The Power

18

Tweed hauled on the long chain bell-pull inside the massive porch of the villa. Turning round, he waved to Jennie Blade, who waved back. Newman stared at the door.

'Is this a good time to call?' Paula asked. What on earth are Gaunt and Jennie of all people doing in Zurich?'

'That's what I hope to find out…

He broke off as the massive door was unlocked, unchained and swung inward by a maidservant in uniform. A Swiss girl, Paula thought when she heard her speak in English.

'Is Madame expecting you?' She studied the card Tweed had given her. 'You are an insurance salesman?'

'Hardly. I'm Chief Claims Investigator. Just take the card to your mistress and tell her we've travelled here all the way from Cornwall to see her.'

'I suppose she has to get dressed quickly,' Paula said in a low voice.

'Not necessarily,' Tweed replied.

In less than a minute the door was opened again, the maid informed them that Madame would see them now. The hall was very large and something about the atmosphere repelled Paula. The old woodblock floor was highly polished and a large over-ornate grandfather clock against one wall ticked ponderously. Leading them to the rear of the hall, the maid opened a door, stood aside. Tweed, sensing Paula's reluctance, marched straight into a vast living room with windows overlooking a neglected back garden which was a tangle of undergrowth and stunted evergreens.

'Mr Tweed? I believe you have met Mr Gaunt. I don't know about your friends…

'They all know me. Naturally,' boomed Gaunt. 'We've had drinks together in the local pub. Right, Tweed? You following me around? Want to know what I'm up to, I expect. Eh? Let me introduce you all. This is Madame Eve Amberg, wife of the late lamented Julius Amberg.'

'Not all that lamented, Mr Tweed. Do sit down, all of you. Gregory is just leaving.'

Eve Amberg was an attractive woman in her mid-thirties. She had long titian hair and looked as though she had just returned from an expensive hairdresser. She had greenish eyes, strong features, a full mouth and a shapely chin. Her complexion had the marble-like glow Paula knew came from careful and lengthy make-up. She wore a bolero jacket over a green dress which emphasized her shapely figure. Her long legs were crossed elegantly. She had an aura of a strong personality and her voice was soft and appealing.

She patted the empty seat beside her on a couch inviting Tweed to sit next to her. The vacant cushion showed no sign of recent occupation. Gaunt was standing under an elaborate chandelier, clad in a houndstooth jacket and cavalry twill trousers with a blue silk cravat under his jaw. Very much the country gent, Paula thought.

'Eve, I really must go. I regret the reason for coming to see you.' He looked at Tweed before leaving. 'I now leave you to the tender mercies of Eve. Survive her charms if you can…'

Newman, seated next to Paula on another large couch, detected a note of irony in the remark. Eve chuckled good-humouredly, called out to him as he reached the door.

'You really are a horrible man, Gregory – leaving my new guests with the impression that I'm a monster.'

'But she is, she is,' Gaunt shot over his shoulder and closed the door behind him.

'I gather, Mrs Amberg, that you have heard the tragic news about your husband,' Tweed began. 'I was actually at Tresillian Manor shortly after the massacre had taken place.'

'Don't think I am a monster, Mr Tweed.' Eve stretched out a bare arm below her short-sleeved dress along the couch behind him. 'Julius and I had parted company for good before he left for England. But the manner in which he died has shocked me. I can tell you that – the Squire has a tendency to despise women who can't stand up to a shock.'

'You are thinking of going back to England?' Tweed asked.

'Not bloody likely.' She reached for a cigarette out of a pearl-encrusted box, lit it with a gold lighter. 'Not yet. During the final blazing row Julius let slip he was expecting to make a fortune within days. Think I'm mercenary if you like, but I'm entitled to something after enduring his way of life for two years.'

'His way of life?' Tweed probed.

'Some bankers have their girl friends in other cities – are discreet. Not Julius. He visited a high-class call-girl on his doorstep. She has an apartment in Rennweg – in the middle of Zurich, for God's sake.'

'You know her name?'

'Yes. I had him followed by a detective. Helen Frey is her name. Rennweg 590. An apartment on the first floor. A bit too close for comfort. My comfort.' Her expression clouded over. 'I still think it's beastly the way he died. Damned weird, too.'

'Have you any idea where this fortune he spoke of was coming from?'

'No real idea at all. He speculated successfully on a large scale buying and selling foreign currencies. It might be that – although I gathered it was some new and unique deal. God knows how the bank will fare under the guidance of Walter.'

'He wasn't as competent as Julius?' Tweed ventured.

'I can never make him out. He's devious, gives the impression he's just chairman to preside over meetings. Sometimes I wonder about Walter.' Her arm touched Tweed's neck, her voice very soft. 'Did Julius suffer before he died? Gaunt gave a perfectly horrific description, but he's not known for his subtlety; He thinks finesse is a French pastry. Do smoke if you want to, Mr Newman. I saw your hand reaching towards your pocket. May I call you Bob?'

'Please do.'

Paula had taken an instant dislike to Eve Amberg at first sight. Now she was changing her mind about her: she was only human after all, had shown genuine distress at the manner of her husband's death. Newman reached down for a crystal glass ashtray on the lower shelf of a small table.

Inside it was a crushed cigar stub. Gaunt must have spent some time with Eve to have smoked a whole cigar. Which reminded him of the cigar ash sample which Paula and Tweed had left at police headquarters for analysis – the sample Tweed had collected off the window-ledge in the no-name house at Rock in Cornwall. Eve jumped up, brought him another ashtray.

'That one is messy.'

She returned to her place on the couch beside Tweed. She was smoking her own cigarette in a long ivory holder and waved it to make a point. Her other hand clasped Tweed's and squeezed it.

'It really was very sweet of you to come here to tell me about Julius's tragic death. It just happened Gregory Gaunt got here first. I'm grateful to you. Now I am wondering whether po-faced Walter knows. Hardly ever see him but I'll have to call him.'

'I've saved you the trouble,' Tweed informed her. 'We visited him at the Zurcher Kredit…'

'Ah! And rather than come to see me himself he agreed you should perform the horrid task. Typical of him. But Walter and I are practically strangers.'

You catch on quick, Paula thought. You have got all your marbles. Julius was a fool to play around with other women. They chatted for a little longer, then Tweed said they must go. Eve accompanied them to the door, her arm looped through Newman's.

'Please do come and see me again before you leave Zurich. Promise.' She looked at Paula. 'That invitation does include you, Paula. I'm sorry that I haven't paid you the attention a perfect hostess should have done.'

'Think nothing of it,' Paula assured her. This really is the most difficult time for you.'

The maid said you came by taxi,' Eve recalled suddenly. There aren't any as high up as this. I'll phone for one. Be here in no time

…'

As the taxi was driving them away from the villa Tweed glanced back through the rear window. The BMW was still parked further up the hill and there were two people inside. He had told the cab driver to drop them on the Limmat quay, close to the Rudolf bridge.

The sun was still shining out of a clear blue sky as he led the way across the Rudolf-Brun-Brucke. Looking back to the Altstadt – the Old Town on that side of the river – Paula drank in the ancient stone buildings, the green spires of churches which had once been gleaming copper. Butler's black Mercedes was just turning on to the bridge.

'We're going first to police headquarters again,' Tweed told them. 'Let's hope Beck is in this time.'

'Talk of the devil,' Paula said a? they turned right up a steep incline. 'There is Philip – staring at police headquarters.'

'You must be psychic,' Tweed told Cardon as he joined them. 'Where have you been?'

'Exploring Zurich, sniffing the atmosphere. You might be interested that the city is crawling with Americans who appear to be drifting round to no purpose. I stress the word "appear". All of them men and all carrying handguns. In this weather in a tight overcoat – topcoat as they call it – a holster is a giveaway.'

'Significant,' Tweed commented, and left it at that.

Arthur Beck, whose Federal HQ was in Berne, had an office in the solid four-storey building which is Zurich Police HQ. His large first-floor room overlooked the Limmat and the university perched high up on the opposite bank. He greeted Tweed and his three companions gravely and smiled briefly at Newman.

Paula sensed Beck's change of mood as he squeezed her arm, escorted her to a chair at a table. Cardon sat beside her. Newman and Tweed were seated as Beck took his place at the head of the table. The atmosphere was tense. Beck unlocked a drawer, took out a certificate signed by himself, a Walther with ammo, pushed everything across to Cardon including a hip holster.

'I fear you are all in great danger,' Beck began. 'And I have to warn you I cannot guarantee your protection. You have been followed by armed men since you left the Gotthard this morning. Your unknown adversary appears to be employing American gunmen – many dressed in Swiss clothes. They work in teams which alternate frequently. Only a very smart detective observed that you were followed again when you left the Zurcher Kredit Bank. I was informed because my people carry walkie-talkies. I took action.'

'What was that?' Tweed asked quietly.

'When you took a taxi to somewhere across the Limmat a car attempted to tail you. One of my patrol cars blocked this car. You had disappeared by the time the car was free to proceed.'

'Thank you for that,' Tweed said.

'Even so, I cannot guarantee your protection,' Beck repeated. 'The situation is exceptional.'

'Exceptional in what way?' Tweed enquired. Lord, he thought, are we back to square one? Is it possible that this huge organization we are up against can reach out and taint the Chief of Swiss Federal Police? Beck's next words in response to his question told him how wrong he had been to doubt the Swiss.

'No fewer than forty more Americans – all carrying diplomatic passports – have arrived via Kloten. I do not have the manpower to track them – bearing in mind those who arrived earlier.'

'If they are carrying guns…' Paula began.

'I understand your thinking. But they have diplomatic immunity. We cannot arrest or search any of them. It is against international law.'

'You are powerless,'Tweed commented.

There is a further difficulty. Last night in Munich an American diplomat was shot down, murdered. A woman got in the way of the assassin who shouted and threatened her with his gun. She reported that the killer spoke with a strong American accent before he escaped. So for the moment all American so-called diplomats in Europe have an added excuse for carrying a gun.'

'You're suggesting the Munich diplomat was murdered to provide this excuse?' Newman asked.

'I think these are very ruthless people we are dealing with. Yes, that is what I was suggesting. It conjures up nightmares, does it not?'

There was a heavy silence after Beck's words. Paula sat stunned. Newman looked thoughtful. Cardon, after checking the Walther, slid it inside the hip holster he had strapped on. He looked at Tweed and grinned, quite at ease with the situation.

'This calls for a Swiss protest to Washington,' Tweed said eventually. 'All these pseudo-diplomats flooding in.'

'Which is exactly what I have done,' Beck said in a very different tone. 'You think I remain passive regarding this invasion of our territory? I have already phoned Anderson, the American ambassador in Berne. You would like to guess what he said to me?'

'No. What did he say?'

'The same old phoney story as when I contacted him last time. The March administration is recalling diplomats from all over Europe. These men are supposed to be the replacements. Anderson, a friend of mine, sounded most embarrassed. He has already protested to Washington.'

'So that road is closed. But it tells me something.'

'But I am a fox.' Beck smiled at Paula. Today I fly to Berne to confront Anderson with evidence. I shall be taking with me one of the new arrivals' so-called diplomatic passports. My experts tell me it is forged.'

'I'd better not ask you how you got hold of the passport,' Tweed remarked.

'Oh, he dropped it in the street after leaving the Hotel Baur-en-Ville. By chance one of my men picked it up when the owner had disappeared.'

Newman grinned and Tweed smiled. They had guessed that Beck's man who was there 'by chance' had picked the American's pocket. Yes, Beck was a fox, Tweed said to himself. He stood up to leave.

'Sit down for a moment more,' Beck urged. 'Since that episode I had a call from another visitor at the Baur-en-Ville – an individual I suspect could be the leader of the new contingent. A Mr Marvin Mencken.'

'And what did this Mencken want?' Tweed asked.

To report the loss of the diplomatic passport. He said his assistant had had his pocket picked, that I should know which petty thieves patronized Bahnhofstrasse and would I trace the criminal and return the passport within the next twenty-four hours. A very unpleasant man, this Mencken. One of my men, disguised as a street photographer, tried to take his picture and he smashed the camera.' He paused. 'The photo is a good one.'

'But you said the camera was smashed,' Paula reminded him.

'I said just that. But the first man in civilian clothes was a decoy. While his camera was being smashed a backup man took another picture. You might like copies…

Opening a drawer, Beck took out an envelope and extracted four glossy prints. Paula studied her copy. The slim man's face came out clearly, a foxy face twisted into an expression of cold fury.

'A savage-looking brute,' she commented.

'Not the sort of chap you'd invite to your London club,' Newman remarked ironically.

'Keep those pictures,' Beck advised as his guests prepared to leave. They might save your lives…'

'Who is it?' Norton answered the phone in his usual abrasive tone.

'Marvin here…'

'Get to it, Mencken. Any news? There should be by now, for Christ's sake.'

'It's Tweed. He's just returned from a visit to Amberg's wife, Eve. I had the news ten minutes ago…'

'Why the hell didn't you report earlier, then? Tweed? I want him taken out – before he reaches Dyson, Dillon or Ives. Especially Ives

…'

Tweed's at Zurich police headquarters now…'

'Then organize it. I want him carried away in a box before tonight. Just do it…'

Outside police HQ a black Mercedes was parked. Butler sat behind the wheel. A short distance away Pete Nield stood, taking a great interest in the River Limmat.

'Our next port of call is Helen Prey's apartment at Rennweg 590,' Tweed told Paula and Newman. 'It's only a short distance on foot.'

'Our next port of call is lunch,' Paula said firmly. 'My stomach is rumbling.'

Tweed agreed reluctantly. He seemed to be able to go for hours without food once he'd picked up a scent. Newman said he was starving too.

'The Baur-en-Ville is close,' Tweed said. 'We'll get a quick meal there.'

'I'll trail along behind you,' remarked Cardon, who had heard every word.

'Then first go over and tell Butler to take Nield back to the Gotthard for something to eat…'

The Baur-en-Ville's lunch bar is entered by climbing curved steps just off Bahnhofstrasse. Newman led the way as the automatic doors slid back. He scanned the few customers as he walked inside. The bar is a split-level room with a curved bar on the ground level. At the back steps lead up to the second tier which is separated from the lower level by a low wooden wall topped with a gleaming brass rail.

Newman walked up the steps, chose one of the blue leather banquettes with its back to the wall. Illumination came from lights recessed in the ceiling. Paula thought the atmosphere was luxurious and welcoming. While she sat with Tweed on the banquette Newman went back down to the bar for a pack of cigarettes.

Tweed was studying the menu when Paula nudged him. He looked up.

'That man who has just come in from the hotel entrance and stopped at the bar. The tone of this place has dropped to zero.'

At that moment, Mencken, standing at the bar, glanced up at the second tier. His cadaverous face froze for a second in an expression of vicious hardness, his foxy eyes bored into Paula's. She slowly switched her gaze as though interested in the other customers. Tweed noted the soulless blank eyes as he also looked round the bar.

Seated at a small table by the door, Cardon's right hand had slid inside his windcheater, was gripping the butt of his Walther. Mencken appeared to change his mind and walked rapidly back into the hotel. He had not noticed Newman.

Later, Tweed ate his club sandwich of smoked turkey, egg and bacon with great gusto. His manner was buoyant.

'It's starting – what I hoped for. The enemy is crawling out from under the rocks. Remember Cord Dillon warned us photos of myself and you, Paula, had been taken from his safe in Langley? That walking skeleton recognized us,' he said with great satisfaction.

'What a perfectly horrible thug,' Paula commented. 'And while I remember it, why are we visiting Helen Frey? I've always wanted to see a call-girl's apartment, particularly a high-class one. It will add to my experience.'

'Helen Frey may have vital information,' Tweed explained. 'During one of his visits Julius Amberg may have indulged in pillow talk…'

Only one person noticed something unusual as they entered Bahnhofstrasse. Philip Cardon, strolling well back from them, observed a cripple in a battery-operated wheelchair emerge from an alley-way. The wheelchair kept pace behind Tweed and his companions.