Precipice

'Pretty much what I expected.' Tweed replied.

'And a personal message from Chief of Police Arthur Beck for you. I didn't understand it first time and asked them to repeat it. He says the rumours are all originating from Zurich.'

'Again what I expected. Thank you.'

The plane was descending rapidly. The pilot turned to Tweed.

'We'll be landing shortly, sir.'

'I'm very grateful to you. You know that this plane and the whole crew are to be placed at my disposal again after you have landed?'

'Yes, sir. You expect to be flying again soon?'

'Very shortly. Now I will return to my seat.'

It was a very satisfied Tweed who sank into the luxurious seat and fastened his seat belt. He would arrive in London three hours ahead of the first scheduled flight.

Beck was furious. He sat in his office, staring at the sheets he'd taken from the teleprinter, giving reports from the international news services. Moscow… Moscow… Moscow… He looked up at Joinvin, who had just entered his office. He waved the reams of sheets.

'We know all this stuff is coming from rumours Brazil is spreading from here – in Zurich. Have you found out where from?'

'No, sir. The detector vans are out trying to trace the source of the radio transmissions but we have a problem.'

'I know we have a problem. Tracking his source.'

'What I meant, sir, was that he appears to be using some kind of vehicles to jam our detector vans.'

'He's also using jamming equipment! Let's face it -the man is a genius at organization. How do we get round that one?'

'We have found one van we know is using jamming apparatus near the lake at the bottom of Bahnhofstrasse. The trouble is we have no authority to search a private vehicle. I have an idea.'

'What is it, then?'

'I'll draw up a list of people who have complained their radios are being interfered with. I'll get names out of the telephone directory.'

'Go ahead. You know, Joinvin, I'm going to think about whether I should promote you.'

'That's all you will do.' Joinvin said good-humouredly. 'Think about it.'

The intercom buzzed, Beck answered it, listened, then pressed the button to shut it off. He looked at Joinvin.

'A brilliant idea of yours. Forget it. The radio transmissions have stopped. That man is playing with me – he's always one step ahead in the game. And now I hear from the security chief at Kloten that the pilot of Brazil's private jet has filed a new flight plan – to leave for Sion later this morning. Always one step ahead of me.' he repeated.

'Not always.' Joinvin reminded him. 'He doesn't know that Tweed has already arrived in London.'

Eve, fully dressed, walked into Jose's office, her expression livid. She always got on well with Jose, who looked up, smiled, then frowned.

'What's wrong?'

'I couldn't sleep, so I went for a walk. What happens? I turn down a side-street off Bahnhofstrasse and two young Yanks ask me the way. Then they try to assault me.'

'They didn't…'

'No, they didn't. I scraped my heel down the shin of one lout. He yelped, let go. I swung round and kneed the other in the groin. They cleared off damned fast. But I feel I need some protection.'

'Not a gun.' Jose unlocked a drawer in his desk, took out a canister with a nozzle on top, handed it to her.

'This is hairspray.' she said, reading the printing on the outside. 'If I'd thought I could have got this from a shop.'

'No, you couldn't. And don't press the button. That canister contains Mace gas. The wording is camouflage. It's illegal.'

'Would it kill someone?'

'No. But it would disable them for some while. Keep it in your shoulder bag at all times.'

'Thank you, Jose. You know I'm being left in charge while you're all away in Sion? I've been wondering, does that include Gustav, who is also staying in Zurich?'

'I wouldn't try giving orders to Gustav. He's an ugly man – and not only to look at.'

'I'll take your advice.' She hesitated. 'I went out for my walk about an hour or so ago. I saw a lot of men who are on Brazil's staff going into a building on Bahnhof-strasse. They were in a hurry. What were they doing at this time of night?'

'I shouldn't tell you.' Jose himself now hesitated. 'I will, though. They were operating what Brazil called his radio exchange, contacting people all over the world. I don't know why.'

'Sounds bonkers. I'd better get back to bed, try and get some sleep. Thanks again for the canister.'

***

Newman and his team were aboard the night express to Geneva. They had boarded the almost empty train separately. Newman sat in the corner of a first-class compartment by himself. He knew Marler was patrolling up and down the corridor at intervals, keeping guard. Newman appeared to be asleep but came awake the moment Marler entered his compartment.

'All's quiet.' he reported. 'What do we do when we get to Cornavin Station?'

'We eat in the buffet – at separate tables. Then we're boarding the Milan express. Only a few stops and we'll arrive at Sion.'

'And when we get there?'

'We check all the hotels until we've found Paula and Philip. I don't like them being on their own in that area. It will be crawling with Brazil's thugs.'

'And after we've found Paula and Philip – assuming we do?' asked Marler.

'We try to locate this ground station which controls the satellite orbiting over our heads. When we have found it – because we will.' Newman said decisively -'then we destroy the damned thing.'

'There may be a little opposition that will object to that.'

'Then we destroy the opposition.' Newman glanced out of the window. 'In a minute we'll be coming into Cornavin.'

Monica, baggy-eyed, looked up from her desk, astounded as Tweed entered his office.

'This is magic.' she said. 'I had a message from Beck to say you were catching the first early flight out of Zurich. You're three hours early…'

'Sometimes a little magic is called for – it catches people on the wrong foot. Present company excluded, I emphasize.' He had taken off his scarf and coat, dropped his bag by his desk. 'Where is Howard?'

'Just back from Downing Street.'

'How many times has he been to the holy of holies?'

'Three times in the past twenty-four hours.'

'Too many visits. He'll just wind up the PM. I'll have to go to perishing Downing Street myself, calm them all down.'

'You've heard about the rumours? They're coming in from all over the world – including Tokyo.'

'Yes.' Tweed was not in a forgiving mood. He looked up from his desk as Howard came in like a whirlwind. 'Have you been wasting your time chatting up the PM?'

Howard, normally immaculately dressed, was a sartorial mess. The jacket of his business suit was crumpled, and the creases in his trousers were still there, but only just. His tie was askew and he'd unbuttoned his collar. Tweed, by comparison, was a fashion plate.

'Thank God you're back… Never expected to see you so… soon,' Howard almost stuttered. 'You don't know what's happening.'

'Actually, I do.'

'Downing Street is in a frenzy. Washington's gone berserk. Paris is running round in circles…'

'Calm down,' said Tweed quietly. 'And do sit down. You are moving round like a tango dancer on cocaine.'

Howard flopped into the largest armchair, arms hanging loose over the arms, staring at Tweed with a glazed look as he went on.

'It's international. It's everywhere. The world has gone mad.'

'So let's not go mad with it,' Tweed said in the same calm voice. 'You're flaked out, exhausted. I'm going to see the PM, put him right about a few things.'

'You'll be careful.'

'No, I won't. I'll be blunt – blunt as the notorious instrument the police talk about when someone's murdered.'