Precipice

31

'Police.'

The man in plain clothes held up his warrant card in front of the hard-faced man who had been pretending to read a newspaper in the Hauptbahnhof.

'Identity papers, please.' the detective demanded.

Hard-Face stiffened, then slipped his hand inside his raincoat. The hand of another man behind him grasped the hand, brought it out slowly, then rammed his own hand back into the breast pocket, slowly withdrew a 7.65mm Luger from the shoulder holster.

'Take him to the wagon,' the first detective ordered.

There was a click as the second detective locked a handcuff round Hard-Face's wrist, clipped the other cuff round his own wrist, marched him off.

It was happening all over the main station. Detectives worked in pairs, even checked every member of the uniformed station staff. Within an hour the chief of detectives reported to Beck over the phone.

'All clear at the Hauptbahnhof. We're staying in case more rubbish turns up…'

At Police Headquarters Beck put on a coat, ran down the stairs, and walked briskly, avoiding ice, to the Schweizerhof.

Tweed had also been up all night. He had sent Marler with Butler and Meld back to the Gotthard to pack their cases and be ready for instant departure to the station when he called. They had arrived in his room separately and had left at intervals to fool anyone watching the hotel. So far as Tweed knew their identities were still completely unknown to Craig's gang. Newman was talking to Tweed when Beck rapped on the door. Again he carried his coat over his arm and again it was flecked with snow.

'Still coming down?' Tweed queried, glancing at the coat.

'The forecast is it won't stop. I came to stretch my legs, to tell you the station is clear. We arrested eleven men, all armed with various cannons. Where are you off to?'

'Geneva.'

'An express leaves in one hour from now. You need how many tickets?'

'Five, first class. Why?'

'I'll get them for you and leave them in a sealed envelope with the night concierge downstairs. You'll keep in touch with me? I'm staying at Zurich Police HQ.'

'I'll report to you if and when I can, certainly.'

Beck paused at the door, smiled without humour.

'One more small item you might care to know. Brazil has had his jet flown to Kloten from Belp. The pilot has filed a flight plan for take-off just after dawn. Guess for what destination.'

'Sion.'

'Give the man the money…'

When Beck had left Newman began talking again. Like Tweed, he showed no signs of strain.

'I'm surprised Beck has never questioned me about that car crashing into the tram.'

'He probably thinks we're under enough pressure. They cleared up the mess quickly. From my window I watched police cars arrive escorting a huge lifting machine. They were very careful how they attached the claws of the crane to what remained of the car. Then they took it away, presumably for examination.'

'I don't envy them doing that with three bodies inside,' Newman remarked.

'They were probably hoping to find the registration plates but I'd say their chances weren't good.'

'But there was the shotgun Craig was going to use. It will carry Craig's fingerprints. He wasn't wearing gloves.'

'Again it would be a disappointment. I saw some fool of a pedestrian pick up the weapon, having a good look at it before a uniformed policeman arrived and took him away with the gun. Any prints of Craig's would be smudged out of existence.'

'Pity. That leaves Craig in the clear. He's more than a hired thug. He's amoral and enjoys his work, I'm sure. I'd like to meet him again.'

'Maybe you will, so be careful,' Tweed warned. He checked his watch. 'We'll have to leave soon to catch that express. Only another half-hour at the outside. It will be dark for a while, so let's hope it has a dining car.'

Brazil had just finished an early breakfast, brought to him by room service, when there was a knock on his door. He called out 'Come in,' and Gustav entered, with a small box in his hand.

'What is it?' demanded Brazil.

'My idea has worked already. May I put this cassette in your recorder so you can listen?'

Brazil tensed inwardly. He had hoped Gustav was wrong in his suspicions that an informant, a traitor, existed within his organization. He had always chosen staff so carefully, checking them out himself. He nodded his approval and listened as Gustav started the small tape.

You know who this is? Jose's voice.

Yes. You have more information for me? Another voice, also speaking in English, but with a guttural accent Brazil suspected was faked.

Brazil and three key members of his team, Craig, Luigi, and Marco, are leaving by jet from Kloten this morning bound for Sion. Jose's unmistakable whispering voice again.

Thank you. I am still willing to make a payment to you. The other voice.

No. I want no payment. Brazil is a violent and evil man. I will keep you informed of developments. Jose once more.

Gustav rewound the tape, looked across the desk at his boss, who was gazing out of the window where, through a slit in the curtain he could see snow falling.

'Shall I replay the tape?' Gustav suggested. 'I always was suspicious of Jose. Too smooth.'

'No! I don't want to hear the damned thing again. How did you manage it?'

Gustav showed him the miniature tape-recorder. It had four suckers attached to its base.

'I merely placed this under the surface of his desk so it would pick up phone conversations.'

'Very ingenious.' Brazil sounded disappointed. 'I'll summon Jose when you have left. He will be travelling with me aboard the jet now. Is there any point in your staying here any longer?'

'The helicopter which was going to transport me to Sion is still standing by at Kloten?'

'It is.'

'Please keep it waiting for me. There is still another suspect I wish to check out.'

'The name?'

'I still would prefer not to mention it. After all, I might be wrong.'

'As you wish.'

Gustav, he reflected as his deputy left the room, liked to be secretive, which probably accounted for his reliability. I hope to God there isn't another rotten fish, he thought as he forced himself to press his intercom to summon Jose.

There was another knock on the door and he braced himself not to show his feelings when Jose entered. But it was Marco, bringing in Igor, who loped forward and flopped on the floor beside Brazil.

'He's been fed,' Marco explained. 'He'll fall asleep in no time.'

'Thank you, Marco. I'm expecting someone else…'

Absent-mindedly, his mood on what he had heard on the tape, Brazil took a cigarette from the gold box on his desk. He rarely smoked except in moments of tension. He called out after someone knocked on the door and Jose came in. He hurried forward, took hold of an onyx lighter on the desk, held it to light the cigarette. Brazil had to exert all his self-control not to dash the lighter out of Jose's hand. He let him light the cigarette, leant back in his chair.

'Jose, there is a limo waiting for me at Sion?'

'Yes, sir. I sent another driver with it as you instructed me.'

'I have decided I only feel comfortable with you behind the wheel. So you will fly with me in the jet to Sion.'

'It will be my pleasure, sir.'

'That is all.'

Igor had stood up when Jose had lit the cigarette, had given a low growl. It was extraordinary, Brazil thought, how the hound had sensed his own suppressed feelings of venom towards Jose. He stroked the dog.

'Igor, you'll soon have to work for your supper. Let's see whether you have forgotten your training.'

Tweed checked his watch again in his room and looked at Newman, who sat quite relaxed in a chair. By his side was his packed case and a canvas bag with a shoulder strap.

'Ten more minutes and we should go to the station.' Tweed remarked.

'Best not to get there too early.' Newman agreed. 'I know Beck has cleaned out the Hauptbahnhof but you never know – he could have missed one watcher. And we have the tickets.' he added, producing the envelope he had collected from the concierge's desk.

The phone rang. Tweed pursed his lips, picked it up.

'Yes? Who is calling?'

'The man from Kimmeridge.' said Archie.

'You have more news?'

'Yes. Our very important friend and top members of his team will be leaving this morning. They will fly from Kloten to the Valais.'

'Thank you. We will be leaving here soon. I do appreciate your keeping me up to date.'

He told Newman what Archie had said. Newman shrugged.

'We knew that already. Beck told us.'

'But it shows how closely Archie keeps his finger on what is happening. He's quite a character.'

He had just finished speaking when the phone rang. Tweed tightened his lips. Should he answer? They were due to leave shortly. He picked up the phone.

'Monica here. Thank heavens I've reached you!'

She was speaking quickly and Tweed detected great anxiety under the surface although, being Monica, she was calm.

'What's happened?' Tweed asked. 'If you could keep it brief.'

'Howard has panicked, gone right over the top. Someone is needed here urgently to take control.'

'What caused the panic?' Tweed enquired, checking his watch again.

'The rumours on the international grapevine -rumours that a major coup is imminent in Moscow.'

'Where are the rumours coming from?'

He received the answer he had least hoped to hear.

'That's the odd thing. I am sure they are deliberately being spread by some central organization. And not from Russia. Somewhere in Europe. But Howard is seeing the PM almost hourly, working him up with his panic. It's very serious.'

'What you're suggesting.' Tweed said grimly 'is that the situation is bad enough for me to return to London at once?'

'They're running round like headless chickens. And the atmosphere is getting worse by the hour. Yes, I think you should return. Howard has no idea I'm making this call.'

'Where is Howard now? Could I speak to him for just a minute?'

'I'm afraid not. He's over at Downing Street, waiting to wind up the PM some more.'

'Monica, you realize you're talking to me in my room. There's an unimportant item I'd be interested in. You have obviously been checking these rumours carefully. Where did they start?'

'That's difficult to say.' Monica paused, then went on quickly. 'Zurich.'

After he had told Monica he would call her back when he had had time to take a decision, Tweed told Newman what she had said.

'Could all this come from a rumour factory?' he asked Newman. 'You've had a lot of experience as a foreign correspondent.'

'It could, easily. All you need is a top-flight organization, a big staff, and a brain like Brazil has for planning. You then arrange to phone the right man or woman at key radio outfits, TV – and the newspapers. You'd time it carefully so simultaneous calls were made – to London, Paris, Bonn, Madrid, Stockholm, and Washington. They would immediately start checking with each other and find the same rumours everywhere.'

'It would be the first phase of Brazil's plan. Sometimes,' Tweed mused, 'I think Brazil hates America more than Russia – because of his being thrown out as chief executive in the States. The Americans frighten easily -imagine the panic in Washington if Russia overnight became rampant again.'

'What are you going to do about Howard?'

'I'm thinking of putting you in sole command of the team we're sending to Sion. That I'll have to fly back to London before Howard does any more damage.'

'I'm ready to go, then.' Newman stood up. 'I'll be looking for the ground station controlling that satellite, Rogue One.'

'That has to be Brazil's key weapon to spread chaos in some way. You know, Bob, if I didn't detest Brazil's violent methods, I'd have a sneaking sympathy for what he's trying to achieve – to wake up the West.'

'He's a villain who employs villains.' Newman looked at Tweed as he heaved the shoulder strap of his canvas bag over his shoulder. 'One thing I've been going to ask you. With both Bill Franklin and Keith Kent you haven't ever mentioned to either of them the existence of The Motorman.'

'Must have slipped my mind…'

'Oh, come on!'

'Well, I have a strong feeling that we have already met and know The Motorman.'