The Power (84 page)

'A poor fish,' Gaunt boomed. 'No energy...'

He was talking to a smaller audience. Tweed, followed
by Paula and Newman, was leaving the restaurant. Walkbriskly, he went up to Amberg's room, rapped on the with the agreed signal, walked in with the others Cardon opened it. Tweed was in his most aggressive when he addressed the banker, who was again neatly in his sombre black suit.

'
Had your breakfast? Good. Time to get moving. To
your bank. I want the film and the tape out of the vault five minutes after we arrive. We'll accompany you everywhere.

In case you feel like staging a protest, Beck, the Chief of
Police, as you know, is here in Ouchy. He'd be very
interested to talk to you about those murders in Zurich.'

'I had nothing to do...' Amberg began.

'Policemen never believe a word you say. We'll get
moving now. By the back way into the car park. Avoid
the dining-room that way. Three tough-looking American
types are having breakfast. Don't want to meet them
either, do you, Amberg?'

Marvin Mencken, who was staying at the d'Angleterre,
had risen early and had a quick breakfast at another
hotel. He liked to be up before any of his subordinates
and he made a habit of not following a routine. He never
ate where he was staying.

Returning from a brisk walk alongside the lake he saw
two Audis pull up in front of the d'Angleterre. Men in
plain clothes stepped out, walked towards the entrance
with almost military precision, disappeared inside the
hotel. Seconds later more cars pulled up outside two
other hotels where his men were staying and uniformed police, holding automatic weapons, climbed out swiftly
and moved inside.

'Jesus Christ!
^'
Mencken said to himself.

Without hurrying, he crossed the road, reached his car
parked behind a stretch of grass and trees. He got in
behind the wheel, pulled out of his trench coat pocket a
Swiss hat he'd bought in Basle, rammed it on his head and
slid down out of sight as he started the engine.

Mencken waited until he saw the police bringing out his
men, wrists handcuffed behind their backs. More cars
with only a driver had arrived. His captured men were
bundled inside the vehicles. Mencken had no worry that
he would be betrayed - he'd been careful to ensure that
none of these men knew he was driving a Renault.

As the convoys drove off he cruised slowly round the
park towards the Chateau d'Ouchy. Norton had given
him explicit instructions he was not to be contacted, not that Mencken had any idea what he looked like. But he had been told Norton would be using the name Dr Glen Fleming. He'd have to phone him, warn him quickly.

The Zurcher Kredit Bank was open for business when
Tweed arrived in the Espace with Amberg alongside him.
Paula, Newman, Ives and Butler were travelling with
him. In the rear of the vehicle Marler sat with the projector and the rest of his equipment.

In the station wagon following close behind were Car-
don, guarding Joel Dyson, and Pete Nield who was
driving. Before leaving the Château d'Ouchy for the short drive to the bank Tweed had
spoken to Dyson, making no bones about the position he was in.

'Cardon has a gun, won't hesitate to use it if you make
one wrong move. But more likely, we'd put you aboard
an aircraft for Washington at Cointrin Airport, Geneva.'

Watching the little man closely, Tweed had seen a
flicker of triumph in Dyson's shifting eyes. Joel Dyson
clearly knew Europe well, knew the lines of communica
tion by air travel. There was no better way of subduing a
man than by raising his hopes and then dashing them.

'Of course,' Tweed went on, 'there are no direct flights
to Washington from Geneva. So Cardon would escort you
aboard a flight from Cointrin to Zurich. Then you'd be
put aboard the first non-stop flight for Washington. A
phone call would be made so certain people would wait at
Dulles Airport for you to disembark. Something wrong,
Dyson? You've gone pale as a ghost...'

Amberg nodded to the guard at the entrance to the
bank. As Marler came inside carrying his equipment the
guard stopped him to examine what he was carrying.

'Do not worry, Jules,' Amberg called out over his
shoulder. 'That gentleman is with me, as are the people
behind him.'

Obeying Tweed's instructions, Amberg took everyone first to his private office, telling his secretary he must on no account be disturbed. Leaving the others inside the spacious room, Tweed accompanied Amberg with Newman and Paula to the vault where the Swiss opened his private box. Inside were two familiar-looking canisters. Was this really the end of their long journey, Tweed wondered as they returned to the private office.

In their absence Marler had drawn the curtains over the
windows. After turning on the lights he had assembled
the projector, had erected the viewing screen, had placed on the same desk the American tape recorder so he could
synchronize viewing and listening.

He had removed a number of chairs from a boardroom
table, arranging them in short rows like a makeshift
cinema. He took the canisters from Amberg while Tweed
personally made sure the door was securely locked.

Paula sat in the front row with Tweed next to her.
Beyond Tweed sat Amberg with Barton Ives on his other side. In the row behind them sat a nervous Joel Dyson
flanked by Newman and Cardon. The third row was
occupied in the centre by Pete Nield, his Walther in his hand, and Butler. While Marler was fiddling with his machines Nield tapped Dyson on the shoulder with the
muzzle of his Walther.

'Just to remind you you're never alone,' he informed
the photographer genially.

'Ready to go,' Marler called out in a neutral tone as he
switched out the lights.

A harsh white light appeared on the blank screen.
Tweed could hear the tape reel whirring. Then, sharp as
crystal, the images began to appear
...

* * *

A one-storey log cabin in a forest clearing. A short,
powerfully built man in a windcheater, open at the top,
exposing his thick neck, struggling with a girl with long
blonde hair. One hand gripped her hair, the other shoved
her in the small of the back. She was screaming at the top
of her voice and Paula gritted her teeth.

The man pushed her inside the log cabin, both faces were very visible before they disappeared into the cabin.. The hard crack of the door being slammed shut. But they
could still hear her screaming even with the shutters
closed over the windows. Her screams stopped suddenly.
Silence.

Now Paula could only hear the whirring of the
machines behind her. Why did the silence seem even
more awful than what they had seen so far? She was
startled when the stocky man emerged by himself, closed
the door, locked it, tossed the key on the roof. Why?

'Oh, my God, no!' she whispered to herself.

The answer to her question was horrifically clear.
Smoke was drifting out from behind a shuttered window. Almost at once it burst into flames. The camera zoomed in for a close-up of the killer. A look of sadistic satisfac
tion. Sweat streamed off his face.

The camera now showed the man full length. He
appeared to be staring straight at the lens. Snatching a
gun from his belt, he moved closer. Paula flinched back in
her seat. Her hand clenched as the whole cabin seared
into a flaming inferno. The girl left inside would be
incinerated.

The loud crackle and roar of the huge fire made the
man pause, look briefly at the dying cabin. Gun in hand, the man turned again towards the camera, began advanc
ing towards it, his famous face again so clear,
identifiable
...

The screen went blank, the white glare returned, vanished as Marler switched off the machines, The audience
sat as though frozen. The only sound was the click of Marler switching on lights. Paula blinked, glanced at
Tweed, at Ives. It was difficult to decide which man
looked grimmer.

It was Tweed who broke the silence. He leaned forward
to speak to Ives across Amberg.

'Now you have your evidence. That was Bradford
March, President of the United States.' He turned round,
looked at Joel Dyson whose pouched lips were quivering.

'You took those pictures. Don't argue with me. I just
want a simple answer. Who was the girl - the victim?'

'His secret girl friend. Cathy Willard, daughter of the San Francisco newspaper magnate.'

'So, well-heeled,' Ives commented.

'Oh, a very wealthy family. I heard later it was called an
accident. She got herself shut in the cabin. The weather was cold, so she had a log fire' - Dyson was reverting to his normal loquacious self, Newman thought, as the story
continued - 'a spark jumps out, sets fire to the rug and
whoosh!
the whole place goes up. Windows shuttered so she can't get out that way.'

'Sounds as though you wrote that version yourself,'
Newman said cynically.

'No! But that's the way I heard they told it . . .'

'You have your evidence, Ives,' Tweed repeated, interrupting Dyson. 'It follows a similar pattern, doesn't it?'

'It does indeed. You see, March was a hick from the
boondocks. It flattered his ego to make it with well-
educated and wealthy women. Now you have your answer
to the weird question - who would a wealthy woman
driving in the dark across lonely country stop for? A man standing in the headlights of his brown Cadillac, a well-known Senator running for the White House, his mug
plastered on billboards along every state highway. Maybe
he pretended his car had broken down. They'd feel so
safe with Senator Bradford March. It hit me suddenly that I'd found my serial killer - six women slaughtered. I have
to take this film, this tape back to Washington.'

'They'll kill you thirty minutes after you leave the
plane,' Newman warned.

'I have a powerful friend. He'll meet me at Dulles
Airport with a large entourage, smuggle me into his
house. Then it's up to him.'

'I think we'd better come with you,' Tweed said.

'I'm not coming,' Dyson protested.

'You'll be held in cold storage in Britain. After you've
made a statement describing what you saw when you
made the film.' Tweed's manner was harsh. 'A sworn
statement made before a Swiss lawyer. That or come with
us to Washington.'

'I'm not sure ethically I can release these items,'
Amberg asserted.

'Ethically?' Tweed stared at the banker. 'You have to
be joking. If you'd handed these over to me earlier think
of how many lives would have been saved. Why did you
hang on to them? You'd watched this film on your own much earlier, hadn't you?'