gestured towards the gatehouse and the automatic gates opened.
No sign of a guard, a Doberman, as they proceeded up the drive across the bleak plateau. It always seemed more overcast, more oppressive at Thun than in Berne. Newman thought it could have something to do with the big mountains holding the cloud bank.
`Novak told me to park the car in the lot at the side of the main building,' Nancy remarked. 'And I don't get the same feeling of being watched this time…'
`Maybe with both Grange and Kobler being away the hired help has gone slack. Or maybe they just want to give us that impression. Nancy, park the car in fresh snow…'
`Anything you say. I'm only the bloody chauffeur…'
`And when you get out disturb the snow as little as possible.'
`Christ! Any more instructions?'
`I'll let you know when I think of some…'
Waldo Novak, his fair hair blowing in the wind, came out of the glassed-in verandah entrance and down the six steps to meet them. Alone. No sign of the come-hither Astrid.
`I'll take you straight in to see him,' Novak told Nancy as he shook her hand. He stepped back alongside Newman to let her go first and dropped his voice to a whisper. 'Newman, on your way out, ask Mrs Kennedy to go to the powder room. That will give me the chance to tell you something.'
There was a male receptionist behind the counter, a man who took no interest in them. No nonsense about filling in visitors' forms. The same business with Novak's computer card keys to let them into the corridor and then inside the room where Jesse Kennedy sat propped up in bed against several pillows.
`Hold everything a minute,' Newman warned.
Taking off his coat he hung it from the hook, sealing off the mirror window. From his jacket pocket he extracted a compact transistor radio he had purchased for the purpose. He switched it on low power to some music, bent down and placed it next to the wall grille. That neutralized the hidden tape-recorder. He straightened up.
`Go ahead…'
`I have not followed my instructions,' Novak informed them. 'Mr Kennedy is not sedated – but to cover me I'd appreciate it if he'd take this capsule just before you leave…'
We do understand – and thank you,' replied Nancy before she pulled up a chair and sat close to her grandfather. 'How are they treating you, Jesse?' She hugged him warmly, kissed him on both cheeks. 'Now tell me, do you really have leukaemia?'
`So they keep telling me. Including Novak here. Jesus H. Christ! I don't believe a word of it. You know some other poor woman was killed the other night? The cellular rejuvenation treatment didn't work is the story. She'd have died anyway they say. Poppycock! But I'm going to get to the guts of what's going on here – just like I did with that spy in Arizona ten years ago.' He chuckled. 'That CIA operative sure cleaned up that mess of…'
`You mean you want to stay here awhile longer?' Nancy asked.
`Sure do. Didn't want to come in the first place – but now I'm here I'm going to clean up this mess. Just see if I don't. No need to worry about Novak. He's feeding everyone information so fast he's practically running his own wire service. Ain't that the truth, Novak? See, he's shy – don't like talking in front of strangers…'
It went on for another fifteen minutes. Nancy trying to persuade him to leave the Clinic. Jesse insisting he had to stay on to clean up the mess. Novak, clad in his uniform of white coat with stethoscope dangling from one hand, and Newman, listening in silence.
Suddenly Jesse, tired out by his unaccustomed burst of conversation, said he'd like to get some sleep. He took his capsule of sodium amytal, swallowed, opened his hand to show it was empty, winked at Newman and fell fast asleep.
Novak stood outside the Clinic in the snow, alone with Newman. Nancy had agreed to Newman's suggestion without a word of protest, asking the receptionist to show her the way to the powder room.
`Now,' Newman said, 'what is it you wanted to tell me? We'd better be quick – we may not have much time…'
`Willy Schaub, the head porter I told you about back in Thun. He's agreed to talk with you. I gave you his address in the Matte district. He'll see you at three in the afternoon tomorrow. He's got the day off and he knows more about this place than anyone…'
`Why has he agreed?'
`Money. Two thousand francs should turn the trick. Maybe a little less. He'll want cash – cheques can be traced through a bank. It's up to you, Newman. I've done my best. And I am leaving when I can. What do I tell Schaub?'
`That I'll meet him. One more question before Nancy arrives. All the patients in this place – just how ill are they?'
`We've got leukaemia, multiple sclerosis. You name it, we've got it. All the patients are – terminal…'
Twenty-Seven
Basle. About the same time when Newman and Nancy ended their second visit to the Berne Clinic, Bruno Kobler was sitting in his bedroom at the Hotel Terminus which faces the Hauptbahnhof at Basle. Kobler had flown to Basle and this hotel had been chosen because of its strategic position.
Manfred Seidler had been seen purchasing a ticket to Le Pont, the tiny town close to the edge of Lac de Joux in the Jura Mountains. Since then they had lost track of Seidler, which was unfortunate, but Kobler possessed almost the calm patience of Lee Foley when it came to waiting. He spoke to the short, stocky Emil Graf who stood by the window, waiting for a signal from Hugo Munz who was in charge of the team inside the Hauptbahnhof.
`Seidler has to show,' Kobler observed. 'I'm sure he has a rendezvous with someone at Le Pont. And we have more men waiting at the Hotel de is Truite…'
`I don't know Le Pont,' Graf replied. 'From the map it looks a godforsaken place…'
`It is – just the remote spot where Seidler will feel safe to meet whoever he's going to sell the sample he stole from us. And the Hotel de la Truite is near the station…'
`He must have arrived! Munz has just signalled.
Kobler was already opening the bedroom door, slipping into his astrakhan coat. He gestured towards the holdall bag on the bed to remind Graf not to forget it. Kobler had no intention of carrying the holdall, considering what it contained. Hired lackeys were paid to take such risks. Kobler would only lay his hands on the weapon when the time came to use it. He might not even have to use it at all – not when he had hired backup.
`He's boarded the two o'clock train,' Munz informed them as they hurried inside the huge station. 'Here are your tickets – and you'd better move…'
`It's Lausanne first,' Kobler guessed as he settled himself in his first-class seat alongside Munz. Graf had boarded the coach where Seidler was seated.
Kobler studied the rail timetable he had brought with him. He nodded his head as the train glided out of the station, turning the pages as he checked connections, then he glanced at Munz who sat in a rigid posture.
`Relax. We have to wait until we get him on his own. It may be hours yet. We're doing a simple job – like cleaning up some garbage…'
He looked out of the window as the train picked up speed, moving through the suburbs. He was not sorry to leave – the city of Basle was hostile territory, the home base of Dr Max Nagel, the main opponent of the Gold Club. Kobler need not have worried. At that moment Nagel was aboard another train – bound for Berne.
Five coaches ahead Manfred Seidler was a bundle of nerves. He broke open a fresh pack, lit his forty-first cigarette of the day as he thought of the scene back in the flat before he had left.
Erika had rushed back from the office to make him a meal during her lunchtime break. It was during the meal that he had told her he was leaving. She had looked appalled.
`Do you have to? I could take a long lunch hour. Nagel has gone to Berne…'
`What for?' Not that he was really interested.
`It's queer. I had to make him a reservation at the Bellevue Palace. He's attending some Medical Congress
