This United state

19

Newman shook Tweed gently. Waking up instantly, Tweed sat up on the bed. He had taken off his jacket and shoes, had loosened his tie before lying down under the duvet hours earlier. Newman, who had said he didn't feel sleepy, had sat in a chair, insisting on acting as a guard. Tweed stared out of the window into the dark.

'What time is it?'

'4.30 pm.'

'Lord, I've never slept like that before.' He hurried into the bathroom for a cold wash and to brush his hair. 'I've just never slept like that before,' he repeated.

'Showed how much you needed it. You've been on the go for ages, like Paula. She only woke a short time ago. She'll be down here any minute. Reason I woke you is Marler has just arrived. He'll be up very soon.'

'That's better. Think I can face the world now.'

He emerged from the bathroom, his tie neat, wearing his jacket and shoes. He sat in a chair and poured some of the coffee Newman had ordered after waking him. He drank two cups one after the other, the first black, the second with a helping of milk. Someone knocked on the door and Newman opened it cautiously, then let Marler in. He was carrying two large heavy-looking holdalls.

'Sorry I've been so long. Decided it was safer to hire a car at Geneva and drive here – considering what's in these bags.'

'What is in them?', Newman asked.

'Tell you later. More important information to impart.'

There was a tapping at the door and Newman let in Paula. She looked fresh and energetic. Ready to start a new day, Tweed thought. She greeted Marler who said he'd tell her about his trip later. Sitting alongside Tweed on a couch, Paula put a hand to her ear to show she was listening.

'The enemy has arrived in Basel in force,' Marler announced.

'Just what we need,' Tweed said ironically. 'Where are they?'

'Tell it to you in my way. I drove into Basel and parked near Hauptbahnhof. I was going to go into the station to stock up on cigarettes. I was still sitting in my car when who should I see coming out of the Euler Hotel, a five-star job? Jake Ronstadt and Chuck Venacki. Recognized Venacki from the Paris photos. They crossed the street, disappeared into the Victoria, a smaller hotel. I waited.'

'How was Ronstadt dressed?' asked Tweed.

'In an astrakhan fur coat with a hat to thatch. Strode across the street as though he owned Basel. Minutes later he comes out of the Victoria, with six more thugs in tow. All snapped in the pics from Paris. The whole gang walks down to the Hilton and disappears inside. To the bar, would be my guess.'

'We have a spot of trouble,' Tweed said.

'A load of it, I'd say. Missed, out a vital bit. When he came out of the Euler, Ronstadt paid a quick visit to get something from his parked white Citroen. When they'd all trooped into the Hilton I darted across, fixed a little gizmo my supplier of arms had given me. Attached it underneath the chassis of the Citroen. We could follow him now.'

'How could we do that?' Paula asked.

'Good question. I've a good answer. There's a tracking device I can attach to your car, Tweed. Another for you, Bob. Range of ten miles. Incredible.'

'Where did you get this stuff?' Newman enquired.

'My chum in Geneva who gave me weapons and grenades has gone into business on another front. Tracking devices.'

'Where's my Browning?' Paula wanted to know. 'Eager, isn't she?'

Opening one of the holdalls Marler produced a. 32 Browning automatic and spare ammo, handed it to Paula. Newman held out his hand and Marler placed a. 38 Smith amp; Wesson and extra ammo in it. He also provided Newman with a hip holster.

Newman immediately took off his jacket, strapped on the holster, checked the action of the empty revolver, loaded it, slid it inside the holster, put his jacket on again and buttoned it up. He looked down at the holdalls.

'What other little treasures did you buy?'

'Besides the tracking equipment, Walthers for Harry and Pete when they arrive, grenades, and smoke bombs. He even had the type of trick grenade I threw at those four thugs off Regent Street just before the Ear was killed. Can't keep a secret these days. I thought the Park Crescent boffins had come up with something no one else had. Oh, and a dismantled Armalite rifle with sniper- scope for myself.'

'You haven't forgotten the Phantom, then? Hence the Armalite.'

'I haven't forgotten the Phantom,' Marler agreed in a monotone.

'Better get those holdalls out of sight,' Tweed suggested. 'Arthur Beck is on his way here. With some bad news.'

'I thought Marler had brought us enough bad news,' Newman commented.

'Just information,' Marler replied, picking up the holdalls. 'And now I think I'd better get back to my room and hide these away…'

'Well, at least Ronstadt and Co. don't know we're in the same city,' Tweed remarked.

'Be nice to keep it that way,' Paula agreed.

Tweed answered the phone, which had started ringing. When he ended the brief call he looked at the others.

'Marler left just in time. Beck is here. On his way up.'

Arthur Beck entered the room with a smile. He went to Paula and hugged her. There had always been a warm rapport between them. The smile disappeared as he took off his snow-flecked overcoat. Refusing Tweed's offer to have fresh coffee sent up, he sat down in an armchair. Beck was in his late forties, a man of medium height, well-built, with a trim moustache, his thick hair greying. He had a strong face and a hint of humour in his penetrating grey eyes.

`I'll get straight to it. I've been in touch with Lasalle of the French. DST. He told me a small army of American gangster types passed through Paris on their way to London. Some by Eurostar, some by plane. He sent me a number of copies of photos taken of them – sent them by courier. I distributed them to officers at three airports here – Zurich, Geneva and Basel. Just in case. A number of them flew into Basel yesterday. I have these photos of those we spotted.' He took an envelope from his pocket, handed it to Tweed, who took out the prints, glanced at them.

'These are familiar faces, Arthur. Rene also contacted me – or rather, I phoned him. He sent me these pics. By chance we know where they are here. Some at the Euler, others at the Victoria.'

'You do keep up with what is happening in this nasty world.'

'It's likely to get nastier.'

'The frustration is I can't do anything about it. Officers at Basel airport informed me they all carried diplomatic passports. Washington is beginning to worry me. What is happening?'

'Briefly,' Tweed began, 'America is the superpower on this planet. They're well aware of this. Sometimes great power increases a lust for more of it. History tells us this – Napoleon and Hitler are two prime examples.'

'Britain could be in big trouble.'

'We are. It's possible, from information received, to coin a cliche, we may be able to clip their wings here. We're certainly going to try.'

'Any help I can give, I am available. I'll be staying on in Basel. Police headquarters here is just across the street. Spiegelgasse 6. I'll make it my temporary HQ. I notice, Newman, you have a bulge under your jacket.'

'I twisted a muscle, didn't I? Had to have it bandaged.'

'Do take care of that muscle,' Beck said with a dry smile. 'I must be going now. I rely on all of you to take care of Paula,' he said standing up, putting on his overcoat.

'Thank you. Actually Paula can take care of herself,' Paula responded with a smile.

'I'm sure she can.'

'He really had a wasted journey,' Newman remarked when Beck had gone.

'I don't agree,' Tweed objected. 'He now has a hint of what is really going on. And if we need him he's close by. He's a powerful ally. I'm going out now to a public phone box to call Monica. I don't want the call going through a hotel switchboard. Plus the fact that occasionally lines get crossed and someone inside the hotel, one of the guests, might listen in.'

'You'll have company,' Newman told him. 'No argument.'

Marler returned at that moment, knocking on the door. Newman held his Smith amp; Wesson behind his back until he unlocked the door, saw their visitor.

'Tweed wants to make a phone call outside,' he told Marler.

'Feeling like a breath of fresh air myself. I've fixed those direction finders in your cars. The doorman showed me where they were after I'd described both of you, told him when you arrived. You can see them later.'

'We'll have a quiet walk, said Tweed, putting on his coat. 'Lucky they don't know we're here.'

'It's bitterly cold out,' the concierge warned them as they arrived in the lobby.

'We're used to it,' Tweed joked. 'We come from England.'

The lobby was otherwise deserted. Whatever guests were in the hotel would be in the dining room. Marler walked through the revolving door first, stopped in the street, his eyes scanning in all directions. As Tweed, Paula and Newman followed him out he raised a hand to hold them back.

'Thought I saw a shadow disappear behind that corner.'

'Probably your imagination,' said Paula. 'Lord, it's icy cold. And mind your footing – the pavement is slippery.'

One of Basel's small green trams came into view. They heard its rumble as it disappeared, crossing the bridge. Tweed led the way, his hands in his pockets. The air hit them like a blow in the face. Their exposed skin began to freeze as soon as they left the hotel.

'We'll walk up almost to Market-platz,' Tweed told them. recall a phone box in a side street. Lucky I thought to bring plenty of Swiss coins with me.'

Once the rumble of the tram had died away a heavy silence fell. It reminded Paula of the silence of Romney Marsh when she had paused before reaching the Bunker. There was no one about anywhere. The street they were walking up was lined on both sides with old stone buildings. Paula felt hemmed in. She stopped suddenly.

'I can hear footsteps.'

'It's your imagination,' Marler said, repeating what she had said to him a few minutes before.

'Are you sure?' asked Tweed, who respected her acute hearing.

They had all stopped, between the glow of street lamps. She looked back, saw nothing. Marler shrugged impatiently.

'Can you hear them now?'

'No. They've stopped now we have.'

'I want to get to that phone,' Tweed said.

With Newman ahead of them, Paula and Tweed walked beside each other. Marler brought up the rear on his own. They reached the beginning of the large open market square with the Town Hall, elaborately decorated with the symbols of Swiss cantons, behind the huge open space which was the Market-platz. Marler hitched up the strap of the canvas bag he was carrying higher up his shoulder. They walked a short distance and Marler glanced back again. But he was watching for shadows, not listening for footsteps.

'We turn up this side street,' Tweed told them. 'It's the start of a very ancient part of Basel. And there's my phone box.'

Going inside the glass box, he extracted coins from his pocket, then at the right moment pressed numbers to call Park Crescent.

'Monica, Tweed here. I'm calling from a public phone. More secure…'

'I'm so glad to hear from you. Happenings. The Bomb Squad checked a key telephone exchange, found two huge bombs, made them harmless. Same thing at Mount Pleasant sorting office. But another bomb had been placed inside a major Knightsbridge store. Blew the first and second floors to smithereens. At least fifty dead and many injured. The number of casualties is rising. That's it.'

'Thank you. I'll keep in touch.'

Outside the box he told the others what Monica had reported. Paula, particularly, was shocked. She stared at Tweed and had trouble getting the words out.

'When is this horror going to end?'

'When we've finished them off. Let's get back to the hotel. I am so cold I feel like a snowman.'

They had reached the end of the side street, had walked a few paces back the way they had come, when Marler held up a hand. He spoke very quickly.

'The Umbrella Men are back. Drop flat!'

Too close for comfort a cluster of four black umbrellas, held low so they concealed their owners, were advancing towards them. For a second Paula was hypnotized by the weird spectacle – the way the dark cones moved towards her, the rims just not touching each other, the umbrellas held quite still, not wavering an inch.

She dropped beside her three companions, who were already flat on the pavement. Fascinated, terrified, as though watching a macabre stage performance, she saw the four umbrellas elevate as one, with martial precision, exposing the four men beneath them. Each wore a dark overcoat, held their umbrellas with their left hands. Their right hands dipped inside canvas bags similar to Marler's, but larger. The hands emerged with astonishing speed, holding machine-pistols. The barrels of the deadly weapons elevated, again as one, again with military precision, aiming at their targets lying on the pavement. Paula was struggling to extract her Browning, knowing it would be too late. She saw all this as though her vision had quickened.

As he fell, Marler had dived a hand inside his holdall, the flap open. His hand came out holding a grenade. Newman hissed out the words.

That trick grenade won't work this time. It's probably the same lot we met before…'

Paula stiffened. She was waiting for the thud of bullets into her body when a fusillade hammered them. Marler lobbed his grenade over-arm. It sailed through the night air in an arc, landed amid the group of men under the umbrellas. There was a brief flash of light, a loud crack! as the grenade detonated.

Two of their attackers staggered backwards, hit the pavement with heavy thuds. Another one tried to stagger into the empty street, fell forward. The fourth man slumped against a wall, slid down it. Paula had felt vibrations from the detonation passing under her. She stared again. Three of the umbrellas had shattered into shards, chips of stone from the nearby building had been hurled across the street. The man who had slumped against the wall had fired a short burst as he collapsed sideways, but his weapon had been pointed upwards. The burst had shattered a street lamp, showering the body with fragments of glass. What remained of the Umbrella Men were four still bodies.

'We'd better get out of this,' Tweed snapped, jumping agilely to his feet, slipping on ice, recovering his balance. 'Police headquarters are in the next street. The buildings may have muffled the sound but we'll take no chances. We'll go back down the opposite side of the street.'

He was walking down the opposite pavement, Paula by his side, when Newman and Marler came up behind them. Marler glanced at his companion.

'That, as you'll now have gathered, was the real McCoy. Have faith in me.'

'You certainly saved our bacon,' Newman said with feeling.

Ahead of them, Paula grasped Tweed's arm. She nodded her head in the direction of the other side of the street. The thug who had collapsed over the pavement edge was almost invisible. His umbrella, the only one to remain intact, had fallen over his prone corpse. It looked as though he was taking a nap and had used the umbrella to shelter under.

'It's surreal,' Paula whispered.

Then she saw on a shop window they were passing a huge smear of blood. The temperature was so low it had congealed in the shape of a hand. She shuddered. Tweed hurried her back to the Three Kings. They paused outside to brush snow and dirt off their coats, then walked into the warmth of their hotel.

'Heavenly,' Paula said to herself.

The concierge came from behind his counter to press 'one' by the side of the lift. All four of them were just able to squeeze their way inside.

'We'll all go to my room. Have a drink, said Tweed.

He poured wine from an ice bucket into four glasses. Before the others sat down they took off their coats. Tweed sat on a couch next to Marler, so they faced Paula and Newman on another couch. Tweed raised his glass.

'Here's to survival.'

'I'll drink to that,' said Paula with enthusiasm.

'I must apologize to one and all,' Tweed began. 'For being an idiot. I said something like, "It's lucky they don't know we're here." They do. Very significant.'

'You're not going to tell us why, of course,' Paula teased.

'I have other things on my mind.' He smiled to take the edge off ignoring her question. 'When Bob went to fetch his coat Keith Kent phoned me. He's coming to see us in the morning.'

'My tummy's rumbling,' Paula remarked.

'Bob,' Tweed requested, 'could you phone down and make sure they'll serve dinner for us? It's a bit late.' He drank some more of his wine. 'Well, that's four of them disposed of, thanks to Marler. A long way to go yet.'

'They'll serve dinner when they see us,' Newman reported, returning from the phone.

'Tweed,' Paula pointed out, 'you're still wearing your overcoat.'

'So I am. Mental concentration,' he explained, taking off the coat. 'I want us to get cracking tomorrow. I sense we have very little time left. Oh, Paula, could you tell us the three different names for this city?'

'I suppose I could,' she said, puzzled. 'first, Basel, which is the English version. Then Bale…' She spelt it out. 'I just gave you the French version. Third, B-a-a-sel. I have just pronounced the German version.' She spelt it out.

'B-a-a-sel,' repeated Tweed. 'Exactly. The German pronunciation. Sounds rather like Basil – especially the way Windermere pronounces his name in his highfalutin' voice.'

'What's the point?' asked Marler.

'Basil… Schwarz. Isn't that what you heard the Ear say as his last words?'

'Yes, it was.'

'You overlooked the fact that when a man knows he is dying, is desperate to get a message across to you, he's likely to revert to his natural language. Which was German. Poor Kurt was pointing his finger at this city. Which is the main reason we're here when I'd realized what he'd really tried to say.'

'But why use his real name? Schwarz?'

'For the same reason. He'd reverted to German. In that language schwarz means black. Hence the Schwarzwald – the Black Forest. There was mention that the Americans had a secret base outside Basel. I think it's somewhere in the Black Forest. So our next job is to locate it – bearing in mind it's likely to be heavily protected.'