Precipice

38

Igor sat beside his master in the front passenger seat for the remainder of the journey up to the villa. He knew he had performed his 'trick' well.

Brazil drove up the final steep section, came out onto a large plateau. In the near distance, beyond a large concrete blockhouse which guarded the approaches, the white villa sat near the edge of the plateau. Immediately below it lay the chilling glacier, partially melting due to the sun shining on it with even feeble warmth.

'Why wasn't there anyone in the guardhouse?' Brazil wondered aloud. 'They need shaking up here.'

The chopper which had brought Marco rested on its helipad inside the twelve-foot-high perimeter fence of wire mesh. The protective fence was quite close to the villa. On the flat roof of the building was a tangle of aerial masts.

Pulling up, after passing through the gate which Marco had opened, Brazil left the limo, followed by Igor. He ran up the steps to the long terrace which fronted the villa. In the clear fresh mountain air he felt in the peak of fitness. Marco opened the heavy front door backed by steel.

'Marco, where the hell is everyone? There was no one in the guardhouse.'

'I found there was only the cook-housekeeper Elvira here when I arrived. The guards misunderstood the message you sent them while we were airborne.'

'Misunderstood! I said they were to send a section of the guards over to the laboratory to reinforce it.'

'I know, sir,' Marco agreed in a placatory tone, 'but the message must have been garbled. They thought you ordered all the guards to go to the Kellerhorn.'

'Their bloody commonsense should have told them I would never send such a message. Does that mean you are the only one here – except for Elvira?'

'Yes, sir, I'm afraid it does.'

'You know.' Brazil commented, looking back, 'we should have had that fence erected further away from the villa. It can't be helped.'

'There is a small problem,' Marco informed him as he followed his chief into a vast hall with a marble floor. 'You had better know about it now.'

'Well, get on with it. I have to go to the transmitter to send the first signal in the next thirty minutes. No, in less time,' he said, checking his watch. 'The satellite will be in orbit over Germany.'

'You were followed up the mountain,' Marco said quickly, expecting an outburst.

'You are sure?' Brazil asked quietly.

'Yes. A four-wheel-drive with one man inside it.'

'One man? Heavens, Marco, that should be no problem for you.'

'Oh, it won't be.' Marco said confidently. 'But I thought it best you should know. You may hear noise from outside.'

'Just get rid of him. Make sure he never drives back down the mountain again. There are plenty of places to hide a body easily. The glacier, for example.'

'I had already thought of that.'

'I must go to the transmitter…'

He paused as a short stocky woman, very fat, with a swarthy face, came into the entrance hall. She bowed.

'Good to see you back, sir. What would you like for your meal?'

'I must go to the transmitter!'

He had walked briskly to one of several doors leading off the hall, was taking out his keys, selecting the two which opened the double-locked heavy door, again backed by steel, when Marco followed him.

'What is it now?' snapped Brazil.

'Do you mind if Elvira gives the helicopter pilot his meal before you eat?'

'She can stuff him to the gills.'

Unlocking the door, he walked into a huge room with a large picture window of armoured glass. From the window he saw the distant Kellerhorn summit – below it, the buildings from which Luigi would send the first signal to the satellite. He could also see the huddle of old houses which accommodated the scientists and their wives or girl friends.

'The first signal will throw the world into panic.' he said to himself. 'But that will be nothing compared to what happens when the second signal is sent, probably tomorrow or the day after.'

Brazil had never felt more confident in his life as he sat in the padded secretarial chair in front of the transmitter, put on his headphones, took off his watch so he could time it perfectly, his hands hovering over the keys.

Leaving the airfield with Jose, he had seen in his rear-view mirror fat Luigi climbing aboard the other helicopter, on his way to the Kellerhorn. With Luigi in charge the system would operate perfectly. Once Luigi had received his signal he would operate the mobile conning tower to track the satellite, would lock on to it with the flexible directional mast, then press the button.

As the second hand on his watch reached the correct position he began tapping out the signal. All hell was about to break loose.

'What did Professor Grogarty tell you when you phoned him?' asked Monica.

Tweed smiled grimly. He had woken up earlier, had gone to the bathroom, taken a shower, and changed into clean clothes. When he had come back he had asked Monica to see if she could contact Grogarty.

'He's been studying those photographs again – the ones you sent by courier a second time. The photos taken secretly in French Guiana just before the satellite was launched, when its innards were exposed.'

'He's been brooding about them, worrying over them when he's thought some more about them?'

'You hit the nail on the head,' said Tweed. 'He's totally convinced that it's a highly sophisticated system designed to sabotage global communications. He hasn't worked out yet completely how it could be done. But he insists that somewhere there is a ground station controlling the whole system.'

'If only Newman would phone us,' Monica said wistfully.

'He will at the right time. What's that…?'

Returning from the bathroom, he had left the office door open because the room was stuffy. Suddenly a terrible screeching sound filled the office. Worse than that, brilliant lights, almost blinding, were flashing. The phenomenon, Tweed realized, was coming from the upper floor and down the stairs. Monica had her hands over her ears, an agonized expression on her face.

Tweed jumped up, ran to Paula's desk where he knew she kept several polythene bags containing earplugs. She used them when she was close to a large helicopter landing. Grabbing one of the bags, Tweed ripped it open, saw Paula's smoked glasses, grabbed them, too.

He rushed to Monica's desk, slipped a pair of the dark glasses over her eyes. When she opened them he pointed to the earplugs, gesturing to his own ears. She was inserting them as Tweed inserted a pair in his own ears. He snatched his own pair of smoked glasses from a drawer and put them on as he ran onto the landing outside. Looking down the stairs he saw Howard, obviously just woken up, stumbling into the hall.

'Howard!' he roared. 'Get back into your office, close the door and stay there. Get a bloody move on…'

Shocked by the violence of the orders, Howard obeyed, disappeared into his office, slammed the door shut.

'George!' Tweed shouted at the top of his voice to the ex-soldier who guarded the front door. 'Run into the waiting room. Stay there with the door closed until I come down.'

George, looking dazed, staggered into the waiting room, shut the door.

Tweed took a deep breath, adjusted his earplugs. The fiendish shrieking, very high decibels, was reverberating inside his head. He forced himself to run up the stairs. The door to the communications room was open. Once again they had been working late. The emphasis was on had.

Appalled, Tweed entered the large room. The computer screens had gone mad. No longer green, they were flashing at immense velocity, a variety of incredibly brilliant colours, blindingly bright. The colours seemed to recede for a fraction of a second, and then lurch out of the screens again.

The screeching sound emitted from the screens varied in intensity, a deafening blast which he could hear clearly despite his earplugs. But what appalled him most was the state of the three men who had worked there. Reginald was flopped back in his chair, his head hanging over the rest. Tweed checked his pulse. Nothing.

He compelled himself to fight the sense of disorientation which was in danger of overcoming him. The other two men lay sprawled on the floor beside their chairs. When he checked their pulses he found nothing.

He glanced round the room, saw the main cable. Taking a grave risk, he grabbed hold of it, hauled it out of its socket. The screens died quickly, fading away into blanks. The diabolical noise, rising and falling, rising and falling, also faded. Tweed pulled out his earplugs, was struck by the heavy silence, took off his smoked glasses. Leaving the room he ran downstairs, opened the door to his office.

Monica, looking very shaken, had just taken out one earplug. She removed her dark glasses when she saw Tweed was without his.

'What happened?' she croaked.

'I imagine the telephone is out of action.'

Tweed lifted the receiver, was surprised to hear the normal dialling tone. He handed the receiver to her.

'Call an ambulance urgently. Paramedics vital. Three men unconscious, may be dead.'

He left his office as Monica began dialling madly. He had little hope that even paramedics could do anything, but in medicine you never knew. He dashed downstairs to the ground floor, opened the door to the waiting room.

'What was that, sir?' George asked. 'Start of World War Three?'

'Not as bad as that. You can go back to your desk.'

He ran to Howard's room, opened the door. His chief was staring out of the window. He turned round with a bemused expression. Shock.

'What's happening?' he whispered.

'Brazil has started. That's just the first phase. We have to stop him before he launches the second one. You look flaked out. Go home to bed. I'm taking charge…'

He left before Howard could reply but he sensed he would not be protesting. Running back upstairs, he opened the door to the room where the night duty staff worked. Fortunately, there were no computers here or any of the junk which went with them. Four men looked up at him as though emerging from a dream. The fact that their door had been closed had saved them from a dreadful experience.

'What was that, sir?' the senior member asked. 'I opened the door and then slammed it shut.'

'Damned good job you did. You're all right, then – all of you?'

'Yes, sir.'

'Then carry on with what you were doing before it started. It won't happen again. I've immobilized the equipment in the computer room. Don't go down there.'

On his way back to his office, running down more stairs, Tweed called down to the guard.

'George, paramedics will arrive at any moment. Show them up yourself to the Computer Room, then go back to your post. Tell them where I am.'

He went back into his office, closing the door. Monica was on the phone. She gestured madly to his phone.

'Paramedics are coming. I've got a chap at the MoD on the line. Manders. He's scared out of his wits.'

'Hello, Manders. Tweed speaking.'

'There's been a catastrophe. All our computers have gone down. The operators are dead. There were violent flashing lights and…."

'I know what there was.' Tweed interrupted. 'We've had the same thing here. I know what it is.'

'You do!'

'Yes.' Tweed was emphatic. 'So leave it to me.'

'GCHQ is out of action. There are more bodies there. A member of the staff phoned me from outside the building.'

'I said I know what it is. I repeat, leave it to me. I have to go. Goodbye.'

GCHQ. That was the key communications station at Cheltenham. Its staff listened in to signals, conversations on telephones all over the world. Even the Americans respected it.

'I've forgotten something.'

Tweed jumped up, ran to the door, opened it in time to see below a team of paramedics coming up with George leading them. He stopped the first paramedic.

'One thing you should know. There's a live cable on the floor. So watch it.'

'Thank you, sir.' The paramedic called back over his shoulder as his team hurtled up the stairs, disappeared inside the computer room.

Tweed returned to his office, closed the door. He looked at Monica.

'Better get Cord Dillon at Langley on the phone if you can reach him.'

Tweed knew the Deputy Director of the CIA worked all hours, was seldom away from his desk. Monica was reaching for the phone when it began ringing. She listened, told the caller, 'He is here.' and stared at Tweed.

'Cord Dillon – calling you.'

'Hello, Cord, just about to contact you.' Tweed managed to say.

'Tweed, total panic in Washington. The White House is going completely crazy. All my computers have been sabotaged – a lot of dead men in this building.' Dillon added calmly.

'We've been subjected to the same attack. It's Brazil. Leopold Brazil. I warned you not to trust him. This is phase one of a global operation which hinges on Rogue One.'

'Phase one, you said. You mean you anticipate a phase two soon?' Dillon enquired in the same deadpan voice.

'I don't anticipate it, Cord. I expect it. Don't worry. I know what is happening. My team are in Europe hunting his key apparatus.'

'Tell them to kill the bastard.'

'I think they may have the same idea. Everything is under control.'

'The Pentagon is immobilized. Plenty of corpses there. I have to go see the President. You haven't met this one. His predecessor admired you. So what do I tell him? Tweed says the situation is under control? Don't worry? He'll say who the four-letter word is Tweed?'

'Then put in a good word for me.' Tweed suggested amiably.

'I suppose I could. I owe you favours. Keep calling me.'

Tweed suggested a cup of coffee would be welcome as he put down the phone. Monica hurried to the percolator in the corner. He drank two cups straight off. Then the phone rang again.

Monica answered it, then an ecstatic expression appeared on her face as though she was hearing from a long-lost lover. She could hardly get the words out as she called across to Tweed.

'Bob Newman is on the line…'

'Good to hear from you, Bob,' Tweed said. 'Where are you calling from?'

'From a call box in the street. Place called Sion, in the Valais. We've located the ground station – or rather, Paula and Philip, who arrived earlier, tracked it down. They've seen some action.'

'Are they both all right?'

'In the pink of condition. Paula is sizzling. I'll give you the details.'

Tweed listened. More than any man he had ever met Newman could compress a complex situation into as few words as possible. He presumed it was his training and experience as a foreign correspondent.

'So,' Newman concluded, 'the earliest we can launch an assault on the ground station is tomorrow. That will be done. If you want to contact me I'm at the Hotel Elite. Telephone number…'

'Could you leave someone there I could talk to in your absence?'

'No.' Newman's tone was hard. 'I'll need the whole team for the job we have to do.'

'Understood.' Tweed took a deep breath. 'Bob, it is essential that ground station is destroyed, even if it means taking heavy casualties.'

'Message understood…'

Monica, who had heard, was staring in horror as Tweed put down the phone. She bit her lip, then came out with her comment.

'I've never in all my experience with you heard you send an order like that.'

'What do you think we're playing at – a game of Scrabble?' Tweed rasped.

'Sorry.'

'Then get me the PM on the phone. No, I'll get him myself.'

He brushed aside the private secretary who answered the call, who tried to extract from him why he wanted to see the PM.

'I said I wanted to speak to the PM. Put him on the line now or your job is at stake.'

'I beg your pardon, sir.'

'I said your job is at stake,' Tweed growled.

'I'll only be a minute.'

In less than a minute the Prime Minister was on the line.

'Tweed here, PM… Yes, I know what has happened. I shall be at Downing Street in fifteen minutes from now. I will expect to see you the moment I arrive.'

He put the phone down before there was any reply. Getting up from behind his desk, he put on his coat.

'Shall I get someone to drive you there?' Monica asked.

'I'm perfectly capable of driving myself there. And I'll be quicker.'

Tweed returned two hours later, entering his office with a brisk step. He hung up his coat, sat behind his desk.

'Would you like some more coffee?' Monica asked tentatively.

'Monica, I would love some more coffee. I think the situation calls for two cups, please.'

'How did you get on with the PM?' she asked while she was pouring it.

'What's happened has shaken him to the core, rattled his cage. As I thought, he was in a mood to listen to me without interruption or argument. This is very good coffee. Thank you.'

'He took a decision?'

'Between the two of us I took the decisions for him -at risk of my sounding dictatorial. The Rapid Reaction Force is being despatched to strategic airfields in Germany. The first flights take off this evening.'

'The German Chancellor stuck to his guns, then.'

'Not at first,' Tweed said grimly. 'After my last call at Downing Street he'd consulted his cabinet in Bonn. The weak willies had expressed concern. Wanted to consult NATO. I told the PM he must call Bonn again.'

'What happened?'

'While the PM made the call I listened in on another extension. I practically stood over the PM, dictating his conversation by scribbling notes on a pad and pushing them under his nose. Key communications in Germany have been wrecked, and there are more bodies. I think that factor persuaded the Chancellor. He agreed to receive the Rapid Reaction Force – even went so far as to thank the PM for his cooperation. When I left Downing Street the PM looked exhausted.'

'I'm not surprised – with you standing over him,' Monica commented tartly.

'Now, try and get Newman on the phone at that number he gave me.'

While Monica was trying to get through Tweed sat with his hands clasped in his lap. Then, restless, he got up and poured himself a third cup of coffee from the percolator. He had drunk half the cup when Monica signalled to him.

'Bob?' He paused. 'Operator, this is a very bad line.' He waited – for the hotel phone operator either to reply or for the sound of the click of a switch. He heardnothing. 'We are alone.' he went on. 'This call is just to let you know I shall be flying to Sion airfield soon in a jet. By courtesy of Mr Brazil – although he doesn't know I've borrowed one of his jets. The one with Brazil flashed all over the outside of the fuselage.'

'I can't recommend that. This is a danger zone.' Newman warned.

'Did I ask for your recommendation? Do I have to remind you who is in charge of this operation? I'm only telling you so you don't shoot up a jet with Brazil's name on it.'

'I'll try to avoid that happening.' said Newman, who had recovered his good humour.

Tweed had hardly put down the phone before he made a new request to Monica.

'Please call Jim Corcoran, security chief at Heathrow. Tell him to warn the aircrew of the jet that I will be flying to Sion. Tell Jim that I'll give him one hour's notice before I want the machine airborne – with me inside it.'

'He won't like it. That doesn't give him much time.'

'Tell him. By now he'll have heard the news of Brazil's strike at world communications. That will make him pull out all the stops.'

'Anything else?' Monica enquired. 'Before I make this call?'

'Yes, in case I forget. Later, phone Arthur Beck in Zurich and tell him what I'm doing. But only after I am airborne, on my way.'

'I don't think he'll like that either.'

'I'm not in the business of being popular. I'm in the business of destroying Brazil.'