The Power (35 page)

22

Tweed unlocked the door, Paula backed into his room, gun
pointed at the American, and Newman nudged him inside
with the Smith & Wesson muzzle. As Tweed followed
them, locking the door again, Newman slipped his revolver
into his holster, began to feel the captive all over for
concealed weapons.

'I'm loaded,' Ives told him. 'Under the left armpit.'

Newman hauled out the weapon. The American also
favoured a .38 Smith & Wesson. Paula noted that all his
clothes, a business suit under his open trench coat, were of
Swiss make. With his neatly trimmed short hair he
reminded her of a tough teddy bear.

'I'll need to see some identification,' Tweed told him.

'Can I reach into my breast pocket? You folks sure don't
take any chances. That's good

'He's clean now,' Newman said, checking the revolver
and slipping it inside his large jacket pocket.

Ives produced a folder, handed it to Tweed, looked at
Paula and grinned wearily.

'I could do with a glass of water, if that's permitted.'

She poured him mineral water, handed him the glass. He
swallowed the contents with one gulp, sighed with relief.
Tweed examined the folder carefully, checked the photo, the details printed behind the plastic cover.

'You do appear to be Special Agent Barton Ives,' he
said, handing back the folder. 'Welcome to Zurich. And sit
down.'

'You make it sound like I just arrived,' the American
commented as he sat in an armchair and crossed
his legs. 'Fact is I've been here a while, never staying in one place
for more than a night. That gets kinda tiring, I can tell you.
Cord sends his regards.'

'Do you mean you've been moving round Switzerland or
just inside Zurich?' Tweed enquired, still standing up.

'Zurich and some of the hick places just out of town. I
was real worried about this Swiss system which means
you've gotta register at a hotel, give them your details.'

'So you were compelled to register under your own
name?'

'You think I fled from the States with a bundle of phoney
identities?' Ives asked aggressively. He leaned forward. 'I
had to run like hell to stay alive, packed one bag and
boarded the first flight.'

'How did you recognize me in the hall?' Tweed pressed
on. 'There are hardly any photos of me in existence.'

'That was Cord. He described you from your hair down
to your toetips. Only way I agreed to take the chance, to
come and see you. Cord was very pushy about me seeing
you, Tweed.'

Tweed sat down. He took off his glasses and cleaned them with his handkerchief. He took his time and Ives,
sitting erect, clasped his hands in his lap, waiting patiently.
Apart from his Swiss outfit, he was Paula's idea of an FBI
agent. Wary, watchful and controlled. Tweed put on his
glasses, studied Ives for a moment before he spoke again.

'You said you fled from the States, that you had to run
like hell to stay alive. Why? And who was pursuing you?'

Ives looked pointedly at Paula. He switched his gaze to
Newman behind him who still held his gun in his hand.

'I can't answer those questions unless we're alone. I
know the guy is Robert Newman - seen enough of his pics
at one time in papers over pieces he wrote and he hasn't
changed.'

'Did Cord advise you to take that attitude?' Tweed asked.

'No, I'm taking the attitude.' Aggressive again. Paula
thought she understood: Ives had been staying under cover
for some time. This was his first excursion into the open. Despite his outward air of self-control he was probably a
bit trigger happy. 'What I have to tell you is confidential,
top secret - you name it.'

'Both Paula and Bob are trusted members of my team.
You talk in front of them or you just go away somewhere
...'

'Cord said you were tough.' Ives waved his hands in a
gesture of resignation. 'God help you if any of this strays
beyond this room.'

'Is that a threat?' Tweed enquired mildly.

'No, it's stating the situation. You'd become targets for
people who never miss.'

They do sometimes,' Tweed observed. 'I'm still
waiting. Would you like some coffee? There's plenty left in
the pot.'

'I'd be grateful for that.' Ives looked at Paula. 'Very grateful. My mouth feels like the Sahara ...'

Tweed waited again while Paula poured a cup. Ives
refused sugar or milk. He took the Cup and saucer from her
and gulped half the contents down.

'That's better, a whole lot better.' He seemed to relax
for the first time since he'd entered the room. 'Well, here
goes. I was born and raised in New York, but I was
stationed in Tennessee in the South. I was investigating the
disappearance of huge sums of money. We thought at first
someone was laundering drug money, but now I think the
money went into a political fund . . .'

'Are you talking about bank robberies?' Tweed asked.

'Hell, no. Creative accounting. I'd interview a key wit
ness, get a tape recording of what was said, then the
witness would disappear off the face of the earth. I never
did find where the bodies were buried.'

'Bodies? Plural?'

'Ten. Including three women.'

'That's mass murder,' Tweed said slowly. He paused.
'But why would the FBI be called in if the crimes were all
committed in Tennessee?'

'They weren't. They crossed state lines. That's when the FBI is called in. I'm sure you know that. The trail led me
from Tennessee to Mississippi, Louisiana, Oklahoma,
New Mexico and Arizona.'

'That's a lot of territory. Earlier you said you thought at
first
someone
was laundering drug money. Who did you
mean?'

Ives took a deep breath, sighed. Again he looked at
Paula and Newman who were hanging on every word,

'I'm talking about Jeb Galloway, now Vice President of
the United States.'

There was a hush in the room. Tweed walked across to
the closed curtains, opened them a little, peered out. It
had begun to drizzle and the street had a sweaty look. He
went back to his chair, sat down and stared at Barton
Ives.

'Are you sure about this?' he asked.

'Positive,' Ives snapped.

'I understood Galloway came from the Philadelphia
area in the north-east.'

'He does.' Ives smiled bitterly. 'Which was why Brad
ford March, who is a Southerner, had him on the ticket
for the election as running mate. Galloway was able to deliver New York, Pennsylvania and other key states.'

'So what was Galloway's connection with the Southern
states where you carried out your investigation?'

'Quite a few years ago Galloway moved his electronics
outfit to Phoenix, Arizona. It was the trend. The climate
in Arizona was unpolluted, the unions hadn't the tight
grip they exercised in the North. The money-laundering operation was controlled from that outfit in Phoenix.'

'And you say this money ended up...'

'In Bradford March's war chest to fight the election. I
doubt he knew it was stolen money. What politician
enquires too closely the origin of desperately needed
funds for a presidential election?'

'And the ten witnesses who disappeared?'

'Were murdered,' Ives corrected. 'Any one of them
could have testified to the illegality of the operation. Most
of them were married, had families. I even had a witness
who saw a woman I'd interviewed dragged into a car late at night. Neither was ever seen again. I was closing in on
Galloway when the election took place. That was when I found myself dodging bullets.'

'You mean that literally?'

'I do,' Ives assured him. 'I'd driven back to Memphis to
report my findings to my chief, Murcall. I found Murcall
had been replaced by a guy I didn't know called Foley. He told me to close my investigation. Orders from Washing
ton. That was just after the election

'You mentioned bullets,' Tweed reminded him.

'Goddamnit!
Let me finish my story. It was night. On my
way home to my apartment from FBI HQ a red Caddy was
following me. In a quiet street it drew alongside. I ducked
just in time - they machine-gunned my car. When I got to
my apartment a guy slipped into the elevator with me. I
shoved my gun into his side, searched him, found he had an
automatic. He tried to grab it and I hit him on the head.
That was when I packed and took off for the airport.'

'And flew here?' Tweed enquired. 'Why?'

'Switzerland seemed a safe place, but they followed me.
Don't ask me how. I'm pretty good at spotting tails. But
Galloway has plenty of money. He's used it to hire a lot of
people to come after me—'

Ives broke off as the phone rang. Tweed jumped up,
answered it.

'Sorry to bother you,' Butler's voice said quickly. 'But I
think you'd better come to my room pretty damn fast.'

'I'll come down and collect it.' Tweed turned to face the
others. 'There's someone arrived downstairs I must see.
But they'd better not see you, Ives. I may be a little while.'

'I'd like to visit the bathroom,' Ives said.

'Certainly,' Newman agreed. 'But I'm coming with you -
for protection after what you've told us . ..'

Tweed waited until the door had closed and he was alone
with Paula.

'That was Butler,' he whispered.' Could be bad news. I
want you to have your Browning in your hand the whole
time I'm away. Anyone knocks on the door after I've
gone - don't answer it. When I get back I'll rap on the
door like this
...'
He beat a short tattoo on the top of a desk.

'Is it closing in on us?' Paula asked calmly. 'Maybe
since we have Barton Ives.'

'It could be, Hear...'

Afterwards, Tweed was never sure what instinct had
made him grab hold of his raincoat before he hurried to
Butler's room. He knocked on the door, which was
opened a few inches. Butler peered out, swung the door
wide open and closed and locked it the moment Tweed
was inside. In his right hand he held his Walther.