Precipice

21

Eve had been buffing her fingernails while Craig talked to Tweed. She listened to Craig and sneered to herself. When he had put down the phone she tried to put him down. After all, Craig was in trouble with Brazil so this was the moment to kick him.

'How smarmy can we get?' she started. 'You certainly did crawl to Tweed.'

'We can get as smarmy as we have to – when we have to.' Craig told her amiably.

She had her legs crossed, open to view where the slash in her skirt exposed them. He eyed them as he lit a cigarette. I wonder if I could hook him and then drop him with a bang, she thought.

'Well, you had a job to do.' She flashed him a smile. 'And actually you did it pretty well. The fish has taken the bait?'

'Tweed is meeting the boss tomorrow over here, if that is what you're getting at.'

'You'll earn medals instead of brickbats yet.'

'At least my job isn't to lure powerful men into the pit,' he remarked.

'What did you say?' She was furious. She sat up very erect. 'Are you implying I'm a high-class call-girl? Because I have a clear understanding with Brazil that I don't go to bed with any man he may ask me to target.'

'I know that,' he said quietly. 'You do blow your top at the drop of a hat. And I haven't even got a hat to drop.'

'Haha! Very humorous. If you go for cheap gags no self-respecting comedian would dream of using. Now, Carson, we could be friends instead of scrapping with each other all the time. And Leopold doesn't like it. By the by, that animal over there shouldn't be here. He was in England when the boss visited Grenville Grange. Six months in quarantine is the British rule.'

'The chief was careful. Igor was smuggled off the jet at Bournemouth International, then kept in Brazil's limo. While we were at the Grange Igor never even saw another animal of any kind.'

'He broke the law,' Eve insisted. 'But that's his affair,' she said hastily. 'If you sneak on me to him I'll say you made it up.'

'You would, too. Maybe you and I could go out sometime, have a few vodkas, shoot the breeze, as they say, whoever "they" may be.'

'Maybe,' she replied. 'Where is this meeting with Tweed taking place?'

'That's classified information.'

'I heard you say a hotel. Which one?' she coaxed.

'It's still classified.' He got up. 'Don't blame me and start yelling. The boss's orders. I get paid to do as he tells me.'

'Bet you don't get paid as much as I do.'

'I wouldn't know. Jose hands out the bread.'

'I don't trust Jose,' she said and watched Craig with her eyes narrowed.

He was walking towards her. She waited for him to lay a hand on her leg. The moment he did he'd get her full glass of vodka in his face, down his nice suit. Craig walked past her to stroke the wolfhound. Igor was sitting in a corner, tongue hanging out, a dreamy look on its face. Igor had recently had its supper. It stood up and snarled as Craig came close.

'Watch it.' Eve swallowed her vodka, stood up, and walked towards the door. She looked at Craig over her shoulder. 'I'm going to bed. On my own,' she said sweetly.

In her bedroom at the Hotel des Bergues Paula couldn't get back to sleep. She switched on the table lamp, checked her travelling clock. 2 a.m. Great.

She used the phone to call room service, ordered coffee for two, although she felt sure Philip would be fast asleep. Putting on a dressing gown and belting it, she opened the door into the living room quietly. Philip was not asleep.

Sprawled out on the couch bed, his table lamp alight, he was reading a paperback. He put it down as she came in, slipped on his dressing gown over his pyjamas, sat with his feet on the floor.

'You, too?' he said.

'Afraid so. It was a pretty exciting evening. I've ordered coffee, some for you on the off-chance you would be awake – although I didn't expect it.'

After the waiter had tapped on the door, brought a wheeled table in with coffee and cakes, and left with his generous tip, she poured for both of them.

The phone rang just as she was about to start drinking hers.

'A man on the phone for you, Miss Grey. He wouldn't give a name but insisted you'd want to speak to him.'

'I'll take it…'

'This is your dinner guest, Paula. Very sorry to call you at this hour but I've reached my destination. I checked with a friend…' He paused and Paula realized he meant an informant. 'He gave me one word, which I don't understand. A girl's name. Ariane… Said it was very important. Good night

She told Philip. 'A girl's name. Ariane. Ring any bells?'

'None at all. Archie must have thought it was important to call you back at this hour. I get the impression he has an informant in a really key position.'

'He did say it was very important. Damn it, I'm wide awake and so are you. I'm going to call Tweed… He might still be up.'

Tweed came back into his office, towelling his hair, then combing it in a mirror he borrowed from Monica. He looked at Newman and Marler.

'I feel good for another twenty-four hours. Amazing the way a bath freshens you up. I can recommend it.'

He stopped speaking, went behind his desk as the phone rang yet again. Monica took the call.

'It's Rene Lasalle from. Paris. Sounds urgent.'

Tut him on. Good morning, Rene. So you, too, are burning the candle at both ends

'Tweed, this you should know. I've just heard it myself. Brazil sent a team to Cayenne – French Guiana. I heard about it, sent my own team with special cameras. You know about Ariane, our rocket-launching system in Guiana. Ariane. Brazil has had his own satellite flown out by plane for launching by Ariane into orbit. You know we make money by renting out the system for anyone with the funds to use Ariane to launch a satellite into space.'

'I know.'

'Well, something tricky took place. Brazil's team said they were checking the satellite, erected a canvas screen, but my team flew over in a helicopter just at the right moment and took a lot of pictures. A different satellite was substituted and we have the pics flown back from Guiana. They don't make sense to my so-called top experts, even though they have shots of what's inside the satellite.'

'Strange.' said Tweed.

'I know you have that weird man who has cracked scientific problems when no one else could. I have taken the liberty of sending you copies of the photos. A courier is in the air now, is being flown to Heathrow in a light aircraft.'

'When may I expect them?'

'Within an hour or two. At Park Crescent. I've phoned Heathrow and arranged for a car to be standing by.'

'I'll call Professor Grogarty now.'

'Won't delay you. I was summoned to the Elysee again and given a dressing-down by the President himself. Threatened with instant dismissal if my people went anywhere near Brazil. That's it…'

Tweed put the phone down, told Newman, Marler, and Monica what Lasalle had said.

'What on earth is that man up to?' Monica asked.

'We may know more if Grogarty can detect something from the photos. He's invented an extraordinary microscope which can read three-dimensional ciphers of a minute size. Monica, try and get Grogarty on the phone. He works through the night.'

The phone rang once more before Monica could start dialling. She listened, called out quickly.

'It's Paula on the line for you…'

Tweed grabbed the phone. He took a deep breath to hide his anxiety.

'Very good to hear from you. I've been thinking a lot about you.'

'Thank you.' said Paula quickly. 'I'm speaking from the Hotel des Bergues,' she warned him. 'From my bedroom. I had a call recently from our friend who smokes cigarettes but doesn't smoke. You know who I mean?'

'Yes.' Tweed was careful not to mention the name Archie.

'He's had information from a reliable source. It's odd. Just one word. A girl's name. Ariane…'

'I know who she is, what he is talking about.'

'Thank heavens. Philip is with me, trying to sleep on the couch in the living room. Neither of us can go to sleep. Too alert.'

'Are you all right? I know about the Old City. Beck has called me in a rage. Don't worry. How are you?'

'OK. Quite OK. So is Philip. Our competitors seem to know every move we make in advance.'

'They're well organized and have plenty of money at their disposal. It helps.'

He was listening carefully to every word she said, trying to detect any signs of strain and stress. There were none.

'Has a certain important man Newman met in Dorset a base in Berne?' Paula asked.

'Yes, he has. Why?'

'We'll be going there tomorrow.'

'In the Kochergasse.' Tweed said swiftly. 'You're both going? Good. I want you both to try and see me at the Schweizerhof late tomorrow afternoon. We've stayed there before. Remember?'

'I'm sure we can make that. We will. Hadn't you better get some sleep?'

'I could say the same to you. I have to take another call. Take great care…'

He nodded to Monica, who dialled the Professor's number, said Tweed was on the line.

'Tweed! So, like me, you're an owl.' Grogarty gave a hoarse chuckle. 'My best work is done in the early hours. You have another problem. Of course! Otherwise you wouldn't be getting in touch.'

Tweed had a wild whim to ask him whether his pince-nez was crooked, but desisted.

'Yes, I do have a problem. A very strange one.' He explained about the call from Paris without mentioning Lasalle's name, ending with the fact that a courier was flying in with the photos of the satellite which had been secretly substituted for the original one.

'Sounds intriguing.' Grogarty commented. 'And you want my opinion yesterday?'

'No.' said Tweed, 'the day before yesterday.'

'Then why don't you hold the courier, look at the photos yourself, then send them straight on to me by the same courier.'

'I'm going abroad early in the morning. Soon after daylight.'

'Then you'd better send that courier over here pretty damned quick. Another thing, Tweed, it would help me if I knew its orbit – the areas of the Earth it passes over.'

Tweed put down the phone and swore aloud mildly, which he rarely did.

'Won't he cooperate?' asked Monica.

'He'll pull out all stops for me. But he wants now to know its orbit – what parts of the planet it is crossing. There's a problem for you.'

'Easy.' Monica began dialling a number from memory. 'I have the answer, with a bit of luck. Cord Dillon, Deputy Director of the CIA, and your old pal. He works late, and in any case the headquarters at Langley is on Washington time, so they're five hours behind us…'

'What would I do without her?' Tweed asked Newman as he stood up.

'Collapse.' Newman snapped.

'I'm going to the loo. Maybe you'd like to come up in a minute and we'll look in on Reginald and all his junk. I have a key to that room.'

Tweed found the door to the communications centre, as it had been called, was open and Reginald was inside with his staff of two. Newman entered the spacious room with Tweed, followed by Marler.

'Do come in, Mr Tweed.' said Reginald, seated in front of the largest machine in the place.

'I am in.'

'What I meant was I'm delighted you are at long last taking an interest in our work, that you have been converted to modern techniques.'

'I haven't.'

The three visitors looked slowly round the room which had smaller computers and PCs on metal tables against the walls. Green screens were flashing madly, some even showing wording, line after line of it.

Reginald was in his twenties, lean and wearing pebble glasses, his face almost cadaverous. He gestured towards the big machine he was sitting in front of, his fingers poised over the keyboard.

'This is the master computer, which is why it's bigger although the trend now is for computers to be smaller and smaller. The master computer I'm sitting in front of is linked to the telephone system – as are the others. And our security is foolproof.'

'No, it isn't,' said Tweed. 'I asked my bank director recently could he guarantee no one could hack into my account. He looked embarrassed, then agreed that it could be done, that it had been done on a number of occasions. Do you normally work so late?'

'Well, no. But since Monty arrived we're all keen to complete the link-ups.'

'Monty?' queried Tweed.

That's what we call my master computer.'

'I'll leave you to get on with the good work…'

'Monty!' Tweed said with disgust as they went back down the stairs to his office. 'I wonder what those flashing lights will do to their eyes.'

As they went back into his office Monica was putting down the phone, looking pleased.

'Cord came up trumps. They're furious at Langley that Paris hasn't informed them they were launching a new satellite.'

'Paris?' queried Tweed. 'It's Brazil's satellite.'

'Obviously he has concealed his ownership by passing it along the line that it's a new French satellite. I suppose being on such good terms with the President in the Elysee he's got his support. Cord said they had heard about Ariane launching Rogue One and they've been tracking it.'

'Rogue One?'

'That's what Langley has christened it. Rather a good name, I thought.'

'A good name for Leopold Brazil.' said Marler.

'Mr Brazil has arrived back.' Jose told Eve. 'He wants to see you in his study.'

'I haven't had breakfast. I need my breakfast.'

'You've had sleep. Mr Brazil hasn't had any. When he does have sleep he only needs four hours. He has great energy, is a dynamic personality.'

'Shouldn't you wait until you're in his presence before you butter him up?' sneered Eve. 'Telling me isn't going to earn you any medals.'

The dark-skinned Jose's expression didn't change. It hardly ever changed. He told Eve Mr Brazil was waiting for her in his study.

She went downstairs to the first floor, didn't bother to knock on the study door, walked straight in. Igor, sitting alongside Brazil who was in his chair behind his desk, stood up, snarled.

'Igor prefers you to knock.' Brazil said mildly. 'He thinks it better manners.'

'Oh, I see.' Eve tossed her head. 'Would you like me to go out again, knock respectfully on your door, and wait for your command to come in?'

'Don't be impertinent. Sit down.'

Brazil was dressed in a smart heavy grey business suit with a regimental tie he had bought in Bond Street. He radiated an aura of power and purpose. On his desk was a fat envelope. He was amused to watch Eve trying not to look at it. He began talking again in his deep voice as soon as she sat down facing him.

'I am going to meet Tweed later today. I employ you because you have a flair for weighing up men, for spotting their weak points, for moulding them in your hands like putty. What sort of man is Tweed? Could you lure him so you had him in the palm of your hand?'

'He's an enigma.'

'Come. You can do better than that. You told me you had dinner with him one evening at the Priory Hotel.

Seeing someone at dinner is a good time to tell what they are really like.'

Eve frowned, forcing herself not to look at the fat envelope which was the only object on Brazil's desk. She was, as usual, trying to work out what reply would make her boss happy.

Brazil waited, appeared to read her mind.

'I don't want what you think I would like to hear. I want an honest assessment. You are supposed to be shrewd where men are concerned.'

'He's the most difficult man to analyse I ever met. He has changes of mood. Sometimes he's quite amiable, even jokey. At other times you can't tell from his expression what he's really thinking,' she said truthfully.

'He's insignificant?' Brazil suggested.

'No, far from it. I'd say he is cautious, likes to be sure of his ground before he moves. No woman could trap him. If they appeared to be doing so they'd get a nasty surprise. He likes women, but he's very discriminating in those he mixes with.'

'Go on. This is better. Much better.'

'Take Paula Grey. She's someone I'd say he trusts.'

'All right. What sort of woman is Paula Grey?'

'Attractive.' Eve said reluctantly. 'She's shrewd, probably very loyal to Tweed. I think they have a very special relationship built on mutual respect. Sometimes I thought she was in love with him.'

'And he with her?'

'If he is, he never shows it. At least I couldn't detect it.'

'You think they have ever been intimate together?'

'I'm sure they haven't. It's a very permanent relationship, but without that, I'm certain. A woman can tell.'

'Getting back to Tweed, if he was up against an enemy he regarded as very dangerous, what would be his reaction? I get a picture so far of a very intelligent, thoughtful man, very self-controlled and quiet. What would be his reaction?' he repeated.

'He'd be ruthless. He'd take decisions very quickly and move like lightning.'

'Interesting. You've done well. Now you can take the envelope on my desk you've had trouble keeping your eyes off. It's your salary plus a large bonus.'

'Thank you.'

The envelope disappeared inside her shoulder bag like a conjuring trick. She was dying to open it, had felt crisp banknotes inside it, but she knew opening it in front of Brazil would be a mistake. It would indicate greed.

She had no idea that when Brazil had originally hired her he had detected greed as the main motive in her makeup. Now she had the envelope she decided to ask the question which had been bothering her.

'After I'd got to know the chairman of the Zurcher Kredit bank I went to his house with a man you told me to meet at the station under the clock. You told me to introduce him as Mr Danziger Brown, the man I'd persuaded the chairman had an idea as to how the bank could make a huge profit. I introduced this man to the chairman after dark and went away, as instructed. Later, I read in the papers the chairman had been murdered.'

'So?'

'Was I introducing the chairman to the man who killed him?'

'Describe Mr Danziger Brown.'

'I couldn't make out whether he was tall or of medium height. He seemed very fat. The buttons of his overcoat were strained. He stooped, as though he was round shouldered. I couldn't see the colour of his hair – he was wearing a black beret. I couldn't see his face. It was a cold night and he had a muffler across most of his face.'

'He was a financial consultant. Whoever killed the chairman must have gained entry after he had gone.'

'The same thing happened when I made friends, on your instructions, with that banker in Geneva. And he was murdered the same night I took another man to see him.'

'A coincidence.' Brazil said blandly.

'I see.' She hesitated. 'Have you heard of someone called The Motorman?'

'Who?'

'The Motorman.'

'No. Sounds like a racing driver.'

Brazil was lying, but nothing in his expression gave away the fact. In this respect only he was like Tweed.

When Eve had left the room Brazil stroked Igor, began talking quietly to the dog.

'Tweed sounds very promising. If only I can persuade him we would make an unbeatable partnership…'