The Main chance

13

When they reached Hengistbury Manor the gates swung open and they drove along the pebble drive. Tweed was on the terrace by himself, pacing slowly in the sunshine, a look of concentration on his youthful face.

Paula dived out of the car as soon as it stopped, ran up the steps. Crystal, climbing out after her, refused Newman's offer to help her with the carriers. Clutching them tightly the was about to pass Tweed when he called out to her. `You've bought half of Gladworth, I see…' `It's my money,' she snapped, resenting his observation, and disappeared inside the house. `Can I ask what was in the will?' Paula suggested as Newman joined them. `You may. I read the will, as I said I would. Quite a few of the family were present – Marshal, Warner, Lavinia (I had to ask her to join us), then Warner's son, Leo. It was a short and simple will. Control of the bank was divided fifty per cent to Marshal, fifty per cent to Warner, and there was a gift of one hundred thousand pounds to Mrs Grandy, the housekeeper.' `How did they react?' `Marshal was furious, stormed out after shouting it would never work. Warner was quiet, remarked it would work and he thought it was typical of Bella's common sense. Leo was outraged, screamed, "Why the hell does that old faggot get all that money?" Warner told him to apologize but Leo was livid, stormed off after Marshal. I told Mrs Grandy myself and she looked astounded, then said it was very generous. You know it all now.' `Bella was very shrewd. We have urgent information for you.' She explained quickly their experience at Pike's Peak and what the killer had told her before he expired. `I'm still amazed,' she continued, 'that the man sent to kidnap me in Mayfair, to torture me and presumably kill me, would warn me a second time when he was dying. And tell me where we can find Calouste.' `Another example of the complexity of human nature,'Tweed observed. 'So many people I've encountered have this mixture of decency and evil' His manner changed, became commanding. 'Now, action this day, as Winston Churchill used to say. We must immediately try and hunt down Calouste. We'll take a large force. Heavily armed. You'll come, of course, Bob. Harry Butler is helping the police crew to search this vast house, so is Marler, who was investigating The Forest. Heavily armed,' he repeated.

Tweed led the way inside the manor while Newman admitted he'd left his.38 Smith amp;Wesson revolver and ammo locked in his apartment. Tweed held up a hand before they all rushed into the hall. `The story is we've had a tip that Bella's killer is hiding in Gladworth.'

Tweed ran up to the floor where Crystal had her apartment, in time to see Chief Inspector Hammer emerging with a disgruntled look. `Take all week to search this rabbit warren,' he grumbled, then marched off down the corridor, vanished into another apartment.

Tweed caught sight of Sergeant Warden coming up the stairs. He beckoned to him, spoke quietly. `Could you do me a discreet favour?' `That's why I was sent here, sir.' `Find out which apartments the Chief Inspector searched and do the job all over again. He's a good chap but inclined to rush things.' `I'll tell him Commander Buchanan told me he wanted everywhere searched twice. Good job we had that warrant. Mr Marshal Main is almost going crazy at what he calls this invasion.'

Tweed's expedition assembled on the terrace. Marler, wearing camouflage, carried a zipped-up golf bag. Paula stared at it and he noticed her glance. He smiled at her. `Usual contents in the bag. My favourite Armalite rifle with 'scope and spare ammo, including a few explosive bullets.'

Harry Butler was laden down with a heavy bulging leather bag. She raised an eyebrow and asked him what he was preparing for. `You saw me having a word with Tweed in the hall. He made it sound like a possible siege of this Heather Cottage. He doesn't think this Calouste character will give up easily – plus the fact he's certain Calouste has a small army of gunmen in this country. So, Paula, what have I got? Grenades, both explosive and smoke. A rocket launcher I can fit together in thirty seconds. Also an automatic weapon firing six hundred rounds a minute. I guess I'm equipped.' `Equipped for small-scale war,' she commented.

Newman came out looking more comfortable now he could feel a Smith amp; Wesson in its holster. Earlier Harry had gone to the back of the mansion and driven his brown Ford, parking it behind Newman's Merc. He had then gone back again to fetch a black Audi. `Too many cars,' Tweed suggested. 'We could use mine…' `May have been spotted,' Harry explained. 'You head the convoy in the Audi, Newman follows in his Merc, I bring up the rear in the Ford. Leaving your car parked out here in front will suggest to any spies you're still here. And the Audi is armour-plated, with bulletproof windows.' `Good thinking,' Tweed agreed. 'But if we ever locate Heather Cottage I'll wave this red handkerchief out of the window. When I do Newman and Harry drop back, park where they are. A convoy could alert Calouste. I wave the handkerchief a second time when we are ready to assault Calouste's base. Now all we need is someone to open the gates.' `Lavinia will do that,' Marler drawled. `Snape has gone missing.'

At Tweed's suggestion Paula sat beside Marler, who was behind the wheel of the Audi. Tweed chose to sit by himself in the rear. He wanted to concentrate on the complexities of this strange case.

The gates opened before they reached them. Tweed instructed Newman to turn left and head into Gladworth. `You think that's where Calouste is hiding?' suggested Paula. `No, I don't. But Heather Cottage will be within ten or maybe twelve miles of Hengistbury. Far enough away to avoid his being seen, near enough to the manor to react to a development.' `Oh, I said Snape had gone missing,' Marler began. `I tried to find his cottage in The Forest. Failed. Coming back I thought I saw him on the edge of The Forest overlooking the drive. He appeared to be using a mobile phone. I went over to where I'd seen him and no one was there. Could have been an optical illusion.' `When we've driven through Gladworth,' Tweed instructed again, 'look for a minor road or lane which turns off to the right.' `Why not the left?' Paula wondered. `Because according to the map you gave me, beyond Gladworth the left side is covered with The Forest. No escape route. On the right it's open country…' `Marler,' Paula said tentatively, 'what do you do in your spare time?' `Fly my plane, look after it. Or I practise shooting on a range. Keeps me in top form.' `Any girlfriends?' she ventured. `Well, I do like women. Not infrequently when I'm out and about attractive women smile at me. Some quite a bit younger than me. But there seems to be a sort of barrier between me and women. They like to be amused. I can never think of anything to say. Silly.'

Paula had a shock. She had known Marler a long time and it was only now she realized what he was really like. Mader was shy. Where women were concerned. `Keep your minds on the road – with a right-hand turning,' Tweed growled from the back. `Oh, don't be so crochety,' Paula snapped. 'Marler is checking all the time, for Heaven's sake.'

Tweed had learned that there were times when it was wiser not to respond. A moment later Marler slowed, swung the Audi over to the right up a hedge- lined lane. Beyond the hedges were rolling-green hills. No more fir trees. No houses either.

Marler had pulled down his visor. The brilliant sun blazed through the windscreen. After a while of driving round bends in the lane Marler informed Tweed they had travelled fourteen miles. `Keep going,' Tweed ordered.

"There's a white brick house on the edge of the road,' Paula called out.

Marler slowed down. Tweed took out the handkerchief to wave and warn the two cars behind to stop. Paula leaned forward as Marler crawled past. She shook her head and told Marler to keep moving. `No good,' she called out. 'I saw the signboard. Dogwood is the weird name of that place.' `It's also too close to the road,' Tweed commented. `I'm sure Calouste would choose a house well back from the road.'

They drove on another mile without seeing another residence. Paula suddenly leaned forward, looking partly to her left. She told Marler to crawl again. Tweed took out his handkerchief, lowered his window. `Heather Cottage!' Paula called out triumphantly. 'I saw it on the name board… ' `Tricky place to assault,' Tweed decided after studying it through his pocket binoculars. 'Open ground up to the place.'

The Audi was parked out of sight a few yards up the lane. Newman had reacted to Tweed's signal. His Merc was parked out of sight of the target, with Harry's Ford parked behind him. Paula borrowed the binoculars. Heather Cottage was a large two-storey thatched cottage with windows open on both floors, its walls painted white.

Marler lifted up the golf bag from the floor under their feet. Unzipping it, he took out the Armalite rifle, carefully attached the 'scope. Getting out, he aimed it at a rock by the side of the lane, adjusted a screw slightly, checked his aim again. `I'm going up the far side of the hedge running along the edge of the place. There may be a back door they could slip out of.' `I'll come with you,' said Paula, her Walther in her right hand.

By now Harry, heavy satchel on his back, had crawled to the cover of the front hedge, followed by Newman. Harry extracted two large grenades from his satchel, held one in each hand. He grinned. `Tear-gas grenades. One through the open window downstairs and one through the upstairs window, same side. I go in through the right-hand window.' `I come with you,' said Newman. `I'll watch the front door,' Tweed decided. 'They may come out that way.'

The grenades went in, exploding inside their target areas. Harry rushed forward, dived in through the open right-hand window. A lean evil-faced man wearing jeans and a jacket, neither of which fitted him well, staggered in from the hall, holding a machine-pistol. He tried to aim it. `Behind you!' Harry shouted.

Instinctively the lean-faced gunman looked back. No one was behind him. He vanished into the narrow hall, ran out through the open back door. He had recovered from the whiff of tear gas he'd absorbed. He saw Paula standing by the hedge, swivelled his machine-pistol to mow her down. Two shots were fired from her Walther. The first bullet hit him in the forehead, the second penetrated his chest. He fell against the cottage wall, slid down it, sagged in a heap. `You did well,' said Marler. 'My Armalite slipped on my shoulder. Must be losing my grip.'

Paula ran forward, stooped to check the gunman's carotid arteries. She shook her head as she straightened up. Tweed had just appeared round the front corner of the cottage. `He's dead,' Paula called out. 'From his features he looks French.' She put on a glove, searching his trouser pocket, brought out an almost empty cigarette packet. `Gauloise; she called out. 'He was French.'

Newman's head poked out of an upstairs window. 'Is everything OK out there? Oh, I see it is. Harry and I have checked the place upstairs as well as downstairs. No one here. What's that motorcycle doing leaning against the wall there?' `Escape vehicle he won't be needing any more,' Marler replied, pointing to the corpse. `Kitchen's a real mess,' Newman reported.

Tweed darted inside through the back entrance, followed by Paula. They entered the kitchen. A sudden breeze blew soiled napkins out of the window. The table was laid for three. Plates had remnants of food, two with eggs and bacon, the other with unsavoury- looking sausages. Cups were half-filled with coffee. Paula used a latex glove to pick up and examine a large piece of wrapping paper. It had the name of a butcher's shop in Paris. `French again,' she said. 'So what happened here?' `Calouste was warned by his informer we were on our way,' Tweed said grimly. `Left behind one chap to clean up, the dead one outside.' `He's going to be difficult to capture,' Paula mused. `Or kill,' Tweed said. 'After what Buchanan told me about his track record, the bit known, in France and Austria, that would probably be the best solution. He's one of the most ruthless, cold-blooded villains I've ever encountered. In the meantime we search this place from top to bottom. It's obvious he left in an almighty rush, which means he could have left something behind.'

Newman and Tweed disappeared to search the upstairs while Butler and Marler checked the downstairs. Paula stayed in the kitchen. She emptied the food off the plates in the dustbin outside the back door, then closed the window and began a systematic search.

Under the cooker she found a screwed-up piece of paper. Still using the latex gloves, she cleaned a portion of the table and carefully spread out the sheet of paper. It was perforated down one side, which suggested it had been torn from a notebook. A single word had been written on it in black biro.

Sheebka.

Sounds Turkish, she thought. She then went outside to pick up the napkins blown out of the open window. Half under the side hedge she spotted a large coloured sheet. She brought it in, spread it on the table. She was looking at a single page torn from an Ordnance Survey atlas. It was a section of the West Country with a black circle marked round the county of Cornwall. At that moment Tweed returned, followed by Newman, Marler and Butler. `As I expected, not a thing in the whole house,' Tweed told her. `You're wrong,' Paula contradicted. 'Look at these two items.'

They all gathered round the table to look at her finds. Tweed picked up the sheet from a notebook with his latex-gloved hands. `Sheebka? Doesn't mean a thing. Cornwall circled could be significant. Devil of an area to search, but not now.' `What, then – after this?' Paula wanted to know. `It's a bust,' said Harry, who had joined them. 'How the hell did Calouste know we were coming?' `Good question,'Tweed agreed. 'It confirms he has a spy who could be inside Hengistbury. Communicates with him by mobile phone. The only answer.' `Who could it be, then?' `No idea.' `I told you I thought Snape, lurking at the edge of the wood, watched you leave. Can't be sure it was Snape,' Marler said. `So how would he overhear where we were going,' Tweed asked, 'if he was prowling in the wood?' `He couldn't,' Marler agreed. 'I'm going to give Newman a hand with cleaning up the mess outside. He's moving the corpse of that Frenchman, I'm cleaning blood off the walls he smeared when he slid down them.' `I was wondering about that,' Tweed commented. `Then we all go back to Hengistbury.'

Ten minutes later both men appeared. Newman explained he'd hidden the body under the side hedge, Marler reported the cottage wall was as good as new – 'That is,' he added, 'like it was when we arrived.'

Tweed had just settled himself in the passenger seat of the Merc with Marler behind the wheel, when he made his remark, staring at Heather Cottage. `I wonder what happened here before we arrived on the scene…'

About two hours earlier Calouste was seated behind the wheel of his car, parked beyond Heather Cottage, but with a clear view of the road from Gladworth. He was expecting two of his French employees. He was also in a position to drive off if the wrong people arrived. He was not wearing his dark glasses.

A Renault appeared, pulled up in front of the cottage. A man got out. Calouste switched off his engine, which had been running ready for a speedy take-off. He walked back to the cottage. His feet, clad in soft-soled black shoes, moved quickly and he moved with a curious rolling gait. His lack of height was countered by the width of his powerful shoulders, his large nimble hands. He wore a dark trilby hat and an expensive dark suit. If seen by a local they would be sure he was a London businessman.

He had deliberately told his employees he would arrive later so he could check on their punctuality. He approached the two men on the grass as they unlocked the front door.

Despite his silent approach it was, of course, Jacques who swung round, a nasty-looking wide-bladed knife in his right hand. `Jacques,' Calouste began, speaking in English, `Pierre has brought a motorcycle? Good. Then he can park it round the back of the cottage. Afterwards he makes breakfast swiftly for us. Bacon and eggs for me and for you, Jacques. For himself I assume he'll want the sausages in that greasy package he's hugging. Inside French wrappings, I see, which was very foolish of him. He must destroy the wrapping before we leave. We may not be here long.

The lean Pierre, with the evil elongated face, understood English but it was Calouste's technique to keep a man in his place by giving his orders through a third party. `Very good, sir,' Jacques replied. He used French to repeat the orders to Pierre, adding, 'Get moving, you lazy lout. Motorcycle first out of the boot, parked round the back, then try and prepare a decent breakfast.'

As the two men entered, Calouste stepping inside first, Calouste reflected that Jacques was his prize catch. He owned a butcher's shop in Paris, was a butcher by profession.

Jacques was, in Calouste's opinion, a remarkably reliable personality. His shop was patronized by many of the upper-crust element in Parisian society. Normally servants would fetch what was required, but not infrequently the lady of the house would come herself. Certain ladies like to collect their own meat and flirt with him. He could be so amiable and humorous, and his brutal face could slip into a warm smile.

Jacques, habitually well dressed, had frequented bars and restaurants where he could listen to how the upper class spoke. Soon he was able to speak in the same way.

Once, a guest at a party of several senators and their wives, he had kept them all amused with the stories he related. At one party he had taken a risk, relying on the amount of alcohol that had been consumed. `There's nothing I enjoy more than slicing up meat,' he had remarked with a grin. 'Whether it's animal or human meat.'

The men had burst into laughter. The women had smiled at the joke. Reluctantly.

Calouste, who had heard of him, was half-hidden away in a dubious bar at a table in an alcove when the key incident happened. Jacques was caught up in a quarrel with a man twice his size and height. His opponent had drenched him with insults, had then walked up to him with an automatic in his hand. He had used the flat of the weapon to slap Jacques a hard blow on the face. Jacques had swiftly produced a wide-bladed knife and rammed it into the ape's chest. As the fatally injured man staggered back, collapsed, everyone in the restaurant had run out. Calouste, wearing his dark glasses, had caught up with Jacques. `If you work for me I will pay you fifty thousand dollars a year. If you agree to liquidate anyone who stands in my way I will pay you twenty thousand dollars per kill…'

That was how it had started, Calouste remembered as he gobbled down his breakfast.

His instinct told him it might be wise to move on soon. He had not had a word over Max's mobile and he was supposed to report regularly. Something must have happened. At that moment his own mobile buzzed. `Yes?' snapped Calouste. `Orion here. About half an hour ago Tweed and a large team drove off in the direction of Gladworth.' `Why not an earlier warning?' Calouste raged. `This was the first opportunity to call you' Reception was beginning to fade. 'Marshal Main has a second home at Sheebka.' `Where?' Calouste scribbled the name on a sheet of his notebook. `Sheebka. Why don't you listen?' There was a brief moment of clarity. `Seacove in Cornwall..

The phone had gone dead. Calouste didn't bother writing down Seacove. He tore out the sheet from the notebook, screwed it up, threw it on the table. He was so busy he didn't see the wind had blown the bit of paper onto the floor. Pierre, who had just come in, didn't see it either as his boot kicked it under the cooker.

Calouste picked up the Ordnance Survey atlas he had brought in. Turning to Cornwall, he circled it with his biro, tore out the sheet. It was the only sign of panic he had shown so far. He rushed into the front room to collect his packed bag. The wind which had blown up suddenly lifted the map sheet, floated it out of the window. `Pierre is almost losing his breakfast since I told him to stay behind and clear up,' Jacques reported. `We've all eaten only half our breakfast.' `What shall I tell him,' Jacques persisted, 'if Tweed arrives before he's finished?' `Tell him to motorcycle across the fields at the back, for God's sake. You and I leave now.'

Calouste was in such a hurry to get away he grabbed the Ordnance Survey atlas. He'd forgotten he'd torn out the map of Cornwall.

He ran across the front garden and up the road to where he'd parked his car. As he moved off Jacques was in his car behind him. They reached a roundabout with five possible routes. 'Which way now?' Calouste muttered to himself. Then he saw a signpost, West Country. Cornwall was somewhere down there. He swung the wheel along that route.