The Cauldron

by Colin Forbes

  'How very convenient. Her last name?'

  'Never knew it.' Landis mumbled.

  'May I ask a question?' Brand suggested quietly.

  'If it's relevant. It had better be.'

  'You mentioned the loss of half a million dollars...'

  'I wondered which of you would be the first one to pick up on that. Taken from the safe. You gave the combination to Hogan when he was appointed guard master?'

  'Yes, I did.' Brand said eagerly.

  Hogan looked at him. His face was a picture of uncontrolled hate.

  'So, all three of you could have opened the safe.' Moloch said fiercely. 'Now I wonder which one of you is now half a million dollars richer?'

  'May I ask you, who is this Keller?' Brand asked in the same quiet voice.

  'He's the man who is going to investigate all three of you inside out and upside-down.'

  'I don't like that,' protested Brand.

  'So what are you going to do about it?' Moloch purred. 'And where were you this afternoon?'

  'I went fishing.'

  'Gone fishing!' Moloch's tone was like a whiplash. 'Catch anything?'

  'No. The wind blew up.'

  'Anyone with you who can confirm your thin story?'

  'I went alone. I always do.'

  'What about you, Landis? Meet anyone during your kicks trip?'

  'No, I didn't. Not anyone I can remember.'

  'And what happened to you, Mr Hogan?' Moloch demanded.

  'I drove up Palo Eldorado. I was looking for that girl Ethan sees. I was going to warn her off.'

  'How very noble of you. See anyone who can confirm that?'

  'Don't see anyone up Palo Eldorado. The hippies hide when they see you coming.'

  'Great!' Moloch threw up his hands. 'So not one of you has an alibi. You're all suspect.' He leaned forward. 'Well, you might like to know why Martinez is having a freezing time in the fridge. I'm bringing in a Medical Examiner to check exactly how he died.'

  'But that's dangerousRIGHT SQUARE BRACKET' Brand began again.

  'Dangerous for one of you. The ME I'll use is in my pocket. May take a few days before I get his report. Now, all of you - get the hell out of here. Get on with your jobs.'

  When he was alone in his office Moloch stood up, stared out of the window down at the coast where the Pacific roared. It suited his mood. The three key men at the summit of his organization would be disturbed, but he'd had no option. At this vital moment when the coming operation was soon to be launched chaos reigned.

  Then he remembered that Ethan was missing. Why on earth had he disobeyed orders and gone to see his mother?

  Tweed got out of the car as Newman turned off the engine. It was parked just below the terrace running round The Apex. He asked Newman and Alvarez to stay with the car while he visited Mrs Benyon with Paula.

  Then he heard above the howl of the wind and through a ventilator by the front door the scream of a voice. It sounded like a soul in the torment of hell.

  'I'll kill you! I said I would. I'll kill you, you hideous creature. I'll kill California!'

  Tweed pounced on the iron knocker, hammering it down with great force. He glanced at Paula. She took out her automatic, held it by the barrel, slammed at the ventilator with the butt. There was a sudden silence as the wind dropped briefly.

  They heard someone on the far side of the door releasing chains, unlocking several locks. The door opened slowly and Paula slipped her automatic inside her shoulder bag when she saw who it was. Ethan stood framed in the doorway, illuminated by an inside light.

  His eyes were almost staring out of his head. His tie was loose, his hair all over the place. He gazed at them and then smiled strangely, pointing a finger at Tweed.

  'I know you. I showed you the upper chamber at Black Ridge. You were interested in my chart recorders. Yes, I know you.'

  'May we come in, please?' Tweed suggested. 'It's rather cold out here.'

  'My mother awaits you. Damn her to hell.'

  He pushed past them, ran round the corner. As they entered they heard his car engine starting up. Paula closed the door on the elements as Tweed walked into the living room. Just as on his previous visit Mrs Benyon sat upright in her thronelike chair.

  'Good evening, Mr Tweed. And Paula. Please do sit down. I expect you heard my son. He's a little upset. There's a party up at Black Ridge. Vincent's birthday. May he never see another.'

  'Not very charitable,' Tweed replied. 'And we did hear your son. A little upset? He sounded to be in a manic rage.'

  'I don't like the word manic.'

  'Mrs Benyon.' Tweed said gently, 'this is important. Has Ethan ever needed medical attention? Has he ever had what they call a nervous breakdown? Doesn't he need help?'

  'Oh, no!' She hammered the stick in her right hand. 'Not one of those places. Not again. Thaf s why he hates me.'

  'Not again? Then there has been trouble in the past?'

  'You are British. I would not tell this to an American. They gabble.' She paused. 'When he was working for a Professor Weatherby back home Ethan was obsessive. He thought he had discovered some new theory in seismology. He didn't let Weatherby know what he was doing. He began behaving strangely. He would shout at me at the top of his voice. He even did it to strangers in the street. They thought he was going to attack them. They reported him to the police. I had to do something.'

  'Yes, I understand.' Tweed's voice was persuasive, sympathetic. 'What did you do?'

  'A special doctor saw him. He coaxed me into signing a piece of paper. Ethan was taken away for treatment. That was after he had left Weatherby. Ethan has never forgiven me. In a few months he recovered. But he has never forgiven me.' she repeated. "That is why he hates me.'

  'Must be difficult for you.' Paula suggested.

  'He goes into a trance of rage. The only way I can bring him out of it is to hit him with my stick. Vincent doesn't understand. He came in once when I struck Ethan with both my sticks. Vincent tore the sticks out of my grasp, broke them, threw them on that fire. Luckily I had spare sticks.'

  Oh, come on, Paula thought. You can walk as well as I can. You're just trying to intimidate VB. Sounds as though it doesn't work.

  'I could talk to Vincent.' Tweed suggested while Paula was thinking, 'but certain events have taken place recently at Black Ridge which would make this the wrong moment. What did Ethan mean when he screamed, "I'll kill California"?'

  'I've no idea. Just his bad temper. He doesn't like the Americans. Says they're too brash for his liking.'

  'Yet he works for one.'

  'No, he doesn't. Moloch is a Belgian. He's kept his Belgian citizenship. Ethan prefers Europeans.'

  'Is he rather shy?' Tweed asked.

  'Always has been. His whole mind is devoted to seismology and to breaking through new frontiers in his field.'

  Tweed sat silent for a short time, deep in thought. Paula knew he was taking a decision. He spoke suddenly.

  'You are British, Mrs Benyon.'

  'Yes. And proud of it. I lived in Cheltenham before I came out here when Ethan was offered this huge job by VB.'

  'I would advise you to be ready to go home at a moment's notice. To transfer all your assets to a bank in Cheltenham. Would you consider doing that?'

  'Yes, I'd like to go home,' she said instantly. 'I have faced the fact I can't do anything more for Ethan. And his latest threat was the last straw.'

  'I repeat,' Tweed emphasized, 'be ready to leave at a moment's notice. Pack up now as far as you can. Don't forget to transfer your assets back to Britain in the morning. Just hold on to enough to keep you going for a few days.'

  'When should I go, then?'

  'When I phone you. I will use the code word Angelo so you know it is me talking. Mention this to no one. And I think perhaps we should go now.'

  "Thank you, Mr Tweed.' She held out her hand. 'It has taken a load off my mind - talking to you. If I may say so you are a very kind man.'

  'I don't know about that
.' Tweed smiled at her. 'But one thing is for sure - I am a very realistic man. Your phone number is ...' He gave her a number. 'I noticed it on the phone in the hall.'

  'You have a remarkable memory.'

  'Just a knack for remembering figures.' Tweed winked at her. 'Don't get up - we can see ourselves out...'

  'What was all that about?' Paula asked.

  They were sitting in the back of the Merc. Tweed didn't reply. He was staring out of the window at the wild coast below as they moved along Highway One -back towards Carmel. Behind them Marler followed in the BMW with Butler and Nield. After a while Tweed spoke.

  'Alvarez, do you think it would still be possible to contact Cord Dillon?'

  'I don't know. You mean if we elevated the aerial?'

  'Yes. But only when we get back to Spanish Bay.'

  'We could try,' Alvarez said in a dubious tone. 'I suppose it would depend on what you wanted. All backup for us has been withdrawn.'

  'This would be to request the ultimate support.' Tweed said grimly.

  He didn't elaborate. Paula glanced at him and he was sunk in thought again. The storm coming off the Pacific was increasing in fury. It began to rain heavily. Great sweeping curtains of rain flooded the windscreen and Newman slowed. The wipers were full on. Whip-whap-whip-whap ... They passed again through steep sandstone gulches with walls rising vertically on either side. They were furrowed vertically where previous storms had cut into them. Tweed began to hum a popular song.

  'You sound surprisingly cheerful now.' Paula observed.

  'I am. I have just made up my mind what to do. I'm going to set a trap for The Accountant.'

  'How are you going to do that?'

  'By providing bait which will be irresistible.'

  'What bait?'

  Again he made no attempt to elaborate. Rain was streaming down the windscreen like a waterfall, the wipers were finding it difficult to cope. Newman leaned forward, straining to check where he was. It was only because he had driven along Highway One several times that he knew what was coming next. They passed several cars parked illegally, headlights full on - drivers who had felt unable to cope any longer.

  Rivers poured across the road, the Merc.'s wheels sent up great gushes of spray. How Newman was able to continue driving was beyond Paula. Alvarez kept stroking his hand over his dark hair, a nervous gesture. Paula's hands were clenched together in her lap. Only Tweed seemed indifferent to the appalling weather conditions.

  'We're approaching Carmel,' Newman said eventually. 'It gets a bit wet here, doesn't it?'

  The storm withdrew as swiftly as it had blown up. They were just about to pass Mission Ranch when Tweed tapped Newman on the shoulder.

  'Slow to a crawl. There are still lights in Mission Ranch. They must have kept the place open because of the storm. See that car just leaving ahead? Grenville is behind the wheel. Follow him.'

  Inside the Standish apartment he had rented cheaply -due to the murder, well-publicized - of the previous occupant, Maurice prepared to leave to keep his rendezvous. His lean face was freshly shaven, he wore a smart two-piece suit, and the last thing he did after putting on a trenchcoat, was to pull an object from the inside of his sleeping bag and thrust it into his pocket.

  'I'd make a good hippie,' he said to himself, 'but not in the outfit I'm wearing.'

  Inside the metal cabinets where Linda Standish had kept her files on previous cases he had found a blank space. All the files had been carted off to police headquarters. Linda had also used the cabinet to store a few clothes. Maurice had found a rail and on one side several good clothes hung from it. On the other were the worn second-hand clothes he'd picked up from a local thrift shop.

  He checked his watch again. He would be in good time for his rendezvous with the man who would be coming to meet him. He thanked Heaven the rain had stopped as he left the apartment and walked down the staircase and into the damp night.

  'Can't I persuade you to stay?' Moloch asked Vanity in his office. 'If it's a question of money ...'

  'It isn't - not now.' She smiled at him as she sat in the chair facing his desk. 'I've accepted a very lucrative job in New York. I've signed a contract.'

  'Contracts can be broken.' Moloch persisted. 'I can break any contract.'

  'But I can't.' She smiled again. 'You've found me trustworthy. If I broke my word to my new employer then how could you go on trusting me?'

  'Which company?'

  'I can't tell you that. Secrecy is part of the contract.' She smiled again. 'I'll be here a bit longer. That gives you time to find a replacement.'

  'I'll double your pay.'

  Vanity shook her red mane, smiled again. 'No can do. And if you're worried I'll break any confidences between us, I won't. Keeping the faith is part of my way of life. And now, if you don't mind, I'm tired and I'd like to get some sleep.'

  When she had gone VB spent a long time staring out of his window, watching the great explosions of surf as the ocean broke against the rocks. Out at sea the Baja, large as she was, heaved and tossed under the impact of the storm. He shuddered, went out into the corridor.

  From the direction of the marble room where the party was still in progress, he saw Ethan coming towards him. The boffin glared at him, walked past without a word. There had been a fanatical look in his staring eyes which worried Moloch. His whole world seemed to be crumbling.

  Going back to his office, he took a trenchcoat from a hook behind the door, put it on quickly, then hurried to the rear of Black Ridge where a Sikorsky chopper waited. A roster of pilots was permanently on duty so he could take off at any time. The pilot dropped to the ground inside the hangar.

  'Any instructions, Chief?'

  'Yes. Very important. The machine must be kept fully fuelled for take-off at any hour. A pilot must be on duty here round the clock. I'm sending guards to keep everyone else away from the machine. Check the roster now -inform the other pilots ...'

  Inside the building he met Hogan, swaggering along a corridor. Hogan noticed VB's pale face looked even paler than usual.

  'Make sure a team of guards is on duty at the hangar where the Sikorsky is waiting. Twenty-four hours a day. There's a bonus if you do a real job.'

  He hurried back to his office, closed the door, tore off the trenchcoat, hung it from the hook, ran to his desk.

  Opening a deep locked drawer, he took out a radiophone. Within minutes he was instructing the pilot of his Lear jet, standing in an outer area at San Francisco International.

  'Ben. Ready the jet for a flight to London. Polar route, of course. Stand by for my arrival at any moment.'

  35

  Grenville seemed so intent on driving to his destination he didn't notice the Merc, following him with dipped lights. There was other traffic about - men and women going home after waiting for the storm to abate - which helped Newman to hide his presence.

  'Where is he going?' Paula asked as Grenville entered Carmel.

  "That's what we want to find out.' Tweed replied. 'Perhaps he was delayed by the storm. He seems in a hurry to get to wherever he is going.'

  'Maybe he's going to the police station on the corner of Junipero and 4th.' Alvarez said sardonically.

  'I doubt that.' replied Tweed.

  'Well, that's where we are. On Junipero.'

  Newman was crawling. He suddenly turned down 5th Avenue, parked just beyond the corner. Tweed and Alvarez were out of the car instantly, followed by Paula. They peered round the corner.

  "That's Maurice he's meeting. All tarted up.' Paula exclaimed.

  Alvarez had produced a pair of night glasses from his holdall. He focused them, then whistled softly.

  'I'm damn sure Maurice just handed Grenville a packet. My guess is the packet contains cocaine. Now Maurice is getting into Grenville's car.'

  They ran back to the Merc., told Newman what was happening. He drove back round the corner after making a U-turn, just in time to see Grenville's car disappearing down a turning past the next block. He foll
owed. They then found they were touring the blocks of Carmel, constantly turning in a different direction. After five minutes Grenville parked outside the entrance to a courtyard. Both men left the car, vanished inside the yard.

  'Only one place they can have gone at this time of night,' Alvarez commented. 'I know that courtyard. Papa's.'

  'Who on earth is Papa?' asked Paula.

  'Only the biggest drug dealer on the West Coast. The police have never been able to get anything on him.'

  'Does it tell us anything?' she persisted.

  'It tells me who the go-between is,' Tweed commented.

  'Go-between?' queried Paula.

  'Back to Spanish Bay.' Tweed ordered. 'It's vital I get in touch with Cord Dillon.'

  They parked in the usual place behind the hotel. Newman was pressing buttons, after elevating the aerial. With not much hope, Tweed grasped the microphone.

  Tweed here. Anyone out there?'

  'Only me,' Dillon's voice answered. 'What the hell is it?'

  'We're planning to leave California in a hurry,' Tweed said, speaking rapidly. 'It could be within the next few days. That's pretty near a certainty.'

  'Glad to hear it. I told you to go home.'

  'Cord, it will be an emergency exit. I need transport for an unknown number of passengers. An aircraft to take us fast to San Francisco International. The pick-up to be somewhere between Spanish Bay and Big Sur. Precise details of where we are at the last moment.'

  'A Chinook.' Dillon replied promptly. 'Day or nighttime pick-up?'

  'Could be either.'

  Alvarez reached for the microphone, took a firm hold on it. His voice was calm, positive.

  'Cord, Alvarez here. When pick-up point is known tell your pilot I'll signal - if it's night - with four flashes, brief interval, four more flashes and so on. If it's daytime, I'll wave my handgun round and round over the top of my head.'

  'Got it,' Dillon replied. "The Chinook will arrive Monterey airport within hours, then wait. I have one in your area. Understood?'

  'Understood. Thank you.'

  'I've heard of a Chinook,' Paula said when Alvarez had placed the microphone back on its hook. 'What exactly is it?'