The Cauldron (54 page)

'So am 1.1 was waiting to tell you. VB called me and told me to drive there like the wind.'

'We'll travel in convoy. I'll be out in front.'

'Bet I overtake you.'

'Don't.' He gripped her arm. Trust me. Don't do that. Stay on my tail.'

'Well don't blame me if I bang your bloody tail!'

She tossed her red mane, then caught sight of Paula. She realized Paula had overheard what she'd said and smiled.

'Bob and I do have our fights. Just now and again.'

'Good for you.'

Tweed was already outside the lobby, heading for where the Merc, was parked. Newman ran past him with Alvarez at his heels. Vanity, fleet of foot, shot past them, dived into her car, dropped the mobile phone on the seat beside her. Newman reached in, grabbed the phone.

'What the hellRIGHT SQUARE BRACKET' Vanity began.

'I need a mobile to make an urgent call on the way,' Newman lied. 'If a call comes through for you I'll wave you down. So stay behind me, please.'

'Please? That's better.'

Newman drove away from Spanish Bay with Tweed, Paula and Alavarez; behind Vanity's car he saw the BMW following. Marler was at the wheel with Butler and Nield in the back. Trust Marler not to miss a trick. They made good progress along Highway One. It was another wonderful day, the sun glowing down out of a duck-egg blue sky. There was a pleasant breeze off the ocean which helped to cool the atmosphere.

Paula had been intrigued by the skilful way Newman had relieved Vanity of her mobile phone. Despite the obvious growing relationship between them, Newman's brain was still in high gear. He had taken the mobile to avoid any risk of Vanity reporting to VB their imminent arrival.

They were more than halfway to Black Ridge when they saw the endless queue of cars, almost bumper to bumper, stationary ahead. Newman swore inwardly. He got out as a State trooper strolled past the queue.

'What's the problem, officer?' he asked.

'The problem, Brit..' said the trooper, six feet tall and built like a quarterback, chewing gum, 'is you're not going any place for a long time. Now, move the jalopy as far off the highway as you can get it.'

'Why?'

'Maybe because I say so. Maybe because there's been a multiple pile-up blocking the highway. Maybe because we're waiting for lift trucks to pick up the mess, clear the highway. Wouldn't you say that was a good enough reason?'

'Certainly I would.' Newman agreed amiably.

No point in tangling with the law at this stage. He told the others what had happened.

'It's going to delay us badly,' Alvarez remarked.

'We'll get there eventually.' replied Tweed.

He seemed the coolest person in the car. He had long ago learned that when you couldn't do anything you relaxed. Newman walked back to Vanity who had been joined by Marler, explained the situation.

'We could be here for hours.' Vanity told him. 'Isn't it fortunate I'm well organized? I'm always ready for a breakdown in a remote place. In the trunk is a cool bag with a hamper. Food, wine and coffee. Tell me, Bob, does Tweed prefer strong coffee or decaffeinated?'

'Strong.' Newman replied automatically. 'You think we'll be here long?'

'Long enough to clean out my cool bag when everyone has had their rations. These multiples take some clearing up...'

In his office at Black Ridge Moloch was working like a beaver. He was shredding documents which should never see the light of day.

He had to check every sheet in case there was something he had to keep. It was a laborious job but one only he could do - some of the data was dangerous. As usual, Joel Brand entered without knocking. Moloch put a blank sheet on top of the pile he was working on.

'What is it? I am very busy.'

'Vanity hasn't turned up. I thought you asked her to get over here fast.'

'I did. I hope she hasn't had an accident.'

'She might have.' Brand said maliciously, 'there's been a multiple pile-up back along the highway towards Carmel.'

'I'll try and get her on the mobile. Haven't you anything to do with the time I pay you so much for?'

Opening a drawer, he took out his own mobile, pressed buttons. In the modern world it seemed he was always pressing buttons. The phone call worked, but there was a pause after he'd spoken before Vanity came on the line.

'Sorry for the delay. The one answering you. And for the delay in getting there.' Vanity's voice came over clearly. 'There's a multiple pile-up on the highway. It's going to take hours to clear. I'll get there as soon as I can. I'm OK.'

"That's all that matters. I'm shredding. Just get here when you can...'

Vanity handed back the mobile Newman had rushed to her. In her other hand she was holding a sandwich,

'You seem to want the phone more than I do. And that's all we needed.'

She was referring to the fact that American mechanical efficiency seemed to be taking a day off. A huge breakdown vehicle, which had arrived to help remove the smashed-up cars blocking the highway, had itself broken down. This meant calling more help to remove the breakdown truck before work could start on clearing the cars involved in the pile-up. Ambulances had arrived from the opposite direction, had taken away casualties and several fatalities.

'This could go on for ever,' Paula fumed.

Her patience was not helped by the fact that Tweed had fallen fast asleep. They had cleaned out Vanity's hamper, had drunk all her coffee before there were signs of movement. By now it was mid-afternoon.

Gradually the queue of cars ahead of them spread out, many breaking the speed limit in their annoyance, once clear of the State troopers. Newman increased speed.

Eventually, with the traffic now thin, they saw the strange Gothic towers of Black Ridge come into view. Tweed was peering out of his side of the car, told Newman to slow down as they came close to The Apex.

Mrs Benyon was standing on the terrace, staring down at the highway. She'd had the sense, Tweed noted, to leave her luggage out of sight. He leaned out of the window, waved to her. Then he made a U-turn gesture, hoping she'd grasp that they would be coming back for her. She waved back to acknowledge that she'd understood him.

When he had woken up to eat, Tweed had made several cheerful comments. This was to disguise the grim foreboding he had felt after talking to Professor Weatherby. His apparent buoyant mood had not been helped when he had overheard Vanity telling Newman that Moloch was busy shredding documents. This suggested to him VB was on the point of departure.

As they approached the closed gates of Black Ridge Vanity saucily slipped ahead of Newman. Using her monitor, she opened the gates and drove up the slope with Newman following. Behind them Marler slowed, stopped his car close to the right-hand gate to prevent its closing. You never knew when an escape route would be needed.

Arriving at the heavy front-door, Tweed pressed the large bell. Alvarez was alongside him when the door was opened, framing an unpleasant-looking man in a camouflage suit. His bruiser-like face surveyed them without enthusiasm.

'Who the hell are you?'

'CIA,' Alvarez said, brandishing a folder. 'Here to keep an appointment with VB. No need to inform him. He's waiting for us.'

'I'll let him know first.'

Camouflage Suit turned his back on them, raised his hand to lift a wall phone. Alvarez took three swift steps forward, holding his Walther by the barrel. He brought down the butt on the back of Camouflage Suit's head. The thug sagged to the floor.

'He'll be out for half an hour,' Alvarez said as though it was normal routine.

'I thought you'd handed in your resignation.' Paula said as Tweed led the way down the corridor.

'I forgot to hand in my credentials.' Alvarez replied and grinned at her.

Tweed reached the door to Moloch's office. He tried the handle. The door was locked. On the wall was a phone.

Tweed took hold of the phone, lifted it off the wall grip. He heard Moloch's voice.

'Who is it?'

Tweed. I have to speak to you urgently about Ethan.'

'I'm too busy. Go away. You should have made an appointment.'

There was a click as Moloch broke the connection. Newman had joined the group as Tweed opened a door on the opposite side of the corridor. Inside, behind a large desk, sat Joel Brand. He began opening a drawer.

'How did you get in?' he barked.

'Don't do it.' said Newman, pointing his Smith & Wesson. 'If you have a gun in the drawer, leave it there. And don't come out in the corridor. I have a bullet waiting for you. Oh, you won't be needing that phone.'

Walking in, he grabbed the phone off the desk, ripped out the cord connecting it to a plug in the wall. He gave the intercom the same treatment.

'Don't forget the bullet.' he warned, backing out of the room and closing the door.

Tweed was already opening another door on the same side of the corridor as Moloch's. Inside a tidy office Ethan sat behind his own desk, drinking a cup of coffee. His hair was neatly brushed, he wore a good suit, he smiled pleasantly, stood up when he saw Paula.

'Can I do something for you gentlemen?' he enquired in a very English voice.

Tweed stared hard at him. The transformation in Ethan's personality and appearance was startling. He looked round the room. It was just another office.

'You are Mr Tweed,' Ethan went on. 'I'm sorry if my manners weren't all they should have been when we last met. Fact is I'd had too much to drink. My own fault. I rarely touch alcohol.'

'I was looking for Mr Moloch,' Tweed said.

'First door on your left as you go out. This side of the corridor. Not the opposite side. That's the office where we keep our pet bear, Joel Brand. My apologies again.'

Tweed closed the door, followed by Newman, who had also peered round Ethan's office. Walking further down the corridor, Tweed tried to open the great metal door leading to the chamber. It was locked, immovable. None of them realized that while inside Ethan's office they had been within yards of the controls inside the concealed safe in the wall.

41

Tweed stood outside the closed door to Ethan's office while he looked up and down the empty corridor -empty except for the unconscious guard slumped on the floor in the distance. Newman stirred restlessly.

'Something wrong?'

'The atmosphere here.' Tweed said. 'No sign of guards outside. We've only seen one inside - he's on the floor. This is the headquarters of AMBECO, largest conglomerate in the world. Today it reminds me of a ghost mansion from which most of the inhabitants have fled.'

'Or are dead.' Newman reminded him.

'Moloch has locked himself away...'

He stopped speaking as a door opened and Brand walked into the corridor. Newman aimed his revolver at the big man. Brand grinned, raised both hands, went on grinning.

"The war's over - or didn't you know? You're looking particularly attractive this afternoon, Miss Grey, if I may say so.'

He smiled, and the smile had no lecherous undertone. His words had been polite, had even sounded sincere. Paula stared at him. This was a different Brand and once again she could see how he would be attractive to women.

'Thank you.' she replied quietly. 'Why has everything changed here?'

'I honestly don't know. But I have the feeling AMBECO has at last come to the end of the line. The golden days have gone with the wind. May sound corny, but that's how it seems to me. Newman, I've met some tough fighters in my time, but you take the prize. That must have been quite something - out at Moss Landing.'

'Where?' Newman rapped back. 'Never heard of the place.'

'Good reply.' Brand grinned again, lowered his hands, kept them to his side, palms outwards. 'Tweed, a long time ago - at least it seems like that - I advised VB to let me finish you off. He refused. I think I was right, if you don't mind my saying so. You've outwitted, outmanoeuvred us every time. I think I'm going to have to look for another job. I suspect VB is clearing out of the States. He's always hated the place. At least I've saved money -have half a million dollars to get by on.'

'You have a lot of dead men on your conscience,' Tweed replied.

'So' - Brand spread his hands - 'it goes with the territory, I guess. This is America. I once knew a guy who told me what it was all about, an American. Way back, in the early days, there was a drive to the West, towards this coast. It was every man for himself. A guy got in your way, you shot him - before he shot you. Something of those wild times linger. It's what makes the Yanks rougher than the Europeans. I did say rougher - not tougher. They crumble under pressure.' He grinned again. 'We've crumbled under pressure from you.'