The Power (26 page)

Federal Police. P. Schmidt.
A visiting card had been
attached in the lower half with Sellotape.
With the com
pliments of Arthur Beck.

'Thank you, sir,' the slim man said. 'It's very quiet
here. February, I expect...'

Tweed went back up in the lift with mixed feelings. It
was very good of Beck to post one of his men inside the
hotel. But it also indicated that Beck was worried about their safety.

He inserted the key into his door, opened it, reached
for the switch to illuminate the room before entering it.
On the carpeted floor was a long white envelope which
had been slipped under the door.

Tweed closed and locked the door. Using a penknife,
he slit open the envelope carefully. There was one sheet of folded paper inside. No address at the top and a brief
hand-written message.

Call me from a safe phone at this number .. . Between
8p.m. and 8.15p.m. this evening. Dillon

He was startled. Dillon must either be staying in the
hotel, as he had suggested he should - or he had
observed their arrival. Tweed checked his watch.
8.08p.m. He had seven minutes to reach an outside
phone. Picking up the phone he dialled Butler's room
number.

Tweed here. Harry, we have to go out. Very fast.. .'

'I'm on my way ...'

Tweed had his overcoat on when Butler arrived
wearing a padded windcheater. He opened the front,
whipped a 7.65-mm. Walther automatic out of a hip
holster, grinned and replaced the weapon. Tweed waited
until they were hurrying on foot up the Bahnhofstrasse
in a bitterly cold night before he asked the question.

'Where the hell did you get that? We ditched all
weapons on our way to Newquay Airport.'

'By courtesy of Chief of Police Beck. You didn't see
the canvas hold-all he handed to Paula after
you'd left the
car outside the Schweizerhof?'

'No, I damn well didn't.'

'It contained Walthers for Pete Nield and me, a .32
Browning automatic for Paula and a Smith & Wesson for
Newman. Plus ammo for all the guns. Paula guessed what
was in the hold-all, passed it to Newman before she
followed you inside. There were also special certificates to
carry a firearm, signed by Beck, for each of us.'

For Butler it was a long speech. By the time he had
ended it they had arrived at the down escalator into
Shopville. Tweed's only reply was a grunt. He liked people to keep him informed but it
had
been a rush, moving to the
Gotthard.

At that time of night the underground complex was quiet
and few people were about. Tweed deliberately didn't
glance inside the phone cubicles which were occupied. If
one contained Cord Dillon he wasn't risking drawing attention to him.,

'I won't be long,' he told Butler as he entered an empty
cubicle.

He dialled the Zurich number, standing sideways. But
ler was taking an apparent interest in a closed vegetable shop opposite.

'Who is it?' Dillon's voice asked brusquely.

'Tweed here. Got your message
...

'Just listen. Special Agent Barton Ives is in town. He will
try to contact you if it's safe . . .'

'Why did he leave the States? I need some data ...'

'He was investigating a chain of serial murders in Tennessee, Mississippi, Louisiana, Alabama, Georgia and
Florida. All of them women. Raped, murdered

'So why would he need to flee to Europe?'

'Ask him. Got to go now. Zurich is swarming with
Norton's gunmen. I have a hunch Norton will be here
soon, may be already. Then the earthquake rocks Zurich.'

'Cord, how on earth do these serial murders link up with
what's going on . . .'

'Not over the phone. Ask Barton. Stay under cover. I'm
doing just that. . .'

'Since we don't know what Norton looks like it doesn't
help to know we may be enjoying his company...'

'No one enjoys that. They just end up dead. Got to
go...'

Again the line was cut before Tweed could ask him a vital question. The abrupt termination of the call worried
Tweed as he walked back to the Gotthard with Butler.
Dillon was a tough character and he'd never known him be
scared of anyone before. This Norton must be quite
something.

Norton was waiting at London Airport when United flight
918 landed from Washington. He stood among a small
crowd of people who were waiting to greet arrivals. Along
side him stood a porter holding a large heavy envelope
Norton had given him together with a £20 tip.

Marvin Mencken appeared first followed by four of his
men. A tall well-built man, Mencken had a cadaverous
face and behind his back he was nicknamed 'the Skeleton'.
Wearing a dark blue trench coat and carrying his bag, his
narrow foxy eyes swept the concourse as he paused.

That's him,' Norton told the porter. 'The one in a dark
blue trench coat.'

The porter, who had been given very precise instruc
tions, hurried forward. Sidling his way between people he
stopped in front of Mencken, presented him with the envelope.

'I've been asked to hand you this.'

'Who by?' Mencken flashed back, his eyes darting round
the concourse as he took the envelope. 'Point him out to
me.'

'Not part of my instructions, sir ...'

'Look, you bum ...' Mencken had dropped his bag, his
hand grasped the porter by the shirt collar.
'You're goin' to point him out to me. Then you get fifty dollars. Play dumb
and I'll tear your throat
out.'

The porter, scared stiff, gulped. Indignation overtook
fear. This was his airport. Reaching up, he dug his finger
nails deep into the back of the hand holding him. Mencken
let go, was about to tread hard on one of the porter's feet
when his victim spoke.

'Any more of this and I'm calling Security. I can see the
Chief over there.'

'Get lost,' Mencken snarled.

He couldn't afford trouble here - especially if Norton was watching him. He ripped open the envelope. Inside
were forty one-way Swissair tickets to Zurich, a wad of
banknotes, high Swiss denominations, and a typed
instruction.

Board the flight with your friends. At Zurich you receive
fresh orders.

The instruction ended with a flourishing 'N' written in
ink. Norton. Mencken gritted his teeth. Sara Maranoff had
told him in her curt way that he was second in command to
Norton. Which was something he didn't appreciate.
Especially as he had no idea what Norton looked like.
Always just an abrasive voice on the phone.

Mencken had divided his group of forty men into sec
tions of five, each with a leader. He began to distribute five
tickets to each section leader, gave them the instruction for
arrival in Zurich.

'You hang around the carousel at Kloten. I may give you
orders then. Or I may wait till we hit the concourse. Just
depends the mood I'm in. Well, look at the time - move
ass...'

* * *

'I've made an appointment to see Walter Amberg at the
Zurcher Kredit Bank in Taistrasse,' Tweed announced.

They were
all
having an excellent breakfast at a long
table in La Soupiere. This was the high-class dining-room
on the first floor of the Schweizerhof. Having slept at the
Gotthard they had wandered round to the Schweizerhof in pairs. It confirmed the impression they were staying at the hotel.

At Tweed's suggestion, the previous evening at nine
o'clock Newman and Butler, carrying keys to all their six
rooms, had paid a brief visit to the Schweizerhof. Each had
taken three rooms, had then pulled back the covers, kicked
off their shoes and rolled in the beds, rumpling sheets and
pillows. This further confirmed the impression to the management that they were sleeping there.

'Waiter is the twin of poor Julius,' Paula recalled in a
whisper.

'The identical twin. Seen together you couldn't tell them
apart,' Tweed agreed. 'The Swiss do have a sense of
humour. Julius and Walter used to wear exactly the same outfits - so often their own staff got them mixed up.'

'And does Walter know about Julius's murder?' Paula
asked in the same low voice.

'No. Which is unfortunate. No one - even Buchanan -
had thought of asking who should be informed. I think the
Chief Inspector was too appalled by the scale of the
massacre. I shall have to break the news to Walter. Would you like to come with me?'

'Yes, please,' said Paula. 'Had Julius a wife?'

'He had, but I don't know her address. I did think of
trying to get hold of it - but it's hardly the type of news you
want to tell people over the phone.'

'A Swiss wife?' queried Paula, her curiosity aroused.

'No, English as a matter of fact. Much younger than her husband was. I think her name is Eve. Walter will have to
undertake that unpleasant task. Walter is Chairman -
Julius was Chief Executive, the man who really ran the
bank and its various branch offices.'

'Is Walter up to it?' asked Newman. To taking over and
running the organization?'

'No idea.' Tweed polished off his bacon and eggs,
pushed his plate back. 'You know, Paula, among all the things which have happened one stands out, puzzles me.'

'And that is?'

'Why, after shooting down Julius Amberg at Tresillian Manor, did the assassin throw acid all over
his face? Not
for revenge - we're not dealing with that kind of enemy. So
why the acid?'

17

Norton travelled on the same flight to Zurich as Mencken
and his large team. But whereas the forty men who were
reinforcements occupied economy seats Norton was in the first-class section.

He wore an English suit and spoke with an English
accent without a trace of his native American. When he had boarded the plane at London Airport he had chosen
the aisle seat next to an elegantly dressed Swiss woman. He
was careful that nothing in his manner suggested he was
trying to pick her up.