Precipice

35

Tweed returned to Park Crescent two hours after leaving for Downing Street. He walked into his office, took off his coat, put it on a hanger after putting his gloves on his desk. Monica watched him with growing impatience, sure that he was being tantalizing. Then she saw his pensive expression, realized he was thinking. He sat down behind his desk, still with the abstracted look on his face.

'Would you like some coffee?' she ventured.

'Yes, please.' He paused. 'After I've told you what happened.'

'The PM is still at sixes and sevens,' she guessed.

'No, not any more. I talked to him pretty frankly and he listened. By the time I'd finished he'd calmed down. He can even take a decision now.'

'And did he?'

'Yes. He agreed to several suggestions I made. First he's alerted the Rapid Reaction Force to be ready to fly to Europe. Then he phoned the German Chancellor and told him to have the airfields ready to receive it when it lands.'

'Told him? Told the German Chancellor?'

'That's what I said. Actually the Chancellor was glad to have someone taking a decision. I also suggested the PM refused any calls from the President at the White House, telling him to inform the President the PM was not available, that his Private Secretary should take the calls.'

'What was the idea of that?'

'To stop Washington spreading their frenzied mood.

The White House is in the greatest panic ever known. All in all I've poured oil on the troubled waters.'

'Not petrol, as you told Howard?'

'That was just to shut him up. How is Reginald coming on with his computer toys?'

'He's still upstairs with his team. They're frantic.'

'They would be. I'll pop upstairs and sort them out. If a pot of coffee was ready when I get back I'd be most grateful…'

Tweed strolled up to the next floor. The door to the computer room was open, lights were flashing. He went in to find Reginald, long hair trailing down over his neck, staring fixedly at the master computer. His two assistants seemed equally hypnotized by their equipment.

'Getting anywhere?' Tweed asked.

'I'll say we are.' Reginald's bulging eyes gleamed as he turned to look at Tweed. 'The trouble is we can't cope with the amount of data coming in.'

'Data? The rubbish you're being fed? Nothing major has actually happened so far.'

'You're wrong, sir. Look at the screen. It's reporting extensive troop movements converging on Moscow from all sides.'

'Do the satellites confirm that? They'd see those movements.'

'Well, not yet.'

'Don't you find that puzzling?' Tweed asked gently.

'Modern communications are a complicated business,' said Reginald, sounding pretentious.

'You haven't answered my question.'

'We are getting reports from all over the world…'

'I did query whether the satellites confirm these reports.'

'Well, Washington may be sitting on what they're getting from that source.'

'Why should they?' demanded Tweed.

'I've no idea.'

'Then I'll tell you. It's because the satellites have not picked up what those alarming reports are saying. They haven't picked them up because they're not happening. Yet.'

'What does that mean, sir?'

'Keep up the good work. Soon you may really be overwhelmed with shattering news.'

Before Reginald could ask what he meant Tweed left, went back to his office. Monica poured coffee from a large pot, added milk. Tweed sat down, drank a whole cupful at one steady gulp. Monica refilled the cup.

'I'm going to have a nap in this chair,' Tweed said when he had drunk the second cup.

He had just closed his eyes when the phone rang. He kept them closed until Monica called out.

'Sorry, I have Beck on the line…'

'Hello, Arthur. I arrived here in record time. Your aircrew are superb. They're standing by at Heathrow for when I want to take off again.'

'Good. More news. Brazil has again delayed his flight departure aboard the jet at Kloten. He's playing cat and mouse.'

'What he doesn't know is I'm the cat, he's the mouse. If you call again and I'm not here, speak to Monica. She will know how to contact me. What's the weather like in Zurich?'

'A typical British question. It's snowing, not heavily. Brazil's pilot gave that as the reason why he's changed the flight plan.'

'But he could have taken off?'

'The security chief at Kloten told me he most certainly could have done.'

'Which means Brazil is working to a timetable. Thanks for keeping me in touch. Appreciate it if you'd keep doing so…'

'So what are you waiting for?' Monica asked as she put down her phone after listening in.

'Brazil's big bang. The trouble is I'm not sure what form it will take. But we'll know when it happens.'

Tweed closed his eyes again and fell fast asleep after pulling his tie loose and unfastening his collar.

In Zurich Brazil had summoned Craig to his living room. Igor, seated by Brazil's side, stood up and bared its teeth as the visitor entered the room…'

'Sit down, Craig. Is everyone travelling aboard the jet ready to leave?'

'They have been ready for several hours.'

'It's time to go.' Brazil looked at his watch. 'It is a short flight so I should reach the villa in time. I want you to contact the flight controller at Sion airfield to have the runway ready for us to land.'

'The cars are standing by to take us straight to Kloten.' Craig reported smugly.

'I should hope they are.'

'Who will look after Igor aboard the plane?' Craig enquired, eyeing the hound without enthusiasm. 'Jose?'

'No. You will. He likes resting his forepaws in a lap when he's airborne. Your lap should serve nicely.'

'You said you would reach the villa in time. In time to do what?'

'To send the first signal to the laboratory across the valley.'

'The signal to do what?' Craig rumbled on.

'You'll find out when it happens, won't you?' Brazil smiled broadly. 'Now, off you go, get the others on their way to the airport. And send Eve in to me for a word.'

'She's probably asleep.'

'Wake her up, then.'

***

Eve was still up, drinking and smoking, when Craig hammered on her door.

'Can't you knock more quietly?' she demanded when she opened the door and saw who was there.

'No. The boss wants to see you. This very second. So make with the feet.'

'You know, Craig, you have the most charming way of expressing yourself.'

Her retort was wasted. Craig was already clumping off down the corridor to tell everyone they were leaving. Eve checked her appearance in the mirror, used a brush to smooth down her jet-black hair behind her neck.

She then walked slowly along the corridor, entered Brazil's room without knocking, closed the door, drifted across to the chair in front of the desk, sat down and crossed her shapely legs. No one was going to hurry her.

'You can certainly move,' Brazil said sarcastically.

'Where is the doggie?'

'Craig will shortly be taking him to the airport. You get on with Robert Newman rather well. Is that right?'

'Yes, I do,' she lied. 'Why? Do you want me to make up to him?'

'Why, I wonder, do men fall for you so easily?'

'Men are propelled by desire for attractive women. It must be my irresistible personality,' she said cynically.

'If you say so.' Brazil checked the time by his watch. 'I must go in a minute.'

'What was the point of asking me about Newman?'

'I was coming to that. I will, in due course, return to Zurich. Some unfinished business I have to attend to. It's just possible Newman will follow me back here. If he's still alive. In that contingency you can practise your black magic arts on him. I would want to know where Tweed was. You could manage that, couldn't you?'