The Power (52 page)

'Go on, I'm still listening.'

'You make a good audience. My last job at the agency was to check up on Walter Amberg.'

Again Tweed was taken aback. Again he maintained a
poker-faced expression, but stared back at her to try and
penetrate her character. Her voice was soft and soothing,
which added to the hypnotic effect. Gaunt was mad not to
grab her. For the first time since his wife had left him
years ago for a Greek millionaire Tweed
wondered about
throwing overboard his solitary life. He pulled himself up
sharply. This was a job he was working on, the most
dangerous he'd ever encountered.

'Who asked the agency to check on Walter?' he
enquired.

'Julius Amberg. He came to the London office once
with Gaunt - which is how I met Gaunt.'

'When you were checking up on Walter Amberg what
aspect were you looking for? Did you come to Swit
zerland?'

'Yes to the second question. As to what I had to check
on, Julius was very precise. Had Walter an
expensive
apartment in another city? Now what else was there?' She played with the string of pearls looped over her
sweater with her free hand. 'I remember. Was he keeping a mistress? If so, was she expensively dressed and had she her own car? Had Walter any other cars which
he kept in other cities? Stuff like that. I drew a blank -
except for his visits to a girl in Basle. I never reported
that because I'd had enough. There was another reason. Gaunt asked me to come and live with him. I love Cornwall, the sea and the cliffs.'

'I'm going to ask you some more questions. I want you to answer them quickly. Your jobs must have made you unusually observant. First question, describe the face of
the Shadow Man.'

'Can't. Never saw it.'

'How did he walk, move?'

'Body language. Can't say. He was always motionless.'

'But you saw him several times.'

'I did. Looked up, saw him, paid for what I'd bought.
Then he'd gone.'

'Outside the Bankverein apartment, finding your
keys?'

'He stood at a corner. When I looked again he was gone.'

'You're saying you never actually saw him move?'

'Never.'

'Ever see him in Zurich?'

'No. Always here in Basle.'

'How many times have you seen him?'

'Five. Six. No more.'

'Within what space of time?'

'Couple of days.'

'Is his surveillance on you getting more frequent?'

'Yes, it is, Tweed. What the hell am I going to do?'

'You're staying at the Bankverein apartment with Gaunt?'

'Yes. He's not always there. As I told you.'

'You're going back there now. I'll get a taxi for you.
Stay inside until Gaunt returns. Tell him about the
Shadow Man.'

'You have to be joking. He'd say it was a figment of my
imagination.'

'I'll get that taxi...'

The concierge, who had just returned on duty, phoned
and a taxi arrived in five minutes. Tweed accompanied
Jennie outside into the icy cold - it seemed even more
Siberian. She kissed him on the cheek before leaping
inside.

'We must see each other again,' were her last words.

Tweed remained standing outside on the pavement for a short time. He wanted to be sure no one was following
Jennie. He was also beginning to think she was telling the
truth. Her story about the Shadow Man bothered him. He was turning to go inside when a white BMW appeared,
pulled up in front of the
hotel with a jerk and screeching
brakes.

Gaunt jumped out. He handed the car keys to a porter
who had come out through the revolving doors.

'Park my car for me. I'm staying here. Gaunt is the
name.' He clapped Tweed on the shoulder.'What a splendid welcome. You guessed I was coming! Brrr! It's cold
out here. Forward march to the bar. The drinks are on
me
...

Two double Scotches,' he told the barman when they
were comfortably seated in an otherwise deserted bar.
'And hurry them up. Need some internal central heating,
my good man.'

'No Scotch for me,' Tweed said firmly. 'Mineral water.'

'Can't cope with alcohol, eh? A man of your experi
ence. Shame on you, sir.'

'You ought to take more care of Jennie,' Tweed told
him bluntly. 'She's scared out of her wits - someone is
following her, someone I don't like the sound of.'

He waited while Gaunt doled out money to the barman and added a meagre tip. Gaunt raised his glass.

'Here's to survival of the fittest. Down the hatch.'

'I said Jennie is being followed by an unknown man.
He's tracking her, prior to something pretty unpleasant
happening, I fear.'

'Stuff and nonsense! She gets these fancies. She's an attractive-looking filly. Of course men notice her, try to
get to know her.'

'Gaunt!' Tweed hammered his glass down on the
tabletop. 'Keep quiet and listen. In Zurich a girl called
Klara was foully murdered - her head was damned near
severed from her neck. Garrotted. Someone saw the mur
derer leaving. Their brief description fits the man follow
ing Jennie. Don't you care a fig?'

He watched Gaunt closely. His visitor had worn a
camel-hair coat which now lay thrown across a chair. He
was clad in a check sports jacket, a cravat with a design of
horses' heads, corduroy trousers and hand-made leather
shoes. His sandy hair was windblown. His grey eyes
above a strong nose stared back at Tweed. His mood had suddenly become serious and his firm mouth was tightly closed. Tweed thought he glimpsed the ex-Military Intel
ligence officer.

'Think I read something about that murder in the
paper. Before I left Zurich. Can there really be a link-up
between that murder and this man who is supposed to be following Jennie?'

'Who
is
following Jennie.'

'How do you know all this?' Gaunt asked brusquely.
'Has Jennie phoned you?'

'She's been here. Was telling me about it not five
minutes before you turned up. Hadn't you better get
back to your apartment near Bankverein? Make sure
she's all right?
Now,
I suggest,' Tweed said
emphatically.

'She'll be safe.' Gaunt stared hard at Tweed. 'We
leave early tomorrow morning for Colmar in Alsace.
We'll be out of Basle by daybreak.'

'Why Colmar?' Tweed asked quietly.

'Because that's where Amberg's gone to. Place called the Château Noir. Up in the Vosges. I've just come from
a brief visit to Mrs Kahn, his assistant at the Zurcher
Kredit here in Basle. Had to put a bit of pressure on her
to get that information. Thought maybe you'd like to
know. Amberg must know something about his twin
brother's last visit to Tresillian Manor. No one kills a
guest in my house and gets away with it. I'm going now.
Remember what I said. Survival of the fittest.'

Gaunt stood up, shoved his arms into his coat, walked
out. Tweed sat thinking before returning to his room.
Gaunt didn't strike him as a man who ladled out infor
mation without a purpose. And had there been a hint of
a threat in his last remark?

32

'Norton here,' the American reported when he was con
nected with the President. He gave him the phone
number of the Hotel Bristol. 'When you want tq contact me get Sara to leave a coded message. I'll come back to you as soon as I can . . .'

'Like hell you will. I need the number I can reach you at pronto. There's been a development.'

That's my best offer,' Norton snapped.

'OK, if that's the way it has to be,' March agreed in a deceptively amiable tone. 'Now pin your ears
back. I've
had a fresh message from the man with the growly voice.
About the exchange. The big bucks for the film and the
tape. Where are you? Basle?'

'No, Colmar, France. On the edge of the Vosges
mountains.'

'Ever heard of a dump called Kaysersberg? I'll spell
that to you . ..'

'No need. I was driving through it an hour ago.'

'Really? Department of Sinister Coincidence.'

'I don't get that
...
Mr President.'

'Say it was a joke. There's some crappy hotel in this
Kaysersberg. L'Arbre Vert. I'll spell that. Sara says it
means the Green Tree ...'

'No need to spell it out. I noticed it, passing through.'

'You take a room there. Under the name of Tweed

'You can't mean it.'

'Growly Voice says you do. You wait for a call. You
have the big bucks where you can lay your hands on
them? The call may come tomorrow morning. It's up to
you to get the film, the tape - and Growly Voice. In a
box. Laid out nice and neat. You're running out of days. I said you had a deadline. Time is flying. I'm counting on
you, Norton . . .'

'You can rely on me, Mr President.. .'

He was speaking into the air. March had gone off the
line. Norton swore to himself as he left the phone cubicle
in Colmar railway station. He'd deliberately given the
Bristol number - where he'd never spend a night. He
could call for messages. No way was he going to give the
number of his small hotel at the edge of a stream in Little
Venice.

He climbed in behind the wheel of his parked blue
Renault. Switching on the ignition, he turned up the
heaters. He didn't like the arrangement March had
agreed one little bit. Registering as Tweed, goddamnit! Why? The blackmailer with the film and the tape had to
be someone who knew Tweed, knew he was in the area.

Norton would make a list of everyone his unit had
reported as having been seen with Tweed. One of those
names on that list had to be Growly Voice.

When Bradford March had put down the phone he
clasped his hands behind his bull neck and stared at the
marble fireplace on the opposite wall without seeing it.
He was in a vicious rage.

The blackmailer was playing games with him - with
Norton, too. This constant switching of locations from
one Swiss city to another - and now he'd moved the whole
operation to France. Norton, persuaded to 'resign' from
the FBI because the Director hadn't liked his tough,
ruthless ways, was being led around by the nose. Growly
Voice was running circles round him.