The Power

43

Marler's glider had been released from its tow-line some time before by the Swiss pilot, who had waved and flown away towards the Ballon d'Alsace. It was a beautiful sunny day and below him Marler saw the savage summits and snowbound ravines of the Vosges drifting past.

He had crossed route D417 and the formidable endless hairpin bends of the Col de la Schlucht. He was approaching the Chateau Noir. On the lower slopes of the map-like landscape spread out beneath him he saw the tiny figure of a man guiding a snowplough. The driver waved to the pilot of the glider. Marler briefly waved back.

He was concentrating on operating the controls. Since he was deliberately losing altitude he was wary of down-draughts, sudden gusts of air which could suck him down without warning. Then he saw it. The massive pile of the pseudo-medieval castle which was the Chateau Noir. As he removed his goggles he was surprised by its vast size.

He checked the time by his watch. Noon. As the glider continued to lose height he raised his binoculars, pressed them to his eyes. He frowned as he detected a Land-Rover half-hidden inside a copse of evergreens. Only one man – behind the wheel – but the vehicle probably was positioned to give the driver a clear view down inside the chateau wall. Not one of ours, he thought.

Marler continued to swivel his binoculars, focusing them now on the chateau which was coming closer every second. He stiffened as he saw Butler crouched, as though hiding, inside the entrance to a building. Then he saw Newman at the base of the keep, saw a burly figure in a sheepskin on the flat roof of the tower, peering over as he aimed a machine-pistol. Newman jumped back out of sight as the heavy silence of the Vosges was fractured by the rattle of a hail of bullets.

'You really shouldn't have done that, old man,' Marler said to himself, addressing the man on the roof of the keep. He pressed the foot pedals gently. Time for a really smooth glide. This will only take seconds…'

He heard a muffled explosion. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the wrought-iron gates guarding the entrance collapse. He did not allow his attention to be diverted from the task in hand as he reached for the Armalite.

On the roof of the keep the burly man in a sheepskin was peering over the edge, his machine-pistol reloaded, ready for a fresh burst, when his target reappeared. Confined inside the garage, Butler had fired three shots from his Luger but the range from where he crouched to the summit o, f the tower was too great.

Praying that the glider would continue on its level course for a few more seconds, Marler took careful aim. With his eye glued to the sniperscope attached to his rifle, he saw the cross-hairs covering the upper back of the burly thug on top of the keep. Holding his breath, Marler pressed the trigger.

His target jerked upright in a convulsive movement. The machine-pistol left his hands, dropped to the cobbles far below. He staggered, then fell forward, following his lost weapon, screaming in terror as he plunged down the side of the keep. His body hit the cobbles with a bone-breaking thud close to the alcove where Newman sheltered. The corpse lay inert.

Up to this dramatic incident the odds had been heavily in favour of Mencken's assault force. From this moment they swung decisively the other way.

Newman noticed that the heavy studded wooden door leading inside the keep was not completely closed. It was simply stuck. He hammered his shoulder against the obstacle. It seemed to give a little. He took a deep breath and thrust against it with all his strength. It burst open, flying inwards so suddenly he nearly lost his balance.

Diving inside, gripping the Uzi in both hands, he saw a flight of stone steps, worn down in their centres, leading upwards, curving out of sight round a corner. He began to run up them non-stop, unaware of what was happening at the front of the chateau.

At the first rattle of machine-pistol fire Tweed had reacted instantly. Grabbing Amberg by the arm, he forced him to the cinema exit, up the flight of stairs leading into the main hall. Gaunt, hauling a. 455 Colt automatic from the shoulder holster under his thick sports jacket, took giant strides, close on their heels.

Entering the hall, Tweed saw Paula, Jennie and Eve -now wearing winter clothes – appear from the direction of the swimming pool. With his free arm he waved them back, a commanding gesture.

'Return to the pool at once. Don't argue. Do as I tell you. There is great danger.'

Eve and Jennie rushed back into the labyrinth of passages but Paula stayed her ground. From the special pocket inside her shoulder bag she had whipped out her. 32 Browning.

'I'm staying here with you,' she snapped at Tweed. 'You are not armed.'

'I am,' Gaunt assured her aggressively.

'We may need someone who can shoot straight,' she told him.

'What the hell-'Gaunt began.

He never completed his sentence. Tweed, still dragging a reluctant Amberg, had headed for the main door. Outside he could hear the sound of some large machine approaching. Reaching the door he peered through the tall Norman window with leaded lights at one side of the door. The view was not reassuring. Norton – or his henchman -who had organized the attack knew what he was doing.

The clanking grinding machine proceeding across the cobbled courtyard towards the door was a huge orange bulldozer, its massive grab elevated several feet – ready to batter down the heavy door and open the way for the final assault. Tweed compelled Amberg to glance through the window. The Swiss shuddered, tried to get away, but Tweed had a firm grip on his arm.

'I must go to the swimming pool as well,' Amberg protested. 'There is a rear exit. I am a banker…'

'Surely you want to witness the defence of your own home,' Tweed said grimly, determined to break his nerve. 'You will stay with us in any case.'

'I might be able to shoot the driver,' suggested Gaunt who had also peered through the window.

'Not a chance, not yet,' Tweed snapped. 'And behind his cab the driver has several armed men clinging on aboard the bulldozer. We must wait until it appears in the gap after it has smashed down the double doors. Then shoot. We might jam the machine in the doorway, although I don't issue any guarantees. So, we stand back and wait…'

The one thing which irked Tweed was that he had no idea what his team outside the chateau were doing -assuming they were still alive.

Having disposed of the gunman who had pinned down all Tweed's men, Marler immediately turned his attention to what was going on at the entrance. His glider was still airborne but he knew he must soon land or crash – maybe both. What was happening was taking place in seconds.

He had fired the Armalite from a distance, but now the glider was cruising very close to the chateau, would be above the courtyard at any moment. Afterwards, if he survived, Marler hoped to land on the summit of the ridge close to where the Land-Rover had been parked.

Then he saw the orange bulldozer advancing, the clutch of armed men hanging on behind the driver's cabin. The machine was a deadly menace. Marler took a dangerous chance, lost more height, and was now gripping the tear-gas pistol with a spare shell in his other hand. The wings seemed to almost skim the roof of the keep, although the machine was higher. Marler looked down.

The bulldozer had covered two-thirds of the distance between the ruined gates and the porch entrance to the chateau. His arm rested firmly on the edge of the fuselage of the glider as he pressed the trigger. The tear-gas shell was aimed for the glass window in front of the driver's cabin, smashed it to pieces, exploded inside the cabin. Marler had reloaded, fired again at the rear of the machine where the armed men were hanging on.

The outcome was devastating. Overcome with the fumes the driver lost all control. The bulldozer swung through an arc of a hundred and eighty degrees. In his panic the driver pressed his foot on the wrong pedal. The machine rocketed over the cobbles at speed, spilling its passengers, who were disabled by the second tear-gas shell. The bulldozer thundered towards the outer wall, hurtled into it with tremendous impact, crushing the cabin and the driver inside it.

At that moment a Citroen drove in through the gateway, crammed with armed men. Cardon, Nield and Butler had emerged from under cover. The Citroen driver, startled by the disaster to the bulldozer, skidded to a fatal halt. Cardon carefully lobbed a grenade. It landed under the petrol tank of the Citroen. Before any of its passengers could get out the petrol tank exploded. There was a fountain of flame and Newman saw its occupants incinerated in the ferocious heat.

He had reached the top of the keep and was crouched behind the low wall. As several of the men who had dropped off the bulldozer produced weapons, rubbing their eyes, he fired a long burst from the Uzi. A 9-mm. weapon, it fired at the rate of six hundred rounds a minute. He rammed in a fresh magazine, continued firing.

Butler saw a man perched on the top of the wall, guessed he had cut the electrified wire. He aimed his Luger, fired twice. His target shot out both arms as though about to swim, dived head first down on to the cobbled courtyard.

Marler's glider continued on course, away from the chateau, heading for the ridge as he struggled to maintain a few more feet of height. He braced himself for a crash landing. The ridge rushed towards him, the nose of the glider lifted briefly of its own accord. It was this accident of luck which saved Marler from the machine upending. It scraped along the rocky ground, came to a stop.

No more than thirty feet away Marler saw that the Land-Rover was still stationed at the edge of the copse with its driver behind the wheel. He snatched up the Armalite as the vehicle began to move, fired at random. Mencken, who had witnessed the debacle, shuddered as his windscreen was shattered, all the glass blown away from the frame, but the bullet had missed him. He drove off at speed, heading for the vital ambush area on route D417.

Half a mile away, well clear of the action, Norton sat in his Renault at a road intersection. He lowered his field-glasses. This time he was not feeling too philosophical about the next stage of the struggle. What could he tell President Bradford March? At that moment he had no idea – and he had lost a lot of trained men.