil pointed his index finger at Eve.

  Leaning over, he opened the passenger door. Igor bounded out, began loping towards Eve who had her back to him. Brazil folded his arms, watched, waited with no expression on his face.

  Igor, unlike the time when it had toppled Jose over the brink, was not running over the snow which had muffled the sound of its fast-moving paws. Here the ground was hard and its paws hammered down on the surface, no longer muffled.