The Power

11

They landed from the ferry by the same method – walking down the plank while the mate stood alongside, ready to give anyone who needed it a hand. Paula had no hesitation in reaching out for her hand to be grasped – her legs felt like jelly after their recent experience.

'See that stick with the flag stuck in beach?' called out the skipper. 'When you want to come back wait wherever it's been moved to. Tide will start to come in in the next hour…'

Tweed had walked down the plank, again ignoring the hand offered. His feet immediately sank into the sand which had recently been covered with water. Ploughing his way up to a ramp leading off the beach was like walking on a giant sponge. Paula and Newman caught him up as the other three men followed at a distance, spreading out, their eyes everywhere.

'You look smug,' Paula accused Tweed.

'Sorry. Just satisfied that my instinct was right.'

'What instinct?' Newman demanded.

That the enemy had now tracked us to Padstow.'

'Anything to back that up?' Newman continued. 'You're always so keen on data to back up a theory.'

'Last night I couldn't sleep. As you know, my bedroom window gives a panoramic view of the estuary and this shore. You remember, Bob, you lent me your binoculars.'

'You saw something, then?'

'Oh, yes, I saw something.' Tweed chuckled, outwardly unaffected that they had just escaped sudden death. 'I saw something. Switching off the lights, I pulled back the curtains. Soon I saw a lamp flashing on and off over here. Red, then green, then red. Morse code – but the message was in cipher, if you understand me. A stream of meaningless letters, so I couldn't read what they were sending. But I could guess.'

'And you guessed what?' Paula pressed.

'That the sender in Rock was informing someone in Padstow that we have arrived at the Metropole. That was the first stage of targeting us.'

'And the second stage?'

'That was the lamp flashing which I noticed from the cove while we waited for the ferry. It was probably signalling to that powerboat cruising out at sea just beyond the estuary – that we'd be aboard the ferry.'

'Sounds thin,' Newman objected. 'It presupposes someone was watching the ferry for hours. We might never have come here.'

'So maybe they were watching the inner harbour through binoculars from Rock. These people leave nothing to chance. After we left perhaps a certain pennant was hoisted up the mast of that cabin cruiser, Mayflower III. Remember who suggested we take that ferry?'

'Gaunt!' Newman grated out the name. 'He waits until he's persuaded us to cross to Rock and then hoists the signal which tells whoever is waiting over here, wherever that might be.'

'Oh, last night through your binoculars I pinpointed the source where the lamp was flashing from.'

The shore of Rock was deserted and there was an atmosphere of being cut off from the world which Paula found disturbing. Tweed led the way off the soggy beach up a ramp which started out as concrete and then became wooden ribbed. He turned left, away from the few buildings which were Rock. They entered a desolate quarry which was apparently used as a car park during the season. Not a single vehicle was parked in the grim amphitheatre enclosed by granite walls.

'Don't point or look at it obviously,' Tweed warned. 'I saw the lamp flashing last night from that strange house perched on its own above us. From the first-floor window on the right.'

Paula glanced round as though taking in the view. Strange was hardly the word for the house. Weird, she said to herself. Isolated well up the steep slope it had a Victorian appearance but gave the impression half of it had been sliced off and taken away at some distant time.

Tall and thin, built of the universal grey stone, it had a single high gable with a turret below it at one corner. The building had a derelict appearance and Paula thought she'd never seen a more sinister house. Like something out of Hitchcock's Psycho.

'We'll climb up and have a look at it,' Tweed said as Butler joined them under the lee of the granite wall.

'What's the objective?' he asked tersely.

'That tall house above us. We're going to have a look at it.'

'I'll tell Cardon and Nield. We'll spread out. I'm going to approach it from the rear, which means a little alpine climbing…'

Tweed headed for a small flight of crude steps leading up out of the quarry to a winding footpath. He climbed so quickly that Paula and Newman had to move to keep up with him. Newman tucked his Smith amp; Wesson inside his belt.

'What an awful area,' Paula commented when they reached a point halfway to the house.

The steep slope had an air of desolation and to her right was a dense wood of miserable firs hanging over Rock. The trunks were stunted, bent at an angle away from the sea, their branches twisted into ugly shapes like deformed arms. Now they were higher up a wind, blowing in off the ocean, whipped against them. No wonder the trees were so crippled. Beyond the path was scrubby grass and the undergrowth had a shaggy look, hammered over the years by ferocious winds.

'What a glorious view,' Newman said, pausing.

The wind was stronger, the Atlantic had come into sight. As they stood together the wind was battering like a thousand flails. Surf-tipped rollers were roaring in to the outer reaches of the estuary, breaking against the base of the eastern cape, hurling skywards great clouds of white spray. More rollers advanced up the estuary.

Tweed averted his eyes, looked across the estuary to the far side. The grey mass of Padstow sheered up like a gigantic fortress wall. The Metropole was well elevated and he realized why he had seen so clearly the lamp flashing from the house above them.

'Let's keep moving,' he urged.

The narrow path snaked from side to side in its gully, which made walking difficult. They were near the tall thin house which, close up, had an even more derelict appearance. Three steps led up to the front door inside a porch. No garden, no fence – the property was open to the wilderness. Then Tweed saw how it could be reached by car. A wide sandy track led downhill, went round a bend, vanished.

Butler suddenly appeared from the rear of the building. He was pocketing the compact tool-kit which he always carried.

'No one here,' he reported. 'No furniture inside, no carpets on the floor.'

'I'd like to have seen inside the place,' Tweed remarked.

'Follow me, then. Someone left a window unfastened at the back,' he said with a straight face.

Cardon appeared on a hillock in a commanding position above the house, gave a brief wave. Nield stood up from behind a dense patch of undergrowth closer to the house.

They've established outposts to watch over us,' Newman commented as they followed Butler round the back.

Paula stared at the sash window which was open at the bottom. There were jemmy marks close to the catch on the inside which was turned to the open position. She spoke to Butler in a tone of mock severity.

'Breaking and entering? That's against the law, Harry.'

'So someone got here before us,' Butler retorted, grinning.

Tweed crouched to step over the ledge and ease himself inside. Butler, followed by Paula, was by his side in seconds. He put a finger to his lips, whispered.

'It appears to be unoccupied,' he warned.

Paula, with Newman by her side, studied the ancient floorboards, the window ledges and the mantelpieces with a housewife's practised eye. Undisturbed dust everywhere. She paused before entering the narrow hall while Tweed, followed by Newman and Butler, ran lightly up the bare wooden staircase.

In the hall the floorboards were perfectly clean, dust-free. Paula frowned as she mounted the staircase slowly. Every tread was equally clean and a familiar smell was assailing her nostrils. Pleasant, distinctive.

Tweed had entered the front bedroom at the left-hand side of the house. He took out of his coat pocket Newman's binoculars, stood in front of the clear glass of the window, focused them. His own windows in the suite at the Metro-pole seemed amazingly close.

'This,' he said, 'is where someone used a lamp to send a signal last night.'

'And have you noticed the floorboards?' Paula enquired from behind him.

'No, I…'

'Men are so unobservant,' she teased him. The room we came in by at the back had a musty smell and was covered in dust. Look at these floorboards – they've been scrubbed, probably during the past twenty-four hours. Was the door closed here?'

'Yes, it was.'

'Which is why the smell of the cleaner used – liquid Flash – is so strong in here. But you can smell it on the stairs and in the hall.'

'What's the idea of cleaning up the place so well?' asked Butler.

'Maybe to eliminate footprints,' Newman said, looking at Paula. 'Footprints with studded soles. Climbing boots.'

'If you say so,' replied Butler, mystified. He turned to Tweed. 'Want some evidence that you're still a good detective? Follow me.'

'In a minute.' Tweed was stooping over a corner of the window ledge. 'I'm doing a Sherlock Holmes. There's an intact roll of cigar ash here, a slight burn where the cigar rested while the smoker operated the lamp. Paula, give me one of those sample bags.'

Paula unzipped a section inside her shoulder-bag where she always carried several self-sealing polythene wallets. Tweed had taken out a penknife, used his other hand to take the wallet from Paula, used the knife to coax the ash off the edge and inside the bag, which he sealed and handed to her.

'There are experts who can identify ash. Now who have we seen recently who smokes cigars?'

'You want to see my evidence?' Butler broke in. 'Then follow me

…'

He led them down the stairs, returned into the back room where they had entered, climbed out of the window and walked to a lean-to shed next to the rear wall of the house. A large new padlock hung loose and dangling from an iron ring.

'I suppose you found it just like that?' Paula asked.

Butler grinned again, took a ring of skeleton keys from his pocket, jangled them. He edged the heavy wooden door open with his foot, stood back and gestured for them to enter, handing a small torch to Tweed. Paula wondered what else Butler might have in the capacious pockets of his made-to-order coat.

'Satisfying to find you were right,' Tweed commented as Paula joined him.

He was aiming his torch beam at a large brass signalling lamp perched on top of a heavy wooden box. Bending down, he examined the lamp without touching it, stood upright again.

'It has a red filter which can be slid across the lamp. And a green one. Hence the signal flashes I saw from my suite.'

'So all we need to find out is who owns this dump,' Paula replied.

Tweed and Paula had had enough of the gully path. With Newman, they started down the sandy track which showed the ruts of a vehicle's recent passage.

'A four-wheel drive job, like a Land-Rover,' Newman said.

Before leaving the house with no name, Butler had donned surgical gloves, had fastened the padlock on the lean-to shed, then closed the entry window. He vanished from the trio's view along with Cardon and Nield.

'They're enjoying practising the fieldcraft they've been trained in,' Tweed commented.

He knew the three men were close by but didn't hear one sound of their progress down the bleak heathland. He pointed to the channel of water which remained. Waves were tossing up and down.

'One thing I'm not going to enjoy is the ferry trip back to Padstow.'

'It may have calmed down by the time we return,' Paula suggested, not believing a word she said. 'And in summertime this place must be where the boaty types come.'

In the narrow channel of water a number of craft moored to buoys were wrapped in blue plastic to protect them against the elements. More were beached on the vast sandbank stretching clear across the estuary. Several boats were slowly circling the area where the powerboat had exploded. Paula still found the disappearance of the river extraordinary.

'It's as though there's a huge plug further out which they pull out and water just vanishes down it,' she remarked. She looked at Tweed. 'Was our journey here of any use?'

'Definitely. It's providing me with more pieces of the vague jigsaw I'm building up in my mind.'

The track fell more steeply and they saw the road leading to the quarry car park over to their right. Outside a bungalow a smartly dressed woman was shaking a blanket. Tweed stopped.

'Excuse me, have you any idea who owns that house at the top of this track?'

'A man called Gaunt. He lives somewhere way out on Bodmin Moor.'

'I might be interested in the property,' Tweed lied amiably. 'It appeared to be empty. I suppose he never comes near the place, this Mr Gaunt?'

'Someone does. Just occasionally. They did only last night. I had the TV on but I heard some kind of vehicle driving up there after dark.'

'Thank you for the information.'

'Wouldn't consider buying that old ruin,' the woman warned. 'We bought this place in summer. Never do that. We did – and we'd sell up and get out tomorrow if we could. It's spooky. Rock is only an old hotel further along the road and a few terrace houses. Nowhere to buy everyday necessities. I have to cross in that beastly old ferry to Padstow. Keep away from here.'

'You said spooky,' Paula reminded her.

'Every now and then lights appear in that house up there you've just been to see. I don't mean the room lights. More like someone prowling round with a torch. Gives me the creeps.'

'Well, thank you for your advice. It has not fallen on deaf ears,' Tweed assured her.

He waited until they had reached the bottom of the track. Paula looked along the lonely road which led to the rest of Rock.

'A waste of time,' Tweed said. 'She described it perfectly. Bob and I explored it when we were once at the Metropole for a day and a night. What are you looking for?'

Paula was delving deep inside her bag. With a triumphal air she brought out a small press-pack of white tablets.

'Look. Dramamine! And just down the road there's a shop which sells soft drinks, according to that madly flapping flag…'

They sat inside a glassed-in enclosure overlooking the estuary. Tweed swallowed a tablet washed down with orange juice and Paula checked her watch, timing thirty minutes. The water was churning now like a cauldron. Since the woman who had served them was cleaning the counter close behind they sat in silence for some time. Then Newman heard the engine of the approaching machine.

'Let me have my glasses,' he told Tweed.

The grey chopper, flying low, came in from the direction of the Atlantic. In the lenses Newman saw two men at the controls – both with their heads covered in helmets and wearing goggles Very similar to the figure which had been behind the wheel of the powerboat. The woman behind the counter disappeared through a doorway, slammed it shut. They were alone, so could talk.

'You'll say I'm paranoid,' Newman commented, 'but I think that chopper is searching for us.'

'Which would be alarming,' Tweed said quietly. 'Because it would mean someone has an excellent communication system. The crew of the chopper are either checking to see the wreckage of the ferry…

'Or,' Paula interjected, stiffening to quell a shiver, 'they know we survived and, as Bob suggested, they are searching for us.'

'Looks like the latter,' Newman agreed. 'The ferry is just going back to Padstow, it's in mid-river.'

They sat in silence again as the chopper swept low over the outgoing ferry, circled it, then flew inland over Rock. Paula found herself sitting very still, although it would be impossible for the helicopter crew to see inside the cafe.

'The copilot was also using binoculars,' Newman told them.

He had hardly spoken when they heard the machine above their heads, a reverberating roar. Newman stood up, peered out of the window to his right. They could now hear it hovering. Newman sat down again and a minute later the machine reappeared, flying over the estuary, heading out towards the Atlantic, its engine sound fading. Paula let out her breath.

'It checked that old house we explored,' Newman reported.

'Then it was looking for us,' Paula said grimly. 'How the hell do they know so much? I feel like a bug under a microscope, our every move foreseen, monitored. It's uncanny, nerve-wracking.'

'They've also committed a major tactical error by coming out into the open,' Tweed responded. 'I can see the ferry starting to come back so we'd better make our way to the landing point on the beach – wherever that may be now. The tide is starting to come in.'

They had barely stepped down on to the road when Butler, Cardon and Nield materialized from the rough ground behind the cafe. They were brushing themselves down when they reached the road.

'Did that chopper see you?' rapped out Newman.

'Silly question,' Butler rapped back, then changed his tune. 'Sorry. No, it didn't. We were flat on our backs under dead bracken and undergrowth. We saw it, heard it coming, but they didn't spot us.'

'Messy up there,' the normally immaculate Nield grumbled. He was wearing a smart business suit. 'Incidentally the joker next to the pilot had field-glasses. He particularly scanned the old house up the slope you went into.'

'We know that already,' Tweed told him.

There was a bounce in his walk as he headed for the gap in the hedge and made his way down the ramp on to the beach. The stick with the flag showing the landing point was closer to the ramp than when they had disembarked. Was that a day ago? Paula wondered. It seemed so. And why was Tweed so pleased with their diabolical trip to Rock?