Precipice

'That's horrible, and thank you for the warning…'

Paula hurried back to the Hotel des Bergues and had dinner at the Pavilion restaurant leading off the lobby. Tonight, she felt, was a very unknown quantity and she was more alert after a light meal.

Leaving the restaurant, she hailed a cab and asked the driver to take her to Les Armures. The driver nodded that he knew where it was and crossed the Pont du Rhone, the bridge over the river.

From that moment they left behind the bright lights of the international city of Geneva and climbed into the dark of the Old City, perched high up. Although he was driving on snow tyres the cabbie proceeded cautiously. He was climbing ever more steeply, veering round dangerous bends, and on both sides of the narrow cobbled street Paula looked out at ancient stone buildings which gave her the impression of an abandoned district. He skidded three times but managed to regain control. Higher and higher they mounted until, to Paula's relief, the cathedral, built on the summit, came into view, a menacing edifice in the moonlight.

He pulled up beside a weird stone platform and looked over his shoulder.

'The restaurant is over there. I can't get any closer,' he said in French.

She paid him off, standing on treacherous cobbles covered with ice. Then he was gone. An uncomfortable silence she could almost hear descended. No one else was about. She checked her watch. The illuminated hands registered 8 p.m. She had deliberately arrived one hour before the earliest time Archie had said he would be at Les Armures. She wanted to check out the area.

Philip's flight landed at Geneva and he went immediately to a phone and called Monica.

'Philip here. Calling from Cointrin Airport. I've just arrived. Any news of Paula?'

'Yes. Staying at the Hotel des Bergues, room number…'

'Thanks. Must go.'

'Put that phone down and you're fired.'

Tweed's voice, grim.

'To hell with that,' Philip snapped. 'I've arrived late. Plane held up at Heathrow. Something about engine maintenance. It's eight o'clock here, for God's sake…'

'Information you need.' Tweed's voice was calm now. 'I had Beck on the line over an hour ago. Carson Craig has flown to Geneva. Beck reported a motorcycle gang which is careering round the city. Killed a woman and took her away. The police can't locate the gang.'

'Got it. I'm going now…'

'Good luck.' said Tweed but Philip didn't hear the words. He had slammed down the phone.

He was in a desperate rush to reach Les Armures by nine. But he had vital jobs to do first. He ran out of the concourse, grabbed a cab, asked to be taken to the Hotel des Bergues.

At the hotel he registered for a room quickly, left his bag for a porter to take up to his room. He paused to enquire whether his friend Paula Grey was in the hotel.

'No, sir. She went out…'

'Thanks.'

Philip dashed out, nearly lost his balance on the ice even though he was wearing special boots with soles to grip ice. He dived back into the cab he'd kept waiting, gave the driver the address of Marler's dealer in arms. Reaching his destination, he gave the driver an amount far exceeding the fare.

'Wait for me and there's a large tip. For God's sake don't go away. I'm late for an appointment with a girl friend.'

'I'll be here.' This driver had a sense of humour. 'Never keep a woman waiting is my motto…'

Philip had spoken in French, which he found came back to him easily. He nearly went mad as Rico Sava put him through the same procedure he'd adopted with Paula, taking centuries to open the Judas window, then the door. Asking for a description of Marler.

'I need a 7.65mm Walther automatic, the one with eight rounds capacity.'

'You may need more than that.'

'What do you mean?' Philip asked, controlling his growing impatience.

'I had a very nice lady here. She purchased a Browning automatic. ..'

'She did?'

'I warned her not to go into the Old City. I think she was going to ignore my warning. If you're here to protect her you'll need more than that.' Sava repeated.

'Supposing I was here to do that?'

'There's a villainous motorcycle gang…'

'I've heard about them…'

'After the lady had gone a murderous-looking man with a mean face called here and spent a fortune. I heard his motorcycle stop further down the street.'

'What about it?'

'I'm breaking my golden rule' – Sava looked regretful – 'never to inform on one customer to another, but you come from Marler. And I didn't like this man.'

'He spent a fortune, you said. What did he buy?'

'A large supply of stun grenades. Also a number of Army grenades. Lethal. Twelve handguns, plenty of ammo. And this, which puzzled me.'

He took Philip across the shop into another room, showed him a huge searchlight-like lamp. It wasn't cumbersome. Sava handed it to Philip, who was surprised at how little it weighed. Sava showed him how easily it was switched on.

'Motorcycles,' Sava reminded him. 'What do you want? I can put the searchlight into a canvas bag with a strap to hang from your shoulder.'

'What about both types of grenade?'

'They would go into separate pockets inside the bag.'

'How much? Don't forget the Walther with spare mags.'

'Expensive, especially the searchlight. Fifteen thousand francs.'

'Pack them quickly. Everything in the bag except the Walther. Very quickly, please…'

Thanking God that Tweed always insisted key members of his staff carried a lot of money in high-denomination Swiss francs and Deutschmarks, Philip peeled off fifteen notes.

'Excuse me.' Sava said as Philip was leaving, 'but you are a brave man…'

Canvas bag over his shoulder, Philip dived back into the waiting cab, told him to drive to Les Armures.

'I'm sorry, sir.' the driver said as he drove off, 'but I can only drive you as far as the cathedral. There is big trouble in the Old City. The police have got it wrong -they are watching the outskirts of Geneva to check everyone entering. The people they are after are already here.'

'All right, then. The cathedral.'

Philip checked his watch. Ten minutes to nine. Everything had taken too long. He had an awful feeling he was going to be too late.

18

As her cab vanished into the dark Paula climbed the few steps onto the elevated platform of old stone, roofed in and open on three sides. She walked past two ancient cannons, descended the steps on the other side, and a waiter opened the door of Les Armures.

'Good evening, madame. Are you by yourself?' 'I won't be. My friend is meeting me here later.' 'A drink at the bar while you wait?' 'No, thank you. I want a quiet table in a corner.' Which is what Archie would want, she thought. Leading the way, the waiter showed her a small table for two in the angle where two stone walls met. Paula looked back at the entrance and saw it was hidden from view.

'This would be perfect. He may not arrive for awhile.'

'That does not matter, madame. The table is yours…'

She looked round the restaurant as the waiter left her. The place was as she remembered it when she had once dined there with Tweed, very old with an arch leading to another cavern. The atmosphere was lively. Most tables were occupied, there was a babble of voices, laughter, the tinkling of glasses. The cloths on the tables looked brand new and waiters were dashing back and forth. No sign of Archie in the cavern beyond the first room. But she was very early. She turned, went back to the door. Her waiter ran up.

'Madame is not going out again?'

'Madame likes the fresh air…'

'Fresh air! It is like the North Pole out there! I must warn you there is solid ice on the cobbles.'

'I know.' She smiled. 'I'll be careful…'