The Power (36 page)

The room was in darkness. Tweed remained quite still as Butler touched his arm.

'I'll guide you over to the window. Then I'll open the
curtains a fraction. You won't like what you see
...'

Arriving at the window, Butler pulled open the curtains
a few inches. Tweed peered down into Bahnhofstrasse. It
was still drizzling, a fine veil which blurred the street
lamps. Tweed counted four men standing in the rain and
all wore American-style trench coats.

'I see them,'he said grimly.

'There are more,' Butler warned him. 'Pete spotted
them first from his window. We count ten men leaning against tree trunks, walls, just inside shop doorways. We
are surrounded.'

'So we are.' Tweed mused in the dark. 'We do have in our room a fugitive from the States they've attempted to
kill at least twice.'

'I'd like to do something about this,' Butler said. 'We are surrounded,' he repeated.

'Perhaps not. Get your coat on, Harry. I have a phone call to make. From Shopville.'

They'll see you come out. They could be waiting for
you.'

'We may not be as surrounded as you think. Ready? Good. There's an exit they may well not know about. A
single door leading direct into the Hummer Bar - well
away from the main entrance
...'

Tweed was proved right. No one waited in the deserted
side-street beyond the door leading from the Hummer
Bar. They descended into Shopville, Tweed walked into
the first empty phone cubicle, dialled Beck's private
number at his Berne HQ. The Swiss answered the phone at
once.

'Beck...'

'Arthur, Tweed here ...'

'There has been a lot of violence in Zurich since I left—'

'I know,' Tweed interrupted him. Talk about that later
- an emergency has arisen .. .'

'Details?'Beck demanded.

'The Gotthard, where we are staying, is practically
besieged by ten Americans standing in the drizzle.
Wearing belted trench coats, leaning against trees, walls. It
may be because someone new has arrived, but I'm not sure
about that.'

'They saw you leave?'

'No, they've missed the side-door exit from the Hummer
Bar. I'm talking from a Shopville phone.'

'Bloody nerve!' Beck prided himself on his command of
the English language. 'I've had enough of them. Fortu
nately Zurich police HQ is close to the Gotthard. They'll find themselves moved pretty damned quick, and their so-called diplomatic passports won't help them. That's it? Right. I'm calling Zurich now . . .'

Tweed and Butler returned the way they had come,
entering the hotel via the Hummer Bar. They heard the
sound of police car sirens before they'd closed the side
door. Tweed thanked Butler, went up to his room. When
Newman opened the door Ives was standing at the window, peering through a crack in the curtain. Paula sat a
distance away, gun in her hand.

'That's sorted out,' Tweed announced. 'So we'll all have
a decent meal in the Hummer Bar restaurant...'

A patrol car full of uniformed police stopped in a side
street just off Bahnhofstrasse. A lieutenant, followed by
his men, ran into Bahnhofstrasse, paused, glanced round. The lieutenant unbuttoned the flap of his holster before he approached a tall, heavily built man wearing a coat and a slouch hat, brim pulled well down against the persistent
drizzle. Uniformed police from other patrol cars were flooding into the street.

'You can't stand loitering here,' the police officer told
the man. 'We've had a complaint from a Swiss woman -
she's frightened to walk along here.'

'Don't ruffle the feathers, buddy,' the man replied with a
pronounced American accent. 'I'm a diplomat. You can't
touch me.'

He reached inside his pocket, the officer whipped out his
gun.

'No call to get nervy,' the American continued. 'I'm
showing you my passport.'

The officer flipped open the folder, closed it, handed it back.

'We're not convinced those are genuine. Where are you staying?'

'Baur-en-Ville. Now look here, buddy. ..'

Then get back inside your hotel now. And don't come out again tonight.'

'Christ! You can't do this

'The Baur-en-Ville. Now! Or I'll haul you off in that
police van over there and you can spend the night in a cell.
Arrested as a suspect character.,.'

The American swore foully, pulled up his collar, walked
off in the direction of the hotel. Other Americans, simi
larly accosted, were leaving, trudging off through the
drizzle which had given the street a surface like a band of wet blue leather. All was quiet in minutes.

In the restaurant Paula sat opposite Ives. She thought he
looked more like a teddy bear than ever with his ice-blue
button eyes, his closely trimmed brown hair. He looked up
from his menu and smiled, the most charming smile. So
why did she feel disturbed?

Tweed sat beside her with Newman opposite him. They had a table by the wall with no one near them. Tweed was
studying his irienu when he asked Ives the question.

'I heard a rumour that while you were in Memphis you
had another job, investigating a spate of serial murders in
different states.'

Ives hesitated for a fraction of a second. Paula was
watching him, felt he was unsure whether to reveal danger
ous information.

'Hell,' Ives addressed Tweed, 'that was one of my
failures. I spent months on that grim case, got nowhere. Serial murderers are the most difficult to catch. Murcall,
my old boss, switched me to checking Galloway, the
embezzlements.'

'Which was not one of your failures,' Tweed observed,
'even though you were later removed from that case.'

He ordered the same as Paula had chosen,
filet de fera
with boiled potatoes, a fresh salad and
mineral water to
drink. Ives plumped for lobsters - this was a lobster bar and
the German word for lobster was
Hummer.
Newman once again ordered his favourite dish which he had lived off at
main
meals since they arrived -
é
minc
é
de veau
with
r
ö
sti
potatoes. He drank white wine while Ives ordered half a bottle of Beaujolais. When the waiter had gone Tweed
continued asking questions, gazing at Ives.

'Why would Galloway want you killed since you had no
evidence strong enough, no witnesses left alive to confront
him with in an American court of law?'

'Galloway,' Ives responded promptly, 'is a success in
both business and politics. He made it by taking no
chances, leaving no loose ends. I'm a loose end.'

Paula sensed Ives was tense. Whenever a new customer
entered the restaurant he glanced quickly over his
shoulder. Newman was unusually silent. Only Tweed
seemed completely relaxed as he glanced slowly round the
restaurant.

The dining-room was oblong, divided from the bar with
sheets of frosted glass which had Edwardian couples
etched on its surface. The main colour motif of the room
was red. The ceiling was divided into large crimson panels,
the walls were covered with carmine velvet. The small table lamps which provided the main illumination had
crimson shades and the tablecloths were pink.

Paula thought it was a daring décor which could so easily
have been chichi. But it worked: the whole atmosphere of
the Hummer Bar suggested a warm and welcoming
intimacy. She felt relaxed - except for an aura of tension which seemed to originate from Barton Ives. She thought
she now understood it - Ives probably hadn't relaxed for a
second since leaving the States. Now he was finding it
difficult to adjust to the pleasant and secure surroundings. Other tables were full but the restaurant wasn't noisy. Just
a gentle chatter and the occasional chuckle of pure
enjoyment.

'I wonder who those guys were standing about outside in
the rain,'Ives said suddenly.

'Doesn't matter now,' Tweed told him. 'They've all
gone, I heard. Chased away by the police.'

The police?'

'That was what I heard at reception.'

'You think those characters knew I'd arrived here?'

'I very much doubt it,' Tweed reassured him. 'I expect
they were looking for me. Oh, by the way, have you taken
a room here in your own name?'

'Had to, didn't I?' Ives flared up. 'I told you - I'm not
carrying any phoney papers.'

'I check details,' Tweed told him quietly. 'Our job is to protect you. How is Dillon? And how did you happen to meet him here in Zurich?'

'Jesus Christ! One question at a time.' Ives quietened
down. 'Cord is restless, jumps at his own shadow. I met
him by accident in Spr
ü
ngli. He didn't immediately know
who I was when I sat opposite him. I was wearing tinted
glasses. Damned near fell off his chair when he realized it
'was me.'

'How did you two first meet?' Tweed went on. 'The
Deputy Director of the CIA doesn't normally have contact with the FBI. The CIA isn't supposed to operate inside the
United States.'

'But they do when it suits them. I found the head man of
a sabotage ring Cord was looking for. He was always
grateful for that.'

'He would
be...'

Their meal arrived and no one spoke as they consumed
the excellent food. Paula, who ate quickly, as usual
finished first. She watched Ives handling his lavish helping
of lobster. When they had all finished Ives reached into his
pocket.

'Goddamnit, I've left my cigarettes in my room. Won't
belong.'

Newman offered his pack of Silk Cut.

'Thanks,' Ives said, 'but I only smoke Lucky Strike
...'

'Seems very edgy,' Newman commented after Ives had
gone.

'You can understand it - after what he's been through,'
Paula countered. 'Who wouldn't be?'

'We'll wait for coffee until he gets back,' Tweed said and
checked his watch.

Ten minutes later Tweed suddenly stood up. He put his
hand on Paula's shoulder to keep her in her chair.

'Bob, I want to make an urgent call. Your room is much
closer than mine. Could I borrow your key?'