Precipice

34

The Lear executive jet with BRAZIL splashed along the outside of its fuselage was flying over France, would soon cross the sea prior to landing at Heathrow.

Tweed spent most of his time chatting with the pilot and the co-pilot in their cabin. He had found out both men were once fliers with the Swiss Air Force. The radio op. swivelled in his chair to speak to Tweed for the fifth time. He spoke in English as a courtesy to his guest.

There's a real storm of reports building up. Something weird is happening in Moscow. Rumours that the President has resigned due to ill health. Rumours that a General Marov is bringing armoured divisions into the city. Rumours that the frontiers of Russia have been closed.'

'Pretty much what I expected.' Tweed replied.

'And a personal message from Chief of Police Arthur Beck for you. I didn't understand it first time and asked them to repeat it. He says the rumours are all originating from Zurich.'

'Again what I expected. Thank you.'

The plane was descending rapidly. The pilot turned to Tweed.

'We'll be landing shortly, sir.'

'I'm very grateful to you. You know that this plane and the whole crew are to be placed at my disposal again after you have landed?'

'Yes, sir. You expect to be flying again soon?'

'Very shortly. Now I will return to my seat.'

It was a very satisfied Tweed who sank into the luxurious seat and fastened his seat belt. He would arrive in London three hours ahead of the first scheduled flight.

Beck was furious. He sat in his office, staring at the sheets he'd taken from the teleprinter, giving reports from the international news services. Moscow… Moscow… Moscow… He looked up at Joinvin, who had just entered his office. He waved the reams of sheets.

'We know all this stuff is coming from rumours Brazil is spreading from here – in Zurich. Have you found out where from?'

'No, sir. The detector vans are out trying to trace the source of the radio transmissions but we have a problem.'

'I know we have a problem. Tracking his source.'

'What I meant, sir, was that he appears to be using some kind of vehicles to jam our detector vans.'

'He's also using jamming equipment! Let's face it -the man is a genius at organization. How do we get round that one?'

'We have found one van we know is using jamming apparatus near the lake at the bottom of Bahnhofstrasse. The trouble is we have no authority to search a private vehicle. I have an idea.'

'What is it, then?'

'I'll draw up a list of people who have complained their radios are being interfered with. I'll get names out of the telephone directory.'

'Go ahead. You know, Joinvin, I'm going to think about whether I should promote you.'

'That's all you will do.' Joinvin said good-humouredly. 'Think about it.'

The intercom buzzed, Beck answered it, listened, then pressed the button to shut it off. He looked at Joinvin.

'A brilliant idea of yours. Forget it. The radio transmissions have stopped. That man is playing with me – he's always one step ahead in the game. And now I hear from the security chief at Kloten that the pilot of Brazil's private jet has filed a new flight plan – to leave for Sion later this morning. Always one step ahead of me.' he repeated.

'Not always.' Joinvin reminded him. 'He doesn't know that Tweed has already arrived in London.'

Eve, fully dressed, walked into Jose's office, her expression livid. She always got on well with Jose, who looked up, smiled, then frowned.

'What's wrong?'

'I couldn't sleep, so I went for a walk. What happens? I turn down a side-street off Bahnhofstrasse and two young Yanks ask me the way. Then they try to assault me.'

'They didn't…'

'No, they didn't. I scraped my heel down the shin of one lout. He yelped, let go. I swung round and kneed the other in the groin. They cleared off damned fast. But I feel I need some protection.'

'Not a gun.' Jose unlocked a drawer in his desk, took out a canister with a nozzle on top, handed it to her.

'This is hairspray.' she said, reading the printing on the outside. 'If I'd thought I could have got this from a shop.'

'No, you couldn't. And don't press the button. That canister contains Mace gas. The wording is camouflage. It's illegal.'

'Would it kill someone?'

'No. But it would disable them for some while. Keep it in your shoulder bag at all times.'

'Thank you, Jose. You know I'm being left in charge while you're all away in Sion? I've been wondering, does that include Gustav, who is also staying in Zurich?'

'I wouldn't try giving orders to Gustav. He's an ugly man – and not only to look at.'

'I'll take your advice.' She hesitated. 'I went out for my walk about an hour or so ago. I saw a lot of men who are on Brazil's staff going into a building on Bahnhof-strasse. They were in a hurry. What were they doing at this time of night?'

'I shouldn't tell you.' Jose himself now hesitated. 'I will, though. They were operating what Brazil called his radio exchange, contacting people all over the world. I don't know why.'

'Sounds bonkers. I'd better get back to bed, try and get some sleep. Thanks again for the canister.'

Newman and his team were aboard the night express to Geneva. They had boarded the almost empty train separately. Newman sat in the corner of a first-class compartment by himself. He knew Marler was patrolling up and down the corridor at intervals, keeping guard. Newman appeared to be asleep but came awake the moment Marler entered his compartment.

'All's quiet.' he reported. 'What do we do when we get to Cornavin Station?'

'We eat in the buffet – at separate tables. Then we're boarding the Milan express. Only a few stops and we'll arrive at Sion.'

'And when we get there?'

'We check all the hotels until we've found Paula and Philip. I don't like them being on their own in that area. It will be crawling with Brazil's thugs.'

'And after we've found Paula and Philip – assuming we do?' asked Marler.

'We try to locate this ground station which controls the satellite orbiting over our heads. When we have found it – because we will.' Newman said decisively -'then we destroy the damned thing.'

'There may be a little opposition that will object to that.'

'Then we destroy the opposition.' Newman glanced out of the window. 'In a minute we'll be coming into Cornavin.'

Monica, baggy-eyed, looked up from her desk, astounded as Tweed entered his office.

'This is magic.' she said. 'I had a message from Beck to say you were catching the first early flight out of Zurich. You're three hours early…'

'Sometimes a little magic is called for – it catches people on the wrong foot. Present company excluded, I emphasize.' He had taken off his scarf and coat, dropped his bag by his desk. 'Where is Howard?'

'Just back from Downing Street.'

'How many times has he been to the holy of holies?'

'Three times in the past twenty-four hours.'

'Too many visits. He'll just wind up the PM. I'll have to go to perishing Downing Street myself, calm them all down.'

'You've heard about the rumours? They're coming in from all over the world – including Tokyo.'

'Yes.' Tweed was not in a forgiving mood. He looked up from his desk as Howard came in like a whirlwind. 'Have you been wasting your time chatting up the PM?'

Howard, normally immaculately dressed, was a sartorial mess. The jacket of his business suit was crumpled, and the creases in his trousers were still there, but only just. His tie was askew and he'd unbuttoned his collar. Tweed, by comparison, was a fashion plate.

'Thank God you're back… Never expected to see you so… soon,' Howard almost stuttered. 'You don't know what's happening.'

'Actually, I do.'

'Downing Street is in a frenzy. Washington's gone berserk. Paris is running round in circles…'

'Calm down,' said Tweed quietly. 'And do sit down. You are moving round like a tango dancer on cocaine.'

Howard flopped into the largest armchair, arms hanging loose over the arms, staring at Tweed with a glazed look as he went on.

'It's international. It's everywhere. The world has gone mad.'

'So let's not go mad with it,' Tweed said in the same calm voice. 'You're flaked out, exhausted. I'm going to see the PM, put him right about a few things.'

'You'll be careful.'

'No, I won't. I'll be blunt – blunt as the notorious instrument the police talk about when someone's murdered.'

'Oh, dear, you'll add fuel to the flames.'

'Exactly. I'll be taking along a can of petrol with me.'

'How is everyone?' Howard asked in an off-hand tone.

'Thought you'd never ask. They are your people. Newman nearly got killed but is all right. Paula and Philip were engaged in a firefight in Geneva. The outcome was six dead bodies – fortunately not theirs among them. The thugs involved in both cases belong to Leopold Brazil.'

'Brazil?' Howard repeated in a dazed voice.

'Yes, Brazil – the individual, not the country. The nice man the White House, Downing Street, and the Elysee hold champagne dinners to entertain. That Brazil.'

'You're sure?' Howard bleated.

'No, I'm not sure, I'm certain. I have had it from the horse's mouth. The horse in this case being Brazil. Get that camp bed out in your office, throw some blankets over it, flop there, and go to sleep. Monica will come and tuck you up.'

'That won't be necessary.' Howard forced himself to stand up. 'I'll do as you say. How are things out on the front in Europe?'

'You don't want to know. They are – and will be -taken care of. Bedtime, Howard…'

Monica glared at Tweed as soon as they were alone. Tuck him up, indeed!'

'I thought that would get you.' Tweed told her mischievously. 'Now get the PM's private secretary on the phone. You speak to him. Tell him I'll be arriving at Downing Street thirty minutes from now to talk to the PM. If there's any protest tell him in that case I won't be coming. Now or ever.'

'That's pretty tough.' she said, reaching for the phone. 'I feel pretty tough.'

In his office in Geneva, where he had earlier returned from Zurich, Bill Franklin picked up the phone. It was Lebrun, his man watching Cornavin Station.

'Yes, what is it?' Franklin enquired amiably.

'The Zurich express came in five minutes ago. One of the passengers who alighted was Robert Newman. He went into the buffet and is eating breakfast. Another intriguing point is three other men off the express came in by themselves at intervals. It's early and there are normally hardly any customers in the buffet at this time. I think they may all be together.'

'What types are the other three men?'

'I wouldn't like to cross swords with any of them.' Lebrun replied. 'And I'm pretty sure they're waiting to board the Milan express, due shortly. In about half an hour.'

'What makes you think that, Lebrun? Rather a wild assumption.'

'Not so wild. I wandered into the buffet and Newman was studying a rail timetable – open at the page with trains for Milan.'

'And he let you see what he was looking at?' Franklin asked sceptically.

'Well, I only paused a moment by his table.'

'A pause which Newman would notice. He deliberately let you see the page he was looking at. I must get moving. Get me two tickets for Milan – one first-class, one second-class. Wait on the platform and hand the tickets to me when I arrive. I'll be boarding the Milan express myself. Better go to the ticket office now…'

Franklin sat thinking for a short time just after the call had ended. Milan? He doubted it. He had just discovered Leopold Brazil had a villa in the mountains outside Sion. 'I'd better go and see what's happening in that part of the world.' he said to himself as he got up to collect an already packed case from a cupboard.

Newman didn't give a damn who else boarded the express. He could find out by sending Marler on a patrol along the train once it began moving. So, as his team entered other coaches, he didn't see Bill Franklin, carrying a suitcase and wearing a trench coat, climb aboard near the back. But Franklin saw him disappearing inside a coach midway along.

Fifteen seconds before the train left Cornavin another passenger entered a coach at the very rear. Wearing a black beret and glasses with plain lenses, he chose a corner seat, parked his bag on the next seat in the otherwise empty compartment. Archie was unrecognizable. He had even got rid of his half-smoked cigarette stub.

Much earlier, during the night, he had been standing in Zurich Hauptbahnhof when Beck's army of detectives had invaded the station. The detective who checked his identity saw no reason to be suspicious of the mild-mannered little man.

Archie had immediately grasped why the round-up of a number of ugly-looking characters was taking place. He had rushed to his small hotel nearby, used mostly by travelling salesmen, had paid his bill, collected his bag, and returned to the main station. There he had resumed his vigil.

Archie could wait for ever without becoming impatient or tiring. His persistence had been rewarded when eventually he had seen Newman boarding the first express for Geneva. He had then boarded the same train himself and had gone to sleep until shortly before it arrived in Comavin. Now he was aboard yet another train.

Anton Marchat, he thought as he sat in his corner. I'm sure they are forgetting Marchat. I will go to see him myself when this train reaches Sion…

Marler had not yet begun his patrol of the express to check who was on board when Newman, in a compartment by himself, heard the door opening. He slipped his right hand inside his jacket, grasped the Smith amp; Wesson as he looked up.

'No cause for alarm, Bob.'

Bill Franklin was grinning when he entered the compartment and closed the door. He dumped his bag on a seat and sat opposite Newman. He carefully folded his trench coat and placed it on top of the bag.

'Hope you don't object to the intrusion. You're like lightning with a gun.'

Momentarily annoyed that Franklin realized what he had done, Newman recalled his new companion had once been in the army.

'You just never know.' he responded.

'You never know.' Franklin agreed. 'Mind if I light a cigar?'

'Go ahead. I'd have thought you'd have smelt the smoke from the cigarette I've just extinguished.'

'I did. But it's polite to ask.' Franklin said with a smile.

Newman had heard that Franklin played the devil with the ladies. He could understand the reason for his success with his amorous adventures. Franklin had an easy manner, was courteous, smiled a lot.

'How did you know I was on this train?' he asked suddenly.

'Because I have a good team of detectives. I've had one man watching the airport, another down at Anne-masse, a sleepy station on Geneva's southern frontier with France. Just the place where Brazil would bring in his thugs – and he did. Then a third man watching Cornavin. He spotted you.'

'So you decided you'd come along for the ride?' Newman enquired, watching Franklin's reaction closely.

'No. I decided you needed all the back-up you can get. I don't think you know what's waiting for you in the Valais.'

'What is waiting for me?'

'At least forty of Brazil's professional thugs have passed through Geneva, then boarded a train for the east.' He paused as, having trimmed the end of his cigar, Franklin passed a match backwards and forwards, getting it alight to his satisfaction. 'And undoubtedly we missed some of them.'

'So you've come as back-up?'

Franklin heaved his case across to the seat next to Newman. Unlocking it, he lifted the lid, exposing a neatly folded jacket. He lifted the jacket after glancing into the deserted corridor. Nestling on a pair of pyjamas was a Heckler amp; Koch MP5 9mm sub-machine-gun.

'You don't believe in doing things by halves,' Newman commented as Franklin quickly put back the jacket, closed the case. He took a long puff at his cigar.

'No, I don't believe in doing things by halves. You'll know that little baby has a rate of fire of six hundred and fifty rounds per minute. And I've got plenty of spare mags.'

'I'd call you a pessimist,' Newman said with a smile.

'I'd call myself a realist. We're approaching a major battlefield. You know Brazil has a villa up the Col de Roc, overlooking a glacier? Above Sion.'

'No, I didn't.' 'Had it built to his own design. It's equipped with a high-power radio transmitter. Yes, Bob, that's what is ahead of us. A major battlefield.'