'There is a woman who works for you at the bank…' Tweed began.
'It can't be her, I tell you,' Amberg rapped back with an air of authority. 'Karin would have gone home hours ago. Always at the same time to her apartment near by.'
'And always by the same route?' Tweed suggested.
'Yes. It's the quickest way for her to get home. Even when she's going shopping she goes home first to collect her basket…'
'Always at the same time and by the same route?' Tweed repeated.
'Yes. I've already told you that…'
So even Swiss security can be fallible, Tweed thought grimly. The deadly scenario was so obvious. Someone had followed Karin home after checking her routine. They had probably forced her at gunpoint to return after dark with the keys to the bank. They'd been clever enough to foresee the alarm system, to force her to deactivate it. Now they were inside and doubtless she knew about the key to the vital safe deposit. Tweed thought he now knew why Mencken had lingered in the restaurant at the station – waiting for his thugs to do this job.
'I'd better go inside, see what's happening.'
Newman had left the Espace, was now outside Tweed's open window. His right hand by his side held the Smith amp; Wesson.
Take Butler and Nield with you,' Tweed ordered. 'They may have a number of armed men inside.'
'So I'll go with them too,' said Cardon, who had materialized beside Newman.
'I'm coming,' said Paula, her Browning already in her hand.
'You're staying to guard me,' Tweed told her.
Paula bit her lip, opened her mouth, closed it without saving anything. Tweed had cleverly checkmated her. Newman had to hold on to Amberg's arm to compel him to accompany the team.
'I wonder what hell is going to break loose inside that building,' Paula remarked aloud.
'I'll take the lead,' Newman told the others. 'I don't like the look of this. They've forgotten to close the door properly…' All the lights were on the first floor. The entrance hall was a cavern of darkness. Newman paused, held the others back with his left hand while his eyes became accustomed to the dark. He'd have liked to use his pencil flash, but they might have left a lookout at the top of the wide curving staircase. It had a wrought-iron rail and the hall floor was solid marble. Some Swiss banks liked to show clients they had come to the right place.
'Can't hear a thing,' Cardon whispered in his ear. 'It is 'too quiet. Maybe they've come and gone…'
'Assume an army is waiting up there,' Newman whispered back.
Holding on to the rail to help guide himself, he began to mount the steps. His rubber-soled shoes made no sound as he continued higher and higher – the first-floor landing was a surprising distance above the ground floor. Then he heard a voice.
'Come on, my dear, we haven't got all night. Before I spoil your face for ever open the bloody safe…'
The voice had spoken English with an upper-crust accent. Blurred by distance, Newman thought of Gaunt, who, when he had caught up with Butler at Basle Station, had said he was driving straight on to Ouchy. A brief remark of Butler's which hadn't really registered. Until now…
'No! Don't! Please! I'll do it…'
A woman's voice also talking English, a woman's voice expressing the last extremes of panic. Newman moved, ran up the last few steps with Cardon at his heels and the others close behind. He ran across the landing to an open doorway framing light, rushed in, crouching low, gun in front of him, then stopped in sheer surprise.
A man was holding a knife close to a woman's throat as she bent in front of a large safe, operating a combination lock. A small slim man with a plump face and pouched lips. In his thirties, he had a receding chin and a sneering smile as he watched the terrified woman opening the safe.
There was a click and she heaved the massive door open.
'Drop the knife,' Newman ordered. 'There are four of us.'
'Stand back or I'll cut her throat,' the slim man screeched.
Newman smiled, walked forward, placed the muzzle of his Smith amp; Wesson carefully against the side of the man's head. He pressed the metal close to the skull.
'You won't cut anything,' Newman said in a quiet voice. 'Because if you did in the next second half your head would be plastered over that wall. So stop playing silly games. Drop it! ' he roared. 'Or you're dead.'
The knife clattered to the floor. Cardon noticed that the hand which had held the knife was trembling like a leaf in the wind. The woman's assailant stared at Newman as though seeing a ghost.
'Who the heck is this creep?' Cardon asked impatiently.
'Meet Mr Joel Dyson, notorious member of the paparazzi mob. Someone outside wants to meet you badly, Joel.'
PART THREE
50
In Washington it was late afternoon, the lights were on, blurred in a steady snowfall. President Bradford March was pacing the Oval Office restlessly when Sara came in.
'What is it now?' he snapped. 'More trouble? And when do I get a report on the treachery of the Holy Trinity?'
'It may be good news,' she replied in a soothing tone. 'Norton is on the line.'
'Leave me while I talk to the bastard…'
March took a deep breath as he sank into his chair and picked up the phone. He was in a foul mood.
'Norton here. I've reached Neuchatel…'
'Have you? Great. Where is the friggin' place?'
'In Switzerland. French-speaking Switzerland…'
'Cohabiting with the Frogs now, are we? You haven't got a woman with you, have you? Because if you have I'll hear about it from Mencken and…'
'I'm alone and in a hurry. Are you going to listen for a change or shall I put down the receiver?'
'Norton…' March's tone became dangerously soft. 'If you ever threaten me again Mencken takes over instanter. Get to it.'
'I'm close to Ouchy – where the exchange will take place. The money for the two items you need. The place is ringed with my troops. I may clean up the whole job before the night is out…'
'You'd better. You're running out of time. Remember? I gave you a deadline. Of course, if you obtain what I'm after without paying over the big bucks there'd be a nice fat bonus waiting for you.'
'Any point in asking how much?' Norton enquired.
Thought you were in a hurry to get to this Owchy. OK. You asked. Fifty big ones,' March said, clutching a figure out of the air. .'I'll be in touch. My new number at the Hotel Chateau d'Ouchy is. ..'
'Got it. Get on your horse…'
In the Neuchatel hotel where he'd paid for a room for the night so he could use the phone, Norton put down the receiver. At least this time he'd beaten March to the punch in contacting him and giving him his new phone number.
He went downstairs, pulling on his coat, told the receptionist he'd be back for dinner later, went out into the arctic night to drive on to Ouchy.
In Washington March was pulling at his stubby nose with his thumb and forefinger. A bonus? The only bonus Norton would get when he returned would be a bullet in the back of the neck.
March never took a chance he didn't have to. He was working on the assumption that – despite orders – Norton would take a peek at the film, would listen to the tape when he laid his hands on them. That risk could only
