Precipice

24

'I'm asking you, Craig, why did you want those descriptions I gave you of Paula Grey, Bob Newman, and Philip Cardon – to say nothing of Bill Franklin?' demanded Eve.

She was in her own room at the villa in Berne, had met Craig on the stairs, and, flashing him an inviting smile, had asked him into her room. Craig, misunderstanding her completely – as she had intended he should – had gone into her room like a lamb to the slaughter.

Now she was raving and ranting at him. He was completely thrown off balance. That a mere woman should talk to him like that was beyond his comprehension. He glared at her and attempted to quell her verbally.

'What the hell do you mean, addressing me in that tone?'

'You haven't answered by question, you piece of rubbish!' she shouted at him, standing with her hands on her hips.

'And I'm bloody well not answering your question.'

'You bloody well are,' she stormed. 'I heard you on the phone in your office last night, giving those descriptions to someone on the line. Before you rushed off to catch a plane from Belp. Does Mr Brazil know who you were phoning? That you did make that call?'

Craig's aggressiveness faded like ice melting under a strong sun. He was appalled and his expression gave him away. Eve understood the expression and knew she had him just where she wanted him. With his back up against a wall.

'That was confidential,' he said, almost bleated. 'I have duties to perform and the boss gives me wide latitude…'

'So Brazil does not know about that phone call,' she hissed at him triumphantly. 'Who the devil were you calling?'

Inwardly Craig was fearful. He had never suspected what a hellcat this woman could be. Obviously she had listened at his door, had quietly opened it a fraction while he was making the call on his private line. It was impossible for him to reveal who he had called.

He wiped his sweating palms on his trousers, gave her an oily smile. She waited, her expression ugly, her hands still on her hips. She was enjoying herself – to see this thug who had always ignored her, crawling to her. She was controlling the situation now.

'I'm sure you have expensive tastes.' he began. 'So maybe a little personal bonus just between us would be a help.'

'Don't like the word little.'

He took out his wallet, peeled off two thousand-franc notes and held them out.

Tut them on the table.' she ordered.

He did so, hating her for the humiliation she was imposing on him, treating him like a servant. Glancing at the money, she cocked her index finger, beckoned. He began to move towards her.

'Stay where you are!' she screamed at him. 'Are you so stupid? Don't you realize I was beckoning for you to get out your wallet again?'

'It's not enough?'

'Not nearly. You're loaded.'

He sucked in his breath, brought out his wallet again, extracted three more thousand-franc notes, laid them on the table. Five thousand altogether. This was blackmail on a big scale. Eve spoke again.

'Leave them there and get the hell out of here…'

Mopping his sweating brow, Craig hurried back to his own office. He had hardly closed the door when the phone started ringing. He swore foully, sat behind his desk, picked up the phone.

'Craig here. So who is it?' he asked viciously.

'Someone you expected to call you.' a thin reedy voice said in English.

'Do you mind holding on a moment, please, while I secure the door …'

His tone had changed to one of businesslike geniality. He jumped up, ran to the door, locked and bolted it. He should have done that last time before Eve had opened it and eavesdropped on him, the little cow.

'Yes, I'm here.' he said, resuming the conversation.

'This is your private line?'

'Yes, don't worry…'

'I never worry, I double-check.' the reedy voice went on. 'The job is done. Mr Rico Sava is no longer with us.'

'I see.'

'So please make the necessary transfer of funds to my numbered account. I do prefer prompt payment.'

The connection was broken and Craig was sweating again. Something about the reedy voice always disturbed him. He had no idea of the identity of The Motorman and paying him was a headache. Craig had control over a large amount of funds – much of it going to pay his team of motorcyclists. But Jose conducted an audit at regular intervals, checking expenses on the orders of Brazil.

Craig also had no idea of how to contact The Motorman. He knew that he – or a member of his staff -would later in the morning get another call giving a phone number where Mr Brown could be reached. The number was always an answerphone which gave another phone number.

Craig went to a cabinet, poured himself a large Scotch, drank half of it, sat down again behind his desk. He had thought for a long time that Brazil was too soft in the methods he employed. On the quiet, Craig tried to rectify that.

Several months before he had contacted a friend who had buddies in the underworld. He had wanted a really tough assassin. Just in case. Eventually he'd been given the name, The Motorman, and a number where he might reach him. The Motorman had called him back a week later, had told Craig what a complete job on a target would cost. That had been the start of Craig's secret contact with the assassin.

There was an insistent tapping on the door. When he unlocked and unbolted it Jose was standing outside. 'Mr Brazil wishes to see you urgently…'

'Craig, I'm going to meet Mr Tweed later this afternoon at the Hotel Schweizerhof in Zurich. Just in case you wish to get in touch with me. Jose will drive me there. We shall leave shortly so I can call on a friend in Zurich before I meet Tweed.'

'You need protection.' was Craig's instant reaction.

'No. No protection. I trust Tweed. I met him once, briefly, at a dinner in London.'

'You need protection.' Craig repeated. 'I will fix it up immediately…'

He stopped speaking, pulled up abruptly. Brazil had hammered his clenched fist on his desk.

'I said no protection. Are you deaf? You can go now.'

Philip drove into Berne some time after the snow had stopped falling but the city was deep in snow. Paula pointed to a building.

'Look at that. Icicles hanging like a railed fence from the gutters. It's cold and I'm hungry.'

'Well, we're in Kochergasse and there is the Bellevue Palace. We'll park in that underground garage and order an English breakfast.'

'Good. My tummy's rumbling…'

They walked back to the large hotel and entered the lobby. The first person they saw was Archie, sitting at a table close to a window with a tray of coffee on the table.

'I don't believe it.' Paula said, going up to him. 'How could we run into you here?'

'Because.' Archie whispered to them, 'from where I am sitting I can observe Brazil's villa. That old stone place set back from the street.'

'Then we'll have breakfast here.' said Philip. 'Just so long as that's all right with you.'

'Be my guests.' Archie said, his dead cigarette clenched in the corner of his mouth. He summoned a waiter. 'What do you want?'

They ordered and Archie's eyes never left the villa he had pointed to. Paula sat alongside him.

'Activity already.' Archie commented. 'I think that's Brazil's limo pulling up outside with Jose at the wheel. Yes, there's Brazil himself coming out. He looks very smart. Must be going to meet someone important.'

Paula exchanged a glance with Philip but said nothing.

'That's interesting.' Archie went on as the limo pulled away from the villa. 'He's travelling without the thugs Craig always provides him with. He must trust whoever he's off to see totally.'

Again Paula kept her expression poker-faced and this time she didn't look at Philip. Archie continued watching as he spoke.

'I think Brazil is anxious. I caught a glimpse of his expression. He had the look of a man who hopes he is going to succeed in some venture, but fears he will fail.'

'How can you tell all that – when he was across the road?' asked Philip.

'Because I have spent many long hours waiting for Mr Brazil to appear in different parts of the world. I have studied him carefully. A most impressive personality. No wonder he has the ear of presidents and prime ministers all over the world.'

These eggs and bacon are good.' said Paula, concentrating on the most important activity.

'Coffee's good, too.' Philip commented. 'What is it?'

Archie's relaxed figure had become tense. He was leaning forward.

'Ah! Something very interesting is happening now. Very interesting indeed.'

'What is it?' asked Philip, who had his back to the villa.

'Another large car has pulled up in front of the villa. A Volvo. And, if I'm not mistaken, it's being driven by a particularly nasty piece of work. A certain ugly gentleman called Gustav. Craig's henchman.'

'Keep me informed,' said Philip.

He didn't want to twist round in his chair for fear the action would draw attention to them.

'Even more interesting.' Archie continued. 'His Lordship has appeared. None other than the great man himself. Mr Carson Craig, carrying a hold-all which from here looks heavy.'

'He looks like a heavyweight businessman in that suit.' Paula said. 'And I do mean heavyweight. That's odd – it's not at all how Newman described how he was dressed during the fight at Grenville Grange.'

'And here comes the gentle Gustav.' Archie remarked, 'also carrying a heavy bag. Probably weapons.'

'Two more tough-looking types are coming down the steps.' Paula observed. 'And they look as though they mean business. They're getting into the back of the Volvo. Gustav is driving, with Craig next to him. There they go…'

Philip saw the Volvo driving past the hotel in the same direction taken by Brazil's limo. Archie looked thoughtful.

'You know, my informant has told me a little about Craig. He's in charge of security, subject to Brazil's approval. But Craig thinks he knows best how to handle his job and has been known to go his own brutal way, regardless. I am thinking maybe Brazil didn't want an escort for this trip, but Craig is again following his primitive instincts.'

'I don't like this.' said Philip, glancing at Paula. 'I don't like it at all. I think we ought to get moving to our destination now.'

'So do I.' agreed Paula.

Philip paid for their breakfast and Archie's coffee. He stood up and spoke quietly as he put on his coat.

'Archie, you look after yourself. The wolves are on the prowl.'

'I want to remind you both of something.' Archie replied, ignoring the warning. 'Don't forget Anton Marchat down in the Valais…'

Standing at her window, which overlooked Kochergasse, Eve had watched Brazil leaving. Later she had been puzzled when she saw Craig and three other men, including the hateful Gustav, driving off the same way in a Volvo.

Why wasn't Craig driving behind the limo to act as protection for Brazil, which was the normal procedure? Was Craig up to something underhand, playing his own game again as she knew he frequently did, concealing his actions from Brazil. She rubbed her hands together. She would wait and see if she heard a rumour about what was going on. She might be able to claw another five thousand francs out of the detestable Craig.

Then she stiffened. Even though masked from the road by thick net curtains, she almost took a step back, then froze. Movement might betray her presence. She could hardly believe her eyes.

Philip and Paula Grey had emerged from the entrance to the Bellevue Palace. She heard someone come into the room, glanced over her shoulder. Marco, one of the guards, was unlocking a drawer. Swiftly he took out a long knife, slipped it into a sheath attached to his belt.

'Marco!' she called out urgently. 'Come here quickly. Don't disturb the curtains…'

'What is it?'

Marco was already by her side. She pointed to Philip and Paula as they walked towards the underground garage.

'See those two? Follow them. They are enemies of Mr Brazil

'I'm on my way.'

Paula was walking alongside Philip close to the ramp which descended to the garage where their car was parked, when she slipped. Philip saved her and then she froze. She kept him still under the lee of a wall, nodded.

On the opposite side of the road a tall man dressed like a Russian with a fur coat and a fur hat was striding along. Philip stared, opened his mouth to speak, but Paula spoke first.

'That's Bill Franklin. I recognize his walk. What's he doing in Berne? Let's find out.'

'He's gone into a pharmacy. There's a queue at the counter. I'm going to nip down and make sure our car is all right.'

'Berne is like a rabbit warren,' she protested.

But Philip had already run down the ramp and didn't hear her. She stood in a fever of impatience, sure that Franklin would come out before Philip got back. She was relieved when Philip reappeared a couple of minutes later, running back up the ramp.

Pretending to study the menu of the Bistro, the Bellevue Palace's restaurant, for a quick meal, Marco saw Philip disappear and frowned. Obviously he was going to check with the garage attendant to see if he could find out where Brazil was being driven to.

Marco, pencil thin with a face as white as death, was always suspicious, putting the worst interpretation on the actions of anyone he was following. His suspicion was confirmed when he saw Philip hurrying back up the ramp two minutes later.

The target had obviously bribed the attendant to tell him Brazil's destination. Otherwise he would have been in the garage longer if the attendant had been close-mouthed. There would have been a long argument.

'He's still inside the pharmacy,' Paula reported.

'Let's cross the street while we can. Trams come over the bridge above the River Aare.'

They had just crossed when a small green tram rumbled over the bridge. Franklin came out of the pharmacy, looked round, waited until there was no traffic where several roads met, then strode over to the Munstergasse, a quiet cobbled street which descended to the great stone bulk of the Munster, a towering edifice with a tall spire that dominated Berne.

On the side he walked were arcades roofed over the pavement. Philip and Paula followed him slowly, stopping briefly to look in shop windows. There were bakery shops, picture dealers, antiques shops, and a patisserie. Underfoot the cobbles were treacherous, coated with a sheen of ice. The temperature was below zero.

Behind them Marco, wearing a brown leather coat which hung open so he could reach his knife quickly, trudged along. They had all passed several ancient narrow alleys leading off the pavement when Franklin suddenly vanished.

'Where on earth has he gone?' wondered Philip.

'Keep walking and we'll find out.' Paula insisted.

They reached another very narrow alley, not wide enough for two people to pass each other. Peering down it into the gloom they saw the fur-coated figure appear to walk inside a wall. They moved faster inside the alley, using their hands to hold against the walls to avoid slipping.

The alley had become very dark. Paula glanced up at the space between the roofs of the ancient buildings which leaned towards each other, leaving only little more than a slit. The sky above was shrouded in dense low clouds, black as pitch, and heavy snow began to fall.

'That's where he went in,' said Paula just before they reached a bend in the alley which concealed the street beyond running parallel to Munstergasse.

Inside a small alcove two stone steps, worn down the ages in the middle by generations of footsteps, led up to a closed door. The plate beside the door read Emil Voigt -Sachwalter. There were no windows above the door.

'He's gone to visit a lawyer,' said Paula. 'I think I ought to go ahead into the next street in case he goes that way when he comes out. You go back to Munstergasse. We'll meet up at the entrance to the garage when one of us finds out where he goes to.'

'Good idea.'

Paula had just disappeared round the bend in the alley, Philip was turning to go the other way when through the falling snow he saw a slim figure clad in a brown leather coat approaching him.

'You are a spy,' Marco shouted in heavy guttural German. 'You were trying to find out where Mr Brazil was going to. You are his enemy!'

Ever impetuous, Marco whipped out his long knife and lunged towards Philip. His action, Marco felt sure, would earn him praise from Craig, perhaps even promotion. Reaching for his Walther, Philip took several swift steps backwards, felt his feet slipping on sheet ice, toppled over backwards, saving his head by jerking his shoulders upwards. Marco raised his knife to plunge it into the sprawled body, took two steps forward, skidded on the same patch of ice, fell against the wall.

Paula appeared. She had heard Marco shouting his threats. As he began to scramble to his feet Paula brought down the butt of her Browning on his skull. Marco collapsed and this time he lay still, made no attempt to regain his balance. The snow falling matched his deathly white face.

'I think we'll forget Franklin.' Philip said quickly, climbing upright with one hand supporting himself by holding on to the wall. 'Time we moved off to Zurich. Franklin is going to have a surprise when he does come out. And thank you – for saving my life…'