The Power (16 page)

'Check the passenger manifests! Have you any idea just
how long that would take?'

'I was going on to say I can be precise. Three days ago, I
said. Sometime in the evening. By Swissair.'

That's better. I'm not promising anything. I have to use
another phone
...

'I'll hold on,' Tweed repeated. 'I'm a long way off and it
would be difficult to call you back.'

'Hang on, then ...'

Paula, who had listened in, looked at Tweed, puzzled.
He shook his head so she wouldn't speak. He put more
coins in the slot. Corcoran was back within minutes.

'I've got it. A Joel Dyson travelled first class to Zurich
three days ago. Aboard Flight SR 805. Departed Heath
row 2350 hours, ETA Zurich 0225 hours, local time.'

'I'm grateful. One more favour. This call was never
made. You haven't heard from me - whoever puts pressure
on you.'

'You know, I have a terrible memory sometimes.
Tweed, are you OK?'

'No bones broken, not a scratch on me. I was born
lucky.'

'Just make sure you
stay
lucky,' Corcoran said in a grave voice.

10

'I don't understand,' Paula said after they had left the
phone box. 'Why these enquiries about Joel Dyson?'

'Let's walk about for a few minutes. There are things I
should have told you.'

'Bob and Philip will start wondering what's happened to
me...'

The words were hardly out of her mouth when Newman

came out of the bar, staring round. Paula waved to him,
gave a thumbs-up signal. Newman grinned, relieved to find she was with Tweed. He waved to them and went back into
the bar.

Paula led Tweed to the brink of the inner harbour. She pointed to the
Mayflower III.

'Believe it or not, that belongs to Gaunt. When I mentioned the fact to him in the bar he looked annoyed that I knew, then said he only leased it. I didn't believe him.'

'Interesting. That's a millionaire's vessel.'

'Could Gaunt be a millionaire? He's always talking as though he's at the end of his tether financially.'

'Millionaires often do that. Talk as though they can't
afford to spend a penny or a cent. Which gives me an idea I
should have thought of. I'll call Monica down at the Surrey
mansion and get her to run a check on our Squire Gaunt.
Now, Joel Dyson
...'

Paula led him across the car park as Tweed told her what
Newman had reported over the phone from Baker Street Station after the explosion. He gave her all the details of
Dyson's rushed visit to Park Crescent, about the film and
the tape he had left.

As they walked over the white metal bridge above the
barrier holding back the level of the water inside the inner
harbour, she realized it wasn't really a lock gate. More like
a mobile dam which could be opened and closed.

'I once met Joel Dyson,' she said when Tweed had completed his explanation. 'Bob took me into a pub in
London for a drink and Dyson was there. A small man with
pouched lips and shifty eyes which didn't miss a thing. He
speaks with a well-educated English accent - Bob said afterwards he is British. But then he can suddenly mimic being an American and you'd really think he was a Yank.'

'Nasty piece of work, from what I hear,' Tweed
remarked.

'Why did you think Dyson might have flown to Zurich?'

'Because Newman told me about Dyson taking com
promising photos of Julius Amberg with another woman -
Julius was married - and the fact that he persuaded Dyson
Amberg could one day be a powerful friend. Dyson then
handed the pics to Amberg. I imagine Dyson sacrificed a big fee from
Der Spiegel
or an American tabloid.'

'So?'

'Dyson made a big song-and-dance to Newman and
Monica that he was handing them copies of the film and the
tape, keeping the originals for himself. What safer place to hide those originals than in a Swiss bank vault? Specially,
at Amberg's Zurcher Kredit Bank.'

'Why narrow his flight to Swissair? Other airlines fly to
Zurich.'

'Dyson is an experienced globe-trotter. He'd feel safer
aboard a Swiss plane. Especially travelling first class. And
their security is first rate.'

'You're right. Incidentally, I was studying Jennie Blade.
At the manor when we first saw her I guessed her age at twenty-eight. Now I think she's in her mid-thirties - and
very experienced. She intrigues me, does our Jennie.
Maybe I'd better get back to the bar or they'll think me
rude.'

Paula pointed to the coastal path to the cove where the
ferry left for Rock at low tide, then they turned back. Just
in time to see Gaunt trooping out of the bar, leading the procession with Newman and Cardon behind him and Jennie bringing up the rear.

'Typical,' Paula said. 'Gaunt treats her like a lapdog. Thank Heaven she can bite back.'

Even as she spoke Jennie, taking long strides, caught up
with Gaunt, chattered away to him and then pointed
towards Tweed and Paula. She waved and Paula returned
the wave as the party approached them.

'You know what you ought to do now, Tweed,' Gaunt boomed out across the car park. 'Take the ferry to Rock.

From over there you get the most terrific view of Padstow -
and if you enjoy climbing that's the place for you.'

'We'll consider it,' Tweed replied.

'What do you think of the rowboat?' Jennie asked
gleefully, pointing to the
Mayflower III.

'Rowboat?' Gaunt roared. 'That's one of the most
powerful cabin cruisers in the world.

'He's sensitive about his toy,' Jennie told Paula.

'All aboard that's comin' aboard,' Gaunt bellowed.

He shinned down a short ladder attached to the harbour
wall, jumped on to the deck, spread both arms wide.

Isn't she a beauty? I keep her in perfect trim.'

'Like hell you do!' Jennie burst out. She gestured to the brass rails gleaming in the sun like gold. 'I've spent days cleaning up this old tub.'

'I think the ferry is a good idea,' Tweed said.

Anything to avoid getting trapped aboard the
May
flower.
Lord knew where Gaunt would decide to sail them
to once the tide returned - maybe down the estuary and
way out into the Atlantic.

'Have to take the coastal path to the cove, then,' Gaunt
shouted. 'Now it's low tide. Have a good trip .. .'

As Tweed approached the steps leading to the path with
Newman and Paula he saw Butler and Nield appear out of
nowhere. They had accompanied Tweed from the Metro-
pole and had then melted away when he was joined by
Paula.

The group of six was climbing the steep path beyond the
steps when Paula noticed Cardon was still holding the
canvas bag looped over his shoulder from a strap. He had
held it close to his side all the time they had spent in the bar
at the Old Custom House.

'Philip, what goodies have you got inside that bag?' she
asked, walking alongside him.

'This and that. Might come in handy. You never know.
Remembering what's already happened in peaceful Corn
wall. The body count is now ten. Eight at the manor. Celia
Yeo. And last night Tweed told me about Buchanan's call to him yesterday. So the real postman was found with his
throat cut near Five Lanes. A very hospitable part of the
world, Corn wall.'

Ten, Paula thought grimly.
Ten
bodies now - including
poor Celia Yeo lying at the foot of High Tor. She must tell
Tweed about their 'outing' as soon as she had him on his
own.

In the brilliant sunshine they went on climbing out of
sight of the town at the bottom of a green slope to their left.
The sea to their right was masked by a thick hedge lower down. Paula kept thinking of the estuary as 'the sea' - it didn't seem like a river.

A signpost bearing the legend
to ferry
pointed to a side
path descending the side of the hill. The path led to a flight
of wide stone steps dropping steeply to a small cove
surrounded with abyss-like rock walls. Not realizing it was
the clear air, Tweed estimated it was only a two-minute
crossing to Rock.

At the bottom of the steps they found themselves inside a tiny cove, hemmed in from the world by sheer granite walls. Paula glanced back as she picked her way to the
water's edge over a scatter of ankle-breaking rocks. Under
the cliffs at their base were dark deep caves disappearing into black gloom inside their granite alcoves. She didn't like this cove. She found the atmosphere eerie and they
were the only people waiting for the approaching ferry.

Tweed raised his binoculars to his eyes, focusing on a tall
thin old house halfway up the slope on the Rock shore. There was a series of flashes originating from an upper
window.

'Someone across there is sending a signal,' he said
grimly.

'It's just the sunlight reflecting off some glass,' Newman said.

'It was a brief Morse code signal with a lamp,' Tweed
insisted. 'A series of long and short flashes. I'll tell you why
I know later ...'

The ferry had arrived. Paula wondered how on earth
they were expected to board it. The ferry was a small craft
capable of carrying only a dozen passengers. The wheel-
house was a box-like structure close
to the prow - hardly
more than twice the size of the phone box Tweed had used
outside the Old Custom House. There were only two
elderly passengers coming over from Rock.

The boat aimed for the shore prow-first. One of the two
tough-looking crew jumped ashore, hauled a
plank out of
the ferry, balanced it to provide a dry crossing platform to
the shore. As the two passengers walked
separately and
gingerly along the plank the man ashore held one of their
hands.

Tweed was the first to board the small vessel. Ignoring
the extended helping hand, he climbed the plank nimbly,
stepped into the craft. Passengers sat in the open on
wooden plank seats with their backs to the gunwales.

Paula sat next to Tweed and studied him. He looked
very tense. She knew he hated boats and water and he hadn't taken one of his Dramamines which neutralized
sea-sickness.