The Power (5 page)

'The worst kind. And I'd expected Bob Newman to
come.'

It was the type of pointless remark made by someone
suffering from delayed shock - by someone who had held
herself together by sheer will-power and character. No
longer alone, she was giving way. She made a great effort:
they had to be told.

'Newman had gone off somewhere,' Tweed replied. 'Monica left a message on his answerphone to come and see her. She'll tell him where we've gone.'

Tweed had deliberately answered her question to
introduce a whiff of normality back into her life.
Middle-aged, of medium height and build, he wore
horn-rimmed glasses. He was outwardly the man you pass
in the street and never notice - a characteristic which had
served him well as Deputy Director of the SIS. He walked
quickly up the steps, put his arm round Paula, squeezed her.

'What's happened here?'

'It's ghastly. No, that isn't data, which is what you always want.' She took a deep breath. They're all dead.'

'Who exactly?' Tweed asked calmly.

'Julius Amberg, his guards and the butler, Mounce.
Eight corpses waiting for you inside that lovely house. The
postman did it.. .'

'Tell me more later. I'd better go and see for myself. This
postman you mentioned has gone?'

'I haven't had time to search the upper floor. Downstairs
is clear.'

'Harry,' Tweed said, taking command immediately, 'go
upstairs and search for a killer, who will be armed. Take
Philip Car don with you.'

'On my way ...'

Butler, a 7.65-mm Walther automatic in his hand,
entered the manor followed by Cardon also gripping a
Walther. As Paula and Tweed followed them they saw
Butler, holding the gun in both hands, creeping up the
wide staircase. Cardon was a few paces behind, sliding up
close to the wall, starting at the upper landing.

'They're in here,' Paula said. 'Prepare yourself for
something pretty awful. Especially Amberg's face.'

Tweed, wearing a trench coat over his navy blue
business suit, paused. Hands deep inside his trench coat pockets, a stance he used to adopt when interrogating
suspects in the old days when he had been the youngest

Scotland Yard superintendent in the Murder Squad,
he
stared at the dead body of Mounce.

'I'd like to know what is inside that package the postman
delivered. But we mustn't disturb anything until the police
get here. We'll call them in a minute,' he said, glancing at
the phone on a table against the hall wall. He listened as
Paula thought of something else.

The kitchen staff behind that door were attacked with tear-gas, then I think the killer knocked them unconscious with something. One of the three girls has an ugly bruise on her head. They're all alive, thank heavens.'

'Pete.' Tweed addressed Butler's partner, a very different character. Slim, dressed in a smart blue suit under his open raincoat, he had neat dark hair and a small moustache. The staff are unconscious in the kitchen .. .'

'I heard what Paula said, Chief.'

'Go and see what you can do for them. Get a statement if
any of them recover and are up to it.'

'I'll get it all down on my pocket tape recorder,' Nield assured him.

He produced the miniaturized recorder the boffins in the
basement of Park Crescent had
designed. Giving Paula a
smile and a little salute, he headed for the kitchen.

'Now for it,' Paula warned.

She opened the door to the dining-room. Tweed walked in ahead of her, stood still after taking two paces. His eyes
scanned the carnage, stared briefly at the red lake on the
ceiling, walked slowly past each body until he arrived at the
head of the table.

'It's a blood bath,' Paula commented. 'You won't like Julius Amberg's face. It's been sprayed with acid.'

'Ruthless,' Tweed said, looking down at his old friend.
'Also intriguing. Julius has - had - an identical twin
brother. Julius was Chief Executive of the Zurcher Kredit
Bank in Zurich, the driving force. Walter, the brother, is Chairman, does very little except draw a fat salary.'

He looked up as Butler appeared at the door, the
Walther still in his hand. He nodded to Tweed.

'All clear upstairs. No one else is here.' His gaze swept
round the room. 'Bloody hell.'

'A perfect description,' Tweed responded. 'Lucky we
were late. Paula, how did you avoid this massacre ...?'

His expression changed. His hands jumped out of his
pockets and he was alert as a prowling tiger.

'My God!'

'What is it?' Paula asked.

Tweed had grasped something everyone else had over
looked. His own remark about being lucky to be late
triggered off the alarm bells inside his head.

'We
were supposed to be the targets. I must phone Park
Crescent instantly. This is a major emergency.'

'I'll call them immediately,' Butler said, ran into the hall
and picked up the phone. He was dialling as Tweed hurried
into the hall. 'Shouldn't be long now ...'

'Hurry!' Tweed urged him. 'Park Crescent could be in
terrible danger...'

It took Butler several minutes - he had to dial again and
Tweed stood close to him. Butler listened, nodded and
handed the phone over.

'Pray God I'm in time,' Tweed said as he took the instrument.

3

Tweed and the others have driven down to a Tresillian
Manor on Bodmin Moor,' Monica told Newman as she
closed a file on her desk at Park Crescent.

Newman had just arrived in response to the urgent call
from Monica waiting for him on his answerphone at his
flat. He took off his favourite Gannex raincoat, hung it on the stand, settled in a chair facing her desk.

'Bodmin Moor? That's Cornwall. Who are the others
and why has he gone down to that remote spot?'

'He took Butler, Nield and Cardon with him as
guards...'

'A heavy delegation. As guards? That's unlike Tweed. Were they armed? What's going on?'

'Yes, they were armed.' Monica sounded disturbed. 'He
was going to meet a Swiss banker, Julius Amberg, who flew
in from Zurich.'

'Amberg. That nasty little berk, Joel Dyson, knows Amberg. A very odd coincidence. Has Tweed seen that film or listened to the tape?'

'No, they're still in the safe. He hadn't time. It was
action stations from the moment he arrived and took the
call from Amberg - begging him to hurry to Cornwall.'

'More and more mysterious. And why did you call me?'

Tweed wanted you to drive down there if you contacted
me in time. I think it would be pointless your going now.
The meeting at the manor was for lunch. It will all- be
over—'

She broke off as the phone began ringing. Picking up the
receiver she started to announce 'General & Cumbria
Assur—'

'Monica, this is Tweed. You recognize my voice?
Quick.'

'Yes, is something ...'

'Exit One! Exit One!
Exit One!
For Christ's sake

'Understood.'

Monica rammed down the receiver, took a key from a drawer, knocked over her chair in her haste. Inserting the
key in a metal box attached to the wall, she pulled down a
red lever, slammed the door shut. The moment the lever

was operated screaming alarm bells alerted every office in
the building - including Tweed's.

'Emergency evacuation!' Newman shouted to make
himself heard as he jumped up, grabbed his Gannex.
Monica stuffed her Filofax in her handbag and Newman
held the door open. Men and women were already moving
down the staircase. There had been rehearsals: no one panicked. They kept moving.

In the entrance hall George, the guard, was slamming
down a phone. He had a clipboard in front of him and
ticked off people as they filed out through the front door. The bell in the hall was more subdued.

As Newman reached the entrance hall with Monica he glanced at Lisa, the fair-haired girl who operated the
switchboard. He saw row upon row of red lights. Every
phone was - had been - in use. Lisa snatched up her coat and handbag, as Newman asked the question.

'So many calls all at once?'

'Switchboard jammed,' Lisa replied quickly. 'Except for
Tweed's line, which is separate.'

' I had a crazy call,' George commented, ticking off more
names. 'Some nutcase said he was phoning from Berlin, had an urgent message. Been jabbering away for five
minutes...'

Howard, the Director, appeared at the foot of the stairs.
Immaculately dressed in a Chester Barrie business suit from Harrods, tall, plump-faced, he had thrown off his
usual lordly manner. He stood by the desk next to George.

'Better leave,' said Newman as Monica vanished
through the open doorway. 'It was Tweed himself who sounded the alarm from long distance.'

'I'm staying here until the last man and woman has left the building,' Howard said quietly.

Newman was surprised and his previous opinion of Howard as a pompous woodentop changed. He nodded,
slipped outside ahead of a fresh file of staff coming down
the staircase. On the doorstep, standing to one side, he
froze.

A maroon-coloured Espace station wagon was parked
alongside the building. Newman went down the steps,
stood close and ran back inside the hall as the fresh batch of
people walked rapidly off round the Crescent. They were assembling out of sight round the corner in Marylebone Road as planned.

'George,' Newman said as the guard showed the list to Howard. 'There's one of those large Espaces parked just
outside.'

'Ruddy 'ell,' George blazed, 'I'd have seen the blighter if
I hadn't had that loony from Berlin on the blower.'

'Which is precisely why he was on the phone.'

Time to leave,' Howard announced, gesturing towards the list. 'All present and correct. Present out of danger,
that is. Fancy a quick stroll, Bob?'

'That will do me. ..'

They followed George out of the building, down the steps, turning left along the curve. All three men gave the Espace a quick glance then strode briskly towards where
the staff were waiting. It was very quiet in the Crescent and
no one else was about. Thank God, Newman thought.