him. It signalled and swung out into the fast lane prior to overtaking. Then all hell broke loose on the motorway.
A helmeted figure appeared behind Newman on a scooter, sounding the horn in urgent, non-stop blasts. The Mercedes had not yet drawn alongside. Newman frowned, his eyes moving from side to side. At the exit to the slip road ahead a giant orange-coloured snowplough was moving slowly forward, its huge blade raised to its highest arc. The scooter horn continued its blasting sound.
`What's the matter with that man?' Nancy asked.
She was speaking when Newman signalled – signalled that he was turning out into the fast lane ahead of the oncoming Mercedes. The snowplough emerged from the slip road like some monstrous robot, moving straight into the path of the slow lane. Newman rammed his foot down, swinging to his left. The Mercedes began sounding its own horn. He ignored it. 'Hang on!' he warned Nancy. 'Oh, Christ!' she muttered. The snowplough was almost on top of them. Like a guillotine the massive steel blade descended. Nancy saw it coming down. She froze with horror. It was going to slice them in two. The Citroen was now moving at manic speed, way above the limit. The blade flashed past Nancy's window, missed hitting the Citroen by inches. She flinched. The Mercedes jammed on its brakes to avoid the coming collision. In the fast lane Newman accelerated. The scooter passed the Mercedes, still speeding in the slow lane, weaving past the now stationary snowplough.
Behind the wheel of the Mercedes Hugo Munz swore foully to his passenger, Emil Graf. He reduced speed, checking in his mirror for any sign of a police patrol car. The motorway was still deserted.
`You should have hit him,' said Graf.
`You're crazy! I could have bounced off, hit the steel barrier and we both end up dead. That scooter warned him…'
`So,' Graf replied in his toneless voice, 'he's better organized than we gave him credit for. We'll have to try something else.
Fourteen
Blanche Signer sat waiting at a corner table in the bar of the Bellevue Palace while Newman fetched the drinks. She had paid a brief visit to the cloakroom to comb her titian hair, to get her centre parting straight, to freshen up generally for the Englishman after her dangerous ride back along the motorway on the scooter.
Thirty years old, the daughter of a colonel in the Swiss Army, she ran the most efficient service for tracing missing persons in western Europe. She was the girl who had secretly helped Newman to trace Kruger when the German had gone underground. She was determined to take Newman away from Nancy Kennedy.
`A double Scotch,' Newman said as he placed the glass before her and sat down alongside her on the banquette. There was not a lot of space and his legs touched hers. 'You've earned this. Cheers!'
`You know, Blanche,' he went on after swallowing half his drink, 'you took one hell of a risk back there on the motorway. I was scared stiff for you…'
`That's nice of you, Bob. Any risk of Nancy finding us here?'
`She's taking a bath. If she walks in you tried to pick me up. I think we have half an hour. What happened?'
I waited at the Savoy as arranged. Lee Foley did follow you to the Clinic, then drove on past the turn-off and went on higher up the hill. I suspect he was doing what I did – checking out the layout of that place. It's peculiar. I've got a host of photos for you…' She squeezed her handbag. 'The film is in here. I can get it developed and printed overnight. I know someone who will do that for me. I'll get them to you tomorrow somehow…'
`Leave them in a sealed envelope addressed to me with the concierge. Now, what did happen? You probably saved my life.'
`It was simple, really, Bob. I took the photos, got on the scooter and started back to a place where I could wait to pick up Foley if he followed you back. I saw this car leaving the Clinic and decided to follow that. Pure hunch. The driver, a nasty-looking piece of work, knew what he was doing. He drove to where a snowplough was clearing a slip road. He got out, walked up to the snowplough operator and pointed something in his face. I'm sure it was a hair spray. The man grabbed for his eyes and Nasty hit him. It was pretty brutal. The poor devil's head came into contact with a steel bar – my guess is his skull is cracked. The driver from the clinic then put on the snowplough man's overalls and guided the machine down to the end of the slip road – just before it turns on to the motorway.'
`Waiting for me,' Newman commented. 'It was a fair assumption that when we left the Clinic I'd drive back the way I came from Berne. I blundered. I thought someone inside that place was at risk. Instead they decided to wipe me out first. But they have blundered too. Now I know something is wrong with that place. I'm not sure you ought to help me any more on this one..
`Bob…' She took his hand and squeezed it affectionately. `We make a good team. We did before. Remember. You don't get rid of me as easily as that. When are you coming to see me at my apartment? It's only a five-minute walk from here along the Munstergasse and into the Junkerngasse..
`I'm involved with Nancy..
`Officially?' she pressed.
`Well, no, not yet…'
`So you come and see me…'
`You're blackmailing my emotions…'
`And I'll go on doing it,' she assured him in her soft, appealing voice.
He studied her while he finished his drink. Her blue eyes stared back at him steadily. She had beautiful bone structure, Newman reflected. A lot of character – you could see that in her chin and high cheekbones. To say nothing of her figure which was something to knock any man out.
`What do I do next for you?' she asked.
`Go home. Relax…' He saw the look in her eyes. 'Oh, hell, Blanche, all right. You still go home and rest. Get some warmer clothes and maintain the watch on Lee Foley.' He leaned forward and grasped her upper arm. 'But you be very careful. Foley is dangerous.'
`I can handle him Incidentally, when he's lying low at the Savoy he eats at a Hungarian place a few doors down the Neuengasse. The street is arcaded – so I can keep under cover. And it's perfect for parking the scooter. Anything else?'
She made it sound so everyday, Newman marvelled. Blanche was always very cool. She watched him over the rim of her glass; she couldn't take her eyes off him.
`There might be something else,' he decided. 'You've built up that register of people with unusual occupations. Check it and see if you have anything on a Manfred Seidler…'
`Will do. Maybe I'd better go before your pseudo-fiancee turns up. If I get something on this Seidler I'll type out a report and include it in the envelope with the photos. I'll head it MS. If there's an emergency I'll call your room number, let the phone ring three times, then disconnect. You call me back when you can. OK, Mr Newman?'
`OK, Miss Signer…'
She leaned forward, kissed him full on the mouth, stood up and walked away, her handbag looped over her shoulder. The bar at the Bellevue Palace is dimly lit, very much like many American bars. But as she walked erectly across the room men's heads turned to watch her. She stared straight ahead, apparently unaware of the impression she was creating. At the exit she passed Nancy Kennedy who was just entering.
Newman had moved Blanche's lipsticked glass on to the next table as she left. He stood up to greet Nancy. As she came closer he saw by her expression that something had disturbed her.
`That man phoned again,' she said as she sat down on the banquette. 'The same one I took the call from in Geneva. Seidler? Wasn't that his name? I told him you'd be back much later in the evening. He sounded very agitated. He put the phone down on me when I tried to get a message.'
`That's my strategy now, Nancy. Agitation. All round. By the time I talk to him he'll be going up the wall, which will make him more pliable. Same thing with the Berne Clinic. Agitation. Although there,' he said ruefully, 'it seems to have acted with a vengeance. They tried to kill us on that motorway…'
`Us?'
