The Power (76 page)

'Jason,' he began without ceremony, talking through
the open window, 'later you grease your butts and move like the wind to this dump, Ouchy. I've marked it on this
spare map. OK? It had better be. Put your men up in a
small hotel. Avoid the Château d'Ouchy - I've written
that name down on the edge of the map.'

'You said later. We've got a job to do first?'

Jason spoke in a hoarse tone - he was a three-pack a
day smoker. His large head and face were faintly
illuminated by a nearby street lamp. With his piggy eyes, his pug nose and his lower teeth protruding slightly above his bottom lip, even Mencken thought he looked horrific.

'You've got three other men,' Mencken continued. 'I
want you to drive straight to the Bristol. Make yourselves
inconspicuous - and keep a lookout for Tweed and his
mob.'

'We lose that guy for ever - and the rest of his team?'
Jason suggested hopefully.

'You do just that. I'll be following you, get there later.
Do a nice quiet job. Afterwards maybe you can prop
them up in their beds in their rooms. Give the night maid
a nice surprise,' Mencken suggested with his macabre
sense of humour.

44

To the Brasserie!' Tweed called out as they approached
closer to the Hotel Bristol. 'And a glass of Riesling!'

It was an attempt to cheer up his passengers. He sensed
that reaction was setting in after the events of the day.

'Anyone would think you hadn't eaten or drunk a thing since leaving Colmar,'Paula chided him.

In fact they had taken refreshment 'on the hoof.
Before leaving the Bristol in the morning Paula had col
lected a large quantity of
sandwich au jambon -
ham
inside French bread. She had also had six Thermoses,
purchased in Basle, filled with coffee and another one
with cold milk. In addition she had brought twelve litre-bottles of mineral water.

They had eaten and slaked their thirst during the first stage of their descent from the château, and later after the
cataclysmic collapse of the cliff. At the same time, Paula
reflected, they had had no more than snacks and she too
was feeling peckish.

'Are we safe now?' Amberg suddenly demanded in a
commanding voice.

'No,' Tweed told him. 'We are only safe when we have
our hands on the film and the tape. So really,' he went on in an offhand manner, 'it's entirely up to you, Amberg.'

'They won't know we're going to Ouchy,' the banker
suggested.

'Don't count on that either,' Tweed replied, deter
mined to keep the Swiss rattled.

'Do stop fussing, Walter,' Eve broke in with one of her
rare interventions. Her manner was calm, her voice fresh.
Paula admired her stamina. 'Walter,' Eve continued, 'if you're nervous don't eat or drink anything at dinner. You
might get indigestion. You wouldn't like that, Walter,'
she ended, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

Amberg relapsed into silence after casting her a ven
omous look which Paula noticed. The traffic was now very
heavy and, following Newman, Tweed was inching the
Espace next to the kerb along the wide pavement outside
the shops facing the railway station.

He braked as Newman stopped the station wagon
ahead. It occurred to Tweed that it was along this same
pavement at a later hour that Jennie Blade had encoun
tered the Shadow Man. What had been her description of the sinister figure? A man wearing a long black overcoat and a wide-brimmed hat which completely concealed his face. Had she been telling the truth? he wondered. New
man appeared at his open window.

'I suggest you all get out here and walk straight into the
Brasserie where there are other people. Marler is parking the station wagon a short distance away. I'll take over the
wheel of the Espace. Paula, could you run back to the
BMW which is pulled up a few yards behind? I want you
to escort Jennie into the Brasserie. But first tell Gaunt to
follow me in the Espace. And
tell
Gaunt - I don't want
any argument.'

'Butler and Nield?' Tweed queried.

Told over my walkie-talkie to follow the convoy. Now,
I want to get behind that wheel fast...'

Tweed dropped into the road and hurried to the pave
ment followed by Paula, Eve, Amberg and Cardon, who
had a firm hand on the arm of the Swiss. Newman, Tweed
ruminated, was now capable of taking control of the
whole operation if anything happened to him.

Eve caught up with him, linked her arm inside his, her
rifle concealed under her long trench coat. Paula ran back
to where Gaunt had begun to honk his horn non-stop, just
when they didn't want to be
noticed. Jennie lowered her window when she saw Paula coming. Paula stopped, her tone icy as she addressed Gaunt.

'Stop making that noise at once. Jennie, get out and I
will take you inside the Brasserie.'

As Jennie opened the door, moving quickly, Gaunt
leaned forward. He glared at Paula.

'Just who do you think you're addressing?' he
demanded in a lofty tone.

'You, you stupid arrogant bastard!' she blazed. 'You're putting people's lives in danger. To hell with your own, but get that tin can moving pronto.'

Gaunt was so taken aback, he obeyed. As Paula slam
med the door shut he nodded to her, began moving
forward, following Newman who was disappearing round
the corner in the Espace. Paula took Jennie by the arm,
glanced at the mob of people pushing and shoving up
against each other while they hurried across to the
station. Gaunt had just beaten the lights before they
turned red.

Rush hour with a vengeance. Everyone looked sick of doing a day's boring work, sick of trudging through the slush, sick of the penetrating cold. Paula found the nor
mality of all this strangely reassuring after their nightmare
trip into the Vosges.

A wave of warmth met them as they pushed open the doors into the well-heated Brasserie. Tweed was already
seated at a table in the dining area closest to the hotel
with Eve beside him. Cardon sat at the end of the long
table where he could survey the whole restaurant.

'A glass of Riesling for everyone who likes the idea,'
Tweed announced. 'I think we need a stimulant before we
go to our rooms and freshen up before dinner.'

Well, at least we're safe in here, Paula was thinking as she sat next to Cardon and Jennie chose the chair next to hers. Paula agreed enthusiastically to some Riesling and
glanced round the restaurant. A handful of locals having a drink on their way home. Then she frowned.

At a table by himself, not ten feet away, sat one of the
most repulsive men she'd ever seen, a man who looked
just like a bulldog.

Norton drove very slowly when he reached Kaysersberg. The snow was piled up in the ancient narrow streets. This
was some country. Hadn't they ever heard of snow-
ploughs? He parked the Renault in a side-street some distance from the Green Tree. The less the proprietor of
the small hotel knew about him the better.

He met no one as he trudged back through the snow. The old buildings, lit by wrought-iron lamps, had oak
beams sunk into the plaster walls. The plaster had a
different colour for each building - bright scarlet, deep ochre, flaming orange. Kaysersberg was beautiful, but Norton noticed none of it. Whole lot ought to be pulled
down, replaced by modern buildings with plenty of plate-
glass.

He walked into the entrance hall of the Green Tree,
ignoring the iron scraper outside, littering the carpet with
snow. The woman behind the desk called out to him.

'A phone call for you. The same person each time, I think. Called six times. Left a message.'

Norton nodded, took the folded piece of paper. He
waited until he'd taken off his fur hat and coat in his small
room, then read the message.

Call urgently. Repeat, urgently. Sara.

'Hell. Go jump off a building. A high one,' Norton said out loud.

He checked his watch. It would be 2p.m. in Washing
ton. He'd half a mind to ignore the message. Sitting on
the bed, he decided he'd better make the call. Probably
he'd get such a lousy connection it would be pointless.

In a grim mood, he started the laborious business of
trying to get through to Washington. The connection
wasn't lousy, it was perfect, goddamnit. Sara answered.

'He's pretty anxious to talk with you. I'd go easy if I
were you . ..'

'You're not me,' Norton snapped.

'Please yourself.' Sara's tone was calm, indifferent. 'I am putting you on the line. Don't ever say I didn't warn
you...'

Norton, who had exceptional stamina, was in an ugly
mood. It had been a tough day. All attempts to exter
minate Tweed had failed. And he hadn't laid his hands on
the film or the tape. He wasn't going to bow and scrape.

'Norton?' President Bradford March's tone was aggressive. 'What crap are you feedin' me this time? Give.'

'I know now where what you want is. I'm leaving for
some dump called Ouchy in Switzerland. That's where
they are. I'll give you my new number after I've got there.
Later this evening, European time. We're almost there.'

'I don't give two shits for "almost",' March shouted. 'I should have sent a bell-boy to do this job. Someone is
playing you like a fish on a line

Which was true, Norton had realized. Growly Voice
had
adopted the technique used by kidnappers. Always sending him on to a new destination to wear him down. The aptness of the President's comment did not improve
his temper.

'Just you listen to me for once,' he rapped back. 'I'm
the guy on the spot. I know the angles now. Get off my back. Hear me? You listenin' in that snazzy office?'

March had not reached the Oval Office by losing self-control in a crisis. His explosions of abuse were always calculated. Leaning back in his chair, March perched his
feet on his desk, crossed his ankles while he thought.

'You still there?' Norton demanded abrasively.

'Sure I am,' March replied quietly. 'Is Mencken still around?' he asked casually.

It was Norton's turn to pause. The one possibility which
bothered him was that he might be replaced by that
scumbag, Mencken. He decided to hold back nothing. March mimicked in a controlled voice Norton's earlier question.

'You still there?'

'Yeah. Let's hope the line holds. You'd better realize we've taken heavy casualties ...'