by Colin Forbes
'Hello, Cord. Tweed here.'
'Hi! Tell me something; do I sound cheerful, as though I've just heard good news?'
'You do...'
'Which shows I can bluff my way during any crisis.'
'What crisis?'
The President. I was summoned to see him in the Oval Office. He was storming. Moloch has now built up so much power in the House of Representatives - and in the Senate - the President thinks he could swing the next election any way Moloch wants it to go. I tried to tell him he was exaggerating - but he wouldn't have it. I've been told to find out what VB is up to. I ask you - I've just found out Moloch has crossed the Atlantic in his Lear jet, is now in England somewhere ...'
'He has. I know exactly where he is.'
'Do me a favour, friend. Get me some data on what he's doing - and why. Your people are experts at that sort of thing and I can't get anything on him from over here. I know I'll get another summons to the White House soon. The whole of Washington is in a panic. They're saying Moloch is a winner in controlling the levers of power...'
'Cord, leave it to me. I'm already launching a major operation tracking this man. When I have something positive I'll call you. In fact the operation is well under way.'
'Maybe I'll sleep better tonight. My thanks.'
Tweed told Monica what the American had said. She pursed her lips.
'You didn't tell him the PM also is in a dither for the same reasons.'
'Deliberately. Why upset him more? So this one amazing man, VB, is able to cause tremors of anxiety in both London and Washington. Tremors,' he repeated thoughtfully.
'I'm continuing to check out Vanity Richmond,' Monica told him. 'I used a reliable contact in San Francisco. They tried to locate a Vanessa Richmond through the DMV, Department of Motor Vehicles, TRW, the credit-rating bureau, the IRS, Internal Revenue Service, the Immigration Department for registered aliens - foreigners with residential permits to live in the States - and a Social Security number. They came up with a blank everywhere. Vanessa Richmond is a woman with no identity.'
'Most mysterious,' commented Tweed.
'I'm more than halfway trying to find her over here but I'm registering more blanks.'
'When Newman phoned me his report on the Mullion Towers assault he then put Paula on the line. She says there's a woman staying on her own at Nansidwell who looks exactly like Vanity. But in California she was a redhead. The woman at Nansidwell is a brunette.'
'She's wearing a wig. Or maybe she's dyed her hair.' Monica said quickly.
"That thought had occurred to me. I'll have a chat with the lady when I arrive at Nansidwell. You booked me a room?'
'Of course. Starting tonight. Shouldn't you be driving off soon?'
'I'm waiting for Pete Nield to arrive back with that paper Marler grabbed out of VB's dustbin. He should be here soon.'
Half an hour later Nield arrived, having driven all the way to Cornwall and back again. Monica thought he looked surprisingly fresh. He handed Tweed a cardboard-backed envelope.
'Marler said what he found was torn into four pieces. He's assembled it with sellotape into the original document.'
'Don't you need a drink of something after that trip?' suggested Monica.
'I could do with a jug of water and some of that sweetened coffee you make so well, please?' Nield requested with a smile. 'I was parched during the last lap. Heat inside my car was like a furnace. I had a bottle of water but that soon went.'
'Sit down, Pete,' Tweed told him. 'I want to talk to you in a minute.'
Tweed was studying the document Marler had skilfully reassembled. It was a map of California with a series of five squiggly lines running from south to north through the state. Each had a name written in tiny letters at the bottom of the sheet. He immediately recognized the notorious San Andreas earthquake fault. What puzzled him was another line running close to the coast, named the San Moreno fault.
When Monica returned with refreshments for Nield, including a plate of sugary buns, Tweed waited until he had drunk all the liquid, consumed all the buns. Pete Nield, Harry Butler's partner, could have hardly been less like the rough-tongued, burly Butler. Of slim build, in his late thirties, he dressed smartly, had an intelligent face with a neat moustache under his strong nose.
'Monica,' Tweed called out, 'could you see if you can get Professor Weatherby on the phone?'
'The top seismologist in this country?'
'Yes. Tom Weatherby.'
A few minutes later Monica nodded to Tweed, who picked up his phone. The familiar voice with its Scots burr greeted him jokily.
Tweed? Thought you'd joined the government.'
'Perish the thought. Tom, this is asking a bit much but could I drive over to see you now? Only be there a few minutes but it's urgent.'
'When isn't it when you come to bring me a riddle? See you as soon as you arrive here ...'
Tweed went to a cupboard, brought out a case always kept for immediate departure. He also carried out Pete Nield's, handed it to him.
'We're off to Cornwall. First we have to call on Weatherby.'
'Pete has just been all the way down there and back,' Monica protested.
'Pete is ready to go back again,' Nield assured her.
'I'll drive,' said Tweed. 'You can reach me at Nansidwell,' he told Monica. 'While I'm gone you're in charge. And tell Howard you don't know where I've gone if he asks - which he will...'
They drove to a large house in the Holland Park district of London first. Weatherby opened the front door, ushered them inside as soon as they arrived. He took them into a spacious, comfortably furnished living room with a large desk against one wall, asked them what they would like to drink. Both visitors asked for coffee.
Weatherby, in his seventies, was like an amiable gnome. He had greying hair and a wide, high forehead. Of medium height, he had a puckish grin and greeted Tweed warmly. Nield thought he looked like a brain box.
'Now, what problem have you brought me?' he asked Tweed when he had served coffee. He had a glass of whisky, which he sipped. 'Some situation you hope I can decipher?'
'Yes, exactly that.'
Tweed handed him the map of California Marler had rescued. Weatherby opened it out, stared at it for several minutes. He looked up at Tweed.
'May I ask where you obtained this?'
'Sorry, Tom, that's confidential.'
'I do recognize the tiny script at the bottom which has different names on it. The man who built up this map is short-sighted. I knew him. Ethan Benyon. He studied seismology under me.'
"That's a coincidence.' Tweed replied.
'Not really. Seismologists comprise a small club, communicate their findings to each other. If it doesn't sound immodest Ethan came to me because he believed I was the best in Western Europe. An absurd exaggeration. It was several years ago. He was a brilliant student. Shy, quiet, but he had a natural affinity for the subject.'
'You know where he is now?'
'No idea. Although if this map is recent it looks as though he's in California. He is so short-sighted he wears those pebble glasses. He was particularly interested in the VAN method for predicting earthquakes.'
'What is that?' asked Tweed.
'Difficult to explain. In a few words, it was invented by three Greek professors. They worked out this VAN method which uses a series of strategically placed stations to register natural electrical currents which occur close to the Earth's surface. These currents are initiated by the Earth's magnetic field. The stations are equipped with sensors buried in the ground a distance apart. They're linked with a conducting wire to a voltage amplifier and a chart recorder. Are you with me so far?'
'I think so,' said Tweed.
'More than I am.' Nield commented quietly.
'The chart recorders can detect a signal which invariably precedes an earthquake. For a long time seismologists generally thought it was nonsense, but now they acknowledge the VAN system works - at least some do. I do know the Americans are still sceptical. Ethan
had an original mind.'
'In what way?'
'He was deeply interested in the real cause of earthquakes, in whether they could be controlled. I found some of his ideas disturbing, but he is a maverick. Never communicates any findings to his fellow scientists. He has nothing to do with them.'
"That map tells you nothing else?'
'Well, it puzzles me. There's one line I do not understand, the one marked the San Moreno fault. Its route, along the Pacific coast, inland, and then back near the coast, is one I have never heard of. It worries me - I'm not sure why. Would you object to my making a photocopy of it?'
'No, so long as no one else sees it.'
'You did say it was confidential,' Weatherby reminded him, and grinned amiably.
'Go ahead. Then we must leave.'
'I understand. You're like a dragonfly, always dashing hither and thither. Excuse me...'
He was back in a few minutes, handed back the original to Tweed. Thanking him for his help, Tweed left the house, got behind the wheel of his Ford Sierra with Nield beside him and headed for Cornwall.
'Did that help?' Nield asked as they left the outskirts of London and Tweed pressed his foot down.
'I'm not sure. It echoed a mad theory I have at the back of my mind. Probably all wrong. Maybe we'll have better luck in Cornwall.'
'Maybe we'll have more excitement. Marler told me about their firefight at Mullion Towers. Let's hope things are hotting up.'
'Just so long as we don't run into a furnace.'
5
'It was a complete and total shambles.' Moloch told Brand as they sat in his office. 'From start to finish they outmanoeuvred you. Call yourself a security expert? You're a rank amateur.'
'They took us by surprise.' Brand mumbled.
'Which means their tactics were infinitely superior to yours. Did you put that paper I gave you through the shredder?'
'Yes.' lied Brand. 'I've reorganized all our defences...'
'We're not on the defensive now. We're going on the offensive against Tweed.'
'Great idea.'
'Shut up. I'll take over the planning now. You take the whole team, check every hotel in the area - Truro, Falmouth, Mylor. You're locating where Paula Grey is staying. Apart from Tweed, she's the only name we have in that top-flight outfit at the moment. The opposition has to have a base in the area - they wouldn't have driven all the way from London to launch their attack. What are you sitting there for? Get off your backside. Get moving.'
'We're on our way...'
'I also want powerboats sent out from the Venetia - to explore the rivers and creeks. You can take command of that part of the operation. Don't come back until you have found them.'
'On my way.' Brand said hastily as he reached the door. 'But that means there will be no guards here...'
'Moron! You don't expect them to return the same day, do you?'
'Good thinking...'
'Someone round here has to think. And don't overlook the small villages. Explore Mawnan Smith and Mawnan. There are some good hotels in that area.'
'Will do. And I could check whether Tweed is staying down here...'
'Idiot! Tweed will be in London, planning Lord knows what. He's the last man on earth you'd find down here. Now, for God's sake, go.'
Moloch waited until he had watched from his window a cavalcade of cars leave. The damaged gates had been removed and he made a mental note to check whether Brand had ordered new and stronger gates. He then sat down at his desk and from memory pressed the buttons of a number in California. It was 6 p.m. in England so it would be 10 a.m. in California. He was calling Black Ridge and asked to be put through to Ethan Benyon.
'Ethan? This is VB. How is the project going? When will you be ready?'
'It goes well,' answered an English voice, quiet and subdued. 'I should be ready in a few weeks. It will work.'
'Good. Try and speed everything up. Is the offshore drilling ship operation going well?'
'Ahead of schedule.'
'Have there been any suspicions voiced about it?'
'No, Mr Moloch. Everyone is convinced it's a research ship drilling for specimen cores off the seabed.'
'Good.' He paused. 'Ethan, you sound depressed.'
'It's Mother. She's just moved to a house near Big Sur on the coast. I have to visit her. She's making my life a misery. She even threatened to beat me.'
'I see. Ethan, don't let her take your mind off your work. I'll deal with the old horror...'
'Please, Mr Moloch, don't do that. She'll take it out on me something terrible.'
'No, she won't. I have an ace card I can play to make her behave like a civilized human being. Keep up the good work. And thank you for your dedication.'
'It's my life's work ...'
Moloch put down the phone. Standing up, he wandered round his office, hands clasped behind his back. He hated his stepmother. Lord knew why his father had ever married the creature. And she had driven him into an early grave.
His mouth was tight when he sat again behind his desk and called Mrs Benyon.
'Arabella?' he enquired. 'Vincent Bernard here.'
'What the hell do you want?' a raspy growling English voice demanded. 'And it's time I had more stock in AMBECO.'
'I've been talking to Ethan. You've been treating him very badly - even brutally. I won't have any more of that. Do you understand?'
'And what are you going to do about it?' she sneered.
'I can always take back the stock you already hold.'
'You friggin' well can't.'
'I suggest you study the attorney's agreement I had drawn up. It clearly states that at any time I can recall the stock and you have to return it.'
'You swine.'
'Compliments will get you nowhere. I'm ordering you to treat your son decently. You wouldn't like someone to put a bomb under your new house, I presume?'
'You wouldn't dare.'
Her voice became horrendous, but under the unbridled rage Moloch detected a note of fear. That was the only thing which made her control her evil temper. He put down the phone without replying. It worried him that Mrs Benyon was now so close to Black Ridge. He
didn't want to order the guards to refuse her admittance to his headquarters. If he did so she would spread the story and the locals in Carmel and Monterey might wonder what was really going on inside the place - the last thing he needed at this critical time.
Tweed had driven more than halfway to Cornwall when Nield insisted on doing his stint behind the wheel. In the front passenger seat Tweed promptly fell asleep. He had the knack of closing his eyes and immediately falling into a deep sleep. Much later Nield warned Tweed.
'We're nearly there.' he said as he nudged Tweed, who woke, instantly alert.
'Nearly where? Isn't this the road up to Nansidwell?'
'Yes. How do you know?'
'I was once down here on another problem. I toured the whole area, stayed at Nansidwell. Hadn't I better take the wheel, drop you off at the entrance to the Meudon, where Butler is staying? Monica booked you a room there.'
'I know. Good idea ...'
They changed places and Tweed drove along a country road which passed a long marshy area below them. Nield told Tweed what he had done earlier.
'I called Paula on the mobile phone, told her you would be arriving within fifteen minutes. Then I called Harry, warned him I was about to arrive.'
'You were careful what you said, I assume. No names.'
'Of course.'
Tweed disliked mobile phones. There has been too many instances of marauders listening in, recording conversations. He dropped off Nield with his case a short distance from Meudon. Butler had transport - he had hired a car and reported the fact earlier to Monica.
Tweed drove down the curving drive to Nansidwell, prepared to meet the proprietor, who knew him as Chief Claims Investigator of General & Cumbria Assurance. When he entered the lounge the first person he saw was Paula, who came up and hugged him because
no one else was about.
'Trouble?' Tweed asked quietly as he registered in the open book on a desk.
'Someone interesting you should meet. But you must be tired after your long day.'
'Let's get on with it as soon as I've had a quick bath in my room.'
A pleasant man appeared, relieved him of his case and led him to his room. Paula tapped on his door as he finished dressing again after his bath. He let her in and she put down a tray of tea and scones. Tweed had changed from his London business suit into more casual wear.
"Thank you - this is most welcome,' he said as she poured a cup of tea. 'Driving down, the car was like a hothouse. Seems pretty warm here.'
'It's been torrid since we got here. I'm ready to take you to see this person if you really want to. I can warn them here we'll be a bit late for dinner.'
She was wearing a short black dress, a short jacket with a string of pearls and black suede pumps. He thought she looked very chic and said so.
'Who is this person?' he asked in a lowered voice.
'Maurice Prendergast. I met him when I was driving into Mawnan Smith. Nearly knocked down his wire-haired terrier, which appeared suddenly. I saved it with an emergency stop and apologized, and he was very grateful. So grateful he invited me to tea at his house. He'd left his car parked in the village.'
'What happened next?' Tweed enquired with an odd smile.
'He got in his car and led the way to his house overlooking a creek. Actually, it's a two-storey thatched cottage. He gave me tea, which he prepared himself.'
'No one else there? You took a chance.'
'I had my Browning in the special pocket inside my shoulder bag. And I'd already assessed him as a very nice man.'
'Some of the most famous murderers were nice-looking men,' Tweed chaffed her. 'Learn anything about him?'
'He said he'd had a good job in London - then he went on to say he got out of London before London got him. I told him I was with an insurance company and he smiled strangely. I still don't understand that particular reaction. I had the funny feeling I'd seen him somewhere before.'
'He'd seen you before.' Tweed told her at last.
Paula stared at him. Then she burst out laughing and playfully punched his arm.