'Face up to it, Howard. He's done just that…' Tweed's next call was to Jim Corcoran at London Airport. Again he had to coax the Chief Security Officer to do what he asked him. Eventually, he agreed. Tweed thanked him, told him in due course he'd realize he had done the right thing.
His third call, the briefest, was to Newquay Airport. He made certain arrangements on the basis of the data the girl receptionist gave him, then mopped his forehead, walked out of the box and into the bar. But he felt better. Very shortly they would be on the move.
Inside the bar, which was quiet, Tweed joined Newman, Paula and Cardon who were occupying the secluded corner on the upper level in front of the fire. When Newman asked him what he was drinking he said mineral water.
'Did you phone Howard?' Paula asked. 'I thought so. What sort of a mood is he in?'
'Feeling trapped. He's had no contact with the PM. He can't get through to him.'
'That's how I feel,'Paula said. Trapped.'
'Cheer up. And have your bag packed for an early departure tomorrow morning. You'll have to ditch the Browning before we leave. I must warn the others. No weapons.'
'I'll dump mine in the sea. But where are we going? Is anywhere safe any more?'
'One place is. Which is where we're going. It's time to smoke out whoever is after us. I'm leading them into a trap. Thank you,' he said as Newman put a glass before him. He drank greedily. All the recent activity had dehydrated him.
'We've been trying to work out who is behind all these attempts to wipe us out,' Newman began. The answer could be summed up in the name of one individual: Gaunt.'
'An assumption so far,' Tweed pointed out. 'Evidence?'
'Gaunt leased his manor for varying periods to Julius Amberg. Whoever unleashed that massacre knew the banker would be there. Who could have told them? Gaunt. We were nearly killed by that powerboat. Who knew we were taking that particular ferry to Rock? Gaunt. Who was absent from Tresillian Manor when Celia Yeo was hurled from the summit of High Tor? Gaunt – and Jennie.'
'Possibly.' Tweed drank more water. 'Are you suggesting he has the organization to arrange for that massive car bomb to be parked outside our building? He doesn't even know where SIS headquarters are – were.'
That is a difficult one to answer,' Newman admitted. 'Incidentally, Butler and Nield followed you in here at separate intervals. Butler is sitting in a corner behind you where he can survey the whole bar. Nield is chatting up the barmaid…'
Leaning against the counter, Pete Nield was joking with the fair-haired girl. He asked her a question when he felt he had established an easy relationship.
'I hear that Squire Gaunt is off on his travels again in that floating palace of his. He could cross the Atlantic in that huge cabin cruiser.'
'Oh, I don't think he's done that. He flies to America. You see, he likes to go off in her by himself to Europe.'
'A trip to jolly old Paris?' Nield suggested.
'Maybe. But he's been cruising up the Rhine. I heard that when he was in here one night and he'd had rather a lot to drink.'
'A nice chap, though,' Nield probed.
The girl paused polishing a glass. 'That depends on his mood, between you and me. Sometimes he is and then again he can cut you dead.' 'I hear he lives in a lovely manor on Bodmin Moor. Must be peaceful out there.' 'Too lonely for me. I'd get the creeps…'
The very courteous and able manager of the Metropole met them in the hall as they returned. He spoke in a low voice to Tweed.
'I thought you might like to know two Americans have been enquiring about you, sir. Wanted to know how long you were staying. I said I'd no idea.'
'Are they staying here?' Newman asked quickly.
'No. But they're in the bar at the moment.'
Think I'll pop in and take a look at them…'
Newman headed for the bar as the others waited for the lift. Two tall heavily built men were standing by the bar counter with drinks in front of them. Both wore loud check sports jackets and denims and had American style trench coats folded over their arms. Newman ordered a Scotch. The larger of the two men was standing next to Newman, had dense black hair, thick brows which almost met across the bridge of his broken nose.
'Your Scotch, Mr Newman,' said the barman, recognizing his customer. 'Thank you, sir,' he said as Newman paid.
'Newman? Robert Newman, the nosy foreign correspondent?' the big American enquired in a bullying tone.
'I'm retired,' Newman replied, refusing to be provoked. 'So no longer nosy, as you put it.'
'Old habits die hard,' the American said aggressively.
His elbow toppled his own drink. Liquid spilt over the counter and the barman hastily mopped up.
'Buddy,' the American went on, 'that was my whisky you just knocked over. So what are you going to do about it?'
'Buy you another,' Newman continued amiably. 'Give this gentleman a fresh drink, please,' he said to the barman and put more money on the counter.
'They said you were something else again at one time,' the American sneered. 'Good thing you retired – seems like you lost your guts.'
'Your friend has just collapsed.'
As the American jerked his head to his left where his companion stood looking puzzled, Newman grabbed his drink, walked out of the bar and up the stairs. The enemy was moving in at very close quarters.
'I'm calling a council of war, Paula. In my suite. If you have just stepped out of the bath, five minutes from now will do.'
Paula put down the phone in her room on the second floor. Tweed had sounded imperative, calm, determined. She had not just stepped out of the bath. She went back to the window, her lights off, watching in the dark the final incoming surge of the tide. In the moonlight the edges of the remaining sandbanks looked like filleted fish. Even as she watched they were submerged. The water now stretched from shore to shore and Porthilly Cove, which had been a huge sand beach, was filled with water.
It was frightening, she thought, as she descended the stairs – the unstoppable force of the sea. She made a similar remark to Tweed as she entered his suite while Newman closed and locked the door.
'And that's what we're up against,' Tweed said, 'an unstoppable force. Power in its most extreme and ruthless form.'
His audience remained silent. They were all there -Cardon, Butler and Nield, seated while Tweed stood in the middle of the large room, the curtains closed behind him. He looked at Newman. 'Tell them about your encounter in the bar downstairs.'
They listened while Newman related tersely what had happened in the bar. He was inclined to play down the confrontation. Paula was surprised he had kept his temper and said so.
'His reaction was perfect,' Tweed told her. 'They were trying to start a fight, probably challenge him to come outside with them. Supposing they had knives?'
'Why would two Americans pick on Bob?' she persisted.
The enemy is closing in on us. It's the moment I have been waiting for. We are going to break out. My crazy idea as to who was behind all this murder and destruction could be right.'
'And the enemy's identity?' Paula pressed on.
'Work it out for yourself. You have the same data I have. List what has happened. From the beginning.'
'There was that horrible massacre at Tresillian Manor -when I was nearly a victim,' she reminded him.
'Chief target – besides ourselves?' Tweed rapped out.
'Julius Amberg, Swiss banker from Zurich.'
'Now, go back a few days to my office in Park Crescent. When Bob and Monica had an unexpected visitor.'
'Well, he left them a film and a tape recording. Copies, he said. He took the originals with him.'
