reception. He's not even a doctor. And I've never seen him look grimmer – he's up to something…'
`Probably to tie up some deal which will net him another million or two. Erika, I may not be back till tomorrow – so don't start worrying…'
`You know I will – until I see you safe and sound again. Where are you going? What is it all about? I'm entitled to know something, surely?'
`Where doesn't matter,' he had told her. 'I'm going to meet that British foreign correspondent, Robert Newman. He can give me protection – by blowing Terminal wide open. No, don't ask me any more. And thanks for the meal…'
Seated in the train he wished he had said more. He looked up at the rack where he had stored his two suitcases. One contained some of the newspapers Erika had brought him, the other the sample. It would be difficult for anyone to snatch two suitcases off him when he was walking along a platform. And they wouldn't know which case contained the sample. You had to think of little things like that.
Seidler stirred restlessly and took a deep drag on the cigarette. They had turned up the heating and he would dearly have liked to take off his jacket. But that was impossible. He was too aware of the 9-mm. Luger inside the spring-loaded holster under his left armpit.
Berne. Beck sat behind his desk in his office and looked at Gisela who had just taken the call. She put down the receiver and turned to speak to her chief.
That was Leupin. Newman and Dr Kennedy are just leaving the Berne Clinic. He spotted them through his binoculars and radioed in the information…'
`Thank you. Gisela, I want you to make reservations at the Bellevue Palace for three of our men. I want them there during that Medical Congress reception tomorrow. Professor Grange will be there. I may put in an appearance myself.'
`Things are coming to a head, aren't they?'
`Your instincts are usually good, Gisela. The one piece still missing is Manfred Seidler. The fox has gone to cover, but he has to surface. When he does I want to be there – before the military get him. Send out a fresh alert. Seidler must be found at all costs…'
Newman infuriated Nancy when they had left Novak and were approaching the parked Citroen. She just wanted to get away from the place – she was so depressed by Jesse's attitude.
`Let me check the car,' Newman warned. 'Wait here… `Why in God's name!'
`To make sure no one has tampered with it.'
He looked for fresh footprints, for any sign that someone had been clever, using their own footprints still sculpted in the hard snow. He checked the bonnet where he had pressed a small amount of snow on arrival, snow which had frozen immediately at the point where the bonnet lifted. The snow was undisturbed. He unlocked the car and waved to Nancy to get into the passenger seat.
`I'm driving this time,' he informed her as he got behind the wheel and she flopped beside him.
`You don't like my driving?' she flared.
`Remember last time – the snowplough?'
`Maybe you're right. Why all the fuss about someone tampering with it?'
`In case they'd placed a bomb,' he told her brutally as he continued his policy of unnerving her.
`Jesus! You want a nervous wreck on your hands?'
They said nothing more to each other during the drive back to Berne which was uneventful. At the Bellevue Palace they had a late lunch in the coffee shop which was quiet so it was safe to talk freely. Nancy brought, up the subject over their coffee.
`The next thing is Seidler?'
`That's right. Don't forget to pack the two overnight cases. I have an idea we're going to need them.
`Which was the first thing I was going to do. At least this time I'm permitted to accompany you..
`Nancy, do shut up…'
They spent the whole of the rest of the afternoon inside the bedroom in case Seidler phoned early. Newman had purchased a road map the previous day and he studied this while Nancy kicked off her shoes, lay on the bed and tried to sleep. She was certain she'd stay awake and the ringing of the phone jerked her back into consciousness with a start. Newman grabbed for the instrument, the map spread out on the other bed.
`Newman speaking…'
`This is Manfred Seidler. I am only going to say this one time…'
`You'll repeat it if I don't get it. Go on…'
`Le Pont, in the Juras, near Lac de Joux. You know it?' `Yes…'
`We rendezvous at exactly nineteen twenty-eight hours. At the station. I will be on the train which arrives at nineteen twenty-eight…'
Tor Christ's sake, I'll never make it. Don't you realize it's five o'clock now?'
`If you are interested in the information I can provide – no details over the phone – bring two thousand Swiss francs in cash. Park your car a very short distance from the station – but out of sight. I shall be carrying two suitcases.'
`I need more time. There's snow in the Juras. The roads will be hell…'
`Nineteen twenty-eight hours. And I won't wait. Are you coming or not?'
`I'm coming…'
There was a click at the other end of the line. Seidler had broken the connection. Newman replaced the receiver and checked his watch again. He examined the map quickly while Nancy leaned over his shoulder.
`Can we make it?' she asked.
`If we go this way we just might. He's cutting it bloody fine…'
His finger traced a route from Berne along motorway N12 down to Lake Geneva. The finger turned on to motorway N9 – roughly running parallel westward to the lake until it joined the third motorway, N1. At a place called Rolle, between Lausanne and Geneva, on the shore of the lake, Newman traced a route along a road winding up over the Juras and stopped at Le Pont.
`That's a long way round,' Nancy objected. 'It's two sides of a triangle…'
`It's also the only way we'll get there in time – by using the motorways. And I've driven up the section from Rolle, so I know the road. It will be diabolical when we get above the snow line. Come on, girl. I'll take the cases. Thank God I had the tank refilled on the way back from Thun…'
They were waiting for the lift when Nancy told Newman to go ahead to the car and she'd follow. 'I've forgotten my purse,' she explained as the lift arrived and Newman, swearing, stepped inside.
Lausanne Gare. Seidler lugged the two suitcases out of the phone booth back on to the platform. He felt a sense of relief: Newman was coming. He hurriedly made his way to the restaurant where there would be plenty of people while he waited for his next train.
He was deliberately taking a roundabout route – to make sure he was not being followed. Now he had to wait for the Cisalpin, the Paris express which travelled non-stop to the frontier station at Vallorbe. From there he would back-track on the small local leaving Vallorbe at 19.09 and reaching Le Pont at 19.28.
Berne. `Leupin calling, Chief. Newman has just left the hotel carrying two cases. He's putting them in the back of his car, the Citroen. Hold on, his fiancee has dashed out to join him…'
`It's all right, Leupin,' Beck reassured his subordinate. 'I have allocated another six men to the job – as a contingency measure. Six men with three more cars. They can leapfrog to make sure he doesn't know what we're doing. You and Marbot tail him for the first lap. Good luck…'
Beck put down the phone and sighed as he looked across at Gisela. She brought over the fresh cup of coffee she had poured for him. It looked as though it was going to be quite a night: Beck was in his shirt-sleeves, the sure sign of a long siege.
`Newman and his girl just left the Bellevue with two cases,' he told her. 'They're getting into that hired car…'
`They're trying to leave the country?'
`That would be out of character for Newman at this stage of the game. You have laid on that other facility I requested?' The machine is already standing by…'
It was very dark that night. It was very cold. Newman almost made the Citroen fly, moving well over the limit when he felt he could risk it on the motorways. At that, they were overtaken several times, twin headlights turned
