just in time to buy a first-class ticket to Geneva as the express came in. He watched Blanc board a first-class coach and ran to board the train himself moments before it departed.
Blanc sat in the non-smoking section – divided off from the smoking area by a door with a window in the upper half. The express had left Lausanne. The next stop, Geneva, was about twenty minutes away when Klein saw what he had hoped for.
The Swiss was the only passenger in his part of the coach – as was the case with Klein. Blanc, suffering from nervous reaction to his recent experience, stood up and made for the lavatory. It was situated in the exit, between his coach and the next one.
Inside the toilet, Blanc relieved himself and at once felt the tension draining out of his system as he washed his hands. He used a tissue to clean his glasses. He wasn't at all sure he would ever accept another commission from Klein.
What really worried him was that Klein seemed to know everything about his most intimate life – whereas Blanc knew nothing about Klein. Where he came from. His nationality. What he was up to. It was not the way Blanc usually undertook his 'freelance' assignments. The trouble was the million francs had proved too tempting.
At least I've got them, he thought as he straightened his tie, checked his watch. Not long before he arrived in Geneva. He would take a cab to the bank. Safer. Klein had been right on that point. He opened the door and froze.
It took him a few seconds to recognize the man in the waterproof hat who stood apparently waiting to use the lavatory. He also wore a long dark blue waterproof coat which came to below his knees and was buttoned to the neck. Klein…
'You! What is this?'
'Keep your voice down. Something has gone wrong…'
Klein eased himself inside the toilet before Blanc recovered from his shock and re-locked the door. He was carrying the large hold-all bag and spoke again rapidly.
There is something wrong with one of those bearer bonds. I have to come to the bank with you – so I can countersign it.'
'Why? A bearer bond doesn't need…'
As he spoke he reached a hand inside his breast pocket for the two envelopes. Klein glanced down, swore, remarked that his shoe-lace was undone. Dropping the bag, he bent down to attend to it. He stood up again suddenly. His right hand gripped the knife he had plucked from the sheath strapped to his leg. His left hand pushed back Blanc's jaw, exposing the throat. With one swift movement Klein slit it from ear to ear. A second hideous red mouth appeared below Blanc's chin.
Blood spurted, gushed, splashing Klein's coat. Blanc uttered a brief moan-gurgle and sagged back on the lid of the toilet seat. Klein wiped the knife on Blanc's suit, shoved it back inside the sheath. Blanc's head had slumped sideways, his eyes wide open behind the gold-rimmed spectacles which hung askew. He looked almost ridiculous, except for the growing lake of dark red spreading down his shirt front.
Klein reached inside his pocket with his gloved hand, took out the envelopes. No point in throwing away a million francs. He checked his watch. Four minutes to Geneva's Cornavin station – where the train ended its journey. He examined himself in the mirror. Only the coat was stained.
Stripping off the coat, he folded it inside out, extracted a plastic bag from a local department store from the hold-all. There was a spot of blood on his right glove. He dropped both gloves inside the plastic bag which was already weighted with stones.
He slipped the screwed-up plastic bag inside his jacket pocket. Next he put the folded coat inside the hold-all and zipped up the bag. The train was slowing down. Too late for anyone to be waiting to use the lavatory. He counted off precisely two minutes on his watch after the train had stopped. All passengers would have disembarked.
Taking a small leather pouch from his other jacket pocket, he selected a tool like a small screwdriver. Picking up the hold-all, he opened the door, peered out. Not a sound. Emerging into the deserted exit area, he glanced in both directions and fiddled with the closed door, sliding the notice to Occupe. He was the last passenger to leave the express as he strolled towards the exit hall.
The next job was to get rid of the hold-all, the blood-spattered coat which had protected his suit. The coat had been bought in Harrods, London, over a year before. Untraceable, And several sizes too large. Its eventual discovery would give the police no idea of his true measurements.
Walking to the baggage container section, he chose one at random, opened the door, shoved the hold-all inside, adjusted the mechanism to a twenty-four hour period, fed in coins, locked it and took away the key.
At the station canteen he bought a doughnut, asked them to put it in a paper bag and walked off. Ten minutes later he stood on the footbridge crossing the Rhone near the Hotel des Bergues. With one hand he fed pieces of bun to swooping gulls, with the other he dropped the plastic bag into the tumbling current. A pair of gloves could give information about the size of his hands – and one was spotted with blood. The bag sank into the torrent, was followed by the baggage container key.
Klein walked straight back to Cornavin Gare. Shutting himself inside a phone booth, he dialled the number of the Hotel de la Montagne. Hipper answered almost at once.
'Klein here. The delivery is on the way, should arrive before dawn.'
'I shall be here to receive it,' the soft pedantic voice replied.
'Don't forget to give the driver his reward. I shall be there sometime tomorrow.'
'Our friend from the south has arrived…'
'I'll see him…'
'He is restless…'
Klein broke the connection without comment. Short phone calls were a strict maxim with him – even from a public call box. He returned to the baggage container section, took out another key and collected the Samsonite case he had deposited earlier. He checked his watch. He'd have to keep moving.
He carried the case to the men's lavatory, locked himself inside a cubicle and perched the case on the toilet lid. Ten minutes later he came out again. He had entered the cubicle dressed like a businessman. He emerged looking like a holiday-maker.
He was now wearing a windcheater and a pair of clean blue denims. Horn-rimmed glasses completed the transformation. He bought a second-class ticket to Basle and was just in time to board the express. When a girl came along with a trolley he bought a carton of coffee as the train left Geneva far behind. He enjoyed the drink. It had been thirsty work. And once again he had the satisfaction of not having left a single clue behind.
Half an hour after the Basle Express left for northern Switzerland a woman cleaner noticed the toilet in the stationary express at Cornavin which said Occupe. It bothered her – a passenger could be ill inside. She called a guard.
The guard produced a bunch of keys, chose a flat ended instrument and eased back the lock. Taking a deep breath, he pushed open the door and the cleaning woman peered inside. That was when she began to scream and scream and scream…
15
'We may well be chasing a phantom, a man who doesn't exist any more,' Tweed told Paula as the Swissair machine continued its descent.
'Has this phantom a name? Or am I asking the wrong question? I do realize I'm very much the new recruit.'
'Igor will do. Another Russian based in Geneva swears he saw him in the city four weeks ago. I have to decide whether he's right or not. More I can't tell you. Yet… '
He had given Paula the window seat and she was peering out of the window as the plane completed a right- angled turn and headed straight down the centre of Lake Geneva. They were due to land at midday.
'What a marvellous view,' she enthused. 'Those mountains over there. What are they?'
'The Jura.'
