Precipice

36

The jet without any markings along its fuselage was airborne, had left Zurich behind some time ago. Brazil sat in his comfortable swivel armchair, staring at the illuminated screen above the entrance to the crew cabin.

Clear figures gave the mileage they had come, the mileage still to cover to Sion, the present time, the estimated time of arrival at Sion airfield. He glanced at it frequently and occasionally swivelled round to look at the seat behind him.

Craig sat in it with Igor alongside him, his forepaws resting in Craig's lap. Brazil was amused by Craig's obvious discomfort. The hound saw him looking, made a motion to move towards him, and Brazil lifted a warning finger. Igor subsided.

'One thing worries me.' Brazil told Craig. 'We haven't yet dealt with Anton Marchat. He's a loose end.'

'Not any more. I've made certain arrangements. Anton Marchat won't be in the land of the living much longer.'

'You really are most efficient.'

'I do my job. Including looking after this poodle.'

'I wouldn't advise you to treat him as a poodle.'

'A bang on his nose with the barrel of a gun and you'd see him run like hell, yelping.'

'If you were still alive to hear him yelping. Anyone would think you don't like Igor.'

'I don't.'

Brazil turned away to check the illuminated screen. Behind him Craig grinned to himself. Brazil didn't know everything. Prior to leaving Zurich Craig had phoned The Motorman. Brazil would have been furious had he known what he had done. He mistrusted hired help.

'Craig here,' he had said when he made the call.

'You have another commission for me?' the thin reedy voice had enquired.

'Two targets this time. First, man called Anton Marchat. Marchat,' he had repeated. 'He probably lives in Sion, but I'm not sure.'

'He does live in Sion. Assume the job is done. And the second target?'

'Man called Archie. Don't know his second name. But I hear on my grapevine he's a dangerous nuisance. Can't give you any more info.'

'I don't need any more. I know Archie.'

'You do?' Craig hadn't been able to keep the surprise out of his voice.

'Again, consider it done.'

'You're very reliable.'

'I have to maintain my reputation.' the reedy voice had replied smoothly.

'So that's it. I'm in a hurry…'

'Not too much in a hurry. As usual, I will expect the normal fee to be paid in cash into my numbered account. You won't forget, will you, Mr Craig? If you did then I have been known to do a job for free – when clients have omitted to pay their debts,' The Motorman concluded.

Aboard the jet, Craig had replayed the conversation in his mind with satisfaction. Except he had remembered he was sweating at The Motorman's last comment.

Keith Kent, expensively dressed, walked into the Zurcher Kredit Bank in Sion. He had travelled on the same train as Newman, had left it at almost the last moment.

As he had done in Zurich, Kent looked along the counter behind the grilles, weighing up the three tellers. One man looked pompous, the type that was easily deflated. Kent walked up to him.

'I have to pay in a certain amount to the main account of Mr Leopold Brazil. Is this the right branch?'

'We never give out information about clients.' the teller informed him smugly.

'No, of course not. I haven't the transfer with me but I can get it in an hour.'

'I see, sir.' the teller replied, not seeing at all.

'Mr Brazil particularly asked me to pay it to his main account. The transaction is urgent.'

'I understand, sir.'

'I don't think you do.' Kent said in his most aggressive manner. 'May I have your name?'

'What do you want that for? Sir.' he added a little late.

'So I can report to Mr Brazil the lack of cooperation I encountered.'

'We always wish to cooperate with clients.' the teller said, this time his manner showing signs of nervousness.

'But you're not giving me any. Not to worry.' he continued in French. 'I have your description.'

'You put me in a difficult position, sir.'

'You've no idea how difficult it will become. I am talking about a transfer of one million Swiss francs.'

'Into Mr Brazil's account?' The teller was looking very concerned.

'I said into his main account.'

'Yes, of course you did, sir. One million francs, you mentioned, I believe?'

'I did.'

'May I say we will look forward to your arriving again with the transfer?' The teller was smiling.

'It is for the main account. I am fast losing patience.'

Kent began to turn away as though about to leave the bank for the last time. The teller became almost frantic, calling through the grille.

'Sir! Sir! The main account of the individual you named is at this bank. Would you like to give me your own name?'

'When I come back. There's a deadline for this deal to be completed.'

Kent walked out of the bank, pulled the collar of his coat up round his neck. Now he had the information he needed.

He was looking for somewhere to eat when Newman appeared, carrying his bag and a canvas satchel over his shoulder.

At Park Crescent the phone rang. Tweed was either asleep or not prepared to be disturbed. Monica answered it.

'Beck here, Monica. Can I speak to Tweed?'

'He's not in his office. I'm not sure where he has gone. Can I help?'

'Yes. It's urgent. We're tracking Brazil's jet on its flight to Sion by radar. Tell Tweed Brazil will be landing within fifteen minutes at the outside. It's a difficult approach -too many mountains.'

'Maybe he'll hit one.' Monica said cheerfully.

'You are full of constructive ideas. But I very much fear the devil looks after his own.'

'Then we must be talking about the same person. I'll let Tweed know, as soon as he surfaces.'

The recumbent form in the chair behind his desk opened one eye, winked at her.

'Tweed has surfaced. For a moment, anyway. What was that all about?'

Monica told him, repeating word for word what Beck had said.

'Then it won't be long now.' Tweed said.

He winked at her again, closed his eyes, and fell asleep for the second time.

Because Newman was such a good organizer he had earlier sent Butler to a travel agency while they were still in Zurich to collect all the brochures he could on Sion.

During his brief conference with Marler aboard the express, he had given very detailed orders with the aid of a street plan of Sion and the list of hotels. These Marler had passed on to his subordinates.

So the moment the train stopped at Sion, Marler, Butler, and Meld left it in a hurry, but not in time to see Keith Kent, who could move like the wind, hurtling down the steps and into the town.

Returning to his compartment, Newman had told Franklin he had urgent tasks to complete. Franklin, the one-time soldier, had understood at once.

Tell you what.' he had said to Newman who was gathering up his luggage, 'why not meet me for a drink this evening? I'm staying at the Hotel de la Matze. It's just off the Rue de Lausanne.'

'I'll give you a call first.' Newman had replied, prior to leaving the compartment.

Newman had chosen to stay at the Hotel Elite because it was just off the Avenue de la Gare and instinctively he wanted to be near the station. Butler and Nield were staying in a small hotel nearby while Marler, striking out on his own, had been instructed to stay at the tallest hotel, to get a room on the top floor – facing west so it overlooked the airfield area. His first job was to report back to Newman any sightings of a plane landing. They all knew where the others were staying.

Leaving the express ahead of Franklin, Newman hurried down the steps. Like Franklin, close behind, he failed to see the last passenger alight from the rear of the express. It is doubtful whether he would have recognized the passenger. Archie's disguise was very effective.

'What on earth are you doing in this back of beyond?' asked Newman.

He concealed the fact that he was startled to meet Keith Kent emerging from a side-street onto the Avenue de la Gare.

'You sound a mite aggressive.' Kent replied with a smile.

'You haven't answered my question.' Newman rasped.

'Extracting more information Tweed will value.' said Kent, refusing to be intimidated by Newman's unusual attitude.

'Well, maybe you wouldn't mind letting me in on it?'

'Since we are on the same side – in case you've forgotten it – I've been checking to make sure where Brazil's main bank account is now. He moves it about, you know. Or.' he added acidly, 'maybe you didn't know.'

'No, I didn't know.' Newman said more quietly.

He had been testing Kent's nerve to see how he stood up to his verbal onslaught. He knew from Tweed that Kent was interested in guns, that he regularly practised on a shooting range. He was a first-rate marksman – not as good as Marler, but no one was. But in the present situation it wasn't impossible he'd find Kent alongside him in a firefight. He decided he wouldn't have anything to worry about.

'Well, you know now.' Kent smiled, adapting to Newman's sudden change of mood. 'And if you're in touch with Tweed you can tell him Brazil's main account is definitely here in Sion. At the Zurcher Kredit Bank. Where are you staying? I don't imagine you're just on a day trip.'

'At the Elite.'

'I know the place. Now, if I find out anything else I can contact you. Good hunting…'

What bothered Newman as he walked on up the Avenue de la Gare was his recollection of Tweed's remark made to him at the Schweizerhof.

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

Now he found Keith Kent and Bill Franklin had both turned up in Sion. He found it difficult to imagine either in the role of professional assassin. What motive could either have?

Then he remembered that Bill Franklin spent a fortune on keeping his string of expensive lady friends happy. And Kent had extravagant tastes. For a money tracer it was odd how money slipped through his hands like water. He heard a vehicle coming down the road towards the station, looked up.

Philip was behind the wheel and beside him Paula was waving madly. The vehicle pulled over to the kerb and Paula, jumping out, ran towards him.