The Power (64 page)

'What is the premium you would like me to pay?'
Jennie shook her golden mane off her shoulder, gazing at Tweed with an expression which made Paula grit her
teeth. 'I will pay in any currency you specify,' she went on
suggestively.

'How about Hungarian forints?' Paula snapped.

'I am asking Mr Tweed,' Jennie said politely, not
looking in Paula's direction. 'Seriously, it was a horrible
experience last night. And the Met forecast is for more
fog this evening. That's when he appears - the Shadow Man. I won't be any trouble. I'll do exactly what you tell me to do - or not to do.' Her voice trembled. 'Please. Oh,
please, Tweed. Let me come with you.'

'If I let you,' Tweed said grimly, 'you will obey orders from the word go.' He held up a hand. 'No more protestations. I've laid down the conditions. No more to say.'

Inwardly Paula swore as she savagely piled butter on
her croissant. You wily, conniving little devil, she said to
herself. What surprised her most was that Tweed had
fallen for Jennie's feminine tactics. Or had he? She
glanced at Tweed and he looked back without any
expression.

Brilliant sunshine reflected off the snow which had
descended on Colmar overnight. Tweed screwed up his
eyes against the glare of the strong light as he walked
alone outside the main entrance to the Bristol. He was
waiting for Newman to drive the Espace from where it
had been parked overnight.

Locals were hurrying to work. A girl slipped on a patch
of invisible ice beneath the snow and Tweed saved her,
grabbing her arm. She peered at him gratefully from
beneath her hood.
'Merci!'
With her hair
concealed under
the hood, a scarf pulled up over her chin and drainpipe
trousers protruding from under a long padded wind
cheater Tweed had briefly mistaken her for a man.

As he stood near the kerb a large man wearing a hood
with earmuffs and a long heavy trench coat brushed
against him. Tweed stiffened as a strong hand gripped his
arm.

'Now don't get alarmed, old chum. I've waited for ever for you to come out. Important development
...'

The American twang was distinctive. Cord Dillon's
voice. Tweed stood quite still, clapping his gloved hands
together as though feeling the cold. He spoke without
looking at the American, his lips hardly moving.

'From now on we must keep in close contact. You can
phone me at the hotel after nine in the evening. What is the important development?'

'Special Agent Barton Ives is near by. Wants to talk
with you. The recognition signal will be a Union Jack,
your national flag.'

'Describe him to me again, briefly ...'

'About my height. Much slimmer build. Thick black
hair. Now clean-shaven. Aged thirty-seven. Strong
Anglo-Saxon features. Ice-blue eyes. He'll find you when it's OK. This place is crawling with watchers - hostile.'

'Ives will be taking a chance unless he's careful,' Tweed
warned.

'He's careful. He's FBI. Was. Be in touch

Tweed was still clapping his gloves together in a slow
rhythm as Newman arrived with the Espace, punctuating
his thoughts. Was one of the two key men in this crisis -
Barton Ives and Joel Dyson - really going to contact him? If so how? He wished he'd told Dillon they were on their
way into the mountains. Paula walked briskly out of the
hotel. It was no surprise that close on her heels Jennie
Blade, clad in sheepskin, hurried up to the vehicle.

Tweed wondered if Jennie would have been so eager to
join them if she'd known what was facing them during the
long climb into the even more heavily snowbound
mountains.

39

'We're being followed already,' Newman commented as
he drove the grey Espace along the snow-covered road
across the plain below the foothills rising in the near
distance.

'The big cream Citroen, you mean?' Tweed suggested.

'That's the bastard.' Newman glanced over his shoulder
to where Jennie sat. 'Excuse my French but if you had any idea this would be a holiday outing you're in for a very big
surprise.'

The Renault Espace V6 was a spacious vehicle which could easily seat six people in three rows. Its large curved
snout reminded Paula, seated next to Tweed, of a shark.
Tweed occupied the middle seat with Newman on his left.
In the row behind them Jennie, huddled in her sheepskin,
was curled up like a cat on her seat.

Butler, clad in leathers with a large helmet, had passed
them riding a Harley-Davidson and was leading the con
voy as it drew closer to Kaysersberg. A distance behind
them Nield drove the station wagon with his Walther
tucked under a cushion on the front passenger seat.

Philip Cardon, astride his own motorcycle, roared past
them, then slowed as his eyes kept swivelling from side to
side. The Citroen shadowing them had so far kept well
back from Nield's station wagon.

'Why should anyone follow us?' called out Jennie.

'Presumably to see where we're going,' Paula snapped
without bothering to turn her head.

'Why would they want to do that?' Jennie persisted.

'So when we skid they can see in time the dangerous stretches of the road,' Paula snapped again.
'Could we
possibly have a little quiet so the driver can concentrate?
Also I'm checking a map. We're coming into Kaysersberg
very shortly,' she warned Newman. 'I can see the old
buildings on the outskirts.'

'
I'm not worried at all about us skidding,' Jennie went on. 'Bob is a marvellous driver. You should have more
confidence in him.'

Paula's eyes blazed as she checked the map again. So
far as she was concerned Jennie Blade was
spare luggage
which could be dumped by the roadside at any time.
Tweed, seeing her expression, was secretly amused. He
was also suspicious.

Jennie's air of naivety was just a little too innocent and he was certain she was baiting Paula. Cardon returned on his motorcycle, made a gesture for them to slow down.
Newman responded immediately, saw Cardon perform a highly skilled U-turn in the snow, then come racing back,
speeding up as he overtook them.

'We shall soon be inside Kaysersberg,' Paula warned again. 'Which probably means we'll have to crawl.'

'Presenting a slow-moving target,' Newman com
mented.

The ancient buildings of the medieval gem closed round
them on both sides as Newman reduced speed to little
more than walking pace. Paula stared with admiration at the antique buildings, many with wooden cross-beams
buried in the plaster walls and slanting at crazy angles.

'This is wonderful,' she enthused. 'It reeks of character,
of the Middle Ages. And look at that hump-backed
bridge
. . .'

Standing by himself in an alley-way midway inside
Kaysersberg, the man wearing a fur hat and an astrakhan
coat held a mobile phone to his ear. The aerial was extended as he peered at the bridge through his half-
moon glasses and listened to the report from another
mobile phone inside the cream Citroen.

'Our main competitor is aboard the grey Espace,' the
driver reported. 'Plus a man and two women.'

'Maintain your present position,' Norton ordered.
'Keep well back. I'm talking about survival...'

He slid the aerial back inside the phone. Once the
Espace started to cross that bridge it was the end of
Tweed. One mission accomplished. Château Noir next.

'Brake!' Tweed ordered. 'Stop this vehicle at once.'

Newman obeyed immediately, sat behind the wheel
with the engine ticking over. Cardon was approaching on
his motorcycle. Newman was mystified by Tweed's sudden command.

'What is this in aid of? The pause?' he enquired.

'Something about that bridge I don't like. If I were
planning an ambush - and ruthlessly, didn't care tuppence about innocent civilian casualties - that bridge would be
the death-trap.'

'I think we may have a problem,' Cardon said, speaking
through the open window, straddled on his machine. 'I
suggest you don't proceed any further until Butler and I
have spied out the lie of the land. OK?'

'What triggered off this mood of caution?' Tweed
asked.

'There's an old castle perched up just behind these old
houses. Anyone located on top has a perfect view of the
bridge and any vehicle crossing it. Harry and I saw at least
one man at the summit of the keep - with what looked like a rifle in his hands. I'm going to check under the
bridge, Harry takes the castle. Sit tight.'

'Look! A lovely cat...'

Before Tweed could stop her Paula had opened the
door, jumped out and was walking briskly
behind Cardon
who was approaching the bridge on foot, leaving his motorbike leaning against the Espace. There was a large fat cat on the parapet of the bridge and Tweed knew she was fond of cats. But he also noticed she had undone the flap of her shoulder-bag next to her hip. Inside was an
easily accessible pocket which had been specially
designed to take her .32 Browning.

Tweed watched as Paula, clad in a padded windcheater and ski pants tucked into leather boots with rubber soles, strode confidently on to the bridge. Any watcher was
unlikely to suspect her of
being anything but a ski-season
tourist.

She picked up the heavily furred cat which was coffee-
coloured with white 'stockings' and a white chest. She glanced around as it purred at her attentions and saw the
swiftly moving figure of Harry Butler disappearing below
the looming castle. Cardon had referred to a 'keep' and
this was a great round tower rearing up above the rest of the edifice. She nipped one of the ears of the cat which protested, prepared to leap out of her arms. She aimed it over the edge of the parapet on to the snow-covered bank at the edge of the frozen stream.

Cardon, seeing the opportunity she'd provided,
lowered himself over the stone wall as though in pursuit
of the animal. Agilely, Paula dropped over the wall,
followed him under the bridge. The cat perched on a
snowbound rock at the far end of the arch, glaring at
them. Cardon raised a warning hand.

Paula followed the direction of his pointing finger. An explosives expert, Cardon recognized lethal hardware.
Attached by ropes to ancient iron rings in the centre of
the arch was suspended a large metal plate supporting a
large number of what appeared to Paula to be Roman-
candle type fireworks.