The Main Chance (25 page)

`I'll be at your hotel in half an hour,' Tweed said as Harry entered the library.

`There will be a charge, Mr Tweed. I'm a businessman.'

`There always is a charge.'

`What is it, Harry?' Tweed asked as he put down the phone and Marler followed him into the library.

`Thought I'd tell you we're all ready to go at the back door.'

`You have come at just the right moment. A change of plan.'

Newman came in as Tweed began telling them about the mysterious phone call, recalling every word from memory and stating that he was going to meet this professor Heathstone at Pike's Peak Hotel. Paula chimed in that she was going with him.

Marler immediately came up with a detailed plan, reminding Tweed of Philip Cardon's warning that six or seven French killers had arrived. He thought Philip, as usual, had exaggerated the number to put Tweed on full alert. He told Harry and Newman how they should react.

`The car park at that hotel is the danger point, so we must get there first.'

`I hope you're right about this,' Paula said to Marler. `This could be very dangerous for Tweed.'

`Haven't I always been right?' Marler said with a smile as he put his arm reassuringly round her waist. `Give me time to think,' she teased him.

`And just before we leave,' Marler continued as Tweed was impatiently waiting by the door.

`What is it now?' Tweed snapped.

`I want everyone to give Harry their handcuffs. He will need plenty.'

26

`This meet at the hotel is a trap,' Paula said as she sat by Tweed driving the Audi through the tunnel road leading to Gladworth. 'I'm not happy about any of it.'

`Of course it's a trap,' Tweed replied.

`A trap for you,' she insisted, `so why walk into it?' `Because a trap can be reversed, eliminating the trappers.'

`If you say so.'

Her mood was not helped by the weather change. The sun had vanished. She had the sensation that, even with headlights on, they were driving into a pool of gloom, maybe doom.

A short distance behind them Newman was driving his Merc. As passengers in the rear of the car he had Marler and Harry. Harry had produced from his tool bag a thin long-barrelled weapon, which he handed to Marler. He also gave him a short slightly larger metal barrel with perforated holes at frequent intervals, plus several cartridges.

`An American Colt,' Marler said. 'Not many of them about, even in the States.'

`Pal of mine visiting New York was threatened with that in a bar. He took it off the American. Chap didn't know you don't threaten a Cockney. The shorter bit with a screw lining inside is—'

`A silencer,' Marler said. 'Trouble is they can jam a gun.'

`Agreed. But you could get off two shots, maybe three before you get into trouble.'

`You think I can, if necessary, use it...'

`To scare any thug dead.'

`Could come in useful. Thanks.'

Marler's anxiety, carefully concealed, was that they would get to the hotel car park after the French thugs. It would giver the enemy a huge advantage.

Marler had no way of knowing this also was Paula's worry. Calouste had a reputation for brilliant organization. She reminded herself that they still didn't know whether the man who had phoned Tweed was really Professor Heathstone.

She gave the order as they entered Gladworth, which was its normal sleepy self. She scanned the street for parked cars. Not a one.

`Park the car a few yards this side of the entrance to the car park for the hotel.'

`Why?' Tweed asked.

`Do as you're told.'

He parked where she had suggested. To his horror Paula, her Browning hauled out of her leg sheath, jumped out and walked briskly into the car park. She had chosen this weapon because it was easier to conceal, held close to her side.

She walked in slowly, an unlit cigarette between her lips, just a local girl searching for her boyfriend. The car park was deserted. She went back to the entrance, beckoning to Tweed, who drove inside. She pointed to a space under the hotel wall, twirled a hand, indicating he should back in ready for a quick escape.

The Mercedes, driven by Newman, had stopped at the entrance to Gladworth. He had observed Paula's movements and knew there was no danger. Yet.

Tweed walked with Paula out of the car park, entered the large reception hall past a sorry-looking palm tree in a tub to the reception desk. The girl behind the counter greeted him with a welcoming smile.

`If the car park is anything to go by you haven't many guests,' he remarked.

`Only one. It's the time of the year. Come June and we'll be bursting at the seams. A number of those crazy mountaineers eager to scale Pike's Peak.' She clasped a hand to her mouth. 'Oh, have I said the wrong thing?'

`You most certainly have not. The only mountain I want to scale is London's Canary Wharf. In a lift. We are here by appointment to see Professor Heathstone.' `He's in our best suite, Room 14, first floor.' She sighed. 'Poor man in that wheelchair.'

`We've not met before. Wheelchair?'

`It took the manager and the porter a terrible job to manoeuvre him up those stairs in the wheelchair. Shall I phone him and tell him you're coming?'

`No, thank you. He does know we're visiting him but we'd like to surprise him. He loves that.'

Room 14 was halfway along a wide corridor. There was a peep-hole in the door, which Tweed kept well away from as he pressed the bell.

Nothing for a couple of minutes, then the door was opened on a chain. An ancient face peered out, nodded, took off the chain, opened the door. Professor Heathstone smiled, manipulated levers as he backed away at speed until he was behind a large desk. He gestured for Tweed and Paula to sit in two comfortable hard-backed chairs facing him. Tweed made the introductions.

`You are most prompt, sir' Heathstone responded. 'I approve of that. And you have made my day by bringing your delightful assistant, Miss Grey.' He managed a small bow towards her. 'They have a well-stocked bar downstairs. What may I offer in the way of refreshment?'

His visitors both thanked him and refused the offer. Paula was nervous and therefore very alert. She bent down to adjust her jeans over her right ankle, checking to make sure her Browning was easily accessible.

Professor Heathstone was not what either of them had expected. First, there was the wheelchair. Then his face was so crinkled, like a crocodile's. His brown eyes peered at them from behind his gold-rimmed pince- nez. Tweed noticed his voice was stronger, his accent that of a British public schoolboy of long ago. Maybe he had trouble talking on the phone.

`Now, sir,' Heathstone continued, 'I am a businessman and your swift agreement to come and see me suggests that the document is valuable to you. I trust you will not mind paying me a fee. In cash, of course. Say two hundred pounds.'

`That's a lot of money,' Tweed remarked.

`I assure you, sir, I paid a great deal more for the first edition of
Ulysses
inside which I found this document. Of course I could sell it for three times that amount.' He snickered. 'The bookshop owner in Paris had no idea of its true value.'

`I'll pay your fee when I have examined the document.' He paused. 'What is this organization the Red Circle?'

`I really have no idea. Nor, sir, do I care.'

Tweed nodded. In a recent phone conversation with Buchanan he had been told that the French police had recently found out it was the code name for Calouste's Continent-wide organization.

`I appreciate your time is valuable,' Heathstone said as he placed both hands on the wheelchair's levers. The window behind him overlooked the car park, too far back for either Tweed or Paula to be able to see down into it. They heard the sound of a car entering. Almost at once a second car drove in.

Heathstone expertly swung the chair round, moved it so he could look down through the window. He snickered, swung the chair round and snickered again, then spoke.

`Wedding party. This will be the best day of their lives. Now, to business. The fee is agreeable, sir?' `After I have seen the document.'

With great skill Heathstone manipulated the chair at speed across the room to a door which obviously interconnected with the next room. As he slid back the bolt he called over his shoulder.

`You do have the cash with you?'

`Of course I have.

The door closed. Paula frowned, lifted her eyebrows as she looked at Tweed.

`Probably has his precious first-edition Ulysses hidden in that room.'

Earlier, waiting at the entrance to Gladworth, Harry had made a suggestion to his companion. He wanted Newman to change places, to take over the wheel, while he occupied the passenger seat. Not knowing what he had in mind Newman, always trusting Harry, agreed.

`There's a big Citroen packed with men coming up behind us,' Harry warned. 'Drive into the middle of the car park, well away from the wall. Quickly...'

Newman drove the Merc into the deserted car park — only Tweed's Audi occupied a slot. The Citroen drove in at speed, pulled up a few yards to the right of the Merc. The next event happened so quickly it would have been difficult to time.

`Stop!' ordered Harry. As Newman braked Harry was out of the car like a sprinter, his Walther in his hand. He sped across the car park, reaching the Citroen as one of the four evil-looking French thugs, knife in hand, pushed open the front passenger door prior to leaping out. Harry slammed the door shut as the thug had one leg outside. The door hit his leg like an axe blow. The thug screamed with pain, leg still trapped between door and body of the car.

By now Marler had reached the driver's door, a Walther in his hand. The window was down and the driver was about to lunge out, a vicious-looking knife in his right hand. Marler had an unpleasant smile as he aimed the Walther. The driver raised both hands to the roof, dropping his knife.

The two thugs in the back were about to disembark to join in the melee when they heard a loud tapping on the rear window. Looking back they saw Newman, his Smith & Wesson aimed at them point blank, swivelling the barrel swiftly from one to the other. They sat frozen still.

It was a few seconds earlier when Professor Heathstone had glanced out of the window and made his remark about 'wedding parties'.

Harry now dragged the thug with the injured leg out of the car, pushed him face down on the hard gravel, produced his first pair of handcuffs and clamped them tight round the thug's wrists. He ran round to the driver's seat where Marler had opened the door and pressed the muzzle of the Walther hard against one eye. No point in playing around with lethal scumbags.

Marler was fluent in French and in dirty language the thug would understand ordered him out, to lie stomach-down on the drive. The thug hesitated, still clutching his knife. Harry brought the barrel of his automatic down hard across the thug's fingers, which he broke. The thug screamed, the knife fell, Harry hauled him out, shoved him onto the drive, used a second pair of handcuffs to pinion his wrists behind his back, ignoring the man's moans about his fingers.

Hurrying to the rear, he wasted no time at all while one thug, under the threat of Newman's revolver, meekly stepped out and lay on his stomach on the drive. He had been shaken by the sight of Harry's first captive lying with one leg at an abnormal angle. The remaining thug was made of sterner stuff.

Despite Newman's Smith & Wesson he leapt out of the car, his wide-bladed knife aimed at Harry's stomach. Newman brought the barrel of his gun down on the bridge of his nose, often a lethal blow. He collapsed, half inside and half outside the rear of the car.

`Thanks,' Harry said. 'That was close. He's probably dead. Who cares?'

He checked the thug's carotid arteries. His reaction expressed surprise and something like a hint of regret. `Bastard's alive. Ticking over nicely.'

He hauled him fully out, turned him over, brought both hands together, clamped another pair of handcuffs on them, stood up.

`Not a bad morning's work, Marler commented. `Now I suggest we put all the bodies in the back of the Merc and deliver them to Commander Buchanan. They'll all be illegals so he can send them back to France with our compliments.