The Power

17

Norton travelled on the same flight to Zurich as Mencken and his large team. But whereas the forty men who were reinforcements occupied economy seats Norton was in the first-class section.

He wore an English suit and spoke with an English accent without a trace of his native American. When he had boarded the plane at London Airport he had chosen the aisle seat next to an elegantly dressed Swiss woman. He was careful that nothing in his manner suggested he was trying to pick her up.

'May I sit here, if you don't mind?' he had enquired courteously. 'There is more leg room and I have business papers I must study before we arrive.'

The seat is vacant,' she replied after glancing briefly at him.

The plane took off and Norton extracted a folder of papers with statistics about computers. He didn't understand any of it but if Mencken peered into First Class it would seem they were a couple travelling together.

Holding his briefcase, he moved quickly when the plane landed at Kloten. By the time Marvin Mencken arrived at the carousel a uniformed porter was waiting for him. He handed him a large envelope.

'I was asked to give this to you, sir. Your baggage will arrive very shortly.'

Remembering his experience at London Airport Mencken made no attempt to question the porter who was walking away. He glanced round at the passengers – not a chance of identifying Norton, assuming he was near the carousel, which he doubted. Mencken opened the envelope. Another sheet with no address and detailed instructions.

Distribute your men among the following four hotels – two groups should occupy the first hotel listed. Golden Bay Tours have booked accommodation. I will call you at your hotel telling you where to pick up special equipment. Hotels – Baur-en-Ville, Eden au Lac, Dolder Grand, BaurauLac.

The sheet was again signed in ink with the flourishing 'N'. Mencken swore to himself at the familiar abrupt commanding tone of the instruction. He began strolling among the passengers, giving each section leader the name of his hotel. As he did so the luggage started moving along the carousel.

'Special equipment' – Mencken knew that referred to guns and explosives.

Newman had decided to accompany Tweed and Paula to meet Walter Amberg at the bank headquarters in Talstrasse, which ran parallel to Bahnhofstrasse. Paula was intrigued and a little nervous. She couldn't get out of her head 'snapshot' pictures of Julius Amberg before the attack – and how he had looked with his face destroyed by acid. Now she was going to meet the identical twin…

Prepared as she was, it came as a shock when a Swiss personal assistant showed them into a large office and a man came forward, hand extended, to greet them.

'Welcome back to Zurich, Tweed. Always good to see you.'

Small and portly, in his fifties, he also wore his black hair without a parting, slicked back from his high forehead. Under thick brows his blue eyes were shrewd, his face clean-shaven and plump. Inwardly, Paula gasped. She was staring at a mirror image of the banker she had met at Tresillian Manor. He even wore the same dark suit with a red silk display handkerchief protruding from his breast pocket.

Tweed introduced Paula, who gathered that Newman had met the banker before. Amberg escorted them to comfortable chairs round a long polished antique boardroom table.

'I'm sure you would all like coffee,' he suggested and gave the order over an intercom. 'I understand you have met Julius down in Cornwall,' he went on, addressing Tweed as he sat down with Paula on his right and Tweed and Newman facing him. 'I haven't heard from him – not unusual since Julius often told me little about his affairs. I trust all went well.'

Tweed took a deep breath. He had not looked forward to this moment.

'I'm afraid I have bad news for you about Julius.'

'He's ill?' Amberg looked surprised. 'He's hardly ever ill. Always says he hasn't the time.'

The news is worse than that, much worse,' Tweed warned.

'You can't mean he's… dead?'

'I mean just that…'

Tweed began to give a terse account of the events which had taken place in Cornwall. Amberg listened, his face blank of emotion, but Paula noticed his lips had tightened as the gruesome tale unfolded. The Swiss listened with his hands steepled, fingertips of each hand touching – a mannerism she had noticed at the dining table in Tresillian Manor.

'It's a grim tragedy,' Tweed concluded, 'and we have no idea who made the fatal attack – or why. I was hoping you might have some inkling.'

'As I told you, Julius handled his own affairs. Which makes it difficult for me to help. I don't – didn't – even know why he was going to Cornwall to meet you.'

'Have you ever heard of a man called Joel Dyson?' Tweed enquired.

'Yes. Not an individual I took to – I'm sorry, is he a friend of yours?'

'He most certainly isn't. Do go on.'

This Dyson arrived recently with a suitcase and asked to see Julius. He was quite aggressive and I was surprised when my brother agreed to see him.' Amberg looked at Newman. 'I understand you once did Julius a great favour which involved this individual.'

'It was nothing,' Newman said, dismissing the incident.

'Dyson seemed frightened on his second visit here,' the banker continued. 'After seeing my brother he asked to be let out by the rear door. Later Julius told me Dyson had handed him a film and a tape recording for safe keeping. I haven't seen Dyson since.'

'Where were the film and the tape stored?' Tweed asked casually.

'In the vault, of course. Then Julius had them transferred to the vault in our Basle branch. I've no idea why.' He clapped a hand to his forehead. 'Oh, God, I had forgotten about Eve. Since this is the first I've heard of this dreadful news she may not know. Eve is his estranged English wife.'

'Estranged?' Tweed enquired delicately.

'Yes. Julius had his final quarrel with Eve just before he flew to London on his way to Cornwall. They had not been getting on well for some time. Foreign wives…' He tilted his head towards Paula. 'Please do excuse my phraseology. Foreign wives,' he continued, 'are often a disaster when they marry Swiss men. Julius told me just before he left for London they had agreed on a separation, that he never wanted to see her again. But someone must tell her…'

Amberg trailed off, looked all at sea. The shock of what happened is beginning to sink in, Paula thought. It was Tweed who intervened.

'If you would like to give me her address, Walter, I will go and see her myself. I was at Tresillian Manor shortly after the tragedy occurred.'

'As her brother-in-law I suppose I should, but…

'Give me her address, if she's still in Switzerland,' Tweed urged.

'She's here in Zurich.' Amberg extracted a white card from a box, wrote down the address and phone number, handed it to Tweed. 'She lives in the villa Julius has – had – in the Dolder area. He was moving into an apartment when he came back. I'm very grateful to you.'

'One more thing.' Tweed had stood up after draining the excellent coffee his assistant had brought in earlier. 'I expect you know whether Julius had viewed the film, listened to the tape Joel Dyson delivered before having them sent to Basle?'

'No idea. Why was Dyson so frightened when he brought them to us?' Amberg asked.

'Oh, that's simple. There are assassins here looking for him – to kill him. At least ten people have so far been murdered over this business. Maybe you should have a guard, Walter.'

'This is Switzerland,' the banker said indignantly.

'Something's very wrong about the sequence of events,' Tweed said as they left the building and headed for Bahnhofstrasse.

Butler and Nield appeared out of nowhere as they walked along. Newman was walking on the inside nearest the shops with Paula between him and Tweed on the outside. Butler strolled slowly past Tweed, staring ahead as he spoke out of the corner of his mouth.

'You've been followed. Chap in ski gear. Peaked cap with tinted visor…'

He continued on ahead of them while Nield remained behind the trio. Paula stopped for a moment, apparently to glance into a shop window. In the reflection from the brilliant sun she saw the man in a ski outfit walking ahead of Nield. She resumed her conversation as they approached Bahnhofstrasse.

'What is wrong about the sequence of events Walter described to us?'

'Dyson arrives with film and tape. Who could resist the temptation to watch, to listen? This coincides with Julius leaving his wife, Eve. It further coincides with his urgent call to me to meet him, followed by his flight to Tresillian Manor. Plus the fact he transferred film and tape to the bank vault in Basle. Dyson asked to be let out by the back exit. The only reason for that is he suspected he'd been followed, which he probably told Amberg. Even if he didn't, Amberg would guess the reason.'

'Why do you think Julius left his wife so suddenly?'

'I can only guess. But I know he had a mistress in Geneva. Normal lifestyle for some Swiss bankers. Live in one city, have your mistress in another, visit her at the weekend on a fictitious business trip. Maybe Eve found out – being English she might not have appreciated old Swiss bankers' customs. That's why I want to see her. I'm hungry. Let's have a coffee and cake at Sprungli before we start checking…'

The tea room at the famous Sprungli was on the first floor, overlooking Bahnhofstrasse. It gave Paula an eerie feeling when she recalled the package the 'postman' at Tresillian Manor had delivered before murdering eight people – a box of chocolates from Sprungli.

'Excuse me a moment,' Newman said.

They ordered coffee from the waitress as Newman peered out of the window down into the boulevard-like street. He joined them as they went to the counter to select a cake, waited until they were seated again.

'We still have company. Ski-man with his tinted visor is leaning against a tree on the far side where he can watch the entrance to this place. No sign of Pete Nield or Butler.'

There wouldn't be, but they'll be out there,' said Paula as she dug her fork into a cream pastry. This is super.' She glanced round the long room where wooden-topped tables were carefully arranged, at the hygienic counter they had visited for their cakes. 'I think this is where the Zurich grandes dames meet each other to natter about the latest gossip. Bet there's plenty of that if they have bankers for husbands.'

'Why should they be bankers' wives?' Newman asked.

'Just look at them. Dripping with pearls, three or four solid gold bangles round their wrists. Dripping with wealth.' She looked at Tweed. 'What's next on the programme – and why did we register in our own names at the Gotthard?'

To smoke out the enemy,' Tweed said, his expression determined. 'This is the battlefield. When we leave here we'll go to police headquarters, hope to find Beck there. Philip Cardon wants a weapon. Then we'll take a taxi up to that villa in the Dolder area in the hope I can talk to Eve Amberg. That could be interesting…'

Sara Maranoff walked into the Oval Office, closed the door, locked it. She ran a finger over her lips as she tried to assess her boss's mood. Bradford March was twisted sideways in his chair, staring out of the windows, his thick lips pressed together. A black stubble covered his jaw and she didn't like the look of his expression. She took a deep breath as he turned to glare at her.

'Bad news won't wait, Brad. I just took a call from Zurich – whoever it was cleverly insisted on speaking to me. You may be glad about that.'

'More bad news I can do without. Get to it. Norton telling us he hasn't achieved one friggin' thing?'

'Norton is holding on the line, but this call came from a no-name guy. Said he had a couple of items you might not want him to go public with – not how he phrased it but that's what he meant. He's demanding twenty million dollars for them – whatever they may be. Could be a crank…'

She was watching March's reaction closely. The President leaned forward, folded his hairy-backed thick fingers, rested them on the desk. He had a look of thunder and she was careful to keep quiet.

'You traced the number he was calling from?' snapped March.

'Tried to. He wasn't on the line long enough. All they could get was a Zurich call. Is there something I should know, Brad?'

'You should put Norton through now…'

'Norton here, Chief. I've taken personal control of the operation on the spot. I'm in Zurich. I've traced Tweed and company, got the bastard in my sights.'

'Handle that your own way.' March's tone became tough. This is an order. Track down Dyson, Ives and Dillon. Take them out. Got it? No more friggin' around. Just do it…'

He slammed down the phone, stood up and began prowling. Wearing an open-necked shirt which exposed his hairy chest he was also clad in jeans and sneakers – the outfit he wore when mixing with the 'common folk'.

'What about this crank?' Sara pressed. 'We ignore him if he calls again?'

'He calls again, say we'll pay. Ask him where the money is to be deposited. Then call Norton, tell him the location. He's to surround it with an army of concealed and armed men. Tell him to make up a bundle which looks like it contains banknotes as bait. Just do it – and it isn't anything you need to know about.'

Tweed had left Sprungli with Newman and Paula and they were walking up Bahnhofstrasse en route to police headquarters. Despite the brilliant glare of the sun it was bitterly cold and there were few people about. A small crowd stood waiting for a tram.

They heard one rumbling from behind them and had just reached the crowd when the Ski-man brushed close to Tweed. Newman had gripped his Smith amp; Wesson and behind the skier Butler held his Walther concealed in his hand. The Ski-man had white hair projecting from under the back of his cap. Tweed laid a restraining hand on Newman's arm.

'It's all right

'Tweed' – the Ski-man spoke rapidly in an American accent – 'one thing I forgot. My office safe at Langley was raided – they have photos of yourself and Paula…'

He leapt aboard the tram just as the automatic doors were closing. Newman and Paula stared at Tweed.

That was Cord Dillon,' he told them. 'Wearing a white wig. Well disguised. And now we know the worst. Paula and I are recognizable to the opposition. Bob, stay close to Paula.'

'And I'm staying close to you,' Butler told him. 'I was expecting Dillon to produce a knife. If he had done he'd have got a bullet through the spine.'

'Don't think badly of him. He's on his own and running. He just did us a big favour. Now for Beck and then Eve Amberg…'

Amberg's estranged wife lived in a large old grey villa perched high up above the city. As they'd climbed higher and higher a panoramic view of Lake Zurich and the city had appeared below. The three-storey villa stood back from the road behind tall railings rising up from a low stone wall. A short distance behind their taxi a black Mercedes slowed, parked by the kerb.

Behind the wheel, Butler, who had hired the car, looked at Nield seated alongside him. He checked his rear-view mirror again.

'No sign of a tail, Pete. So I suppose we just wait.'

'Someone in the BMW parked in front of the villa. A girl, I think. Tweed and Co. are approaching her…'

After paying off the cab driver, Tweed, with Paula and Newman, was approaching the wrought-iron gates when Tweed stared at the BMW. He paused, spoke half under his breath.

'I don't believe it. I think a word with her would be a good idea before we go barging in.'

The girl sitting in the front passenger seat by herself wore a pale blue woollen helmet but it didn't conceal the wave of golden hair failing to her shoulders. She wore sun-glasses and turned as Tweed bent down to speak to her. Paula was stunned. It was Jennie Blade, last seen in Padstow.

'You're a long way from Cornwall,' Tweed greeted her genially. 'You flew to Zurich?'

'Bloody hell, no. Look, it's freezing out there. Bob, come and sit beside me. Tweed, you and Paula climb in the back. It's warm as toast in here. Then we can talk.'

She flashed Newman a warm smile as he settled in the front passenger seat. She had the heaters going full blast and the warmth hit them. Jennie twisted round to talk to Tweed.

'We sailed here in the flaming Mayflower. Across the North Sea, up the Rhine and berthed at Basle. Then by train to here. I was thrown all over the place during the sea crossing. His lordship is mad keen on sailing.'

'His lordship? Gaunt, you mean?' Tweed queried. 'Where is he now?'

'At this moment? He's inside that villa. Enjoying himself.' She gazed fixedly at Tweed. 'Could you and I meet for a drink this evening? I'll tell you the story of my life.' She grinned wickedly. 'You'll find it a rather lurid tale.'

'Certainly,' Tweed agreed promptly. 'Six o'clock at the Hummer Bar in the Gotthard? You'll find the main entrance in Bahnhofstrasse a stone's throw from the Bahnhofplatz.'

'I'll look forward to that.'

'What did you mean when you said Gaunt was enjoying himself inside that villa?'

'Oh, didn't you know? Eve Amberg is one of his girl friends.'