The Power (44 page)

Cardon, holding his Walther in both hands, fired three
shots. More shots were fired by Butler and Nield who stood
on either side of the street. The Mercedes sped off,
weaving from side to side, reached an intersection, disappeared. Unhurt, Tweed helped Jennie to her feet. She
was shivering and shaking, but also unhurt. She looked at
Tweed.

'What happened, for God's sake?'

'Someone tried to kill me. Are you all right?'

'I'm OK.'

'Still want to go to your party?'

She was brushing grit off her coat. She opened it to check
her suit, closed and re-buttoned it.

'Yes,' she decided. 'I'll recover faster at a party.'

'You're coming with us,' Cardon intervened.

He grasped her firmly by the arm. His expression was grim. Tweed spoke as he tightened his grip when she tried
to free herself.

'Let her go, Philip,' he ordered. 'Here's a cab. Flag it
down for Jennie . . .'

'She signalled to that car that you were coming out,'
raged Cardon as the cab drove off. 'She dropped her scarf
and that car started moving.'

'Possibly,' Tweed agreed. He looked at Butler and Nield
who had joined them. 'Jennie may be a very skilful liar.
May be,'
he emphasized. 'Back to the Schweizerhof.'

'A brief council of war, everyone,' Tweed announced.

He had summoned Paula and Newman to his room.
Cardon, Butler and Nield had come up with him. Cardon
had tersely told Newman and Paula what had happened.

'Let's not dwell on it,' Tweed said briskly. 'They missed. Thanks to Philip, Harry and Pete I'm still very much alive.
We are leaving for Basle first thing tomorrow. The key to
everything, I'm now convinced, lies in the mysterious film and the tape Dyson left at the Zurcher Kredit. Those items
are now in the vault of the Basle branch. Amberg is in
Basle. I want to see him again. It's time we watched that
film, listened to the tape.'

'Hadn't you better report that assassination attempt to
Beck?' Paula suggested. 'He's going to get very annoyed if
we don't tell him something else.'

Tweed phoned police headquarters. He was put straight through to Beck who worked all hours. Briefly Tweed
explained, leaving out any reference to Jennie Blade.

'A patrol car has already found your cream Mercedes,'
Beck informed him. 'Abandoned near the Quai-Br
ü
cke
down by the lake. The bullet holes in the windscreen and
windows attracted their attention. There was blood on the rear seat. Do you have to take such risks?'

'Zurich seems to be the battlefield. So perhaps you'll be
relieved to hear I'm flying to Basle tomorrow.'

'There will be plain-clothes men watching you all the
time. Good night. Stay in your hotel until you're
leaving. . .'

Tweed put down the phone. He looked at Newman.

'Bob, I doubt if that girl at the Zurcher Kredit you seem to get on with is still there, but try. I'd like to be quite sure
Amberg is still in Basle .. .'

Newman dialled the number of the Zurcher Kredit. The same girl answered immediately. The Swiss worked late.

'Bob Newman here again. Sorry to keep bothering you.'

'That's all right. I'm catching up on finding things out. I
am new here, after all.'

'I wanted to double-check that Mr Amberg is still in
Basle. In case I have to call him in the morning at an early
hour.'

'Yes, he's definitely there. Will be for a few days. And someone else wanted to know - besides the man with the growly voice who phoned earlier. This time before I told the new caller I asked for a name and looked at the client
file. He is a client of the bank. I think he wanted to see Mr
Amberg urgently.'

'Could you possibly give me that name?' Newman
coaxed.

'I suppose I shouldn't, but you're always so polite,
unlike a lot of the clients.'

'So the name was?'

'Joel Dyson.'

27

The express train from Zurich to Basle thundered across
northern Switzerland. Tweed sat in a first-class compartment with his case on the seat beside him while Paula sat
opposite. Across the central aisle Newman occupied the
seat next to the aisle while Cardon sat in the next two seats
by himself. Cardon was in a corner, facing Tweed so he had
a good view of him diagonally.

'We are not flying to Basle,' Tweed had announced in his
hotel room before they left. 'Philip has been over to the Hauptbahnhof and bought return tickets for all of us to Basle.'

'Why the train?' Paula had asked.

'Because it's quicker for a start. Driving out to the
airport, waiting to board a flight, taking a cab from Basle
Airport, which is half an hour's journey - it all takes
longer. Also, we can slip away more easily with the station
just across the way.'

'But you told Beck you were flying there,' she reminded
him.

'So I did.' He had smiled. 'I don't want to be hemmed in
by his protectors. In any case, I have my own. I'll call him
from the hotel in Basle . . .'

Paula sat looking round the sparsely populated compart
ment, alternately gazing out of the window. So far there were few mountains on this trip. They were travelling
through industrial Switzerland, where many factories
stood close to the railway line.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw someone
approaching their compartment. She glanced in the direc
tion of the automatic door. A tall monk had entered. He
wore a dark robe, his waist spanned with a rope girdle. A
hood was pulled over his head and he had a pair of
hornrimmed glasses perched on his nose. She slid her hand
inside her shoulder bag, gripped the butt of the Browning.

The train was swaying round a bend as the monk,
carrying a case in his left hand, made his slow progress
towards them. Newman had seen Paula's reaction. He
glanced quickly in a mirror, saw the monk coming, slipped
his hand inside his jacket, rested his hand on the Smith &
Wesson.

Tweed, apparently absorbed in writing names on a pad,
linking them with different permutations, sensed the ten
sion. He glanced up as the monk arrived alongside him. At that moment the express lurched again as it roared round a curve.

'The monk's case hit Tweed's, toppled it over on the seat.
Tweed stared at the face under the hood. Cord Dillon.

The uniformed conductor who had checked their tickets a
few minutes earlier left another first-class compartment
which had been empty. Not many people travelling at this
time of year. It was early March.

Out of a lavatory where the door had been open a few
inches a tall heavily built man stepped into the deserted
corridor. At this point no other passengers were visible.

'Ticket, sir,' the conductor requested.

'Sure, buddy. Got it here somewhere . . .'

The American glanced in both directions. No other
passengers in sight. The train swayed again. The conduc
tor, accustomed to the movement, stood quite still, feet
splayed.

The American, as tall as the conductor, appeared to lose
his balance. He lurched against the conductor. The flick
knife concealed behind him appeared, was rammed swiftly
up through the open jacket and between the ribs of the conductor. As he grunted, sagged, the American grabbed
him and hauled the body inside the lavatory, used an elbow
to close the door. He lowered the body on to the seat,
locked the door. Checking the neck pulse he felt nothing.

Swiftly he began the awkward task of removing the
conductor's uniform - jacket, trousers and peaked cap. As he stripped off his own suit, folded it roughly, shoved it
inside a plastic carrier, the eyes of his victim stared at him.

Tucking the carrier behind the seat, the American took out a penknife. He opened the door a few inches, saw no one. From the outside he used the penknife to move the
small notice which indicated that the lavatory was
occupied.

Straightening his cap, he checked his watch. Only a few
minutes left before the train stopped at Baden. Mencken had a car with a driver waiting there to take him back to Zurich. He checked the Luger tucked inside his shoulder holster to make sure he could whip it out quickly from under the jacket, felt the handle of the second flick knife
tucked inside his belt. The jacket, buttoned up, was a little
tight across the midriff, but who notices a conductor?
Holding the instrument used to clip tickets in his left hand
he made his way back to the first-class compartment where
Tweed was sitting. He'd be able to kill him and any guards
in seconds
...

Three things happened at once as the 'monk' toppled
Tweed's suitcase. Newman rammed his revolver into Cord
Dillon's back. Paula's Browning appeared in her hand.
Tweed held up a hand to indicate all was well.

'My apologies,' Dillon whispered to Tweed, relieved
when the gun muzzle was withdrawn from his back. 'The
train lurched
...'

As he spoke he dropped a card with writing on it in Tweed's lap. The message was terse, clear.

Barton Ives is aboard the train. Where can he meet you?
Not on this train.

'No need to apologize,' Tweed said in a low tone. 'You
can both contact me at Hotel Drei Könige - the Three
Kings - in Basle. Sooner speak to you first.'

'Thank you, sir,' said Dillon.

He proceeded on through the compartment, carrying
his bag. The last Tweed saw of him was when he dis
appeared beyond the compartment door. Paula leaned
forward.

'What was all that about? I nearly shot him.'

'That was Cord Dillon. He did take a chance, but he's on the run still, obviously. On the train that outfit is a
perfect disguise.' He folded the card, tucked it inside his wallet without showing it. 'He had an urgent message for me. We could take a mighty leap forward at Basle.'

'How in Heaven's name did he know you were on the
train?'

'Because he's a trained observer, one of the best in the
world. I can only guess - I imagine he saw us leaving the Gotthard for the Schweizerhof. He could have been up all
night watching the hotel exit from the station across the Bahnhofplatz. That station never goes to sleep.'

Tweed,' Paula persisted, speaking loud enough for Newman to hear her, 'there must be danger aboard this
train. For Dillon to go to such lengths. If he saw us
waiting at Zurich to board the
express the opposition
could also have seen us.'