The Power

28

Basle – where Switzerland meets France and Germany. The moment Tweed alighted from the express he found a phone box, called Beck in Zurich. To his surprise they told him Beck was already in Basle. He phoned police headquarters in that city.

'Beck speaking…'

'More bad trouble I'm afraid, Arthur. Aboard the express from Zurich…'

Tersely he told Beck what had happened, that the bodies were inside the lavatory of the fourth coach from the rear, that the express was scheduled to wait twenty minutes before proceeding north into Germany.

'Hold on,' Beck interjected.

He returned to the phone three minutes later. His tone was crisp, calm.

'Patrol cars and an ambulance are already on the way to the Bahnhof. I phoned the station superintendent. That express won't leave until they've done their job. Which hotel are you staying at?'

'Drei Konige. I'm speaking from the station…'

'Go straight to your hotel. Do not leave it under any circumstances until I get there, which may not be for some time. The killers have tracked you. Once again. Drastic action must be taken. Stay in your hotel…'

Tweed arrived at the Drei Konige with Paula and Newman. As planned, Butler, Nield and Cardon would come later one by one, as though they didn't know each other. The concierge greeted Tweed warmly.

'So good to have you back with us, Mr Tweed,' he said in his perfect English. 'We have three nice rooms for you, all overlooking the Rhine…'

As Tweed registered, a man wearing a Swiss business suit with half-moon glasses perched on his nose sat in the large lounge area adjoining reception. He was reading a local newspaper, his eyes hooded with disbelief as he saw Tweed enter. His grey hair was shaggy and he raised the paper a little higher to conceal his presence. Norton was recovering from the shock of seeing Tweed still alive.

Paula went along to Tweed's room. She had showered and changed into her blue suit in fifteen minutes. Tweed opened the door a few inches, then swung it open wide and ushered her inside with a sweeping gesture. He immediately relocked the door. Paula looked round the double room.

'What a super room. Mine's like this. And it has a magnificent view of the Rhine.'

She ran to the window. It was a brilliantly sunny day and very cold. The hotel was perched on the very edge of the Rhine which was about a hundred yards wide even as high upriver as Basle. On the far bank a number of ancient houses with steep pointed roofs lined the river.

'Look,' she called out, 'a barge train.'

Tweed joined her and they watched a stubby tug hauling downriver a string of huge barges. They were container craft and the German flag flew from each stern.

'I've got the same view,' she enthused. 'Oh, dear, I suppose I shouldn't feel so buoyant after the horror on the express. That poor conductor…'

'He was dead before we knew anything was happening.' Tweed put his arm round her. 'So we couldn't have saved him. Now we go after the people responsible for the atrocity. But first, interested in lunch?'

'Ravenous.'

To reach the lift they moved along a railed walk which surrounded a well looking down on to the floor below. Not a very high rail, Paula observed. Newman arrived from his room as they entered the lift and squeezed inside with them; Stepping out into the lobby the first person they saw was Eve Amberg.

'It's a small world, to coin a cliche,' Eve greeted them. 'My, it's cold outside.'

'I love it,' Newman said cheerfully. 'I can work and think better in this weather.'

'Bully for you.' Eve turned her attention to Tweed after nodding to Paula. 'I'm just going in to lunch.' She smiled at him warmly.

'By yourself?' Tweed enquired.

'As it happens, yes.'

'Why not join me for lunch, then?'

'How nice of you.' She glanced at Paula and Newman. 'But you have your friends.'

'Oh, that's all right,' Paula said quickly. 'Bob and I have something to work out. Do it better on our own.'

Eve was again looking as smart as paint, reminding Paula of their first meeting, as opposed to when she had caught Eve leaving the villa on a shopping trip. She wore a soft green tailored jacket, a mini skirt and a cream blouse with a high neckline. Must have cost a bomb, that outfit, Paula estimated.

As they followed Tweed and Eve towards the dining room Paula looked round the large lounge area. Out of the corner of her eye she'd seen someone sitting there when they arrived. The grey-haired man had gone.

They entered the dining room – oblong with windows to their right giving a view across a canopied platform extending over the Rhine. Tweed pointed towards it as a waiter showed them to a window table.

'That's what they call the Ry-Deck. In summer you eat out there and it's like being aboard an ocean liner.'

'I know,' Eve agreed. 'Julius brought me here when he was visiting Basle.' She sat down. 'What a coincidence -the two of us arriving at the same time at the same hotel.'

'Not really, if you are visiting Basle. This is the most prestigious hotel, as I'm sure you know. Goes back ages and the food and service are excellent.'

Like the entrance hall and the lounge area, the walls were covered with old panelling and the comfortable atmosphere suggested somewhere which had existed for ever.

'There are buildings just along here by the river which have amazing dates of origin,' Tweed remarked as he studied the menu. 'Incidentally, why are you in Basle, if I may ask?'

'You may,' she teased him, squeezing his hand. 'I came to have a serious talk with Walter, to pin him down – about money, of course. My money. I phoned the bank and the pest has flown to France.'

'Really?' Tweed concealed his anxiety. 'Any idea where in France?'

'Oh, I can tell you exactly. Walter owns a place up in the Vosges mountains. Very remote. The Chateau Noir. Easiest way to get there is to take the train to Colmar, a picturesque town only half an hour from Basle Bahnhof. Then you hire a car to drive you up into the mountains. I'm going to catch him up if I have to follow him all over Europe.'

'Would you like a drink? Wine? White, then how about Sancerre?'

'Love it.'

'Would you excuse me for a few minutes?' Tweed asked when the wine had arrived. 'I have to phone London -should have done it before I came down to lunch…'

He left Eve sipping her wine appreciatively. Newman and Paula sat together at a table some distance away.

Seated alone at a table which gave a view of the whole room was Harry Butler. At two other tables, also by themselves, sat Pete Nield and Philip Cardon.

In his room Tweed checked the number of the Zurcher Kredit in the directory, dialled the number. A woman with a severe voice answered his call.

'Mr Amberg is away at the moment. No, I have no idea when he will return.'

'I am a client,' Tweed persisted. 'Mr Amberg was going to collect two items which belong to me from the bank vault. Do you know if he did visit the vault…'

'I really have no idea. If you will leave your name…'

Tweed put down the phone, waited a moment, dialled police headquarters, asked for Beck. He explained what he wanted. Beck said he'd contact the Zurcher Kredit and call him back. Five minutes later the phone rang and Beck was on the line again.

'I put pressure on the old dragon who took my call, told her I was investigating three murders which took place on Swiss soil. Amberg did collect something from the vault before he left…'

'For his chateau up in the Vosges behind Colmar,' Tweed interjected.

'Don't go into France,' Beck warned. 'I can try to protect you here but France could be even more dangerous. The train incident has been dealt with. I'll need some more statements.'

'You'll get them before we leave.'

'For France? Don't do it, for God's sake. I'm carrying out a sweep through Basle. They obviously know you're here. Take care…'

Tweed was leaving the room when the phone rang again. He locked the door, ran to answer it, sure it would stop just as he reached it.

'Yes?' he said.

There's someone on the phone for you, Mr Tweed,' the operator told him. 'He won't give a name but says it's very urgent.'

'Put him on.'

'Dillon here. We have to take a decision-'

'Operator!' Tweed interrupted suddenly. 'This is a bad connection. I can't hear the caller…'

He waited. For the hotel operator to answer. For the click which would betray the fact she had been listening in. Nothing.

'Sorry, Dillon. It's all right. Go ahead.'

'Barton is in town. But so is the opposition. Believe me. Barton won't come to see you in Basle.'

'Cord, first give me a description of him. Detailed, if you please. I need to be able to recognize him.'

There was a pause. Tweed was taking no more chances -not after the fake Barton Ives, whom he was convinced had been Norton, had turned up at the Gotthard. Dillon spoke tersely.

'Six feet tall, slim build, wiry, black hair, now has a small black moustache, a small scar over his right eye – where a scumbag caught him with a knife. Speaks very deliberately. Economical in movement. Except in a crisis. Then he moves like a rocket taking off from Cape Canaveral. That enough? It had better be.'

'Enough. Today or tomorrow latest we move to the Hotel Bristol, Colmar, in Alsace. A thirty-minute train ride. He contacts me there. And so do you. In person. I'll meet you both in Colmar – together or separately. I don't give a damn. The alternative? Forget it.'

'Look, Tweed, when you're on the run…'

'By now I know at least as much as you do – maybe more – about being on the run. Time to stop running, to face the swine who don't care what methods they use. Ives must see me in Colmar. So must you. I have to go now…'

Tweed, his mood cold as ice, put down the phone. He had meant it. No more being driven from place to place by the opposition. Time to lay a huge trap for them. Probably in the Vosges mountains.

Tweed apologized to Eve as he rejoined her. She was smoking, waved her ivory cigarette holder.

'Please, say no more. I've been enjoying myself now I'm away from Zurich. Awful thing to say, but I'll always associate that city with Julius. Does that sound too too dreadful?'

Tweed noticed she must have drunk about three glasses of the Sancerre during his absence. Some of these women had heads like rocks. She showed no sign of being even slightly inebriated. He refilled her glass.

'No, it doesn't. If he gave you a bad time. The lines to London were busy. Hence my neglecting you.'

'Nonsense. As regards Julius, all those women. Ah, here is the waiter…'

They both ordered grilled sole. Tweed remembered from a previous visit that sole was particularly good at the Drei Konige. When they were alone again Eve leaned towards him, her greenish eyes holding his.

'You've changed since you made that call. You're like a pulsating dynamo now. Like a man about to do battle. I can sense the change.'

Tweed became aware that he was sitting very erect in his chair, that as he spoke he'd been making vigorous gestures. It was uncanny the way Eve had hit the nail on the head. He felt rejuvenated at the prospect of meeting Barton Ives, a man he was convinced knew a great deal about why the world was exploding about them.

He chatted to Eve about Switzerland in general until the main course arrived. They ate in silence, devouring the excellent fish. He began probing again when they had ordered their dessert. But first he refilled her glass. So far he had consumed one glass of wine and a lot of mineral water.

'How did you get here? By car?'

'Lord, no! The traffic is terrible. I flew from Zurich. It's only a half-hour flight. For some stupid reason I got to the airport at the last minute, boarded the plane and it took off.' She toyed with her half-empty glass. 'Are you still investigating the horrible murder of that woman – what washer name? Helen Frey.'

'I have other fish to fry – pardon the unintended pun. Could there be a link with her murder and the fact that she… knew Julius?'

'Why on earth should there be?'

'Just a thought. When are you leaving for Colmar?'

'Haven't made up my mind.'

'Where is Squire Gaunt at this moment?'

'No idea.' She emptied her glass. 'He comes and goes. I'm not his keeper- if I can put it that way.' She played with his sleeve. 'He's just an acquaintance – if you were thinking some thing else.'

'Never crossed my mind,' Tweed lied.

The orange mousse with Grand Marnier they had chosen was as mouth-watering as their grilled sole. Tweed was puzzled. Eve seemed so poised and interested in him. When she had finished her mousse she carefully wiped her full lips with a tissue and swung round in her chair to face him. Her jacket was open and the movement drew attention to her well-shaped breasts protruding against the white blouse. She plucked at his sleeve again.

'Why don't we have coffee upstairs in my room? It will be quieter there. And I would like to hear how you got on with Julius. He was, after all, my husband.. Please excuse me for a moment. The powder room …'

As she left the restaurant Tweed glanced across at the table where Paula sat with Newman. Paula was watching him with a half-smile, roguish. She beckoned to him, got up to meet him.

'Something fascinating you must see. There's a really weird ferry which keeps crossing the Rhine.' She led him to an end window. 'It's like a gondola. Bob says it's controlled by a wire running from the ferry to a cable which spans the river. There it is…'

In some ways the very small ferry did resemble a gondola. The stern half was roofed over with the for'ard part open to the elements. A strong current was running as it made its slow way across from the opposite bank. The craft was swaying in a brisk breeze and inwardly Tweed winced. His mind flashed back to the ferry from Padstow to Rock, the large powerboat. which had attempted to overturn them, Cardon lobbing his grenade. They watched it until it reached the side.

It carried a single passenger. A large man with his back to them. He wore a deerstalker.

'A curious contraption, that ferry,' Tweed commented.

'Your lady friend awaits,' Paula mocked him.

'I've just had a message that I have to go somewhere,' Tweed explained to Eve as they left the dining-room.

She looked at her watch, glanced at the reception clock.

'My watch is fifteen minutes slow. No wonder I nearly missed my flight at Zurich. There you go. A Swiss watch. It must have been slow for days…' She hesitated. Tweed thought she'd been going to say more, had changed her mind. 'Oh…' she said.

She was staring at the revolving entrance doors. A man in a deerstalker had just entered the lobby from outside.

'Ah! So we meet again,' a familiar voice boomed. 'What about drinks in the bar? My round…'

Squire Gaunt had arrived.

Marvin Mencken, his expression unpleasant – because he had failed again – hurried out of the Hilton Hotel in Basle to call Norton from a phone box in the station. He only had a number – a Basle phone number. Norton never gave him an address, the cunning bastard.

A bitter east wind blew through the large Bahnhof as he found the nearest phone. He took a deep breath, dialled.

'Who is it?' the abrasive voice at the other end demanded.

'Mencken here. The large team which flew with me from Zurich is in place. We've hired transport…'

'And botched up everything on the train. I saw them unloading the useless cargo. You really must get your act together this time,' Norton said in a dangerously soft tone.

'Sure thing…'

There don't seem to be any sure things. Listen. Tweed is at the Drei Konige down by the river. The profile of him says he likes fresh air, taking a walk. So this time you eliminate the competition. Or your head is on the block. Shut up and listen, damn you! This is what you do…'

This conversation, which involved the killing of Tweed, took place while the target was finishing lunch at the Drei Konige.

'Thank you,' Tweed said to Gaunt, 'but we have an urgent appointment.' He looked round at Paula and Newman who came closer, then lowered his voice to speak to Eve. 'I appreciate your invitation to join you for coffee. But seeing the time when you looked at your watch made me realize I was behind schedule. Another time?'

'Yes, please,' Eve said in a whisper. She ran a hand through her hair slowly, her eyes half-closed as she stared at him. 'I get so lonely.'

'I do understand. There is always another time,' Tweed assured her.

Paula and Newman collected their coats from the concierge who then helped Tweed put on his heavy overcoat. As they went outside and Tweed turned right Paula asked her question.

'What appointment? Or was she moving in too close for comfort?'

'An appointment with a walk so I can think. We could be close to discovering something important – even the key to the mystery.'

As they walked uphill and along the deserted street called Blumenrain Tweed told them about his conversation with Cord Dillon. They passed a short side-street which, Newman pointed out, led to the landing point for the strange little ferry shuttling back and forth across the Rhine. Another narrow street of ancient buildings continued on parallel to the river. Totentanz. Tweed stopped briefly in the piercing wind to look at the different dates. 1215.1195.1175.

'One of the oldest cities in Europe,' he commented.

'It's early Middle Ages,' Paula added.

The wind dropped suddenly and it became very silent and still. Paula's mood changed to one of premonition. The narrow street was still deserted – they were the only people walking in the silence.

The ancient stone houses were tall and slim, all joined together to form an endless wall. Each house had a heavy wooden door flush with the wall and she had the feeling no one lived there. The old pavement was very narrow, so narrow they moved in single file.

Tweed, hands deep inside his coat pockets, shoulders hunched against the cold, was in front. Paula followed on his heels while Newman brought up the rear. It was like a city abandoned by the inhabitants who had fled from the plague. Creepy.

The sun had vanished. The sky was a low ceiling of grey clouds which suggested snow. It did nothing to dispel Paula's premonition of imminent doom. Do pull yourself together, she thought. At that moment she heard the car coming ahead of them, the first vehicle they'd seen since starting out on their walk. It's the time of day, she reassured herself – mid-afternoon in March and most people inside offices at work…

Tweed had stopped, put out a hand to grasp her arm as he searched desperately for a protective alcove to thrust her into. Newman had no time to whip out his Smith amp; Wesson. Racing towards them on the opposite side of the street was a large grey Volvo. The driver wore a helmet and goggles. Newman had a glimpse of other men inside the car as it swerved across towards them, mounted their pavement, hurtled forward like a torpedo.

Nowhere to run. They were hemmed in by the wall of houses. It was going to mow them down, drive on over their bodies. Tweed grasped Paula round the waist, prepared to try and throw her out of the way across the street. He doubted whether he'd manage it. The Volvo was almost on top of them. The driver wearing the sinister goggles accelerated. They were dead.

The white Mercedes appeared out of nowhere, rocketing down the street from the same direction the Volvo had appeared. It drew alongside the Volvo. The driver swung his wheel over, his brakes screeched as he stopped just before he hit the wall.

The Volvo, unable to stop, slammed into the side of the Mercedes. Four uniformed policemen, guns in their hands, left the Mercedes as it rocked under the impact. As three of them leapt to the doors of the Volvo, guns aimed, the fourth man waved as he grinned at Tweed, waved again for him to go away.

'Back to the Drei Konige,' Tweed said, his arm round Paula, who was shaking like a leaf in the wind.