by Colin Forbes
'I have to get moving,' Tweed said as he elevated the aerial. 'Bob, take Paula with you. Drive to The Anchor and keep your eyes open.'
'For what?' Newman asked.
'In case he gets away from me. I'd say a four-wheel drive – heading past The Anchor and west over that pebble beach. And cover him with that Magnum. He's lethal. Out you get, Paula.'
'I'm coming with you.' She spoke calmly and produced from her bag the Browning. 'I can protect myself. I did with Norton and Mode.'
It was the controlled way she spoke which stopped Tweed arguing. He shrugged, glanced at the call box. 'Has Barrymore used that this evening?'
'Not so far.'
'Then we'd better move off.' He waved to Newman, drove through Minehead and climbed Porlock Hill. The Mercedes purred up the steep ascent. At the top he passed Culbone Inn, continued along the coast road, took the first turning to the left.
'It's the Doone Valley,' Paula said quietly as they descended the steep winding lane, crossed the ford at the bottom, turned right. Towards the Doone Valley.
'We located the two furniture vans they were using as mobile missile launcher platforms,' Tweed remarked. 'Just in time. One was blown to bits. Marler found a dead Middle Easterner in his. Maybe a Shi-ite. They were going to be left behind as the scapegoats. Monica read out a news story about two Arabs being airlifted from Gartree Prison. Shi-ites.' He stopped and backed the car through a gap in the hedge into a field, switched off the lights. 'No one will see you here. Keep the Browning in your lap until I get back.'
'You've stopped midway between Quarme Manor and Endpoint.'
'Lock all the doors,' Tweed said, then he was gone.
He pressed the bell. The man who opened the door was dressed in a leather windcheater unzipped down the front, cavalry twill trousers tucked into riding boots, a woollen scarf round his neck. The hall beyond was as cold as the biting wind moaning across the moor.
'May I have a word with you, Dr Robson?' Tweed asked.
'Come in, my dear fellow. Can't give you long. I'm expecting a call from a patient. They phone me at all hours. Goes with the territory as the Americans say.'
All this as Robson closed the door, led the way into the sitting room. The curtains were almost drawn with a gap where they should have met. Tweed sat down at a polished wooden table as Robson gestured and then sat opposite him. His host moved an old-fashioned doctor's bag on to the floor by his side without bothering to close it.
'I've come to arrest you for murder,' Tweed said. 'Quite a few murders. You've probably heard on the news your plan failed. Gorbachev is now in Washington.'
Robson's face crinkled into a smile. His pale blue eyes watched Tweed as he pulled at his straggly moustache.
'I don't follow any of this. You look sane enough.'
'One thing which pinpointed you was your conversation at The Luttrell Arms over dinner. Barrymore referred to the Greek Key. You pooh-poohed the idea. Out of character. When you all had houses like fortresses. Especially this place. I asked my man Nield, who was recording secretly, who was facing him. Barrymore was. So were you. The tape sounded like someone had spotted the tie pin microphone Nield kept fiddling with to get the right angle. And you made the mistake of asking Barrymore if Nield was wearing an earpiece when he met him on the moor. Only a professional would spot that. You spotted it. Hence your strange remark – considering you were all supposed to be scared stiff someone was coming from Greece to avenge the murder of Ionides. ..'
'Gavalas…'Robson stopped. His expression changed. The eyes were blank and cold.
'I never told you Ionides was a Gavalas,' Tweed remarked.
Robson sat very still. The only illumination was a plastic-shaded bulb which hung low above the table. Robson reached down into his bag. He pointed the Luger as Tweed reached inside his jacket.
'Don't bring your hand out with anything in it but your fingers. I still find your reasoning feeble.'
'Winterton – as we codenamed the killer- needed access to a safe phone. You wouldn't like using the one here. Your sister, May, could have overheard you. Where is she?'
'I sent her off for a holiday to my brother's place in Norfolk
'You needed access to a safe phone,' Tweed continued, 'to keep in touch with the Spetsnaz group you'd set up on that bungalow estate, to give orders when they'd moved to their new base. You kept visiting the bedridden old lady down in Dulverton at night. She has an extension upstairs by her bedside. That means the main phone is downstairs – the one you used.'
'Pure guesswork. You're crazy…'
'The first thing which drew my attention to you was when I heard you'd found homes for Barrymore and Kearns on Exmoor. Two reasons would be my guess, as you call it. Camouflage, in case suspicion centred on this area. Three suspects – and you made Barrymore look the most suspicious. I heard in Greece the voice changing the call sign in English over Florakis' transceiver. Very upper-crust. Very Barrymore. You mimicked him. The second reason for bringing your two commando friends here was a genuine fear of the vindictive Petros.'
'Why should I fear him?' Robson moved his left hand and then held it still: he had felt the need of his pipe, his prop.
'Because you murdered Andreas Gavalas on Siros. Another guess. You took a spare knife on the raid to do the job.'
'You'll be accusing me of stealing the diamonds next.'
'Of course you did. Which is why Andreas was killed. He was going to hand them to the right-wing EDES people. Probably you were told by your controller in Cairo to keep the diamonds for future use…'
'And I live in such luxury,' Robson sneered.
'Not for you. But it must have cost Colonel Winterton – again a pointer towards Barrymore – a packet to build that bungalow estate ready for the Spetsnaz group you'd been told to establish. Plus financing them in little businesses to give authentic backgrounds for them when they arrived from Russia. Plus buying the Stinger launchers and missiles from Gallagher, the Lisbon arms dealer. By then those diamonds were worth far more than the original hundred thousand pounds.'
'And what other murders am I supposed to have committed?' Robson enquired sarcastically.
'Stephen Ionides in the Antikhana Building for one. There was a lot of blood. My guess – again – is you wore an Army waterproof buttoned to the neck to save your uniform.'
'Oh, really? Entering the realms of fantasy now, are we? I suppose you worked out how I escaped when there wasn't even a convenient fire escape?'
'Poor Sam Partridge worked that out. There was a strong iron rail elevated above the wall on the roof. You took inside a briefcase – or something – a length of knotted rope. When you had cleaned up the blood from your hands in the bathroom you went back on the roof. You dropped the rope over the rail on the native quarter side – an equal length on either side. You shinned down the wall, holding both pieces of rope with the knots. Reaching the empty street, you simply hauled one length of rope down and coiled the lot in a loop. Very easy to lose that inside the available native quarter.'
'Any reason for all these acrobatics? And my killing Ionides?'
'Commandos are acrobatic. And Ionides – who was really Stephen Gavalas – had become suspicious of the killing of his brother, Andreas. You tied up a loose end.'
'Two murders so far. Any more?'
'It's not amusing. Mrs Larcombe's death was a fresh pointer – clue, if you like. She was a careful woman. Who would she let in to her house at night without fear? The local doctor. You said you needed to use her phone for an emergency?'
Robson ran his tongue briefly over his lips. In the dim light there was moisture on his brow, but the muzzle of the Luger aimed at Tweed's chest was steady.
'One thing which put me off the track,' Tweed went on. He had to keep Robson talking. 'Barrymore kept making clandestine phone calls from a public box in Minehead. What was wrong with using the phone at Quarme Manor?'
An unpleasant smile. 'A touch of romance, Tweed. Barrymore has fallen in love with a wo
man in London, hopes she will agree to marry him. But not sure of his chances. If it doesn't come off he'll still need Mrs Atyeo to run Quarme Manor. So he goes to extreme lengths to make sure she doesn't know anything. She might up and leave.'
'Extraordinary.' Tweed was momentarily non-plussed. 'A small domestic detail I never dreamed of.'
'Like your theories. All bits and pieces…'
'Which complete the jigsaw. And expose the face of Dr Robson. The killing of Sam Partridge on Exmoor was another pointer. The knife was driven in at exactly the right angle, the pathologist told me. A doctor would know how to do that. Much better than ex-commandos who had grown rusty with the passage of time. And Harry Masterson, who visited you, sent me a clue. Endstation. A clever clue. Pointing in two directions – here to your bungalow, Endpoint, and describing the atmosphere down at Porlock Weir, the end of the world. Harry was clever -I think he guessed it was you. He hoped to get confirmation by telling all three of you he was flying to Greece – to see which one of you turned up when he arrived.'
'I didn't.' Robson gripped the trigger of the Luger more firmly under the lampshade. 'I'm holding this gun on you because I appear to face a lunatic with a gun under his own arm.' He glanced at his watch.
'No. You sent a message to Doganis to do the job for you.' Tweed noted the glance at the time – which must be running out. But like a real professional, Robson was curious as to how he had tripped up. 'And,' Tweed went on, 'you fired at my Mercedes, aiming to miss – you couldn't afford the furore which would follow my murder at that stage.'But you aimed – literally – to throw suspicion on Kearns. I'd just left his house.'
'You simply have no proof of these mad assertions.'
'Then take me up into the conning tower where you spend so much time at night. That curious structure which is supposed to be a watch-tower. Then I can satisfy myself there is no transceiver up there. Plus an aerial which automatically elevated while you were transmitting to Florakis in Greece, receiving messages from him. The retracting aerial on a Mercedes gave me that idea.'
The Luger wavered, then steadied. Robson's eyes became colder still. No smile. The bedside manner had vanished. His face became a frozen image, reminded Tweed of pictures of the statues on Easter Island.
'You're clever, I'll grant you that. But it was all in a great cause. Lenin's cause which I embraced when I was a young man. The cause Gorbachev is trying to pervert with his mad glasnost '
'You killed Partridge because he was getting too close to the truth,' Tweed went on. 'You killed Mrs Larcombe because her window creaked and you heard it that first night you collected Anton Gavalas off the Oporto. You couldn't afford to risk her seeing you the second time when you brought the Stinger launchers ashore.'
'Dear me.' Robson's lips curled cruelly. 'You have worked it all out.'
'And you killed Jill Kearns in London. Why?'
'Simply to divert attention to London from Exmoor. She was a foolish sort of woman…'
Tweed saw movement by the gap in the curtains out of the corner of his eye. There was a tremendous smashing sound, glass breaking under a hammerblow. He thought he saw a rifle butt. Robson glanced at the window, swung the Luger round. Tweed reached up, grasped the plastic shade, pulled it down over the bulb. There was a brief flash, the room was plunged into darkness. Tweed threw himself sideways on to the floor as the Luger roared. Confusion. Bodies moving, feet running. A door shut. A vehicle's engine started up, moving at speed down the slope, skidded as though turning along the lane.
Tweed felt his way into the hall, along the wall, opened the front door. The sound of a second vehicle starting up, driving along the lane towards Quarme Manor. He ran down the slope, ran all the way back to where the Mercedes was parked, jumped in behind the wheel. Paula had released the locks as she saw him coming,
'Two vehicles driving at speed along the lane,' she said tersely. 'First a four-wheel-drive job, like we saw parked by the side of Robson's house. Then a car. Couldn't see the make.'
'We must hurry.' Tweed was driving through the gateway, turning along the lane, lights full on, driving away from the Doone Valley. In his wing mirror he saw a police patrol car coming up behind him. He passed Quarme Manor, reached the ford gushing with deep water, drove through it. Behind him the patrol car stopped half-way through the ford. He drove up the hill, kept going when he turned right on the coast road, heading back towards Minehead.
The Toll Road!' Paula shouted.
He was almost past it, swung the wheel, began the descent and slowed as he nearly took them over the brink. They arrived in front of The Anchor and Newman was just climbing into the Cortina. He left it as Tweed approached, dived into the back.
'Two vehicles heading for the pebble beach,' he reported.
'I know. It was Robson…'
'Robson?' Paula gasped. 'I thought it was Kearns.'
They had driven along the track, began bouncing across the pebble-strewn beach. Something jumped up under the Mercedes, there was a loud clang. The car stopped. Tweed jumped out, began running over the pebbles, careful not to lose his footing. In the distance both vehicles had also been stopped by the terrain. He glimpsed two running figures, a hundred yards between them. Behind him Newman ran with Paula, ready to catch her arm if she slipped. Then the searchlight beam came on, aimed at the foot of the looming cliffs. The light shone from the edge of the sea.
It took Newman a moment to grasp the searchlight was mounted at the bow of a motorboat which had been driven up on to the edge of the beach. Tweed ran on past the sign reading, Warning. Keep clear. Danger of cliff falls. He passed an empty Renault, then the four-wheel drive vehicle.
Robson was caught in the searchlight beam as he kept to the lee of the cliffs. A shot rang out. The bullet sang past Newman's head. Paula was fumbling for her Browning when Newman saw inside the beached boat a bulky figure, clad like a seaman, aiming a gun. He swung up the Magnum, gripped in both hands, fired two shots. The seaman was hurled back, tried to recover his balance, toppled, fell over the stern of the boat. His body drifted with the outgoing tide.
Robson, hair awry, flung up a hand to shield his eyes against the glare of the light supposed to lead him to the boat. Tweed saw the tall figure a hundred yards from Robson reach inside a satchel slung from his shoulder. He hoisted his right arm like a cricket bowler, threw an object high up the cliff.
His hand delved again inside the satchel, came out and his arm hoisted a second time. There was a deafening crack on the cliff top above Robson. Tweed stopped, grabbed Paula by the forearm to halt her. She was gasping for breath as the second grenade detonated.
From high up on the cliff they heard a muttering rumble, prelude to a cataclysm. A vast slab of cliff broke free, slowly slid downwards, then faster. Robson looked up, opened his mouth. A cascade of rocks roared towards him. He turned to flee. The cascade engulfed him, like a rising tide, swallowing him up to the waist. In the searchlight beam he was a man half buried alive. He opened his mouth again and screamed and screamed, waving his arms. Then a Niagara of boulders stormed down, bounding against each other. One struck his head and seemed to telescope it deep into his body. Paula gulped.
A fresh fall of massive rocks poured down, tumbling over each other like some mad race. The head vanished. The boulders piled over the invisible corpse, building a grisly funeral pyre. Slowly the noise receded, the cliff settled, returned to stability as a great cloud of dust, a dense fog, spread over the whole ghastly scene.
Kearns, still carrying the satchel, walked back to Tweed, his wrists held out, as though waiting for handcuffs.
'He killed Jill,' he said in a choked voice. 'It had to be one of them. I've lived with the conviction Robson or Barrymore killed those Greeks during the war. But we were afraid of Petros, so we stuck together. I followed you the previous walk you took along here, saw the landslip. I kept several Mills hand grenades when I left the Army. I tested one up at Dunkery Beacon the other night – to make sure they were still working. I'm ready
to go.'
Two questions,' Tweed replied. He opened his hand, exposing the stick of French chalk he'd taken from his pocket. 'Paula picked that up in your house – you used it to simulate grief, to chalk your face. Why?'
Kearns walked a few slow paces until they were on their own. 'When Barrymore phoned, asked me to come and meet you at his house, I'd been sobbing like a child -because of Jill. So I had to clean up my face somehow. I used that stick of French chalk – the one Jill used when she occasionally did a bit of dressmaking.'
'I see.' Tweed changed the subject. 'During the raid on Siros, why land below a German lookout post?'
'Bravado. Barrymore's. And because of the lookout there were few German patrols at that point. Made tactical sense – we relied on a sea mist to cover us, which it did most of the way. Now, I'm ready to go.'
'Then go,' said Tweed. 'I don't recall ever seeing you here. Leave Exmoor. Petros is in prison. Go,' he repeated, 'build yourself a new life.'
'Thank you…'
'I said go!'
As Kearns walked slowly away Tweed stared towards Porlock Weir. No sign of activity: they were too far west for the thunder of the falling cliff to have been heard. 'Poor devil,' he commented. He glanced at the pile of rocks where the dust was settling. 'It will be months before they find out what is under that lot, if ever. Now, let's get rid of that boat.'
Standing on either side of the motorboat, Tweed and Newman exerted all their strength. They heaved it upside down, pushed it over the pebbles, which made a grinding noise. The craft slid over the edge, floated for some distance half-submerged, drifted out to sea.
Kearns had managed to start up his Renault while they were occupied and it disappeared into the distance. Between them they tackled the Land Rover which still had the key in the ignition. Within ten minutes Newman had driven it to the water's brink. One final shove propelled it off the pebbles and it sank from view.