The Power

15

'Norton is on the private line, Brad,' said Sara Maranoff.

'OK. Put him through. Time that street bum got results.'

'Brad, Norton is the best we've got. Hold yourself in. I also have Ms Hamilton waiting to see you.'

Sara knew what Ms Hamilton was about. She glanced round the Oval Office, checked that there were plenty of cushions on the large couch stood against one wall. She waved her index finger at him, warning him to cool it with Norton.

The President often omitted to shave until the end of the morning. His jaw and upper lip would be covered with a black stubble. But this morning he was freshly shaved, wore a smart blue suit with a crisp clean shirt and a tie. Ms Hamilton, Sara thought. Had to be at his best for her.

'I'll leave you to take your call,' she said.

Alone, March pushed back his chair, planted his feet on the desk top, crossed his ankles. He picked up the phone kept in a drawer.

'That you?' he barked.

'Norton here. I need those reinforcements…'

'They're aboard United flight 918 flying non-stop to London. Over the Atlantic as I speak with you. That's all the rest of Unit One we had in reserve here. Marvin Mencken is in charge.'

'That barracuda

'He's the best…' March remembered Sara's warning.

'I mean the best next to you. Now where are we with this goddamn problem? Where is Joel Dyson? Where is Special Agent' – his tone was savagely sarcastic – 'Barton Ives? Give.'

In Zurich

'You've traced those bastards? Well, well. Miracles still happen. They're six feet under the ground now?'

'Not exactly. Not yet…'

'Don't give me no smoke, Norton. You sittin' on your thumbs out there? What the hell is the position?'

'We know both men are in Zurich. They've been seen but they disappeared again. Temporarily…

Temporarily is too long. What about the CIA shyster – Cord Dillon?'

'No sign of him yet, but we'll track him. An operation like this doesn't happen overnight.'

'I want all three of them put away for good. Norton, your head is on the block. There's always Mencken…'

March slammed down the phone, inserted a thick finger inside his neckband, loosened it. The phone rang again as he stood up to go to the door. He snatched it up.

'Yes?'

'Norton here. We got disconnected. I'm handling this my way. I'll be meeting Mencken's flight at London Airport. I'm flying to Zurich to take personal charge. How many reinforcements are aboard that flight? I need specific information.' A brief pause. 'Mr President.'

'Forty men. With what you've got you should be able to check everyone in Switzerland.'

'I said I'd handle this my way…

The line went dead. March stared at the phone. Norton had had the balls to hang up on him. He remembered what Sara had said. Norton is the best. So maybe he was.

He checked his appearance in a mirror, went to the door, opened it, beaming his famous smile. The elegant blonde woman waiting on a seat outside returned the smile, walked in, he closed and locked the door. Taking her by the arm he led her to the couch, turned her round, lowered her gently.

'You've got too many clothes on, Glen. I'll start by undoing this top button…'

Swissair flight SR 803 had departed from London on schedule, taking off for Zurich at 13.50 hours. Tweed and his team were aboard in first class and had that section to themselves. One of the advantages of flying in February.

The Brymon Airways flight from Newquay Airport had arrived on time at London at 12.15 p.m. Tweed had collected and paid for the tickets by calling on Jim Corcoran. He had then had a tough conversation with Chief Inspector Roy Buchanan when he phoned him at the Yard.

'Where are you?' Buchanan had snapped.

'My whereabouts are not important. I see there has been not a single report of the massacre at Tresillian Manor in the press. Nine corpses and the press isn't interested? I suspect a "D" notice has been issued to the press. What excuse was used this time? A matter of national security?'

'This is a major anti-terrorist operation, Tweed. Which is all you're getting out of me. And there were ten corpses. A Tresillian Manor servant girl called Celia Yeo was found at the foot of High Tor. An anonymous caller alerted me. You wouldn't know anything about it, I suppose?'

Buchanan's tone dripped sarcasm. Tweed made him stick to the point.

'A major anti-terrorist operation? You really swallowed that? So they've got at you too…'

'My patience has run out with you, Tweed. I want you here at the Yard yesterday.'

'You're a man of integrity,' Tweed said quietly. 'You know you should be investigating a case of mass murder.

And not by terrorists. Don't take it out on me because they've fenced you in.'

'I said I expect you here at the Yard at the earliest possible moment. Needless to say, you don't leave the country.'

'You're still evading the main issue. Check up on the mass murder in Cornwall. Check on who set up fake roadblocks one night recently. Get a description from anyone who was stopped by them. Make sure you ask what nationality they were…'

'Are you telling me how to do my job?'

'I'm simply suggesting you actually do your job. Have to go. Goodbye

Sitting next to Paula in mid-air he had relayed his conversation with Buchanan to her. He made his comments after he told her how he had ended the call.

'The significance of that verbal duel was what Buchanan didn't say.'

'What was that?'

'He didn't deny he'd been told to pigeon-hole the case. I expect he was ordered to by the Commissioner. After the Commissioner had taken a call from Downing Street. They have thrown a tight net round the whole horrific business.'

'But why? I'm getting scared the way Howard can't contact the PM.'

'Someone with immense power has thrown out a smokescreen. By labelling these violent events as the work of a major terrorist organization it gives the people at the top a perfect excuse for their inexcusable actions. I know I've just contradicted myself, but you grasp what I'm getting at.'

'Except I can't grasp who could have such an evil influence over our Prime Minister.'

'Read the papers – the international news. That's where one of the keys lies. Now I want to give a message to the pilot to be radioed ahead of us.'

'Can I see it?' Paula asked, her curiosity aroused.

While Tweed was writing on a small pad he'd taken from his pocket Paula glanced beyond him from her window seat at Newman and Cardon who were seated opposite across the aisle. Newman grinned at her, gave a thumbs-up signal. Tweed and Paula occupied the front seats where there was plenty of leg room. Immediately behind them sat Butler and Nield who had refused drinks and remained very alert.

Tweed finished writing, showed her the message, put it in an envelope, sealed it and called to the stewardess.

'Could you please hand this to the wireless operator? It's very urgent.'

'Certainly, sir

Paula sat frowning. She asked her question as the plane flew on over dense clouds which looked just like the Alps, shining in the brilliant sun. At that moment the aircraft was barely midway between London and Zurich.

'I thought you said Switzerland would be a haven of safety?'

'It won't be,' Tweed said with a face like stone. 'Not for the opposition once I locate them.'

The radio message, addressed to Tweed's old friend, Arthur Beck, Chief of Federal Police, had been terse and to the point.

Urgently request full protection six people aboard flight SR 803. ETA Kloten Airport, Zurich, 1625 hours your time. Tweed.

The plane had begun its descent to Kloten when Paula saw out of the opposite window a breathtaking panorama of a great range of snowbound mountains. Massive in their continuity, she realized she was staring at the Bernese Oberland, the most spectacular mountains in all Europe. She continued gazing at them. They reminded her of some enormous tidal wave about to engulf the entire continent. The descent increased in angle, the view vanished. Beyond her own window there was nothing to see but a curtain of clouds drifting past, growing denser as they dropped lower and lower.

Suddenly the clouds cleared and the lights of Switzerland were coming up to meet her. The stewardess returned again, whispered to Tweed.

'We've had instructions from Zurich Control that you and your party will leave the plane first after landing.'

'I'm glad you added "after landing," Tweed joked.

Paula sensed his sudden change of mood – Tweed was looking forward to the opportunity to take action. She felt her own spirits rise. For days she had lived in a state of suppressed terror. She stared eagerly out of the window again.

They were landing – she could see the forest of evergreens which surrounded Kloten Airport. The Swiss pilot brought the machine down so smoothly the wheels barely kissed the concrete runway. As they emerged Paula saw a familiar figure waiting just beyond the metal platform leading from plane to airport building. The Chief of the Federal Police. He took hold of her in both arms and hugged her.

'Welcome to Switzerland, Paula.'

'I'm here too,' said Tweed, amused because he knew Beck was very fond of Paula.

Arthur Beck, in his forties, was slim and plump-cheeked. His most arresting features were his alert grey eyes beneath dark brows and his strong nose above a trim moustache. Of medium height, he moved his hands and feet quickly, his complexion was ruddy and he wore a smart grey suit, a blue striped shirt and a blue tie. Tweed quickly introduced him to Philip Cardon: Beck had met the others before and knew Bob Newman well. He led the way, talking rapidly to Tweed and Paula in perfect English.

'We're bypassing Passport Control and Customs. I have limos outside waiting to take you wherever you want to go.'

The Hotel Schweizerhof opposite the Hauptbahnhof. It will be our official residence but we won't actually be staying there. We'll be at the Hotel Gotthard just behind the Schweizerhof,' said Tweed.

'You are taking great precautions, my friend,' commented Beck. 'This must be a very serious affair.'

'A matter of life and death – for all of us. I'll tell you what's happened while we're driving into Zurich.'

'Our bags,' Paula intervened. They'll be delivered to the carousel…'

'We travelled first class and were the only passengers,' Tweed said quickly.

'Easy.' Beck grinned. He spoke to an aide in plain clothes who had walked alongside them. As the man dashed off he explained. 'I've told him to collect all the first-class luggage off the carousel. He'll bring it to the cars…'

They were escorted via a devious route which bypassed Passport Control and Customs. Striding across the concourse, Beck guided them to a convoy of three waiting stretched Mercedes, all black in colour. Near by uniformed motorcyclist police waited, straddling their machines. Beck gestured towards them as he opened the door of the first car.

'Outriders. Our escort. After receiving your message I decided to take no chances. I drop you outside the Schweizerhof?'

'Yes, please,' said Tweed. 'Later we make our way on foot one by one to the Gotthard. I've booked rooms in both hotels…'

It was a twenty-minute drive from the airport into the centre of Zurich. Beck sat next to Tweed in the rear of the limo while Paula was seated alongside Tweed. The driver wore civilian clothes, as did the tough-looking individual in the front passenger seat.

Newman, Butler, Nield and Cardon occupied seats in the limo behind them and the third car was full of more men in plain clothes. The outriders on motorcycles led the way into the Swiss city while two more brought up the rear.

Beck listened in silence as Tweed told him concisely everything that had happened to them – including the bombing of SIS headquarters in London and the events in Cornwall. Frequently the Swiss glanced back through the rear window. At one moment he interrupted Tweed for the first time.

'Excuse me, I have to radio a message to the rear car. We were followed from the airport by an Impala – significant, possibly, that it is an American car…'

Picking up the microphone slung from the side of the car he spoke in Switzer-Deutsch, the dialect understood only by the Swiss. Tucking the microphone back on its hook, he explained after again glancing through the rear window, 'I ordered interception. The third car has just stopped that Impala. They'll think up some fictitious traffic regulations the driver's broken to delay him. And all these cars are bulletproof. Your story, Tweed, is very strange, but of course I believe you. It might interest you to know there are too many Americans arriving in Switzerland -especially in Zurich.'

Too many?' Paula leaned forward. 'How do you know that?'

Beck smiled cynically. 'Oh, we do know what is going on in our country. In late February you might expect a few businessmen, even the odd wealthy tourist from the States. But these men – and we don't like the look of them – all carry diplomatic passports. From my headquarters in Berne I've already phoned their embassy and complained that they're exceeding their complement of diplomatic staff. The Ambassador, an old friend – and one of the few President March has not replaced by some of his cronies and backers – was embarrassed. I found it significant. He told me these men were soon to be routed to other embassies in Europe. Both of us knew he was not telling the truth.'

'So Zurich could be dangerous?' Paula suggested.

'Yes, it could.' He smiled again. 'But not as dangerous as Britain, from what Tweed has told me. How are you going to proceed, Tweed? Or is that top secret?'

'Not at all. I want to locate three men. Joel Dyson – I think it may have all started with him. Then Special Agent Barton Ives and Cord Dillon. One of them has to tell me what the blazes is happening.'

'I do find' – Beck paused to ruminate – 'the most unexpected of those three people to be running is this Barton Ives. FBI – why should someone be after his blood?'

That mystifies me too,' Tweed admitted.

'A pity you don't know what this Norton looks like,' Beck commented.

'I gather no one knows that. Which I find sinister…'

Tweed, carrying his bag, led the way into the Schweizerhof, where he had stayed on previous visits. The same concierge greeted him warmly. As they went up in the lift after registering, Tweed told Paula to come and see him urgently when she'd left her bag in her room.

'I have room 217,' he reminded her as he left the elevator.

She was tapping on his door within three minutes of his arriving in the large corner room overlooking the main station at the front. The side windows looked down on the famous Bahnhofstrasse – the street of great banks and some of the most luxurious shops in the world. He went out of the spacious living-cum-bedroom into the lobby to let Paula in.

'I'm afraid I've got rather a lot for you to do,' he said.

'Fire away!'

'All of us must leave in our rooms here convincing evidence that this is where we are staying. Toothbrushes, toothpaste, shaving kit, et cetera in the bathrooms…'

'The ones we're using now would be most convincing…'

'Agreed. Plus about half our clothes in the wardrobes. Now that means I want you to…'

'Go out and buy six toothbrushes, six tubes of paste, five electric shavers, more make-up for myself,' she interjected.

'Why more make-up?'

'Because you expect to find some in a room occupied by a woman. While I'm buying I'll have to collect a load of large carrier bags. Presumably we need those to sneak out of here to the Gotthard with the clothes we take. I foresee one other problem.'

'Which is?' Tweed enquired.

'We would look suspicious turning up at the Gotthard without suitcases. I know – two of the men wait with new suitcases we buy in the men's lavatory down in Shopville.' Paula peered out of the side window at the escalator leading down into the underground shopping centre. Two more of us, say Bob and Philip, can take the carriers with the clothes into the lavatory and they can be put inside the cases in cubicles.'

'I don't know why I bother planning things like this out,' Tweed said, raising his hands in mock frustration. 'Not when I have you with me.'

'I'll be away for a while on my shopping expedition,' she warned. 'It would look funny if I bought six of everything at one shop.'

'I'm not letting you go alone,' Tweed said firmly. 'I'm calling Butler to accompany you as bodyguard.'

'Harry is a perfect choice. And he can help to carry my purchases. What about the suitcases?'

'I'll phone Newman and Cardon. They can buy the suitcases and call me back when they've done the job. Then they can get coffee at Sprungli and call me again. By then you and Harry should have done your shopping. I'll fix a precise time for Pete Nield and myself to meet you, collect the carriers and make the switch in Shopville. Have you got enough Swiss money?'

'You gave me sufficient at London Airport to go out and buy an outfit Elizabeth Taylor would be happy to wear. Come to think of it, I rather fancy a Chanel suit,' she teased him and left the room.

Tweed summoned Newman and Cardon and gave them their instructions. As they left, the phone rang. Tweed frowned, lifted the receiver cautiously.

'Yes. Who is it?'

'Beck here,' the familiar voice opened. 'I have bad news. Remember that Impala my men stopped on the way from the airport? They found him just ending a conversation on a mobile phone. He undoubtedly warned his chief that a competitor had arrived.' Beck was phrasing his message carefully, knowing it was passing through a hotel switchboard. 'You might have company from the opposition earlier than you expected. Keep in touch. I'm staying in Zurich.'

'Thank you.'

Tweed put down the phone with a sense of foreboding.