Precipice

48

Gustav came out of his room at the Baur-en-Ville and ran into Eve, just returning from a long session in the bar. His ugly face twisted into what he imagined was a grin, but only succeeded in being a sneering grimace.

'The boss isn't too pleased with you.' he said.

'Oh, really? That's funny. I thought it was the other way round. That he wasn't at all pleased with you. How do you know about me? I think you're lying.'

She waited. Having provoked him she wanted him to give her more information. It was a tactic she often used. Gustav grimaced again.

'A little birdie told me.'

'And what was the name of the little birdie?'

'Wouldn't you like to know? I have to go out now.'

The air simmered with hostility between them. Eve was determined to make him talk.

'I see you're all dressed up for another trip out on the town. Looking for another woman who's cheap enough to accommodate you?'

'I'm going out to keep an eye on the Schweizerhof.' he spat out, enraged. The boss thinks maybe Tweed and his lickspittles are back in town.'

'And you haven't caught on to what he really wants?' she snapped, her mind moving like lightning, bent on revenging this insulting creep. She lowered her voice. 'He wants you to kill Tweed. Think of the great fat bonus he'd give you if you could pull that off.'

Gustav, who was an expert in street fighting – better still in a gun battle – was rather thick, as she had correctly assumed. He stared at her.

'You think that's what he really wants?'

'Of course it is, you stupid man.' She was still seething with anger although careful not to show it. 'He often gives instructions in a suggestive way – assuming you'll have the brains to catch on to what he's telling you to do.'

'I see.'

Gustav unlocked the door to his room, went inside as Eve peered through the open door. Taking a 7.65mm Luger out of a drawer he had unlocked, he slipped it into his deep coat pocket, came out, locked the door. He leered at her.

'You don't think I can do it, do you?'

'Damned sure you can't.' she replied, egging him on.

As she watched him disappearing round a corner she began to think maybe she had gone too far. Running back to her own room, she put on a cashmere coat, locked her door, and ran along the corridor before he vanished into the street.

She knew that, in the heat of her rage, she had calculated that Tweed would be well guarded, that if Gustav did attempt to assassinate Tweed he would be shot down. Now she was trying to work out how to prevent any risk of that happening. Brazil had told her how much he admired Tweed, even though he was leader of the opposition.

She reached the lobby, ran out into the street, was just in time to see Gustav's black-garbed figure hurrying up Bahnhofstrasse. She followed him.

'I promised the PM I would call him back about now.' said Tweed, checking his watch in his bedroom. 'That means a brisk walk over to Beck's HQ to use a safe phone.'

'Take a taxi as you did before.' Newman suggested. 'It is dark outside and Brazil will have it in for you.'

'I'm sure he won't. We got on well together, which is the irony of the situation. Besides, I fancy a breath of fresh air.'

'Then we're coming with you.' said Paula, putting on her coat and slipping the strap of her bag over her shoulder.

'I agree.' said Newman breezily. 'I fancy a breath of ice-cold air myself.'

They descended in the lift. The three of them, with Tweed between his two companions, headed for the exit, walked down the steps after the automatic doors had opened, went out into the night where light traffic sped past the hotel.

Gustav, in his black overcoat, had plodded purposefully up the street. It never occurred to his limited intelligence to question what Eve had told him. Or why a woman he had ignored or sneered at should do him a favour.

He was concentrating on what lay ahead. After he had shot Tweed he would run down into Shopville, across the underground plaza, and up into the main station. There he would slip into a cubicle in a public lavatory, wipe his fingerprints carefully off the gun, then stroll along to the River Limmat where he would pause on the bridge, hands on the parapet, and drop the gun into the water with a gloved hand.

Gustav was one of those killers who worried the police most. They appeared out of nowhere, shot their targets, disappeared by a pre-planned escape route. They were rarely caught. Gustav had killed his first victim when he was eighteen, had shot the man in London's Soho, had then vanished. An older man had trained him, had showed him how to file the serial number off a gun, had emphasized he must know the area where the killing would take place.

'If the police pick you up after you've got rid of the gun you say nothing.' his trainer had hammered into him. 'If, after hours under the bright lights, you get really thirsty, you say you will talk if they give you a drink. Swallow the whole glassful, then say "Thank you," and nothing else. Except if they persist, then you say "I did talk. I said thank you…" '

Behind him Eve was hurrying to catch up with him. But she couldn't work out what to say to him. Her fear was that he might be angry enough to use the gun on her. She was in one of her periodic moods of uncertainty. She had set in motion something she didn't know how to stop.

Gustav reached the comer of the platz nearest the Hotel Schweizerhof after crossing the street. He paused where he could see the exit, studied the traffic. Not much of it at this hour, only the occasional juggernaut trundling round past the station, half-circling the platz and then continuing over the bridge which spanned the Limmat.

His right hand was in the pocket of his coat, gripping the butt of the Luger. He couldn't miss at this range if he was lucky enough for Tweed to come out of the hotel. Gustav was patient, could wait a long time for his target to appear.

What he didn't know was that there was another man across the street who was even more patient.

As they stepped on to the pavement outside the Schweizerhof, Newman, Tweed, and Paula paused, adjusting to the bitter cold. From where Gustav stood, Paula was shielding Tweed. He waited.

A juggernaut with a tired driver at the wheel trundled round the platz past the station. He had driven for too many hours, over the permitted limit. Newman, Tweed, and Paula began walking towards police HQ. Gustav raised his Luger, aimed point-blank at Tweed. Three shots rang out, so swiftly they almost sounded like one.

Gustav staggered, three bullets in his back, stumbled off the kerb in front of the juggernaut. Too late, the driver applied his air-brakes. His huge truck rolled over the body lying in the road, crushing Gustav's skull and the rest of his body.

'Keep moving,' Newman said quickly. 'Across the street.'

Marler, the automatic he had fired back inside a pocket, met them, joined them as they continued towards Beck's HQ. Tweed said nothing until they turned down a side-street. They heard the distant wail of the sirens of an approaching patrol car near the platz.

'Thank you, Marler,' Tweed said quietly. 'How did you know?'

'Thought I'd better take up guard duty outside your hotel. Noticed this chap just standing, stamping his feet as though feeling the cold, but he still stayed there. Decided to keep an eye on him.'

'And you said Brazil admired you.' Newman snorted.

'I saw Eve near this end of Bahnhofstrasse.' Paula said. 'She hoofed it pretty quick when she saw what had happened. I wouldn't put it past that hellcat to have set this up.'

Eve's mind was racing as she hurried back to the Baur-en-Ville. She was in a bad jam and knew it. She had to be the first to inform Brazil of what had happened. She was making up a story in her head as she entered the Baur-en-Ville, got into a lift, hurried to her room.

Once inside she poured herself a stiff vodka, lit a cigarette while she thought. To give herself extra confidence she changed her coat, putting on a long trench coat with wide lapels. Earlier, because of its length, it had flapped against her as a wind blew up Bahnhof-strasse from the lake. She stubbed out the cigarette, took a deep breath, went along to Brazil's room, and, this time, knocked on the door.

'Come in.'

Brazil, behind his desk, smiled broadly when he saw who it was. He made his comment as she shut the door and came towards him.

'I like that trench coat. You look very smart, my dear.'

'My latest purchase. There's something bad I have to tell you about.'

'First, take off your coat. It's warm in here. Then sit down, make yourself comfortable. I expect you could do with a drink.'

'That would be very pleasant.'

She waited while he poured two vodkas, a large one for her. Going back to the chair behind his desk, he raised his glass, smiled again.

'Cheers! Now, compose yourself and tell me what this is all about.'

'Gustav is dead,' she burst out. 'It's awful. He tried to shoot Tweed, but someone else shot Gustav first. It was ghastly. Gustav fell under a passing juggernaut.'

'So probably.' Brazil said after sipping his drink, 'the police won't easily identify him. In any case, as you know, members of my staff never carry any identification when on a job. I wonder why he tried to kill Tweed?'

'When he went out he was drunk. I passed him in the corridor and smelt it on his breath. I was worried as to what he was up to, so I put on this coat and followed him up Bahnhofstrasse.'

'You say Gustav was drunk?'

'Pretty high, I'd have said. Not reeling. He walked up the street quite steadily. Then when Tweed comes out of the hotel with Newman and Paula Grey he tries to shoot Tweed.'

'Fortunate that it sounds as though Tweed had someone posted outside the hotel, someone armed. I've dismissed Francois and the other guard I left behind, paid them well. So that just leaves you and me to depart tomorrow.'

'Where?' Eve asked, eyeing him over the rim of her glass.

'Dorset. Grenville Grange. There's one more banker I want you to soften up for me.'

'There aren't any big banks – or top men, anyway – in that sleepy county.'

'Oh yes, there is one. Who lives there in his country farmhouse at the weekends. Separated from his wife, so he'll be interested in some feminine company.'

'Not the bedroom,' she warned.

'Of course not. Have I ever asked you to go that far? They're more pliant when they go on hoping. We'll fly there in the jet, land at Bournemouth International, and I've already arranged for a car to be waiting for us.'

'Sounds as though you've thought of everything.'

'Believe me, I have. Now let's go downstairs and have a long, leisurely dinner.' He smiled again. 'I could do with some pleasant company myself. You can pack your case tomorrow. I have to call in at a bank.'