The Power (45 page)

'I doubt that. I didn't tell you I'd phoned Swissair and
booked reservations for us on a flight to Basle. In our own
names. They'll be watching the airport

He stopped speaking. Paula wasn't listening to him. In
a mirror she was watching a uniformed conductor about
to enter their compartment. She started fussing with her
hair in the mirror to give a plausible reason for staring in
that direction.

Tickets,please.
..'

Paula shifted swiftly into the empty seat beside her so
Newman could also hear her. She leaned forward.

'We've already had our tickets checked by one conduc
tor. This is a
different
man .. .'

Paula had travelled on many Swiss trains. She knew that
the conductors had remarkable memories. They would
instantly spot a fresh passenger who had boarded
en route,
ask him for his ticket. But they
never
asked the same
passenger twice.

The only people in the compartment were Tweed and his
five companions. The conductor could see that from the
moment he had entered. And yet he had said ...

'Tickets, please
. . .'

The conductor clipped Garden's ticket a second time.
He was walking slowly as he approached Tweed and Paula.
His right hand slipped inside his tight jacket, which slowed
down his lightning movement. The Luger was half out from behind the cloth when Newman jumped up. He
grabbed the barrel of the gun, forced it to point at the
ceiling of the car. The American was strong as an ox. He began to press the barrel down to aim it at Tweed.

Butler, seated at the other end of the compartment,
hurtled forward. His bunched right hand hit the assassin a
savage punch in the kidneys. The assassin sagged, butted
Harry Butler in the chest. Butler grunted, stayed standing
where he was, gasping for air.

Paula was on her feet, holding the Browning by the
barrel, awaiting her chance to smash the butt against the
attacker's head. Cardon came up behind him, tried to kick his legs from under him, but it was a confused struggle, everyone close together. Newman's fingernails, hard as a
chisel, dug deep into the American's gun hand. He
loosened his grip and Paula caught the weapon in mid-air.

'Get the bastard out of the compartment,' Newman panted.

Nield was standing at the far end of the compartment where he had sat near Butler. He was watching to make sure no one was coming. An extra body flailing into the
turmoil would be one too many.

In the violent struggle in the aisle the conductor's cap the
assassin had worn fell off. Paula bent down, picked it up off
the floor. Newman now had worked his way behind the
American, had an arm round his throat. Butler bent down,
grasped both legs by the ankles, crossed them and
elevated. The thrashing assassin was now held between
Butler and Newman who carried him out of the com
partment.

The struggle became more violent outside the compart
ment as they carted the American towards the platform joining two coaches. The assassin twisted his head, his
teeth were closing over Newman's hand. Newman let go,
jumped back, hauled out his Smith & Wesson. He had no
intention of firing it - even above the rumble of the swaying
express's wheels it would be heard. Butler held on to
the
ankles and Newman cannoned against Cardon, whose
back hammered into a lavatory door. Not completely
locked, the door gave way and Cardon fell inside the
confined space.

'It's occupied . ..' Newman started warning him.

'It bloody well is,' Cardon agreed. Take a look but don't
move the door any more .. .'

Newman glanced round the door. A tall man in shirt and
underclothes sat on the seat. A knife handle projected
from the shirt, the blade was inside the body. From its
position Newman realized it had penetrated the heart. The
conductor
...

In the corridor the attacker had broken free from Butler.
He was on his feet faster than Newman would have
believed possible. The flick knife in his hand was aimed at Butler's abdomen. As he lunged forward Newman moved.
He brought down the barrel of his revolver with all his
strength on the assassin's skull. The knife point was within an inch of Butler's abdomen when the barrel bounced back
off the skull. For one incredible moment the assassin
remained standing and Newman raised the revolver for a
second blow. Then the assassin fell backwards into the lavatory.

Newman caught him round the waist. Cardon had sidled
out of the lavatory to give assistance. Newman was heaving
the assassin's inert body back into the lavatory when he
saw Butler stooping to pick up the flick knife which had
dropped from their adversary's hand.

'Don't touch that!' he shouted.

'You want this?'

Paula had appeared, holding the conductor's cap.
Through the gap on the hinged side of the door she had
seen what was sprawled on the seat.

'Yes. Give it to me,' Newman snapped.

He had fitted the body of the assassin into the corner
facing his victim and under the washbasin. A brief check of
the carotid artery told him the man was dead as his victim.
He rammed the cap on to the corpse's head, kicked the
knife inside the lavatory.

'Fingerprints,' he told Paula and the other two. 'It has to
have his fingerprints on that knife. Now to shut this
damned door . . .'

Using a handkerchief round his fingers, he closed the
door. He then took a slim gold pen out of his pocket.
Working with a steady hand, he eased shut the slide which
indicated the lavatory was occupied. He'd made a better
job of it than the assassin had earlier. Paula, delving in her shoulder bag, handed him a wad of tissues.

'Your gun,' she said. 'Blood on the barrel.'

Newman had automatically clung on to it while he had
wrestled the body inside the lavatory. He thanked her,
quickly cleaned the barrel. Paula held out more tissues she
had flattened out.

'Drop the messy ones here. I'll get rid of the lot in a litter
bin at Basle ...'

Nield was standing by the entrance door to the compartment, his right hand inside his jacket. Paula told Butler to
wait a minute. She then refastened two buttons on Newman's shirt which had come undone in the struggle. She
straightened his tie, told him to comb his hair, then gave
Butler similar attention.

'What about me, Paula?' Cardon asked, looking doleful to lighten the atmosphere.

'You can look after yourself, Cry-Baby,' she told him, hoping she was keeping the tremble out of her voice.

Tweed sat very upright in his seat, staring at them as they
came back. Newman sat in his old seat and Paula perched
herself facing Tweed. His expression was grave as he asked
the question.

'What about the real conductor?'

'He's dead,' Newman said simply. 'The assassin killed him to get his uniform.'

'I see. Was he married, do you think?'

'Don't know. No sign of it,' Newman lied.

Tweed was too quiet. Both Paula and Newman realized he was very upset because he knew he was the target the
conductor had died for. And Newman had seen that the
conductor
was
married. A gold
band had adorned the third
finger of his hand hanging down by the side of the lavatory.

'It's a bit scary,' Paula suggested. The ^way they're
following us like wolves, know exactly where we are.
Whoever "they" may be.'

The mastermind behind all this,' Tweed said quietly, 'is
going to pay a heavy price for the loss of life. I'll see to that
personally. . .'

28

Basle - where Switzerland meets France and Germany.
The moment Tweed alighted from the express he found a
phone box, called Beck in Zurich. To his surprise they told him Beck was already in Basle. He phoned police head
quarters in that city.

'Beck speaking . . .'

'More bad trouble I'm afraid, Arthur. Aboard the
express from Zurich . . .'

Tersely he told Beck what had happened, that the bodies
were inside the lavatory of the fourth coach from the rear,
that the express was scheduled to wait twenty minutes before proceeding north into Germany.

'Hold on,' Beck interjected.

He returned to the phone three minutes later. His tone
was crisp, calm.

'Patrol cars and an ambulance are already on the way to
the Bahnhof. I phoned the station superintendent. That express won't leave until they've done their job. Which
hotel are you staying at?'

'Drei Könige. I'm speaking from the station . . .'

'Go straight to your hotel. Do not leave it under any
circumstances until I get there, which may not be for some
time. The killers have tracked you. Once again. Drastic
action must be taken.
Stay in your hotel
. . .'

Tweed arrived at the Drei Könige with Paula and Newman. As planned, Butler, Nield and Cardon would come
later one by one, as though they didn't know each other.
The concierge greeted Tweed warmly.

'So good to have you back with us, Mr Tweed,' he said in
his perfect English. 'We have three nice rooms for you, all
overlooking the Rhine . . .'

As Tweed registered, a man wearing a Swiss business
suit with half-moon glasses perched on his nose sat in the
large lounge area adjoining reception. He was reading a
local newspaper, his eyes hooded with disbelief as he saw
Tweed enter. His grey hair was shaggy and he raised the paper a little higher to conceal his presence. Norton was
recovering from the shock of seeing Tweed still alive.

Paula went along to Tweed's room. She had showered and
changed into her blue suit in fifteen minutes. Tweed
opened the door a few inches, then swung it open wide and
ushered her inside with a sweeping gesture. He immedi
ately relocked the door. Paula looked round the double
room.

'What a super room. Mine's like this. And it has a
magnificent view of the Rhine.'

She ran to the window. It was a brilliantly sunny day and
very cold. The hotel was perched on the very edge of the
Rhine which was about a hundred yards wide even as high
upriver as Basle. On the far bank a number of ancient
houses with steep pointed roofs lined the river.

'Look,' she called out, 'a barge train.'