Precipice

37

The Lear jet was losing height rapidly. It was a brilliant sunny day now and from his window Brazil looked down at his ground station below the Kellerhorn. He smiled with satisfaction. So much research, so many months to obtain the capital by any means to build it. Now he was about to succeed.

Some time before leaving Zurich, he had phoned Ivan Marov in Moscow, had confirmed the vital timetable they would both work to. It was fortunate that Marov spoke perfect English, albeit with an American accent. Marov had once been an unnoticed attache at the Soviet Embassy in Washington.

Brazil turned round in his chair. Craig had at long last managed to attach the harness to Igor, prior to landing. Igor did not like the harness and only sharp commands from Brazil had enabled Craig to complete his unwanted task.

'Excellent!' he said to Craig. 'We'll make a good dog handler out of you yet.'

'Not with this animal.' Craig grumbled.

Swivelling his chair further round, Brazil was amused by the fat Luigi, who ate too much pasta. On take-off from Kloten he'd had trouble fastening his belt into the last hole, unlike the white-faced slim Marco, who had closed the belt and sat quite comfortably.

'We are coming in to land, sir.' the pilot's voice informed him over the tannoy.

Brazil swivelled his seat round again, so he could look out of the window. From that height he could just see the long white block which was his villa, and the glacier below it on the other side of the valley.

He checked his watch, trusting it more than the time shown on the illuminated panel. Yes, he would have time to spare before sending the first signal to the ground station. Probably well over an hour – even allowing for the drive up the diabolical road into the mountains.

He glanced across at Jose, who occupied a seat on the other side of the central aisle. The smooth-skinned man was fast asleep. Brazil's expression became grim – he was recalling his treachery, the recording he had listened to supplied by Gustav, the recording which had proved beyond any doubt that Jose had been informing on him. Well, he had worked out how to deal with that problem before they reached the villa.

From the high window in his hotel Marler watched the jet landing through high-powered glasses. His binoculars were so good he saw Brazil with his dog, descending the step-ladder, followed by three other men.

A limousine with tinted windows was waiting close to where the aircraft stopped. He saw Jose run to the car to bring it to Brazil, get in behind the wheel. He waited a moment longer before reporting to Newman at the Hotel Elite. Five minutes later, after trying to start the limo, Jose got out, spread his hands in a gesture of frustration. Men in overalls appeared, began to fuss with the engine. Marler made his call.

'Black Beaver has landed. There seems to be some delay in leaving. The limo won't start. Mechanics are looking at the engine.'

'That gives you extra time then. Get into your four-wheel-drive and wait across the Rhone at the agreed point.'

'On my way.'

There had been furious activity after Newman had met Paula and Philip in the Avenue de la Gare. He had asked them where they had obtained the vehicle. Climbing aboard, he had stopped on the way to the Elite to get the phone number of the vehicle display room. Immediately on arrival at the Elite he had phoned Marler, given him the number, told him to phone up the company to ask them to send him a four-wheel-drive with chains on the wheels and he'd pay in cash if it arrived in fifteen minutes.

The vehicle had arrived at Marler's hotel in ten minutes. He had paid over the money, adding a generous tip, then confirmed to Newman that it had arrived.

In the meantime Newman had taken Philip and Paula up to his suite, had listened for ten minutes without once interrupting while they told him of their exploits when they had visited the ground station on the Kellerhorn. He watched both of them as they took turns putting him in the picture. Philip insisted Paula explained what had happened when they were nearly killed at the rock alcove on the way down. While they talked, he occasionally glanced at the map Paula had spread out over the bed.

'I'm truly staggered,' he said when they had finished, 'staggered at what you have achieved. I thought that would be our great problem locating the ground station – and you've done it while I was on my way here.'

'Couldn't just hang around and get bored,' said Paula, being very British and glancing at her fingernails.

'You look very fit,' Newman said, gazing at her.

'It was good exercise. Exciting at times, but I don't waste time meditating on that bit.'

'So what do we do next?' Philip asked.

'I'm sure Brazil, when he lands, will drive up to that villa of his. It sounds like his control point. I'm amazed you traced that.'

'Well.' Philip pointed out, 'it is really all down to that waitress in the station restaurant where I called in for a cup of coffee.'

'Yes.' said Newman, 'but you talked to her and – even more important – you let her talk to you. Now, when Butler and Nield arrive, I will outline the master plan for tomorrow. At least.' he grinned ruefully, 'I hope it will turn out to be a master plan.'

'Why don't we attack the ground station today?' suggested Paula.

'Because.' Newman explained, 'having intruded today the enemy will be on the alert. Tomorrow morning they will be more relaxed. Then we hit them with all we've got.'

'What is Marler doing?' Philip asked.

'He's going to follow Brazil's limo – when they get it going – up to his villa. Marler is a man who can do a lot of damage.'

'Shouldn't he have back-up?' Paula objected.

'No. He functions much more effectively on his own. By the by, Bill Franklin was on the express which brought me here. Called in on me in my compartment.'

'He's good company.' Paula remarked.

'Also.' Newman continued, 'Keith Kent is in town. I bumped into him just before you arrived. Interesting, isn't it?'

'If we're going to be in Sion this evening.' Philip said in a determined voice, 'Paula and I can visit the elusive Anton Marchat. After dark.'

'Good idea.' Newman agreed.

'What did you mean when you said interesting?' Paula enquired. 'After you'd mentioned that Kent and Bill Franklin are here?'

'Well, it just occurred to me that when poor Ben, the barman at the Black Bear in Wareham, was murdered, both Franklin and Kent were in the area. And from the way Ben died we know it was the work of The Motorman.'

Eve, feeling at a loose end in her room at the Baur-en-Ville, decided she would go along to see Gustav. It was time she got sorted out whether or not she was in charge of the whole staff who had remained behind.

Reaching a corner, she heard a door close. Peering round she saw Gustav, dressed far more smartly than was normal for him, walking furtively away from her until he disappeared round the corner leading to the stairs.

'I wonder?' she said to herself. She knew Gustav had a liking for the strange ladies you could encounter on the streets in certain parts of Zurich. She tried the door handle. He'd left it unlocked. In a hurry to get on with it, she thought contemptuously.

Opening the door she was met with a strong stench of cheap hair oil. That confirmed her suspicions. So he wouldn't be back for some time. She looked round the untidy room, was about to leave when she saw a bunch of keys almost merging with a cushion on a couch.

'He's forgotten his keys!'

This was too good an opportunity to miss. She picked up the keys, checked to make sure his car key wasn't among them. No car key. Nothing to bring him back unexpectedly.

She walked over to the steel filing cabinet which, she had noticed earlier, he always kept locked. In no time she found the master key which unlocked every drawer. Thetop drawer was full of files which held papers concerning accounts, bills.

She opened the second drawer. This drawer held files with their contents marked on tabs attached to each file. She riffled through them, stopped at one file labelled Scientists.

Something echoed in her memory. An article in the Herald Tribune. Just a short piece tucked away on an inside page. Headlined Missing Scientists Mystery. She began to study the sheets inside the fat file. Each was devoted to one scientist. Gave a lot of personal data, the kind of data she had mugged up before getting to know one of the bankers Brazil had told her to go after.

ED REYNOLDS

Age: 45.

Nationality: American.

Marital status: Wife, named Samantha.

Salary: $400,000.

Children: None

Address (home)…

Weakness: Samantha an alcoholic

Expertise: sabotage, communications.

Sabotage?

The word stopped Eve. And earning that kind of money he had to be tops. She got out the notebook she always carried in her shoulder bag, scribbled down the wording about Reynolds.

She then checked other sheets. Irina Krivitsky. Her speciality was laser control of satellites, whatever that might mean. She scribbled down more details. As she examined more sheets she noted down several other names, none of which meant anything to her.

'You'd better get the hell out of here,' she told herself. 'You've got enough and Gustav might come back early.'

She was careful to leave the files as she found them. Then she locked the cabinet, put the bunch of keys where she had found them. As she opened the door she heard footsteps approaching. She froze with terror. If she closed the door the sound might be heard. A waiter, carrying a tray of food, walked past, never glanced at the partly open door. She went back to her room.

Locking the door, she opened a secret compartment in her shoulder bag, took out a folded newspaper cutting going brown. Pouring herself a vodka, she lit a cigarette, sprawled on the couch, read again the newspaper cutting she had rescued from Brazil's wastepaper basket in his Berne office. She had overheard what he had said and had slipped into the office after he had left it. The cutting had been screwed up before being tossed into the basket. The text under the small headline was brief.

Strange rumours are circulating that top scientists are abandoning their jobs with private outfits. For bigger pay they are joining some international organization located abroad. Among those mentioned are the brilliant Ed Reynolds, Irina Krivitsky (from Russia)…

Several other names were listed, all of them with sheets in the file Eve had examined. She carefully folded the cutting, put it back in the secret pocket.

'Come back to Zurich, Mr Bob Newman,' she said aloud.

After they had repaired the limousine at the airfield Brazil surprised Jose.

'I'll drive. I just feel like some action after being cooped up in that plane.'

'Are you sure, sir?'

Tut Igor in the back, then get into the front passenger seat.'

'I feel I'm not doing my job, sir.'

'Just do as I tell you. Get on with it.' Brazil checked his watch again. 'We'll arrive at the villa in good time in spite of the delay, so I won't be hurtling up that mountain road, if that's what's making you nervous.'

'I'm not nervous, sir.'

Jose was telling the truth. Brazil was a superb driver. Once, while in America, he had competed in a racing car on the West Coast. He had won, being proclaimed Champion of the Year.

'Igor will be quite happy on his own in the back.' Brazil continued as he drove away from the airfield. 'He likes looking out of the window. Incidentally, I think it is time we considered giving you more money. We will discuss it after we have got to the villa…'

Brazil was driving up a steep road which reproduced many of the features Philip and Paula had encountered during their journey to the Kellerhorn. On Brazil's side a rock wall sheered up vertically hundreds of feet above them. On Jose's side an ever-deepening abyss fell away and the drop was not guarded by a barrier.

The road turned and twisted as it climbed ever higher and its surface was covered with hard-packed snow. Brazil observed this with a sense of some relief – he knew that under the snow there would be a sheet of ice.

'There's a helicopter.' Jose remarked. 'It's not one of the Swiss weather planes.'

'No, it isn't, Jose. You probably saw it with another one waiting on the airfield. That machine has Marco aboard. He will arrive to make sure everything is ready for me at the villa before we get there.'

'You didn't tell me.' Jose replied.

'I don't tell you everything.' said Brazil and chuckled.

'Now it's hovering. I wonder why?'

'Obviously he is checking our progress up the mountain.'

Aboard the helicopter Marco, sitting next to the pilot, was not interested in Brazil's progress. What had caught his attention was a four-wheel-drive proceeding up the mountain some distance behind Brazil. In the vehicle Marler also saw the chopper hovering and knew the reason why.

'Well.' he said aloud, 'I've been spotted. That means a reception committee will be waiting for me. I think I can handle that.'

As soon as the helicopter disappeared he slowed down, braked beyond a bend. He unzipped the canvas hold-all nestling on the seat beside him, took out several objects, slipped them into each of the pockets of his fur-lined, thigh-length coat. Then he continued his arduous drive up the mountain, constantly turning the wheel to take another bend.

'Jose,' Brazil said as they reached a great height, 'I think we are being followed.'

It was a lie. Brazil had no idea that Marler was coming up behind him. Jose peered back, shook his head.

'I think you are wrong. I have been keeping a close eye on my wing mirror and I have seen nothing.'

'Call it instinct.' Brazil said cheerfully. 'You know the turn-off we shall soon come to – the one taking us up on to a plateau?'

'I remember it well. It is a good viewing point.'

'For a certain distance, anyway. I think we will drive off up the turn-off. We have the time. Then you can check to see if I am wrong. Am I usually wrong?' he enquired breezily.

'No, you are nearly always right.'

'Not sure I like the phrase "nearly always", but I will overlook it.'

Jose glanced sideways at his chief. Brazil seemed to be in an exceptionally good humour. He decided it must be because soon they would be at the villa where something – he had no idea what it might be – was going to happen.

They reached the turn-off, little more than a wide gash in the rock wall, and Brazil swung off the mountain road, easing the large car up a steep track with inches to spare on either side. At the top they emerged on to a flat, arid, rock-strewn plateau, layered with snow. Brazil drove across the plateau, did a U-turn about fifty yards from where the ravine he had driven up ended. He looked at Jose.

'Now, go and stand on the overhang and look back as far as you can down the road. Watch it for a few minutes until I call you back. If you see another vehicle you raise your right hand and run to the beginning of the ravine. I will pick you up there. Then we drive down almost to the mountain road and wait. A perfect ambush point. There is a machine-pistol on the floor at the back under the travelling rug.'

'I take the weapon with me,' Jose suggested. 'Then I can kill the people in the car.'

'No, you can't. If they reach the overhang they will be hidden from you. Just do as I say, Jose.'

Brazil waited until Jose was away from the car before he gave Igor a one-word command. The wolfhound jumped over into the passenger seat previously occupied by Jose. It began to get excited as Brazil opened a compartment, took out a black glove, pulled it over his right hand.

He had had Igor trained, when younger, at a special school for dogs in Germany. He had told the master of the school that it was a game he wanted to play – then had given him details. He had stayed, putting on the black glove to activate Igor – papier-mache dummies the size of men had been used.

Jose had reached the brink of the outcrop or overhang which shielded the portion of the road below him. He stared for a moment down into the endless precipice falling well over a thousand feet, then switched his attention to the section of the road he could see.

Inside the car Brazil pointed at Jose with one finger of his gloved hand, leaned over to open the passenger door. In his mind he recalled the recording Gustav had played back to him of Jose's treacherous phone call. An informant, a traitor…

Igor left the car. It bounded forward at increasing speed, its paws making no sound on the snow. As it came close to Jose, still standing with his back to the car, Igor leapt high into the air, thudded into the exposed back, then dropped flat onto the plateau, as trained to do when it hit a target.

Jose, perched on the brink, lost his balance, raising his arms as he fell forward, plunging down into space, missing the mountain road by feet, his body cartwheeling as his yell of terror echoed into eternity. Then the silence of the Valais returned; an ominous silence.