stumbling over us all the way from Zurich. My friend would like to know why. He just asked you.'
'I don't have to talk to you guys, whoever you are…'
'I wouldn't think about leaving.' The suggestion had come from Nield who was now sitting at the next table, his chair twisted round so he faced the American. 'Ever felt the walls closing in on you?' he enquired.
This is a free country. We're in Switzerland.'
Mencken's aggressive manner was fading. Minutes ago he had been confident he would get Nield on his own. Now he was the one on his own. He cursed the fact that he'd sent all his men rushing down to Ouchy. He suddenly realized that the blonde girl had left the restaurant, that it was empty except for himself and his interrogators. Even the staff seemed to have vanished. The time of the year – March – and the time of day.
'Is America such a free country these days?' Tweed asked him. 'Considering the people in power? Talking about power, how is my old acquaintance, Mr Norton?'
'Look…' Mencken was talking fast as though making a desperate attempt to convince Tweed he didn't know what he was talking about. 'Look, I'm an executive of a company selling machine tools. Business is lousy…'
'You sell a lot of machine tools in the Vosges mountains?'Newman demanded.
'If you guys don't get off my back I'm going to want some police…'
The strain was showing in Mencken's shifting eyes, in the way he smoked his cigarette, being very careful to keep smoke away from Tweed, in the way his shoulders kept jerking under his trench coat. Marvin Mencken was coming apart at the seams.
'You can have the police,' Newman assured him. 'Right out of the top drawer. The Chief of Federal Police happens to be here in this station. Want me to go and fetch him? Just say the word.'
'Look, you guys, I didn't expect this. I've had a long day. Nothing but pressure.' He turned to Newman. 'You know? That's what gets to you when you're away from home. Pressure. What's all this stuff about, anyway?'
'Maybe we could start with your name?' Tweed suggested.
'Sure. Why not? I'm Marvin Mencken…'
'What company do you work for?' Tweed pressed on.
'An outfit based in the Middle West. I guess you mixed me with someone else. Right?'
'Not right.' Tweed shook his head, his attitude still cool, almost offhand. 'You could spend Lord knows how many years in a Swiss gaol. Not comfortable places, Swiss gaols. Over here they believe in punishment for criminal offences.'
'What criminal offence?' Mencken stubbed out his cigarette, immediately lit a fresh one. 'Like I said, you're all mixed up…'
'The bomb thrown in Bahnhofstrasse by the pseudo-cripple,' Tweed went on remorselessly. 'The Chief of Police, Beck, is handling that case himself. A hard man.'
'Don't know nothin' about a bomb,' Mencken protested.
He was sweating. Beads of moisture had formed on his low forehead. Newman passed him a handkerchief.
'Use this. Clean yourself up.'
Mencken took the handkerchief. Afraid to show fear, to take out his own handkerchief, he mopped himself dry, returned the handkerchief.
'See the state you guys have got me into? What is this? The third degree? I don't have to take this…'
'Then there was the mass murder down in Cornwall, England. Eight people just shot down in cold blood by a masked gunman.'
'Mass murder? In England?' Mencken had jerked himself upright. 'You guys are crazy. Cornwall, you said? So where's that? I ain't never been to the place. This is screwy. You have got the wrong guy.'
Tweed had been watching the American closely, listening to him intently. For the first time there was vehemence in his tone, the vehemence of a man telling the truth.
Nield had been keeping one eye on the entrance to the restaurant. Now he saw Butler appear briefly, giving a thumbs-up signal. He had dealt with Mencken's Renault. Nield nodded twice to Tweed as Butler disappeared. Tweed sighed, checked his watch, pushed back his chair, stood up, both hands in his pockets as he addressed Mencken.
'I advise you to catch a flight from the airport here in the morning to Zurich. From there you can board a non-stop flight to Washington. You might just get clear of Norton.'
'Washington? I told you – I'm from the Middle West. Why this Washington thing? And Norton, Norton, Norton. Who the hell is he?'
Mencken was talking to himself. Tweed had walked away, leaving the restaurant. Newman followed, leaving Nield behind to watch the American. When they had disappeared Nield also stood up, leaned down, patted Mencken on the shoulder.
'I wouldn't leave for ten minutes. If you do there are police outside who'll arrest you. They'll take a great interest in that gun you're packing under your armpit. Do yourself a big favour. Start counting now…'
'I think I achieved my aim,' Tweed said to Newman as they walked towards the station exit.
'Which was?'
To shake Master Mencken to the core – to rattle his cage. Above all, to persuade him to underestimate me. He'll report the encounter to Norton sooner or later. I want them off guard for the final confrontation…'
Butler escorted them to the Espace. Barton Ives had done exactly what Tweed had quietly suggested to him as they earlier conversed briefly before leaving the train. He'd escorted Amberg to the Espace, parked just outside the station. The two men were sitting near the rear while Ives, alert as ever, watched Tweed and his companions approaching.
Paula, assuming that Tweed would again be driving, sat by herself in the front passenger seat. In a row further back Eve sat on the other side of Amberg, flanking the banker with Ives. Was she also suspecting that the Swiss was going to try and run off if he got the opportunity?
Tweed climbed in behind the wheel while Newman boarded the Espace at the rear. Closing the door, Tweed suddenly stood up, made his way swiftly to where Amberg sat in grim silence. He tapped the banker on the knee.
'You said the key to the security box in Ouchy is kept at your branch in Bankverein. I'm driving there now. You will, accompanied by Newman, open the bank, go in, collect the key, come straight back to the Espace. You understand me clearly?'
'At this time of night there are alarms…' the banker began.
'Which you know how to deactivate so they won't wake up half Basle. Don't play games with me, Amberg. I'm no longer in the mood for them.' He looked at Newman. 'Where is Philip Cardon?'
'Just about to come aboard. He insisted on maintaining a watch hidden in the entrance to that hotel over there. He told me he'd wait outside just before we entered the restaurant. Cardon is smart…'
As Tweed settled himself behind the wheel again, started the engine, he glanced all round. In the depths of winter no one lingered outside the station. A tram, ochre-coloured and smaller than its Zurich counterpart, trundled in to a nearby stop. No one aboard except the driver. No passengers waiting to board it. The empty tram seemed to Paula to symbolize the deserted desolate atmosphere of Basle in March after dark. She had purposely said nothing to Tweed, sensing his concentration on his secret thoughts. He saw Butler and Nield hurrying towards the parked station wagon, waited until they were inside the vehicle and moved off. To the Zurcher Kredit Bank.
Tweed followed the tramline along a deserted street which curved and sloped steadily downwards – towards the distant Rhine and the Drei Konige where they had stayed. Was it a million years ago? There was no other traffic and Paula found the street, hemmed in on both sides by tall, solid stone buildings, eerie and unsettling. In his wing-mirror Tweed saw the station wagon transporting Butler and Nield following him.
'Should be round the next corner if I remember rightly,' Tweed commented, sensing Paula's unease.
'They go to bed early in Basle,' she remarked.
'Not a lot to stay up for, is there?' Tweed replied.
'Stop the car! There are lights in my bank. Someone has broken in
…'
Amberg's voice, calling out in surprisingly commanding and vigorous tone. Tweed signalled, pulled in to the kerb. Unfastening his belt, he twisted round in his seat, staring at the banker and Eve, who had laid a restraining hand on his arm.
