The Power (29 page)

'You really are a horrible man, Gregory - leaving my
new guests with the impression that I'm a monster.'

'But she is, she is,' Gaunt shot over his shoulder and
closed the door behind him.

'I gather, Mrs Amberg, that you have heard the tragic
news about your husband,' Tweed began. 'I was actually at
Tresillian Manor shortly after the massacre had taken
place.'

'Don't think I am a monster, Mr Tweed.' Eve stretched
out a bare arm below her short-sleeved dress
along the couch behind him. 'Julius and I had parted company for
good before he left for England. But the manner in which
he died has shocked me. I can tell you that - the Squire has
a tendency to despise women who can't stand up to a shock.'

'You are thinking of going back to England?' Tweed
asked.

'Not bloody likely.' She reached for a cigarette out of a pearl-encrusted box, lit it with a gold lighter. 'Not yet.
During the final blazing row Julius let slip he was expecting
to make a fortune within days. Think I'm mercenary if you
like, but I'm entitled to something after enduring his way of life for two years.'

'His way of life?' Tweed probed.

'Some bankers have their girl friends in other cities - are discreet. Not Julius. He visited a high-class call-girl on his
doorstep. She has an apartment in Rennweg - in the
middle of Zurich, for God's sake.'

'You know her name?'

'Yes. I had him followed by a detective. Helen Frey is her name. Rennweg 590. An apartment on the first floor.
A bit too close for comfort. My comfort.' Her expression
clouded over. 'I still think it's beastly the way he died.
Damned weird, too.'

'Have you any idea where this fortune he spoke of was
coming from?'

'No real idea at all. He speculated successfully on a large scale buying and selling foreign currencies. It might be that
- although I gathered it was some new and unique deal.
God knows how the bank will fare under the guidance of
Walter.'

'He wasn't as competent as Julius?' Tweed ventured.

'I can never make him out. He's devious, gives the impression he's just chairman to preside over meetings.
Sometimes I wonder about Walter.' Her arm touched
Tweed's neck, her voice very soft. 'Did Julius suffer before
he died? Gaunt gave a perfectly horrific description, but
he's not known for his subtlety; He thinks
finesse
is a French pastry. Do smoke if you want to, Mr Newman. I
saw your hand reaching towards your pocket. May I call you Bob?'

'Please do.'

Paula had taken an instant dislike to Eve Amberg at first
sight. Now she was changing her mind about her: she was
only human after all, had shown genuine distress at the manner of her husband's death. Newman reached down
for a crystal glass ashtray on the lower shelf of a small table.

Inside it was a crushed cigar stub. Gaunt must have spent
some time with Eve to have smoked a whole cigar. Which
reminded him of the cigar ash sample which Paula and Tweed had left at police headquarters for analysis - the sample Tweed had collected off the window-ledge in the no-name house at Rock in Cornwall. Eve jumped up, brought him another ashtray.

'That one is messy.'

She returned to her place on the couch beside Tweed.
She was smoking her own cigarette in a long ivory holder
and waved it to make a point. Her other hand clasped Tweed's and squeezed it.

'It really was very sweet of you to come here to tell me
about Julius's tragic death. It just happened Gregory
Gaunt got here first. I'm grateful to you. Now I am
wondering whether po-faced Walter knows. Hardly ever see him but I'll have to call him.'

'I've saved you the trouble,' Tweed informed her. 'We
visited him at the Zurcher Kredit...'

'Ah! And rather than come to see me himself he agreed you should perform the horrid task. Typical of him. But Walter and I are practically strangers.'

You catch on quick, Paula thought. You have got all your marbles. Julius was a fool to play around with other women. They chatted for a little longer, then Tweed said
they must go. Eve accompanied them to the door, her arm
looped through Newman's.

'Please do come and see me again before you leave
Zurich. Promise.' She looked at Paula. 'That invitation
does include you, Paula. I'm sorry that I haven't paid you the attention a perfect hostess should have done.'

'Think nothing of it,' Paula assured her. This really is
the most difficult time for you.'

The maid said you came by taxi,' Eve recalled suddenly.
There aren't any as high up as this. I'll phone for one. Be
here in no time ...'

As the taxi was driving them away from the villa Tweed
glanced back through the rear window. The BMW was still
parked further up the hill and there were two people
inside. He had told the cab driver to drop them on the
Limmat quay, close to the Rudolf bridge.

The sun was still shining out of a clear blue sky as he led
the way across the Rudolf-Brun-Br
ü
cke. Looking back to
the Altstadt - the Old Town on that side of the river - Paula
drank in the ancient stone buildings, the green spires of
churches which had once been gleaming copper. Butler's
black Mercedes was just turning on to the bridge.

'We're going first to police headquarters again,' Tweed
told them. 'Let's hope Beck is in this time.'

'Talk of the devil,' Paula said a? they turned right up a
steep incline. 'There is
Philip - staring at police head
quarters.'

'You must be psychic,' Tweed told Cardon as he joined
them. 'Where have you been?'

'Exploring Zurich, sniffing the atmosphere. You might
be interested that the city is crawling with Americans who appear to be drifting round to no purpose. I stress the word
"appear". All of them men and all carrying handguns. In this weather in a tight overcoat - topcoat as they call it - a
holster is a giveaway.'

'Significant,' Tweed commented, and left it at that.

* * *

Arthur Beck, whose Federal HQ was in Berne, had an
office in the solid four-storey building which is Zurich
Police HQ. His large first-floor room overlooked the
Limmat and the university perched high up on the
opposite bank. He greeted Tweed and his three com
panions gravely and smiled briefly at Newman.

Paula sensed Beck's change of mood as he squeezed her arm, escorted her to a chair at a table. Cardon sat
beside her. Newman and Tweed were seated as Beck
took his place at the head of the table. The atmosphere
was tense. Beck unlocked a drawer, took out a certifi
cate signed by himself, a Walther with ammo, pushed
everything across to Cardon including a hip holster.

'I fear you are all in great danger,' Beck began. 'And I
have to warn you I cannot guarantee your protection.
You have been followed by armed men since you left the
Gotthard this morning. Your unknown adversary
appears to be employing American gunmen - many
dressed in Swiss clothes. They work in teams which alter
nate frequently. Only a very smart detective observed
that you were followed again when you left the Zurcher Kredit Bank. I was informed because my people carry
walkie-talkies. I took action.'

'What was that?' Tweed asked quietly.

'When you took a taxi to somewhere across the Limmat a car attempted to tail you. One of my patrol cars
blocked this car. You had disappeared by the time the
car was free to proceed.'

'Thank you for that,' Tweed said.

'Even so, I cannot guarantee your protection,' Beck repeated. 'The situation is exceptional.'

'Exceptional in what way?' Tweed enquired. Lord, he
thought, are we back to square one? Is it possible that
this huge organization we are up against can reach out
and taint the Chief of Swiss Federal Police? Beck's next words in response to his question told him how wrong he
had been to doubt the Swiss.

'No fewer than forty more Americans - all carrying diplomatic passports - have arrived via Kloten. I do not have the manpower to track them - bearing in mind those who arrived earlier.'

'If they are carrying guns ...' Paula began.

'I understand your thinking. But they have diplomatic
immunity. We cannot arrest or search any
of them. It is
against international law.'

'You are powerless,'Tweed commented.

There is a further difficulty. Last night in Munich an American diplomat was shot down, murdered. A woman
got in the way of the assassin who shouted and threatened
her with his gun. She reported that the killer spoke with a
strong American accent before he escaped. So for the
moment all American so-called diplomats in Europe have an added excuse for carrying a gun.'

'You're suggesting the Munich diplomat was murdered
to provide this excuse?' Newman asked.

'I think these are very ruthless people we are dealing
with. Yes, that is what I was suggesting. It conjures up
nightmares, does it not?'

There was a heavy silence after Beck's words. Paula sat
stunned. Newman looked thoughtful. Cardon, after
checking the Walther, slid it inside the hip holster he had
strapped on. He looked at Tweed and grinned, quite at
ease with the situation.

'This calls for a Swiss protest to Washington,' Tweed
said eventually. 'All these pseudo-diplomats flooding in.'

'Which is exactly what I have done,' Beck said in a very
different tone. 'You think I remain passive regarding this
invasion of our territory? I have already phoned Anderson, the American ambassador in Berne. You would like
to guess what he said to me?'

'No. What did he say?'

'The same old phoney story as when I contacted him last
time. The March administration is recalling diplomats from all over Europe. These men are supposed to be the
replacements. Anderson, a friend of mine, sounded most embarrassed. He has already protested to Washington.'

'So that road is closed. But it tells me something.'

'But I am a fox.' Beck smiled at Paula. Today I fly to
Berne to confront Anderson with evidence. I shall be
taking with me one of the new arrivals' so-called diplo
matic passports. My experts tell me it is forged.'

'I'd better not ask you how you got hold of the passport,'
Tweed remarked.

'Oh, he dropped it in the street after leaving the Hotel
Baur-en-Ville. By chance one of my men picked it up when
the owner had disappeared.'