Terminal (3 page)

Holding his glass in one hand, he lifted the lid of the control box attached to the wall. Two buttons, one green, one red. He pressed green. The same purring sound of highly-efficient — and expensive — hydraulics as the doors elevated. He stood staring at the occupants. One red Ferrari. One red Maserati. Blood-red. Very new. A small fortune on eight wheels.

`You're interested in cars, Mr Newman?'

`I'm a car buff, Chase. So, apparently, are you,' Newman said easily.

The doctor had come after him silent as a cat. Even the sneakers he wore should have made some sound on the gravel. He stood looking at Newman and the smile was gone. His right hand held a refilled glass of bourbon. He swallowed half the contents in one gulp and wiped his mouth with the back of his other hand.

`You usually go creeping round people's homes, prying? That's the foreign correspondent coming out, I guess. Incidentally, I understood you and Nancy were engaged — but I notice no ring on the third finger of her left hand...'

Newman grinned amiably. He made a throwaway gesture with his hand. Chase did not respond. His mouth twisted in a faint sneer, he waited, his head tilted forward. Newman put a cigarette in his mouth before replying.

`Let's take that lot in sequence, shall we? You have something to hide because you can afford a couple of brand new sports jobs?'

`I don't like your tone...'

`I'm not crazy about yours, but as long as enough rich patients continue to love you what does it matter? As to Nancy, we have a trial engagement...'

`I'd just as soon you didn't light that cigarette, Newman. You should read the statistics...'

`You think I'll pollute the atmosphere out here?' Newman lit the cigarette. 'Did you know that in Britain a lot of doctors have given up smoking and preach the gospel? Did you also know that the graph showing the degree of alcoholism among British doctors shows a steady climb.' Newman glanced at Chase's glass. 'You should read the statistics.'

`I've heard of trial marriages...' Chase's sneer became more pronounced. 'But a trial engagement is a new sexual exercise...'

`So, I've broadened your experience. Hello, Nancy. I think we ought to leave now — unless you have more questions for your friendly family doctor...'

Tight-lipped, Nancy waited until they were driving back along Sabino Canyon Road before she spoke. Extracting the cigarette from Newman's mouth, she took a few puffs and handed it back to him. He knew then she was in a towering rage.

`The condescending bastard! God knows what Linda sees in a man like that. Our previous doctor, Bellman, is a nice man.'

`I've nothing against Frank Chase,' Newman remarked airily as he swung round a bend. 'He's a hyena — scooping up red meat wherever he can find it, holding rich old ladies by the hand as they tell him about their imaginary ailments. That doesn't make him a conspirator. Your sister's place next? I'd like to talk to her on her home ground rather than at the Smugglers Inn. In people's homes you see them as they really are. The other night when she brought Harvey over for dinner at my hotel she put on an act. Her public image.'

`Do you know the one thing Chase didn't suggest when we were out by the pool — the one thing he should have suggested if he had really wanted me reassured about Jesse?'

`Oddly enough, as I wasn't there all the time, I don't know.'

`He never suggested that we visit the Berne Clinic so I could see Jesse for myself. And yes, I think you should talk to Linda. I'll leave you alone. Mind she doesn't seduce you …'

`It all started when Jesse — we all called him that — had a bad fall from his horse, Bob...' The large dark eyes stared at Newman, the long lashes half-closed demurely over them. `You do prefer to be called Bob, don't you? Nancy calls you Robert when she wants to make you mad. My kid sister is full of little tricks like that. Is that the way you like your tea? Have I got it right?'

Linda Wayne sat beside Newman on the couch, her long legs sheathed in the sheerest black nylon and crossed with her skirt just above her shapely knees. She wore a high-necked cashmere sweater which emphasized her full figure. When she had shown him into the vast living-room her right breast had briefly touched his forearm. He had felt the firmness under the cashmere, a material quite unsuited to the temperature outside but perfect for the stark coolness of the air-conditioning.

Her hair was jet black, thick and shoulder-length like Nancy's. Thick, dark eyebrows made her slow-moving eyes seem even larger. Her voice was husky and she exuded sexuality like a heavy perfume. Newman stopped himself gazing at the sweep of her legs and tried to recall what she had just said.

`Your tea,' she repeated, 'is it the right colour?'

`Perfect...'

`It's Earl Grey. I bought it in San Francisco. I just love your English teas. We drink a lot of tea in the States now...'

`But you don't ride horses much down here any more.' He swallowed a gulp of the tea quickly. He hated Earl Grey. 'So what was Jesse doing on a horse?'

`He rode every day like they used to years ago, Bob. We put him to bed upstairs and called the doctor..

`Frank Chase?'

`That's right...' She had paused briefly before she replied. She began talking more quickly. `Bellman, our previous doctor, was getting out of touch with modern developments. I thought a younger man would be more likely to move with the times. It's a good job I took that decision — he gave Jesse a thorough examination, including blood tests. That's how we found out Jesse was suffering from leukaemia. You can imagine the shock...' She moved closer to him and clasped his free hand. She looked very soulful.

`It was a very big jump,' he said.

She looked puzzled, wary. 'Bob, I'm not following you.. `From Tucson, Arizona to Berne, Switzerland.'

`Oh, I see what you mean.' She relaxed, gave him a warm smile. 'Jesse was a mountaineer. He liked Switzerland. He discussed it with Frank — Dr Chase. He simply acceded to my grandfather's expressed wish, bearing in mind the patient's best interests...'

`Come again? No, forget it. No thanks, no more tea.'

He simply acceded to my grandfather's expressed wish, bearing in mind the patient's best interests
.

Linda's dialogue had suddenly gone wrong — she would normally never talk like that. But Frank Chase would. It confirmed what Newman had expected to happen. During the time between driving away from Chase's place down Sabino Canyon Road to Linda's home the hyena had called Linda to report their visit — to instruct her.

She squeezed his hand gently to get his full attention and began talking again in her soft, soothing voice. 'Bob, I'd like you to do everything you can to settle my kid sister's mind. There's nothing she can do about Jesse except worry.

`The kid sister can fly to Berne to find out what the hell is really going on...' Nancy stood in the open doorway, her manner curt, her tone biting. 'And when you've finished with it you might give Bob back his hand — he's only got two of them …'

`Nancy, there's simply nothing to go on,' Newman said emphatically. 'As a professional newspaper man I look for
facts
when I'm after a story —
evidence!
There isn't any showing something's wrong...'

It was mid-afternoon and they were eating a late lunch at the Smugglers Inn where he had insisted on staying. It gave him independence and kept Linda Wayne at arm's length. Nancy slammed down her fork beside her half-eaten steak.

`Fact One. Nobody asked for a second opinion...'

`Buhler, who did the blood tests, was tops according to Rosen. I gather you respect Rosen?'

`Yes, I do. Let that one slide, for the moment. Fact Two. I never heard Jesse say a word about he wished he could live in Switzerland. Visit it, yes! But God, he was always so glad to get back home.'

`When a man is ill, he dreams, to blot out reality...'

`Fact Three!' Nancy drummed on. 'At the very moment Jesse is ill because he falls off his horse Linda calls in an entirely new doctor. Fact Four! The only man who can confirm this diagnosis of leukaemia, Buhler, is dead. And his records go up in smoke with him! So everything rests on Dr Chase's word, a man you called a hyena …'

`I didn't like him. That doesn't make him Genghis Khan. Look, I'm seeing Rosen this evening. If nothing comes of that, can we drop the subject? I have to decide whether to accept this pretty lucrative offer from CBS to act as their European correspondent. They won't wait forever for a decision...'

`You want the job?' she interjected.

`It's the only way we can get married — unless you agree that we both live in London or somewhere in Europe..

`I've given up years of my life to practise medicine and I want to live in the States. I'd feel lost and marooned anywhere else. And, Bob, I am going to Berne. The question is — are you coming with me? There might even be a big story in it...'

`Look, Nancy, I write about espionage, foreign affairs. Where in God's name is there that kind of story in this Berne business?'

`You've been there. You've done your job there. You speak all the languages — French, German, Italian, plus Spanish. You told me you have friends there. The bottom line is, are you going to help me?'

`I'll decide after I've seen Rosen.

`Bob, what does a woman take off first? Her earrings, isn't it?' She divested herself of each gold earring slowly, watching him with a certain expression. 'Let's go to your room...'

`I haven't finished my steak.' He pushed his plate away and grinned. 'It's underdone, anyway. I've just lost my appetite.'

`You ordered your steak rare. The experience I'm offering is rare too …'

Three

New York, Kennedy Airport. 10 February 1984. 0
?
. The slim, attractive Swissair stewardess in her pale blue uniform noticed this passenger the moment he came aboard Flight SR 111, bound for Geneva and Zurich. She escorted the man, over six feet tall and heavily-built, to his reserved first-class window seat and tried to help him take off his shaggy sheepskin jacket.

`I can do it myself...'

His voice was gravelly, the tone curt. He handed her the jacket, settled himself in his seat and fastened the belt. He inserted a cigarette between his wide, thick lips and stared out into the darkness. The flight was due to depart at 18.55.

As the stewardess arranged his jacket carefully on a hanger she studied him. In his early fifties, she estimated. A dense thatch of white hair streaked with black, heavy, dark eyebrows and a craggy face. Clean-shaven, his complexion was flushed with the bitter wind which sheared the streets of New York. His large, left hand clutched a brief-case perched on the adjoining seat. She straightened her trim jacket before approaching him.

`I'm very sorry, sir, but no smoking is permitted.

`I haven't lit the damned thing, have I! I am very familiar with the regulations. No smoking before the words up there say so...'

`I'm sorry, sir...'

She retreated, carrying on with her duties automatically as the Jumbo 747 took off and headed out across the Atlantic, her mind full of the tall American passenger. It was the blue eyes which worried her, she decided. They reminded her of that very special glacial blue you only saw in mountain lakes.

`Thinking about your boy friend?' one of her companion stewardesses enquired while they sorted out the drink orders.

`The passenger in Seat Five. He fascinates me. Have you noticed his eyes? They're chilling...'

The white-haired man was sipping bitter lemon, staring out of the porthole window, when a hand lifted the brief-case off the seat next to him and dumped it in his lap. He glanced sideways as a small, bird-like man with restless eyes settled into the seat and began talking chirpily, keeping his voice low.

`Well, if it isn't my old pal, Lee Foley. Off to Zurich on more Company business?'

`Ed Schulz, go back to your own seat.'

`It's a free country, a free aircraft — just so long as you've paid. And I've paid. You didn't answer my question. The senior roving foreign affairs correspondent for
Time
magazine always gets answers to his questions. You should know that by now, Lee...'

`I quit the CIA and you know it. I'm with one of the top international detective agencies in New York. You know that, too. End of conversation.'

`Let's develop this thing a bit..