Vorpal Blade (41 page)

36

They were having a late lunch at Sayonara, a bar with a
good restaurant. Tweed had chosen the place carefully -
in the middle of Lugano it was close to the funicular which
transported passengers up to the rail station. Newman had
already bought four return tickets to Chiasso.

'The service and food are excellent here,' Tweed remarked
as he rapidly consumed paella, clearing his plate before
anyone else.

Paula sat next to Tweed, who faced Newman and
Marler. At this late hour the restaurant was quiet. Tweed
had planned their departure from the Splendide Royal
carefully. First, Newman had taken a taxi by himself into
Lugano, where he had hired a people carrier. Driving it
back along the lakeside road he had parked it in the nearby
street not far from where Black Jack's body had been found at the foot of the funicular. Police tape still cordoned off the
area, uniformed police were taking more photographs. He
walked back to the hotel.

'The people carrier is parked,' he informed Tweed in
his suite.

'People carrier, my foot,' Tweed had protested. 'What
you have hired is a minibus. People carrier is a stu
pid phrase. All cars, small, medium and large, carry
people . . .'

In mid afternoon they had left the hotel one by one on foot, strolling along the promenade until they arrived in
Lugano. None of the four had encountered any Arbogasts when leaving the hotel.

They had plenty of time to eat their meal. Paula, feeling
tense, was the last to finish. She drank some more of her
single glass of Chardonnay, spoke softly even though no
one was near them.

'What do you think is going to happen at Chiasso?' she
mused.

'No idea,' Tweed replied. 'Going into breakfast, as you
know, I bumped into Roman. He seemed relaxed and confident.'

'Would he be like that if there is poison gas in the oxygen
cylinders? And if there is where would they be going to?'

'Middle East. To Muslim fundamentalists. They'd pay
a huge fortune to get their hands on poison gas. I imagine
after leaving Chiasso they'd travel in freight cars to Milan,
then on to the port of Genoa. There they could be put aboard a ship.'

'Roman,' Newman commented, 'would be relaxed and
confident if you pointed a gun at him. One very tough

guy.'

'But would he take the risk?' Tweed pondered. 'He's
built up ACTIL into a world conglomerate without anyone accusing him of unsavoury dealing. We'll soon know. Beck
told me he will be there with a team of specialists to check
every cylinder. Meantime, if we can, I don't want Roman
to know we'll be travelling aboard the same train . . .'

It all happened quickly. Tweed checked his watch, said
it was time to leave. Turning right when they walked out
of the bar they entered a large empty square surrounded
with old well-preserved buildings, the 'Mayfair' of Lugano.
The ground was
pave,
the Italian version of cobbles but
much smoother to walk on. It was dark now but the
square was illuminated by lanterns suspended from wall
brackets.

The small funicular had just arrived after its descent
from the station a distance above them. As they entered a car the automatic doors closed and the funicular began moving up its steep climb, passing through a short tunnel. Newman was wearing an old well-used overcoat, had put on tinted glasses and a beret.

The moment she left the restaurant Paula was aware of
the penetrating icy chill. In the funicular she sat down, still clutching her fur coat round her neck. Again it had all been
planned in advance by Tweed. The funicular jerked gently
to a halt, the doors opened and Newman stepped out,
disappeared. Paula waited until Tweed, followed slowly
by Marler, had left the car before she alighted and climbed
the steps up to the platform. At that moment a limo
arrived, pulled up close to where Newman had parked
their minibus.

Roman stepped out, muffled in a fur coat and wearing a
Russian-style fur hat. He was followed by Sophie and then
? Broden. No Marienetta. From her hiding place behind an iron pillar Paula decided Marienetta had thought it was a
boring exercise - or was disassociating herself from some
lethal discovery.

The train glided in. The three Arbogasts entered the
front first-class coach. Newman appeared, hardly recog
nizable. He beckoned for them to board the second coach.
Paula sat in a window seat when the train moved on. It was
a two-minute stop. Tweed sat in the window seat facing
her while Marler, in his usual way, occupied a seat at the
rear as Newman sat in a seat on the opposite side of the
aisle to Paula. The upper regions of Lugano passed swiftly
and they were in the wilds.

'Until we get close to Chiasso,' Tweed said, his manner
relaxed, 'this is a scenic trip by daylight - and even by
night. If you go and sit by Bob you'll soon see the summit
of Monte San Salvatore.'

She was studying a map of the area picked up in the hotel. She looked across at Tweed.

'Lake Lugano is like an octopus with tentacles spreading
out in all directions.'

'A good simile,' he agreed.

Staring out of the window she saw, as the train swung
round a curve, the lights of Lugano, chains of lights
as bright as diamonds coiling high up what she imag
ined must be Monte Bre. She crossed over to sit in the
seat opposite Newman, who was pointing upwards. An
immense limestone crag was soaring up, reminding her of
the approach to the Gotthard tunnel, but here she could
see the summit, a red beacon light flashing on and off to
warn aircraft. Tweed called out for her to come back to
her original seat.

She moved back, fascinated by the moon glowing on the
surface of the lake which was the colour of mercury. She
felt she could almost reach out and touch it. She sighed
with pleasure. It seemed unreal, like a beautiful dream.

'It's so romantic,' she commented.

'From this point on for a while,' Tweed explained, 'the
rail track runs alongside the lake.' He checked his watch.
'And soon we cross the lake over a large road-and-rail
bridge. When we do look up the lake. In the distance
you'll see Monte Bre again.'

He had just spoken when the train swung left onto the
long bridge. She looked straight up the lake and saw a
long way off the glittering lights of Monte Bre sprawling
up towards its summit. She was entranced. And she had
slipped off her coat, savouring the warmth inside the train.
Too soon for her the train swung right off
the bridge onto
the mainland and the view was gone.

'From here on,' Tweed warned, 'it gets rather dull. And
don't expect much - if anything - from Chiasso. It's just
a rail junction, a big one.'

She did have a view of the lake through the windows
on Newman's side for a while. Then it was gone. As if
it had come out for their benefit, the moonlight vanished,
blotted out by clouds. She settled back in her seat, calling
out to Tweed.

'If there's trouble, at Chiasso, I imagine Beck can handle
it.'

'Told me apart from the specialists he had half the local
police force sent there. Better put on your coat. We'll be
pulling in shortly. Train's slowing down.'

She stared out of the window as it slowed to a halt.
The station sign announced
chiasso.
She thought she had
never seen such a dreary deserted platform. She wondered
why she had, after her heaven-like experience, suddenly
felt nervous.

37

Wandering along the platform, which seemed to go on for ever, Paula thought she had never seen a more dreary and
depressing station. Even the roof above her was a dirty grey
and she soon realized the vast junction was hunched inside
a gulley. On either side beyond the station, boring low hills rose up, their slopes a tangle of miserable undergrowth and
small stunted trees. A short distance behind her Newman strolled, taking in everything.

She had not seen a single uniformed railwayman until
the platform curved for quite a distance. Now she saw cyl
inders laid out, men in white coats, wearing masks, bending over the cylinders. One held what looked like a glass
pipette which he held in one hand while with the other he
turned a tap. There was a hissing noise as the contents were
released into the pipette he had inserted. He quickly turned
off the tap, held up the pipette to check its contents.

Roman, in his fur coat, hands inside his pockets, looked
on. She expected him to be furious since the huge number
of cylinders piled in crates showed they were checking
every one. Instead Roman sounded amused.

'Again clear as crystal,' he remarked. He turned and
smiled at Paula. 'If the contents changed colour that would
indicate something else.'

'Poison gas,' snapped Broden, who stood near him.
'Anyone with sense would stop fooling around now, let
the consignment proceed.'

'The Swiss are very precise,' Roman replied as Beck
appeared out of nowhere. 'Very precise,' he repeated,
staring at Beck. 'Which is why they take so long to make a cuckoo clock.'

'We check all suspect goods,' Beck answered.

'So why are these oxygen cylinders suspect?' Roman
enquired with a note of sarcasm. 'Because of a rumour
spread by one of my competitors. Haven't you worked
that out yet? Another rumour tells me you are the Chief
of Federal Police.'

'Which I happen to be. These oxygen cylinders are
supposed to be en route to Cairo.'

'Supposed
to be?' Roman flew into a rage, moved closer
to Beck. 'Now listen to me, because obviously you are
plain ignorant when it comes to international trade. The
Egyptians need these for their hospitals. The stuff they
manufacture is not pure.
Typical of Arabs, but they have
now seen the light of day. So you understand now, Mr
Chief of Federal Police?'

His tirade over, Roman stepped back, as though close
contact with Beck was obnoxious. He pushed up his coat
sleeve to check his watch. Then he started again.

'With your Swiss precision, Mr Beck, is it possible to
calculate how much longer this farce will take?'

'About half an hour, maybe a few minutes longer.'

Beck's expression was blank as he stared back at Roman.
He'd shown no reaction to Roman's insults, to his bully
ing manner. While this was going on the specialists had
checked another three cylinders, which were then car
ried by staff and placed very carefully in the waiting
crate, which was almost stacked full. Between each cyl
inder, which they had wrapped in some kind of paper
which looked like polystyrene, they packed a large quantity of straw.