Precipice

49

Before Paula and Newman had entered Police HQ, Tweed had warned them not to say anything about the attack on himself.

'It could make life difficult for Beck – he would have to investigate the circumstances of the shooting of the gunman, whoever sent him. That would involve you, Marler. I don't want anything to delay our departure from Zurich when Brazil leaves – which I'm sure he will soon.'

Marler had volunteered to stay outside on guard.

'We can't tell how desperate Brazil is. He may have just changed his mind about you, Tweed. I know this is police headquarters, but four men armed with machine-pistols could rush the place and get inside.'

'Don't freeze to death,' Tweed told him. 'We'll be as quick as we can be.'

Beck jumped up from his desk to greet them warmly. He told the officer who had brought them up to order coffee and cakes for everyone.

'The pastries will be from Spriingli,' he said when the officer had left the room.

'I'll make a pig of myself,' Paula told him.

'That's why I ordered them,' he replied with a smile. 'Now, I have news. Brazil is playing tricks, I'm sure. Is out to confuse us.'

'What tricks this time?' Tweed enquired.

'The pilot of his jet waiting at Kloten has filed three flight plans provisionally. One for take-off at 11 a.m.

One for 1 p.m. The third for 3 p.m. All being provisional.'

'That's to confuse me.' Tweed said. 'For what destinations?'

'All for the same destination. Bournemouth International Airport.'

'So he's returning to where it all started. Grenville Grange in Dorset. Interesting. We're going after him.'

'I guessed you would.' Beck said with a wry smile. 'You never give up. By the way, after you'd landed in Brazil's plane in an obscure area, I asked the controller to keep the jet under wraps – out of sight in the same area. To have the machine fully refuelled and maintained. A Swiss aircrew will be ready to take off the moment you wish to. It will probably be the same crew which flew you from Sion. They are spending the night getting some sleep.'

A uniformed policewoman had brought in a tray with coffee and pastries. Paula lunged for an exotic concoction with a lot of chocolate and whipped cream.

'Scrumptious.' she announced. 'What a generous plateful. I'm going to have another.'

'That's what they're there for – to be consumed.' said Beck, amused.

'What I'd like to do.' said Tweed, 'is for all of us to be aboard our jet by 10 a.m. Then we're ready to take off soon after Brazil has left – whichever flight plan he uses.'

'It shall be done.' said Beck. 'In which case I'll have two unmarked police cars pick you up from the Schweizerhof at 8.45 a.m. In case Brazil chooses the 11 a.m. flight, you'll be safely aboard the other jet.'

'Your service and organization are truly remarkable.' Tweed commented. 'Thank you for all your help.'

'You'll let me know eventually what has happened to Mr Brazil, please. Heaven knows he's succeeded in turning the world upside-down. Having heard of the decisions in London, the Swiss Army has been put on partial mobilization.'

While Tweed called the PM, Beck picked up napkins, wrapped them round another of the pastries Paula had liked, presented it to her with a little bow.

'I will send you some Sprungli chocolates, a really big box. For a brave lady.'

'Thank you. You're always so kind to me.'

He hugged her, they left, found Marler chatting up the very attractive policewoman who had served their coffee and cakes.

'Sorry, said Tweed, tapping him on the shoulder, 'but duty calls.'

Marler reacted instantly, walking into the night ahead of them, pausing to glance round the paved space in front of the building, then gesturing for them to follow.

'Tomorrow should see some interesting developments,' Tweed remarked as they made their way back to the Schweizerhof.

'We've had enough interesting developments for today,' Newman rapped back.

Throughout their long dinner, Eve had conversed with Brazil with one part of her mind. Another part was trying to work out how she could contact Newman before they left Zurich. She was convinced Newman was playing hard to get.

The fact that Gustav had been crushed to a pulp under the juggernaut had gone out of her thoughts. It never occurred to her that she was responsible for his grisly death.

To her concealed annoyance, Brazil stretched out the dinner until well after midnight. When he accompanied her upstairs he opened the door to his suite, showed her the wolfhound lying fast asleep on a couch protected with a cloth.

'I fed it before we went down to dinner.' he remarked.

Eve didn't care tuppence whether Igor was fed or not. She said good night and went to her own room. Closing the door, locking it, she lit a fresh cigarette from the one she was smoking, poured herself a large vodka, began to get undressed.

Psychologically, it was too late to ring Newman now. So in the morning while Brazil went to the bank she would call the Schweizerhof again. The phone rang. She ran to it, sure it was Newman calling her back. Instead, it was Brazil.

'Make sure you're up and ready for breakfast by eight in the morning. We'll have breakfast together.'

'Got it.'

She slammed down the phone. She'd been hoping for a good night's sleep. She decided she couldn't be bothered getting undressed any further. Tossing an unwanted pillow on the floor, she stubbed out her cigarette, got into bed, switched off the light, and fell fast asleep. Conscience had never kept Eve Warner awake.

The following morning she joined Brazil for breakfast. He ordered a full English, strung out the meal while Eve tried to hide her impatience. Brazil was in a good mood, kept chattering away to her, ordering more coffee.

She smoked cigarette after cigarette, hiding her impatience, wondering when the hell he was going to push off to the bank. It was getting on for nine o'clock when he eventually rose from the table, warned her to be ready for instant departure when he returned.

'How long will you be?' she asked casually.

'How long is a piece of string?' he replied amiably.

'Well, how long is it?' she persisted.

'You'll know when I get back and knock on your door, won't you?'

Fuming, she went back to her room, leaving the door ajar a few inches. When she heard him locking his door she waited a few seconds, peered out, was just in time to see him disappearing round the corner, the same corner Gustav had disappeared round on his last fateful walk. It was a thought which never crossed her mind.

She had decided she'd have to risk phoning Newman from her room. Brazil might return sooner than she expected. Walking up Bahnhofstrasse to the phone booth could land her in a difficult situation. She dialled the Schweizerhof from memory.

'Please put me through to Mr Robert Newman. He's expecting me to call.'

'I'm afraid he's checked out.'

'Put me on to the concierge, then.'

'Concierge speaking.'

'I understand Mr Robert Newman has checked out. Is that true?'

'Yes, indeed, madame.'

'Something has happened he must know about. Where has he gone to?'

'I have no idea, madame.'

'Has he caught a plane, a train, or left by car?'

'I really have no idea.'

'But he knew I was going to call. He must have left a forwarding address. Check your records.'

'He has left no forwarding address.' The concierge's tone was becoming brittle. 'I cannot help you.'

'You're useless!' she shouted at him, and broke the connection.

She packed in a rage, stuffing expensive clothes into her suitcase, ramming in the folds which protruded over the edges. The laundry could sort out the creases. They'd better make a perfect job of it or they'd hear from her.

'Damn and blast you, Bob Newman.' she muttered. 'Well, the price has just gone up to a hundred and fifty thousand pounds.'

The only items she took care with were the sheets she had later photocopied from the files in Gustav's cabinet. These she folded neatly, tucking them into a flap after taking out the canister of Mace gas Jose had given her. She put the Mace back last, zipped up her shoulder bag. It contained a fortune – with those sheets inside it.

After locking the case she sat down, crossed her legs, tapping one foot as she glanced at another fashion magazine, deciding what she would buy next. She never looked at the prices.

Aboard the jet at Kloten, Tweed sat patiently, reading a paperback. He had brought a collection from Shopville. Newman sat opposite him across the aisle, reading the latest reports.

Marov had sealed up Russia tight. No ships were allowed to leave the two ice-free ports – Murmansk in the west, Vladivostok on the Pacific coast. A new organization of secret police, called MOVAK, was patrolling the streets of Moscow and other major cities, rounding up the Mafia. Parliament had been dissolved, 'pending new elections'. No date was given for when they would be held.

Behind him Butler, in the most comfortable seat, normally occupied by Brazil when aboard, was fast asleep. Pete Nield, keeping an eye on him, was also reading a newspaper. Paula, seated in front of Tweed, was immersed in her own paperback. She had one more in reserve in her lap. Paula read swiftly. Across the aisle from her sat Philip. She glanced over, saw him gazing into space, put down her book, and went over to perch by him.

'Thinking of Eve? Or shouldn't I ask?' she said quietly.

'Lord, no! I mean I don't mind your asking,' he said hastily. 'I was thinking of Jean. The only other time I've passed through the Valais was when the two of us were returning from a holiday in Verona. Had a marvellous time. Jean loved Verona – so old. We explored the amphitheatre, which is in perfect condition. Then we had a day trip to Venice – Jean thought a day there was long enough, magical though it is. I agreed with her. We returned aboard an express from Milan. It was dusk when we passed through the Valais, so we didn't see much of it. We were moving on to spend the last few days in Geneva. Had kir royales at Les Armures. A wonderful evening – although I don't expect you to recall it with any pleasure after what we experienced there.'

'A pleasant memory.'

'Yes.'

Philip gulped, turned his face away, said he had to go to the loo.

Marler appeared from the crew cabin. Restless as ever, he had been strolling up and down the aisle, smoking a king-size, spending time chatting with the aircrew. He continued his slow patrol up and down the aisle, went back into the crew cabin.

He returned quickly, stopped by Tweed's seat.

'The pilot has just told me Brazil has arrived with a woman. They've boarded their jet. Expected to take off at 11 a.m. Destination still Bournemouth International.'

'How time has passed.'

Tweed glanced at his watch, surprised to see it was close to eleven in the morning. He closed his book, saw that Newman had heard what Marler had said.

'Here we go.' said Newman. 'The last phase, I suspect, of a long saga.'

'Let's wait until we're sure the control tower can let us take off soon after Brazil.' Tweed warned. 'This is a busy airport these days, even in March.'

'I agree.' said Newman. It's going to be tricky. We have to land at Bournemouth International soon after he has left for Grenville Grange – but not too soon after.'

'In fact.' Paula pointed out, 'this jet has to land when Brazil is far enough away not to see it landing with his name splashed along the fuselage.'

'You're right.' said Newman. 'It's going to be a nerve-racker.'