The Power

26

Norton checked his changing appearance in the bathroom mirror before he left the apartment. After the second application of the colourant his hair was starting to look very grey. The half-moon glasses perched on his nose gave him a professorial look. He carried a large file full of business statistics which he had no interest in.

Checking his watch, he left the apartment to arrive in good time at the Baur-en-Ville before Louis Sheen turned up. The cab he flagged down swiftly transported him to Parade-platz. A short walk across Bahnhofstrasse and he was inside the Baur-en-Ville.

He entered the hotel, made certain arrangements with a messenger boy, then sat in a chair where he could see reception. The boy stood a distance away and watched Norton. It was precisely 5.30p.m. when Louis Sheen walked in with the brown suitcase attached to his left wrist with a handcuff chain.

Norton was ice cold as he watched over the top of his file. The reception area was crowded with soberly dressed Swiss men greeting each other. Norton knew they were bankers. He had phoned the hotel earlier, pretending to ask for a room.

'I'm sorry, sir,' the girl had told him. 'We have no rooms at all available. There's a convention of bankers from all over Switzerland

Sheen went up to the reception counter, perched on it the suitcase to rest his hand. His voice was loud and overbearing when a receptionist turned to him.

'Louis Sheen, Philadelphia. I have a room reserved for several nights.'

'Certainly, sir.' The receptionist checked his records. 'Did you say Sheen, sir? I fear there is no reservation.'

Norton put down the file in his lap. It was the signal the generously tipped messenger boy had been waiting for.

Norton also noticed a man in a Swiss suit who wandered in within thirty seconds of Sheen's arrival. He stared as the man checked his watch, picked up a magazine, remained standing. It appeared he was waiting for someone – but he hadn't glanced round the reception area. Norton pursed his lips. Sheen had been followed from the airport.

'Now look here,' Sheen continued at the top of his voice, 'Louis Sheen, Philadelphia. I phoned the booking-'

He broke off as someone touched his right arm. Glancing down he saw a uniformed messenger boy.

'Mr Sheen?'the boy asked.

'Maybe. Why?'

'I have a message for him. Are you Mr Sheen?'

'I am. Give it to me…'

He turned away from the counter, ripped open the envelope. A white sheet of paper without a printed address at the top was inside. The message was brief.

Take a cab at once to the address given below. Walk out now and get a cab. Lincoln Memorial.

Underneath the address the message was signed with a flourishing 'N'. Sheen had been warned this was how Norton always signed his instructions. He resisted the temptation to look around at the people assembled in the reception area.

Norton waited as Sheen left the hotel entrance leading to a side street. The man in the Swiss suit strolled after Sheen. Something would have to be done about him, Norton decided. He left by the same entrance in time to see the Swiss climb in behind the wheel of a BMW. His own limo, ordered in advance, was parked by the kerb. He climbed in the back as Sheen entered a cab.

That cab is the target,' he ordered the driver, one of Mencken's subordinates. 'Don't lose it. Just don't make it obvious we are following it – we have company. The white BMW. It will follow our target. You follow the BMW. One more thing you will not do. Just listen. Do not look at me in your rear-view mirror. See me and you're dead. Now, for Chrissakes, get moving…'

Jennie's golden hair glowed in the subdued lighting of the Hummer Bar. She sat on a bar stool and Tweed had to admit to himself she looked stunning.

She wore a deep purple suit, the jacket open to reveal a low-cut white blouse. Round her neck was a string of pearls which disappeared in the dip between her breasts. On the stool beside her lay a folded pale lilac coat.

She swung round off her stool to greet him. Her short skirt exposed her long legs. She kissed him on the cheek and a faint waft of perfume drifted in the air.

'I hope I haven't kept you waiting,' Tweed remarked as they hoisted themselves on to the stools.

'Not for one second. I like a man who is prompt. And I arrived early. You look very fresh and eager.' Her blue eyes were animated and she was giving him her full attention.

'I don't feel all that fresh,' Tweed confessed. 'I've been on the go all day.'

'Time to relax then.' She squeezed his arm. 'Sorry I didn't make it last night. But from my point of view that gave me this evening to look forward to.'

She was openly flirting. Tweed decided to hit her hard when the time came with his first question. He suggested champagne. He rarely drank but he wanted her in a co-operative mood – she might tell him more that way.

'Lovely,' she said. 'My favourite tipple. You'll join me?'

Tweed ordered two glasses of champagne from the waiting barman. Glancing along to the end of the bar he saw Philip Cardon sitting on a stool, nursing a drink as he read a paperback.

Jennie gazed in the same direction as Cardon looked up from his paperback. She waved to him, then shook her golden mane as though to say, 'No good. You were pipped to the post.'

'Cheers!' said Tweed and they clinked glasses.

Jennie drank half the contents of her glass while Tweed downed his in two long gulps. Before leaving Paula he had drunk a lot of water, hoping it would keep him sober. Jennie finished off her drink.

'Another?' Tweed urged. 'You'll join me?'

'Sky's the limit.'

She grinned appreciatively at his using her own words back at her. They consumed most of the refills before Tweed threw the question without warning.

'When did you first know Julius Amberg was coming to stay at Tresillian Manor?'

'But I didn't.' She looked at him, her eyes wide open with innocence. 'Not until we were leaving for the cottage at Five Lanes an hour or so before he arrived.'

'Then why did you think you were leaving at all?'

'The Squire said he had some friends coming he rented the manor to from time to time.'

'Did you ever talk to one of his servants, a girl called Celia Yeo? She was found dead at the foot of High Tor – which is not far from Five Lanes. Someone pushed her over the abyss.'

'How perfectly horrible.' She played with the stem of her empty glass. Tweed, you're some kind of investigator. You know something? I'm beginning to get the idea you're investigating me.'

'What I am investigating,' Tweed said grimly, 'is a series of murders…'

'You mean those poor people at Tresillian Manor?'

'Within the past twenty-four hours three more people have been murdered here in Zurich – one man and two women,'Tweed said grimly.

'You're frightening, Tweed. How does any of this concern me?'

'Where is Gaunt?' he asked.

'He's on his way to Basle…'

'By plane?'

'No, he's driving the hired BMW there…'

'Why is he going to Basle?' Tweed demanded.

'On some sort of business. How the hell would I know? I don't know anything about his affairs.'

'Don't get worked up,' he said quietly.

'Why the bloody hell shouldn't I?' Jennie blazed. 'I'm being interrogated like a suspect.'

'It's Gaunt I'm interested in, not you,' he said mildly. 'How long have you known him? Now don't jump down my throat. I am trying to find out why those poor people were brutally massacred.'

'I've known Squire Gaunt just over two weeks. Really, I think I should go.'

'Stay a little longer – help me to find out who is behind these hideous murders…'

Louis Sheen was startled to find after he had shown the cab driver the address on the sheet of paper that they were driving back along the route to the airport. The BMW with the Swiss driver followed them carefully, keeping one vehicle between himself and the cab. Behind him Norton's driver adopted the same tactic.

Within ten minutes the cab turned off the main road and pulled up outside a modern apartment block. Sheen paid him, climbed out carefully, manoeuvring the suitcase clamped to his wrist. Norton watched him go inside the building, then gave his driver fresh instructions.

'There's a phone box a few hundred yards beyond where we are now. I have to make a call. Drop me outside it, then wait for me. Keep your eyes staring ahead…'

Norton had seen the BMW park out of sight behind a big truck which stood stationary. He realized that from this point the Swiss could keep the exit to the apartment block under surveillance. As his own car stopped he jumped out, ran to the phone box, inserted coins, dialled the Baur-en-Ville, asked for Marvin Mencken.

'Yes, who is this?' Mencken's distinctive drawl asked.

'It's me. I arranged for you to check on a competitor.'

He was referring to Tweed, but was careful not to mention him by name.

'We know his exact whereabouts now,' Mencken snapped.

'And?'

'Well, it is all arranged,' Mencken said irritably.

'You pick him up and escort him to the meeting?'

The word escort meant exterminate.

'We're all set up for when he pokes his nose into the side-street. Don't worry any more about the competition. He'll co-operate. End of problem.'

'Make damned sure it is. The end…'

Norton slammed down the phone, went back to his car. It was all beginning to come together. Amberg had flown to Basle – so the film and the tape must have been transferred to the Zurcher Kredit Bank branch in that city.

He would fly that evening aboard flight SR 980, departing Zurich 7.15p.m., arriving Basle 7.45p.m. Sheen would find the message waiting for him in the apartment with the air ticket to board the same flight, to take a cab on arrival at Basle Airport to the Hotel Drei Konige. Norton, under a different name, would be staying at the same hotel.

Earlier he had given Mencken instructions over the phone to lead a team of men who would also fly to Basle. They would stay at the Hilton. While he waited for Sheen to emerge another cab had already drawn up outside the apartment block. Norton glanced at the parked BMW. He had no doubt the Swiss inside it would follow Sheen to Basle. There Norton himself would personally take care of the nuisance.

Yes, everything was coming together. And within the hour Tweed, who was proving to be a potential menace, would be dead. Norton felt the adrenalin surging inside him at the prospect of final action.

'Have you ever met Eve Amberg?' asked Tweed, casting about for a significant link between Cornwall and Zurich.

'I'm pretty sure I saw that woman in Padstow,' Jennie recalled as she sipped her third glass of champagne.

'I wasn't aware you knew her. If I'm right how would you recognize her?' Tweed queried.

'When Gaunt was leaving her villa the other day – not the day when you came up to me in the BMW – I saw her very clearly saying goodbye to Gaunt at the front gate.'

'But surely that was after you'd seen her in Padstow?'

'That's right. I have a photographic memory for faces.'

'So when did you see Eve Amberg in Padstow? I suppose you couldn't recall the exact day?'

'The day her husband arrived at Tresillian Manor just before the massacre. I was with Gaunt, having a quick drink at the Old Custom House early in the day. He went outside to look at his wretched boat – I followed him after finishing my drink. I saw Eve when she was hurrying away from South Quay.'

'And you're positive it was Eve Amberg?' Tweed pressed.

'I'm damned sure it was that woman. Damned sure.'

Tweed wondered why he thought she could be lying. Was it the double reference to 'that woman'? Also, if true, what she had said placed Jennie in Padstow at the time.

'I must go now,' she said. To a party.' She had checked her watch. 'It's been lovely talking to you. Do let's do it again…'

He helped her on with the lilac coat but she said she'd carry her scarf which had lain underneath the coat. As they moved towards the door Cardon was already opening it, disappearing outside. Tweed opened the door, let Jennie go out first. She dropped her scarf as he joined her and the ice-cold atmosphere of night hit them.

A cream Mercedes parked at the top of the street began to move towards them. The rear window was open. From inside the barrel of a gun projected. Cardon, standing against the wall, cannoned into Tweed. As he was falling to the ground Tweed deliberately collided against Jennie, who was still crouched low to retrieve her scarf. A hail of bullets thudded against the wail, sending chips of masonry flying in all directions.

Cardon, holding his Walther in both hands, fired three shots. More shots were fired by Butler and Nield who stood on either side of the street. The Mercedes sped off, weaving from side to side, reached an intersection, disappeared. Unhurt, Tweed helped Jennie to her feet. She was shivering and shaking, but also unhurt. She looked at Tweed.

'What happened, for God's sake?'

'Someone tried to kill me. Are you all right?'

'I'm OK.'

'Still want to go to your party?'

She was brushing grit off her coat. She opened it to check her suit, closed and re-buttoned it.

'Yes,' she decided. 'I'll recover faster at a party.'

'You're coming with us,' Cardon intervened.

He grasped her firmly by the arm. His expression was grim. Tweed spoke as he tightened his grip when she tried to free herself.

'Let her go, Philip,' he ordered. 'Here's a cab. Flag it down for Jennie…'

'She signalled to that car that you were coming out,' raged Cardon as the cab drove off. 'She dropped her scarf and that car started moving.'

'Possibly,' Tweed agreed. He looked at Butler and Nield who had joined them. 'Jennie may be a very skilful liar. May be,' he emphasized. 'Back to the Schweizerhof.'

'A brief council of war, everyone,' Tweed announced.

He had summoned Paula and Newman to his room. Cardon, Butler and Nield had come up with him. Cardon had tersely told Newman and Paula what had happened.

'Let's not dwell on it,' Tweed said briskly. 'They missed. Thanks to Philip, Harry and Pete I'm still very much alive. We are leaving for Basle first thing tomorrow. The key to everything, I'm now convinced, lies in the mysterious film and the tape Dyson left at the Zurcher Kredit. Those items are now in the vault of the Basle branch. Amberg is in Basle. I want to see him again. It's time we watched that film, listened to the tape.'

'Hadn't you better report that assassination attempt to Beck?' Paula suggested. 'He's going to get very annoyed if we don't tell him something else.'

Tweed phoned police headquarters. He was put straight through to Beck who worked all hours. Briefly Tweed explained, leaving out any reference to Jennie Blade.

'A patrol car has already found your cream Mercedes,' Beck informed him. 'Abandoned near the Quai-Brucke down by the lake. The bullet holes in the windscreen and windows attracted their attention. There was blood on the rear seat. Do you have to take such risks?'

'Zurich seems to be the battlefield. So perhaps you'll be relieved to hear I'm flying to Basle tomorrow.'

'There will be plain-clothes men watching you all the time. Good night. Stay in your hotel until you're leaving…'

Tweed put down the phone. He looked at Newman.

'Bob, I doubt if that girl at the Zurcher Kredit you seem to get on with is still there, but try. I'd like to be quite sure Amberg is still in Basle…'

Newman dialled the number of the Zurcher Kredit. The same girl answered immediately. The Swiss worked late.

'Bob Newman here again. Sorry to keep bothering you.'

'That's all right. I'm catching up on finding things out. I am new here, after all.'

'I wanted to double-check that Mr Amberg is still in Basle. In case I have to call him in the morning at an early hour.'

'Yes, he's definitely there. Will be for a few days. And someone else wanted to know – besides the man with the growly voice who phoned earlier. This time before I told the new caller I asked for a name and looked at the client file. He is a client of the bank. I think he wanted to see Mr Amberg urgently.'

'Could you possibly give me that name?' Newman coaxed.

'I suppose I shouldn't, but you're always so polite, unlike a lot of the clients.'

'So the name was?'

'Joel Dyson.'