Precipice

It was a bitter night but the air freshened him up. He saw a man on a corner standing doing nothing who glanced in his direction. Tweed waved to him. The man, in a reflex action, half-raised his hand to wave back, then lowered it quickly.

'Damn fools,' Tweed said to himself. 'Amateurs.'

Beck had been waiting for him in his room, curtains closed over the windows overlooking the River Limmat. Tweed took off his coat as Beck finished a phone call.

'It worked,' he said as he replaced the receiver. 'My friend Inspector Vincenau moves like lightning. And he had paramilitary troops waiting at Geneva's airport. They wore maintenance overalls as they approached the second jet Brazil uses, the one with his name plastered all over the fuselage. The white jet is standing by at Kloten.'

'It's fortunate you knew the second jet was waiting at Geneva.' Tweed commented. 'Now it's also at Kloten?'

'Yes I think Brazil had that waiting at Geneva as a getaway in case he needed it.'

'And is there any chance of Brazil hearing about what has happened to his second jet?'

'No chance. Vincenau is good at covert operations. The crew of that jet have been arrested and held incomrnunicado in a secret place.'

'I'd better call Jim Corcoran, Chief of Security at Heathrow, so I can clue him up. May I use your phone?'

Beck pushed one of several phones across his desk to Tweed.

'That's the really safe one…'

He watched with an amused smile as Tweed dialled Corcoran's number from memory. As Tweed had hoped, Corcoran was in his office. He was another man who worked through the night. Tweed spoke rapidly.

'You'll have it tucked away out of sight ready for use later?' he ended.

Corcoran assured him he would see to that himself. Tweed put down the phone and Beck used his intercom to summon a man called Joinvin.

'He's very intelligent. With him as your escort no one will see you at Kloten.'

He introduced a tall well-built man who looked as though he would be an asset in a rough-house.

'Joinvin already knows what he has to do. We talked together after your phone call – cryptic as you made it, I understood you.'

'Then what am I waiting for?' Tweed asked, standing up.

'Bon voyage,' said Beck.

Three hours later a man called Tweed, wearing horn-rimmed glasses and a muffler which hid most of his face, arrived at Kloten. The police car he travelled in was escorted by outriders and travelled with its horn blaring, its light flashing. No arrival could have been more public.

Escorted by Joinvin, wearing a police uniform, he went straight to the final departure lounge, bypassing Passport Control and Customs. Joinvin sat with him while the other passengers for the first flight to London stared in curiosity. Some VIP, undoubtedly.

Joinvin then escorted him to the entrance to the aircraft when Business Class was called. His ticket had been purchased much earlier by a man in plain clothes. As he had arrived a slim, white-faced man observed the spectacle, then hurried to a phone.

'Tweed is just boarding the flight to London,' he reported to Brazil. 'They're nervous as kittens – he had a police escort. The full works.'

'Thank you.'

In his room at the Baur-en-Ville Brazil sat back and smiled at Luigi and Jose.

'That's good news. Tweed is on his way back to London. So he's well on his way and out of my hair for good.' He looked up as Eve entered, again without knocking. 'You couldn't sleep?'

'Too much going on. What is going on?' she asked saucily as she plonked herself in the chair in front of his desk.

'Tweed has gone. He just boarded the early flight to Heathrow. He's said goodbye to Zurich, to Switzerland.'

'What about the others?' she asked shrewdly. 'Newman, Paula Grey, and Philip Cardon? To say nothing of the two men we've never identified.'

'We're not sure.' Jose replied to her. 'Our troops at the main station were rounded up by Beck's men. It was a drug bust. Most unfortunate. They took our people away because they found they were armed.'

'Bad luck,' Eve commented without enthusiasm.

'Eve,' Brazil addressed her, 'I am leaving you in charge here while I am away. I'll be coming back to Zurich for a brief visit. Then you can come with me when we leave.'

'Leave for where?'

'You'll find out when I've made up my mind. But I have decided to leave a little later. I want breakfast first.'

'Just who am I in charge of?' she demanded.

'You are aggressive.'

'No, I'm not. But if I'm in charge I like to know who is my staff. Obvious question, I'd have thought,' she continued in her usual forceful manner.

'Karl, Gunnar, and Francois. I want you to keep an eye on both the Schweizerhof and the Gotthard hotels.'

'When there may be nobody there?'

'I like to cover my bets.'

'Have a nice trip to Xanadu.'

She flounced out of the room, but closed the door carefully and went back to her room.

'Drug bust my foot,' she said aloud behind the closed door.

Lighting a cigarette, she poured herself a large vodka and sat down to think. Then she called Brazil on the internal phone.

'Eve here. What about Igor?'

'It will be coming with me.'

'Just checking.'

Well, that's a bonus point, she decided. Not having to look after a damned dog. She sat thinking again. Philip Cardon, whom she'd spent quite a lot of time with, never entered her mind. So Brazil is coming back to Zurich -that means Bob Newman won't be far behind him.

Philip was driving through the mist in Sion with Paula by his side. He carried a canvas bag with the shoulder strap attached. Paula was navigating, the map on her knees, giving him instructions when to turn.

'Why didn't you go and see Anton Marchat after you arrived?' she queried. 'Archie said he was very important and you have the address.'

'Deliberately gave it a miss. We'll go and try to find him later today – after dark. There are too many motorcyclists floating… floating…'

'The people of Geneva call them Leather Bombers.' she interjected.

'All right. Too many Leather Bombers on the road. After dark we'll have a better chance of eluding them. We have to protect Marchat as far as we can.'

They left Sion behind, began the tortuous ascent to the Kellerhorn. Suddenly they emerged from the mist, leaving it below them as a white layer with the castle-like building perched on the mist like a strange ship on a sea. Then they really began to climb, the road hardly wide enough for two vehicles to pass safely.

The wheels of their vehicle gripped the ice patches on the road firmly, to Philip's unspoken relief. On his side a sheer abyss dropped into the distant valley. On Paula's side the mountain wall sheered up vertically. She was so close to it she felt hemmed in, but reminded herself it was better than looking down the abyss with no barrier to keep them on this fiendish road.

An added hazard was the way the road kept turning round sheer bends. Philip was constantly expecting to meet something descending the road but so far it had been clear. The gradient was also much steeper. He concentrated all his mind on driving.

Paula, no longer needing to navigate, looked across him and down into the valley far away. The sun had come out, the mist had dissolved, tiny Sion looked like a street map. They were very high up now and still Philip was having to turn the wheel as he negotiated yet another hairpin bend. He was also watching the road surface as the sun had appeared. Snow was melting, exposing the ice below it had masked. He came to a large alcove in the rock wall, turned into it.

'Thank heavens,' Paula said. 'Time for a rest. Why don't I take over the wheel?'

'Not yet. I've got into the swing of it. Let's get out. I feel like one of my rare cigarettes.'

'You can give me one.' she said as they got out of the four-wheel-drive, stretched their legs.