Terminal (23 page)

`For argument's sake,' Newman suggested, 'let's suppose for a moment that is true. What then?'

`It does nothing to ease my anxiety. Foley is a skilled and highly-trained killer. That poses two questions. Who has the money to pay a man like that?'

`The Americans …'

`Or the Swiss,' Beck said quietly.

`What are you hinting at?'

Beck glanced at Newman and said nothing. He took out of his jacket pocket a short pipe with a thick stem and a large bowl. Newman recognized the pipe and watched as the police chief extracted tobacco from a packet labelled Amphora. He began packing tobacco into the bowl.

`Still wedded to the same old pipe,' Newman remarked.

`You are very observant, my friend. It's made by Cogolet, a firm near St Tropez. And the tobacco is the same —
red
Amphora. The second question Foley's presence poses is
Who is the target?
Identify his paymaster and that may point to who he has come to kill...'

`You're convinced that is why he is really here?'

`It is his trade,' Beck observed. 'Why have you come to Berne?'

So typical of Beck. To throw the loaded question just when you least expected it. He had his pipe alight and sat puffing at it while he watched Newman with a quizzical expression. The Englishman, who knew Beck well, realized the Swiss was in a mood he had never seen him display before. A state of fearful indecision.

`I'm here with my fiancée, Nancy Kennedy, who wanted to visit her grandfather.' Newman paused, staring straight at Beck behind the blue haze of smoke. 'He's in the Berne Clinic.'

`Ah! The Berne Clinic!' Beck sat up erect in his chair. His eyes became animated and Newman sensed a release of tension in the Swiss. 'Now everything begins to come together. You are the ally I have been seeking …'

Beck had poured more coffee, had freshened up their glasses of cognac. All traces of irresolution had vanished: he was the old, energetic, determined Beck Newman remembered from his last visit to Berne.

`I noticed something strange when we were at the Clinic this afternoon,' Newman said. 'Is that place by any chance guarded by Swiss troops?'

The atmosphere inside the bare, green-walled office illuminated by overhead neon strips changed again. Beck gazed at his cognac, swirling the liquid gently. He took a sip without looking at his guest.

`Why do you say that?' he asked eventually.

`Because I saw a man inside the gatehouse wearing the uniform of a Swiss soldier.'

`You had better address that question to Military Intelligence. You know where to go...'

Beck had withdrawn into his shell again. Newman was aware of a sense of rising frustration. What the hell was wrong with Beck? He allowed his irritation to show.

`If you want my cooperation — you mentioned the word "ally" — I need to know what I'm getting into. And how much freedom to act has the Chief of Federal Police given you? Refuse to answer that question and I'm walking away from the whole damned business.'

`Plenipotentiary power,' Beck replied promptly. 'Incorporated in a signed directive in that locked cabinet.'

`Then what are you worrying about?'

`The Gold Club...'

Newman drank the rest of his cognac slowly to hide the shock Beck had given him. He placed the empty glass carefully back on the desk top and dabbed his lips with a handkerchief.

`You have heard of the Gold Club? Not many have.. commented Beck.

`A group of top bankers headed by the Zürcher Kredit Bank. Its base is in Zurich. The only other group capable of standing up to them are the Basle bankers. Where does the Gold Club fit in with the Berne Clinic?'

`A director on the board of the Zürcher Kredit Bank is Professor Armand Grange who, as you doubtless know, controls the Berne Clinic. He also has a chemical works on the shores of Lake Zurich near Horgen. I am under extreme pressure to drop my investigation of a project code-named
Terminal
...'

`Which is?'

`I have no idea,' Beck admitted. 'But there are rumours — unpleasant rumours which have even reached the ears of certain foreign embassies. Incidentally, a fellow-countryman of yours who is also staying at the Bellevue Palace is making enquiries about Professor Grange. A dangerous pastime — especially as news of his activities has already started circulating. Switzerland is a small country...'

`This fellow-countryman of mine — he has a name?'

`A Mr Mason. He flew in via Zurich. That is where he started his investigation — and that is where news of what he was doing leaked out. Now, as I have told you, he is here in Berne.'

`Anything else I should know?'

`Have you ever heard of a man called Manfred Seidler?' 'No, I haven't,' Newman lied. 'Where does he fit into the picture?'

Beck's pipe made bubbling noises. He was a wet smoker. He stirred in his chair restlessly as though bracing himself for a major decision.

`Everything about our conversation is confidential, classified. Now we are coming to the guts of the whole crisis. I have been asked by Military Intelligence to put out a dragnet for Manfred Seidler. They
say
he stole something vital from the chemical works at Horgen. Once I find him I am supposed to hand him over to Military Intelligence. Immediately! No questioning.'

`You don't like it?'

`I am
not
going to put up with it. I shall grill Seidler when we find him until I find out what is going on. There is a split between two power blocs on military policy. One group, the Gold Club, believe we should adopt more extreme measures to protect the country against the menace from the East. They even suggest we should organize guerrilla forces — that teams specially trained in sabotage should be positioned outside our borders. Specifically in Bavaria. That is a complete reversal of our policy of neutrality.'

`Beck, I'm not following this. Why should a group of bankers concern themselves with military strategy?'

`Because, my friend, a number of those bank directors are also officers in the Swiss Army. Not regulars. Captains, colonels. They carry a lot of clout inside the Army where the policy dispute is raging. The Gold Club, which advocates total ruthlessness, is beginning to get the upper hand. The whole thing scares me stiff. And these are the people who are trying to stop my investigation into the Berne Clinic..

`You said the killing of Nagy was4he second murder. What was the first?'

Beck walked round his desk, unlocked a drawer and brought out a file. He handed it to Newman. The file had been stamped
Classification One
on the cover. Newman opened it and read the heading at the top of the first typed page.
Case of Hannah Stuart, American citizen. Klinik Bern
.

`Who is Hannah Stuart?'

`She was an American patient at the Berne Clinic. She died at the end of last month — as you will see recorded in the file. I have a witness, a farm worker who was cycling home late near the grounds of the Clinic. He states he saw a woman running towards the fence surrounding the grounds, a woman screaming, a woman pursued by dogs...'

`They do have Dobermans prowling the place...'

`I know. That was the night Hannah Stuart died...'

`Haven't you confronted the people at the Clinic with your witness?' Newman asked.

`It would be useless — and would show my hand. The witness has a history of mental instability.' Beck leaned forward and spoke vehemently. 'But he is completely recovered. I personally interviewed him and I am convinced he is telling the truth. He had the sense to come to police headquarters in Berne with his story. Pauli phoned me and I took over the case. That woman was murdered in some way.'

`It says here she died of a heart attack. The death certificate is signed by Dr Waldo Novak...'

`Who is also American. A curious coincidence...'

`What about getting an order for an autopsy?' Newman suggested.

`The body was cremated. And that is where the trouble really started. I had an official from the American Embassy here who complained. Apparently Hannah Stuart was very wealthy — from Philadelphia. Her heirs, a son and his wife, were furious. In her original will she had made the inheritance conditional on her body being buried in Philadelphia...'

`Then how the devil was the Clinic able to get away with cremation?'

`Dr Bruno Kobler, the chief administrator, produced a document signed by Hannah Stuart stating she wished to be cremated. You'll find a photocopy at the end of the file. I had the signature checked by hand-writing experts and they say it's genuine.'

`Which blocked you off. Neat, very neat...'

He broke off as someone knocked on the door. Beck called out come in, a small, myopic-looking man wearing thick glasses and a civilian suit entered. He was carrying a cellophane envelope.

`We have obtained some fingerprints,' the man informed Beck. 'All of them the same person. Probably the deceased's — but we shall only know that when the pathologist has released the body.'

`Thank you, Erich...' Beck waited until the man had gone and then handed the envelope to Newman. 'Inside is the envelope — still sealed — which Moser found inside Nagy's coat pocket...'

Newman extracted the crumpled, cheap white envelope and saw it carried a few words.
For M. Robert Newman, Bellevue Palace
. He opened it and inside there was a scrap of paper torn from a pad and a key. In the same semi-literate script as the wording on the envelope were written the words
M. Newman — Bahnhof
. He replaced the contents inside the envelope and slipped it into his wallet.

`It was addressed to you,' Beck said, 'so I gave strict orders it was not to be opened. Don't I get to see it?'

`No. Not until you tell me what you want me to do — and maybe not then.'

`I need someone I can fully trust who has access to the Berne Clinic. I have no reason to go there myself — and I don't want to tip my hand. I have not a shred of evidence — even in the case of Hannah Stuart. Only the gravest suspicions. I need to know exactly what is going on inside that place...'

`I would have thought it was the chemical works at Horgen you needed to investigate. Especially in view of this story about tracing this Seidler...'

`Hannah Stuart died at Thun,' Beck replied sombrely. `Now, that envelope …'

`I work on my own or not at all. I'll keep the envelope for the moment...'

`I have to warn you you are up against men with unlimited power. One more thing. I have found out that the Gold Club people have secretly allocated the enormous sum of two hundred million Swiss francs for
Terminal
.' He held up a hand. 'Don't ask me how I discovered that fact, but the Americans are not the only ones who go in for what they call creative book-keeping.'

`Who controls that money?' Newman asked.

`Professor Armand Grange. Every franc of it...'

`And Grange is also a part-time member of the Swiss Army — another of those officers you mentioned?'

`At one time, yes. Not any more. You must take great care, Bob. I know you are a lone wolf, but on this one you may need help.'

`Is there anyone powerful enough, any
individual
, who can stand up to Grange and his fellow-bankers?'

`Only one man I know of. Dr Max Nagel, the Basle banker. He is also on the board of the Bank for International Settlements, so he has world-wide connections. Nagel is the main opponent of the Gold Club...'

`This Manfred Seidler — you are really looking for him?'

`I am trying to find him before the counter-espionage lot get to him. All the cantonal police forces have been alerted. I think that man could be in great danger...'

`From counter-espionage?' There was incredulity in New- man's tone. 'You really mean that?'

`I didn't say exactly that aloud...'

`And this Englishman, Mason, who is checking on Grange. Where does he come in?'

`Frankly I have no idea who he is working for. I am not sure yet
who
is working for
who
. But I also believe Mason could be at risk. Remember, we have lost track of Lee Foley, and he is a killer. Never forget, you are walking in a minefield …'

It was nine o'clock at night when Newman reached the luggage locker section at the Bahnhof. He had walked through the silent city from, the Taubenhalde, doubling back through the network of arcades until he was certain no one was following him As-he had guessed, the key from Nagy's envelope fitted the numbered locker which corresponded to the number engraved on the key.