The Power (78 page)

'I wouldn't dispute that,' agreed Nield. 'I think maybe we ought to keep a close eye on Brother Pit-Bull. Let's
outflank him. Rattle him. With a bit of luck he'll push off
outside and we can follow him
...'

As Tweed watched, the two men separated. Jason had already noticed their arrival, the pause while they stared
in his direction. He began to feel less confident.

Nield made a lot of noise as he pulled out a wooden
chair from a table behind Jason, scraping it across the
tiled floor. Butler chose a more distant table, at a
diagonal angle to the American's thick neck. To see
either of the new arrivals Jason had to twist round in his seat in two different directions - making it obvious what
he was doing.

Tweed had surreptitiously watched the manoeuvre of
Butler and Nield with a mixed feeling of amusement and
relief. The arrival of Barton Ives, despite his effective
disguise, worried him. It was a very public place. Ives
spoke to him from behind the menu he was studying.

'I had spotted him. A professional gunman. A Norton recruit would be my guess. Cold as ice. Except he's now hot and bothered, as I believe you Brits say. Literally -sweat is running off his forehead. Those two guys who
came in are yours? Thought so. I like their tactics ...'

Jason had decided - rightly so - that it would be suicide
to draw his Luger. He called for the bill, paid the waiter,
left half his beer in the glass, stood up and walked casually
to the exit leading to the street. Outside rush hour had
vanished like water down a plug-hole and the pavement
was deserted now night had fallen.

'After you, sir...'

Jason paused at the open door, a door held open by
Nield who had reached it first the moment Jason began to
move. The American suffered a rare moment of
indecision. If he said he'd changed his mind and started
back into the restaurant, where would that get him? The only alternative was to proceed on into the deserted street - a course of action Jason felt uneasy about.

'OK, buddy...'

He stared at Nield who was smiling pleasantly while
holding the door open with his left hand. Jason walked
out.

Nield followed him immediately, moving as silently as a
cat close up behind his quarry. Jason felt something hard
and cylindrical pushed hard against his spine. He froze.

'This is a Walther 7.65-mm. automatic and the magazine holds eight rounds,' Nield informed him in a conver
sational tone. 'I'm prepared to pull the trigger until the
mag is emptied. Turn slowly to your right, walk twelve paces, again slowly, then stop. Start counting now.'

'This a friggin' hold-up?' Jason blustered.

'Don't ask questions. Just do what I told you to ...'

As Jason began counting paces Butler appeared along
side him, keeping in step. The American glanced side
ways and didn't like the expression on Butler's face. After
twelve paces he stopped. Nield pressed the Walther
harder into his spine to remind him of its presence. There
was no one else about as Butler stood in front of Jason,
reached inside his windcheater with his gloved hand,
hauled out a Luger.

'You said something about a hold-up,' Butler
remarked. 'Is that the trade you practise?'

'I need protection
...'
Jason began.

'Shut up!' snapped Nield.

Near where they stood two chairs were propped against
a wall. In more clement weather tables and chairs were spread out on the pavement for customers to sit at while they enjoyed a drink. Shoving the Luger behind his belt inside his jacket, Butler moved swiftly. He arranged the chairs together so they could be sat on. He went back to
where Jason stood with a puzzled expression.

'Turn round and face my partner,' Butler ordered.

As the American turned away from him Butler brought
down the barrel of the Luger on Jason's skull. The
American was sagging when both Butler and Nield grab
bed hold of his inert body, dragged him to the chairs, sat
him down, arranged him so he leaned against the back of
them.

Nield produced a half bottle of wine he'd brought from
the Brasserie. Uncorking it, he spilt a liberal amount
down Jason's chin and over his windcheater. Butler had checked his neck pulse, which beat steadily, before they walked back inside the Brasserie. He had also shoved the Luger back inside the shoulder holster.

The one thing both men omitted to notice was a
Renault parked in the shadows, apparently empty.

Marvin Mencken, his seat pushed as far back as it would go, had concealed himself when he saw the three men
emerging from the Brasserie. In a state of shock, he
instinctively hid himself. Once again an apparently foolproof plan had gone wrong. Mencken had told Jason he'd wait outside to pick him up, drive the hell out of Colmar once he'd killed Tweed.

His expression was malevolent and evil as he climbed out of the Renault he had commandeered from one of his surviving teams. In return, he had given them the Land-
Rover with a shattered windscreen. Listening, he heard
only silence. At this hour even the streets were clear of
traffic.

Bending over Jason, he checked the carotid artery, felt
its steady beat. His expression became matter-of-fact as
he pulled on a pair of gloves. Like Butler, he reached
inside Jason's windcheater, hauled out the Luger. Unlike Butler, who had used only enough force to render Jason unconscious for some time, Mencken checked again to
make sure he was alone.

He then raised the barrel of the Luger high above his
shoulder, brought it down on Jason's skull with such
vicious force it rebounded off the skull. Again Mencken
checked the carotid artery. Nothing. Jason was dead
meat. He'd failed in his task - and there was the added
chance the police would find the corpse. Thrusting the
Luger back inside the holster, Mencken was about to
topple the sagging corpse on to the pavement when he
heard a car approaching. He dived back inside the
Renault, dipped his head out of sight. The car moved on
into the night. Mencken straightened up, adjusted his
seat, started the engine and drove off. Bound for this
Ouchy dump on the shores of Lake Geneva.

'Do let me in on the secret,' Gaunt's voice boomed out as he joined Tweed's table unasked. 'What's
our next port of call on this Cook's tour? Ouchy and points south? Eve is
dying of curiosity.'

'Eve is doing nothing of the sort,' Eve Amberg rapped
back at Gaunt, obviously well tanked up on alcohol.
'You're the one devoured with curiosity.' She looked at
Tweed. 'Then he pretends I'm the one after all sorts of
strange and weird information.'

Paula pricked up her ears. Eve sounded convincing.
Why would Gaunt adopt this devious ploy?

'I've ordered the largest omelette in the world,' Gaunt
went on as his bulk sagged into a chair at the table. 'I
trust, Eve, you'll be keeping me company in the BMW. Can't travel without some feminine companionship.'

'Your trust is misplaced,' she shot back at him. 'I'm
travelling back by train with Tweed.'

'I suppose you'd accept me as a substitute companion?'
Jennie suggested.

'Damn right I will,' boomed Gaunt. 'Jennie and I are
on the same waveband.'

Paula glanced at Jennie and then at Gaunt. She had the
impression Gaunt had known Eve would refuse, had
known Jennie would offer to come with him. Paula had begun to sense that Gaunt and Jennie were working hand
in glove without making it obvious.

Gaunt's relationship with the two women intrigued her.
At first she'd thought it was Eve who was close to the Squire. Now it appeared Gaunt had used that as a cover, for his closeness to Jennie and Eve had consistently dis
tanced herself from him. Why?

Eve had joined Tweed for dinner soon after the
incident of the man with a face like a dog. They were
finishing the meal, drinking coffee and Tweed was
draining his glass of Riesling while Gaunt wolfed down his
huge omelette. At that moment Butler, who had strolled out of the exit on to the street for the second time, came hurrying back. He laid a hand on his chiefs shoulder.

'Excuse me,' Tweed said, standing up. 'Arrangements
to make!' He looked at Newman. Take care of the bill for me, Bob.' He guessed that some kind of emergency had just arisen from Butler's action.

Tweed was leaving the Brasserie by the short cut into
the hotel when Butler, close behind him, gave a little jerk
of his head to Nield who was lingering over coffee at a
table by himself.

Having paid the bill earlier, Nield left the table and strolled casually after them. At Tweed's table Gaunt was
holding everyone's attention with some outrageous story -
except for Newman, who saw Nield leaving.

Passing through the main restaurant - now empty -
Tweed led the way into the reception hall and into a small
sitting area in a large alcove. There was no one behind the
reception counter as the others joined him.

'A crisis?' Tweed enquired in a mild tone.

'A major one,' Butler reported, keeping his voice down as Nield sat in a third chair. 'That gunman we dealt with outside the Brasserie is dead.'

'So what happened?'

'Pete and I sorted him out. I knocked him unconscious
with his own Luger, left the gun with him after we'd
parked him on a couple of chairs.'

'I poured wine down his jaw and over his windcheater,'
Nield added. 'No one wants anything to do with a drunk sleeping it off.'

'You definitely left him unconscious?' Tweed probed.

'Fact one,' Butler began, 'I checked his neck pulse. It
was normal. Fact two, there was no blood from the blow I
gave him. Now there's blood all down the side of his face -
and a second blow has split his skull. Dead as a
doornail.'

'Then we leave here fast.' Tweed took out a notebook,
checked train times Paula had obtained earlier. 'An
express for Basle leaves here in thirty minutes. I'll be
aboard - with Paula, Eve, Amberg, Barton Ives, New
man and Philip Cardon. You both know what to do,
where to meet us.'

'I drive the Espace to Basle, Pete drives the station
wagon,' Butler replied. 'We park near Basle Bahnhof and
wait for you to arrive in the station's first-class res
taurant.'

'I have phoned Beck,' Tweed told them. 'He has the
registration numbers of both vehicles and has given
orders to the Swiss border guards to let you through. So
you can tape the weapons underneath the chassis of both
cars without worry. Now, speed is the order of the day.'