The Cauldron

by Colin Forbes

  While talking, Moloch divested himself of the raincoat and cap, putting them back into the cupboard. He was glad to observe that Heather accepted this strange development as just part of her job. She was probably the coolest of all the assistants he had hired. Moloch had a shrewd eye for a highly competent woman who, in return for a big salary, would give him loyalty.

  'It sounds like good organization to me,' Heather commented. 'And Mrs Drayton has informed me dinner is ready. She said she hoped we wouldn't wait all night when she'd taken the trouble to cook a hot meal.'

  "Then let's not wait. The message was sent off by Carson?'

  'He sent it as soon as I handed it to him.'

  As Moloch descended the curving staircase he found the unnatural silence disturbing. Up to now there would have been guards to greet him respectfully, some of them acting as servants. His footsteps, and those of Heather following him, echoed as he started to cross the woodblock floor of the entrance hall.

  Feeling rather stupid, he checked the locks and chains on the heavy front door. What was there to worry about? But for years, once he left his office Moloch had been surrounded with staff, many of them armed. He crossed the hall, entered the large panelled dining room, sat down at one end of the long dining table. He noticed Heather's place was laid at the far end.

  'Come and sit next to me,' he told her.

  'Does that mean I have to change the seating arrangement?' barked Mrs Drayton who had just come into the room carrying a tureen.

  'It does.' Moloch snapped.

  'If you'd told me to start with it would have saved time. Is this the way you want me to serve meals in future?'

  'It is.'

  No point in telling Drayton that this was probably the last meal he would ever eat at Mullion Towers. He must remember to leave her an envelope with money and a note saying her services would no longer be required. He wondered how much Brand used to pay her.

  By his side against his chair rested the briefcase he had brought down with him from his office. He only felt safe with it close to him - it was his passport to untold riches in the Middle East.

  Heather sensed his unease in the large dining room. She chatted to him, made him join in the conversation. There was a strange atmosphere in the house, she was thinking, but she took care not to refer to it. Why did she feel she was participating in the Last Supper?

  They had just finished the meal, were drinking coffee, when the doorbell rang. Drayton, who had just poured more coffee, was about to hurry to the front door when Moloch spoke.

  "That will be a visitor I'm expecting. I'll answer the door. You clear up in here. Heather has to send a message from the radio room.'

  47

  Tweed had become so restless at Nansidwell that Paula had persuaded him to talk to her in her room away from the guests in the lounge who were chattering like magpies about nothing.

  The first thing he did when they had entered the room was to go over to the window. Again he focused his glasses on the Venetia and the surrounding waters. Paula joined him by his side, placed her hand over the lenses.

  'Enough is enough. Sit down in that armchair. I asked the head waiter downstairs to bring us up more coffee.'

  "Thank you.'

  'Now.' She perched on the arm of his chair. 'I've rarely seen you so on edge. What's it all about?'

  'When did Vanity go off in her car?'

  'I've no idea. It must have been after dinner. I noticed her car was gone when I told you before.'

  'Where is Newman?'

  'Again, I've no idea. He may have gone for a walk.'

  'Without telling me? That's not like him. I saw his Merc, is still parked outside.'

  'Is that all that's worrying you?' she asked softly.

  'No. Moloch has to be stopped from leaving the country. I don't care how we achieve that. Look, I have to call Howard. No one does the right thing when I'm absent.'

  At that moment the waiter arrived with more coffee. He poured for both of them. It seemed to Tweed that he was taking for ever to perform this simple function,

  although actually he was simply providing them with the normal excellent service they had experienced at the hotel.

  Tweed reached for the phone as soon as they were alone. He got through to Monica, who immediately transferred him to Howard. Tweed thought it significant that Howard was still at Park Crescent .at this late hour. Normally he went off to his club for a drink in the evenings.

  'Tweed here. Look, Howard, something drastic has to be doneRIGHT SQUARE BRACKET'

  'Is this a safe line?' Howard interrupted. 'Where are you calling from?'

  'From where we're staying. Nansidwell Country Hotel. Surely Monica has informed you.'

  'Yes, she has. Then I can't discuss anything with you.'

  'Why the hell not?'

  'Call me from a public phone box.'

  'Oh, didn't you know? I carry them around with me in my coat pocket!'

  Paula watched as Tweed replaced the phone with such care she knew only will-power had prevented him from slamming it down. She edged his cup of coffee closer to him.

  'What happened?'

  "The pompous fool clammed up on me.'

  "Then it had to be something he could only talk to you about on a safe line. You're the one who is usually so careful about security.'

  'You're right, of course.' Tweed agreed, then sipped coffee.

  'We could drive to that phone box in Mawnan Smith,' she suggested.

  'It may be too late then.' The significance of what she had just said suddenly struck him. 'We haven't any transport.'

  'Yes, we have. Newman gave me a spare key to the Merc, a long time ago. In case of emergency.'

  "This is an emergency ...'

  'He jumped up out of the chair. From his pocket he produced a 7.65mm Walther automatic, a mag. He rammed the mag. into the butt. Paula stared at him.

  'Where did you get that?'

  'Marler gave it to me. He knows a man outside Truro who can supply handguns - for a price and no questions asked.'

  'Marler seems to know illegal weapon suppliers in the most unexpected places all over the world.'

  'Part of his job. We must get moving. Give me the key to the Merc.'

  'Get moving to Mawnan Smith?' she asked as she delved into her shoulder bag, handed him the key.

  'No time for that. You know the way to Mullion Towers - you went with Newman on the raid he launched against the place when we were last here. Can you find it in the dark?'

  'Yes, I can.'

  'Then get us there. Fast.'

  Moloch received his visitor in his office. He took from a locked drawer an envelope, lifted the flap to show the contents. A wad of fifty-pound notes.

  "There's forty of them - two thousand pounds. It's only an advance. The chauffeur-driven Rolls outside will take you to Newquay airport in the morning. Catch the first flight from Heathrow which will land you in Beirut. By going on your own no one will associate you with me. I want you to set up a new network of informers. Most Arabs love money. Haggle with promising recruits - they expect that. Contact me at my house in the Lebanon mountains. Everyone knows where it is. You did well here and in California. Do equally well in the Lebanon.'

  The visitor checked the number of banknotes, put them in a bag. Moloch made one more remark.

  'You probably noticed there was a Tourist air ticket to Beirut. People who travel Tourist are regarded as of no importance. Someone may be watching at Beirut airport.'

  The visitor left the room. Both had been standing up when Moloch had handed over the banknotes. He went to the uncurtained window, peered out into the night. Had he been unwise to carry out that transaction with the curtains open?

  He went to the side window, peered out again. Who would be about in this isolated spot in the dark? The answer was no one. Moloch clasped both hands together, squeezed them tightly. He had recovered his steel nerve.

  Paula navigated for Tweed. The headlights were undimmed as he drove the
Merc, across lonely and desolate countryside. Although she had a map in her lap, she rarely referred to it. Even at night she could recall the tortuous route Newman had followed on the afternoon of the raid on Mullion Towers.

  'Pretty grim out here, isn't it?' Tweed remarked. 'No sign of civilization.'

  'We left that behind when we passed through Mawnan Smith. You could have stopped and used the phone box.'

  'No time left for that. I think Moloch could be leaving in the early hours. We've met him. He didn't get to the top of the world by wasting time. At least I have a second string to my fiddle.'

  'Who is that?'

  'Where do I go here?'

  'Turn off to the left. I was just going to tell you. We are close to Stithians Dam.' 'What's that?' "The end of the world.'

  At Mullion Towers Heather had ventured into the large kitchen after checking to make sure Drayton was not about. Inside a cupboard she found a hamper basket. She had just taken it out when Drayton returned.

  'What you doin' in my kitchen?' she growled. 'Get out.'

  'Mr Moloch wants me to pack a hamper.' Heather smiled at the grim face. 'We need a decent amount of ham sandwiches, apple pie, if available, cutlery, and some fruitcake. I'll get a bottle of wine from the cellar. Oh, and a thermos of hot coffee would come in useful.'

  'Would it now? Sure you wouldn't like some caviar? And before you walk off with that hamper I only takes me orders from Mr Moloch himself.'

  'Mr Moloch, himself, instructed me to ask you to make up the hamper. He's a busy man. We don't want to upset him, do we?'

  'You takin' over as housekeeper here?'

  'I couldn't possibly do the job half as well as you do. I noticed how well the antique furniture is polished. You make a lovely job of keeping this place nice.'

  'Flattery, just cheap flattery...'

  But Heather saw Drayton taking out a loaf of bread from the large fridge as she left to fetch a bottle from the cellar. Moloch had made no request to her for a hamper but she foresaw a long wait for the launch by the dockside. Although he had said a launch would be waiting she suspected it would need to cross the water from the Venetia. His departure was so secretive that she couldn't imagine the presence of a launch by the dockside.

  The stone steps down into the cellar were badly worn. She couldn't find the light switch so she used the torch she always kept in her shoulder bag. She found two bottles she thought Moloch would approve of, one white, one red. She was holding on to both of them, had almost reached the top of the steps when she slipped. Both bottles of wine left her hands, she grabbed for the single rail as her body swung through an angle of a hundred and eighty degrees, then sagged as her left leg gave way. When she tried to get up a spasm of pain wrenched at her.

  'Drayton!' she called out. 'Drayton! The wine cellar...'

  'What have you done to yourself?'

  It was Moloch's voice. He switched on the light, checked her leg, told her to remain still while he called a doctor. In fifteen minutes Dr Brasenose arrived. He wasn't keen on night calls but the inducement of a fee of two hundred pounds in cash brought him quickly.

  'I've bandaged her up,' he told Moloch later, looking at the couch where he had carried his patient. 'She has a fracture - not compound, I'm glad to say. But she needs rest and attention in a private hospital. I can arrange that now.'

  'How long for?' asked Heather, white-faced.

  'Two weeks at least. Can't be sure until we see how you progress.'

  'I have to go abroad.'

  'Only when you have completely recovered.'

  'Reluctantly, I agree,' decided Moloch. 'When you're fit you can come out and join me.' He frowned to stop her mentioning the destination. 'The Rolls will drive you to Heathrow. I'll arrange for a First Class ticket for your flight from there. Now, Brasenose, arrange for her to be taken at once to the private hospital.'

  Moloch regretted he wouldn't have her company on his trip, but he had acted decisively as he always did.

  'Don't worry.' he assured her. 'I can drive myself when I depart for London.'

  As she had in the past, Heather marvelled again at Moloch's command of himself, his quick thinking when he had given a false destination.

  Checking his watch, Moloch left the room. Hurrying upstairs he changed into the shabby raincoat and the check peaked cap. He glanced again in the mirror to check his appearance.

  You look just like a common seaman, he said to himself. If there's a net you'll slip through it like a small fish.

  48

  Tweed swung slowly round a corner and the narrow road sloped down. He braked, stared in surprise at what lay below.

  'What is that thing?'

  "That's Stithians Dam. Quite a big one, with a steep drop.'

  "The lake - I suppose it must be a reservoir - it's holding back is pretty huge. Again, there's no one about. Not one house since that hamlet we left behind.'

  "That,' Paula said, 'was Stithians. What there is of it. And from here you can see - silhouetted against the moonlight on top of that razor-edged ridge - is Mullion Towers.'

  'We'd better get on...' Tweed paused. 'Look, there's a car coming up towards us.'

  'It's Butler's car. I think he has someone with him in the front passenger seat.'

  'We'll go and meet him.' Tweed decided.

  He drove down the slope, flashing his headlights. Butler's car had stopped, just above the slope leading down to the dam. When Tweed arrived, he stopped, jumped out of the Merc, and went over to the other car. Beside Butler sat Grenville as Butler pointed a Walther at him.

  'Why are you holding a gun on him?' Tweed asked.

  Grenville was sitting very erect, a savage look on his face. Butler gestured towards him with his head, still holding the gun.

  'Here's your spy - or rather, Moloch's spy. I followed him to Mullion Towers. I've got a video camera with me. It has some interesting pictures of Grenville meeting Moloch in a first-floor room. Moloch is handing him a bundle - and I do mean a bundle - of banknotes. I waited outside behind this bastard's car, grabbed him before he could get into it. I searched him. He's got a whole wad of fifty-pound notes in an envelope inside his pocket. Plus a one-way Tourist ticket to Beirut.'

  'Beirut? That's pretty conclusive evidence,'

  'Just take a look. Come on, Corporal, give.'

  Butler, still suffering from the after-effects of jet lag, tried to do two things at once. To extract the envelope, which he succeeded in doing, handing it to Tweed - and to keep his gun trained on his prisoner. Grenville moved with astonishing speed. He grabbed the Walther out of Butler's hand, flung open the door on his side, dived out of the car, dropped the Walther in his haste.

  He began to run away from the two cars, down the slope towards the tall dam. Tweed ran down the slope after him, stuffing the envelope in his pocket. He continued running as Paula took off after him, wishing to Heaven she had her Browning.

  Grenville reached a low, locked gate leading to the narrow pathway along the top of the dam. He swung over the gate, ran along the pathway with the dense dark reservoir to his right, the steep curving wall of the dam to his left. Tweed was gaining on him when Grenville looked round. At that moment Tweed's foot caught in a rabbit hole. He sprawled on the arid grass face down, winded by his fall. Grenville reached down into his right-hand sock, emerged with his hand holding a small gun.

  Standing up, he aimed it point-blank at Tweed's prone body. Paula sucked in her breath in fright. Grenville did not have to be a crack shot to kill Tweed, and he was a military man. He took his time, getting his aim perfect. A shot rang out and Paula felt a chill from head to toe. Then she gazed in disbelief.

  Grenville had dropped the gun, was pressing both hands to his chest as he slowly fell forward over the guard rail. His body plunged straight down the side of the dam - over a one-hundred-foot drop. He hit the curving side of the dam halfway down, causing his body to bounce outwards. In the silence of the night there was a loud splash as the body fell into the water a
t the foot of the dam, vanished under the water's surface.

  Looking back up the slope, Paula saw Butler lowering the Walther he had rescued from the grass. It had been a long-distance shot, but she remembered Butler was a marksman with a handgun, that at the training centre in Surrey Butler had come out top in handgun practice.

  Tweed climbed back up the slope, joined Paula. Together they went up to Butler, who was looking haggard.

  "Thank you is all I can say.' Tweed told him. 'Otherwise I'd have been dead meat.'

  'My turn to apologize. I checked him for weapons, but overlooked his socks.'

  'And I think Moloch may have left Mullion Towers for his ship,' Paula told them. 'Just before I took off down that slope I saw the headlights of a car below Mullion Towers. I think it was taking a different route to Falmouth.'

  'In that case, back to Nansidwell. I'll drive,' said Tweed.

  During their drive through the night Paula examined the contents of the envelope Tweed had handed her. She whistled.

  'Grenville had a lot of money. And here's the ticket to Beirut Harry mentioned.'

  'Conclusive evidence, as I said. And Grenville was in Cornwall and in California - to set up and run networks for Moloch. My guess is Moloch had instructed him to organize a similar network of informers in the Lebanon. I think the MoD may now open up and tell me his record - when they've seen Butler's video.'

  "The Ministry of Defence was evasive, I remember you said. That was before we left Britain. But it looks as though Moloch is going to get clear away.'

  'He might. Then again, he might not.'

  'I don't see what there is now to stop him.'

  'Fate might intervene.'

  'You don't usually rely on fate.'

  'No, I don't, do I?'

  There were still a few people having a quiet drink in the lounges at Nansidwell. After parking the car, Tweed strode briskly on to the terrace. Once more he gazed seaward through his field glasses, focusing them on the Venetia and the waters round the vessel.