Precipice

'You've got it.'

'Franklin struck me as a very able sort of bloke.' Kent remarked as they continued walking slowly round the square.

'He's ex-Military Intelligence.'

'A good background to run detective agencies. So if by chance I run into him, I'm there on private business?'

Which was typical of Kent, Paula was thinking. To dot every 'i' and cross every 't'. In the past he had proved to be enormously reliable.

'That's your best cover.' Tweed agreed.

'Did you find that odd little character Archie I mentioned to you at Bradfields?'

'Yes, we did. It was a short visit. I gathered Archie is on his way out of the country. Don't ask me where to -he's not very forthcoming.'

That's Archie. Never lets his left hand know what his right hand is doing. I rather like him. Gutsy.'

'You use him now and again for some purpose – or shouldn't I ask?' Tweed enquired.

'I wouldn't tell anyone else, but he makes a living, so he told me, by selling interesting news about important people to newspapers all over the world. Not sex scandals or any of that sort of dirt. Financial data -about some big company that's in deep water and no one else has caught on. He can spot the defect in a balance sheet as quickly as I can.'

'How did you get to know him?'

Kent paused, cocked his head on one side again, gazing first at Tweed, then at Paula.

'He got to know me. A friend in Paris couldn't give me what I was after but said Archie would contact me. For a price. I was shaving in my room in Paris at the Georges Cinq and he tapped on my door. He knew what I wanted to find out. And his fee was reasonable. Cash, of course. I don't think he believes in paying taxes.'

'You know how to contact him in Paris, then?'

'Heavens, no!' Kent chuckled. 'Not with Archie. When I go over there I'll be walking along the Rue St-Honore and suddenly he's strolling at my side. It's uncanny. I have wondered whether he has a pal at Charles de Gaulle Airport with access to the passenger manifests. That's a guess. I really like, admire him. Now, I've got the picture, so I'd better vanish. Do the Invisible Man trick – like Archie.'

'Keep in touch.'

'If you're away when I phone your office – which means probably Paula will be away, too – can I give a message to Monica?'

'Tell her anything. Keith, be careful. The Motorman is on the loose.'

'That's right, build up my confidence…'

Kent slipped behind the wheel of his Rover and was out of the square before Tweed and Paula entered the lane to the Priory.

'Could I have a word with you, sir? It's rather confidential, I gather.'

The proprietor leaned over the counter inside the hotel as though he'd been waiting for Tweed to appear. Paula, tactfully, nipped up the stairs to her room.

A moment later Eve appeared out of the lounge, holding a glass of vodka. She had changed into a green form-fitting dress, clasped at her waist with a gold belt and with a high collar.

'Come on, Tweed!' she called out. 'We're ail about to feed our faces down in the dungeon. Want me to get you a drink?'

'Not just at the moment, thank you. I'll join you soon.'

The proprietor waited until they were alone again, leaned closer to Tweed.

'The caller, a lady, emphasized I must not write down the message, that I was to pass it to you verbally when you were on your own.'

'I think I am now.'

'The caller's name was Monica. She said the destination was Geneva. She repeated the name. Geneva.'

13

Tweed had mounted the stairs, thinking he was moving silently, when Paula's bedroom door opened. She was wearing a dressing gown and she beckoned him inside, then closed the door.

'It's all right. I'm decent. I'm just taking a quick shower and my new outfit is in the bathroom. Has there been a development?'

'Monica has reported that Brazil has flown to Geneva.'

'Geneva! You guessed right. How did you do it, when we know Brazil has HQs in Paris and Zurich, but no one has mentioned Geneva?'

'Partly for that reason. I'm beginning to get the measure of Mr Brazil. He's very secretive. So he's likely to conceal his real HQ. Plus the fact that Geneva is so international. And one other element you know about.'

That's right, tease me. What element?'

'The photograph of Marchat Buchanan told us about. It was wrapped in copies of the Journal de Geneve.'

'I should have remembered that. Incidentally, I'll wear my dove-grey suit."'

'You look good in that. Eve is dressed to kill. I saw her downstairs.'

'To kill Philip. What I was going to say was my dove-grey suit is warm. With a windcheater over that I'll be OK, however arctic it is outside, for our trip to see the barman, Ben, at Bowling Green after dinner.'

'I wasn't going to take you with us. It could be dangerous.'

'Which is why I insist on coming. I'll knock on your door when I'm ready. Five minutes?'

'Fine. I'm just going to have a quick wash. I have a lot to think about. Particularly a remark someone made to us today.'

'Which you won't tell me.'

'Not yet.'

'You are going to ask Franklin to check on Brazil – as well as Keith?'

'Yes, I decided when I got Monica's message.'

'You're throwing quite a net round Mr Leopold Brazil.'

'Big fish need a big net to catch them…'

At Cointrin Airport, Geneva, a white jet landed away from the main runways. A limousine with tinted glass drove up to the aircraft in the darkness. Brazil, accompanied by Carson Craig in an expensive business suit, descended the ladder and got into the back of the limo.

Bypassing Customs and Passport Control, the limo left the airport and drove out past the office blocks of famous international conglomerates. It cruised for a short distance, then speeded up as it drove onto the main road.

A plain-clothes detective at the airport phoned Arthur Beck, Chief of Federal Police, at his office on Kochergasse in Berne.

'Inspector Carnet here, sir. Talking from a phone booth at Cointrin. The subject has arrived, was met by a limousine as soon as the private jet landed.'

'And now you've lost him?' Beck suggested calmly.

'No, sir. Two unmarked cars and a motorcyclist are following the limo. It's headed east towards Ouchy and Montreux.'

'Keep me informed,' Beck instructed. 'But, as you have done, always call me on my private line…'

***

In the large stone-walled cellar at the Priory where dinner was served Eve, at the head of a long table, was holding forth. Tweed observed her bravura performance over Paula's shoulder as they descended the curving stone-flagged staircase.

'With that party,' Tweed told the head waiter.

'Welcome to the shindig.' Eve called out, waving a glass which, Tweed noted, had been refilled. In her other hand she held a cigarette. 'We've had a most super day.' she went on, flashing her smile at Tweed and ignoring Paula. 'Bill is a superb driver…' She paused and flashed the same smile at the man on her right. 'He's as good as Philip.'

Eve was flanked by Bill Franklin on one side, by Philip on the other. Tweed took hold of Paula's elbow to guide her.

'Paula can sit next to Bill.' Eve called out as though she would be obeyed as a matter of course. 'Tweed, your place is next to Philip

…'

'You're paying the bill?' Tweed enquired, still standing with Paula.

The question threw Eve. She was drinking more vodka when Tweed propelled Paula next to Philip and walked round the head of the table to sit next to Franklin. Newman occupied the chair at the other end of the table.

'You're in the wrong seats.' Eve said with vehemence.

'I'm sure we are.' Tweed smiled. 'But you see I am paying the bill. You really look rather relieved now.' he teased her.