corpses. A Tresillian Manor servant girl called Celia Yeo was found at the foot of High Tor. An anonymous caller alerted me. You wouldn't know anything about it, I suppose?'
Buchanan's tone dripped sarcasm. Tweed made him stick to the point.
'A major anti-terrorist operation? You really swallowed that? So they've got at you too…'
'My patience has run out with you, Tweed. I want you here at the Yard yesterday.'
'You're a man of integrity,' Tweed said quietly. 'You know you should be investigating a case of mass murder.
And not by terrorists. Don't take it out on me because they've fenced you in.'
'I said I expect you here at the Yard at the earliest possible moment. Needless to say, you don't leave the country.'
'You're still evading the main issue. Check up on the mass murder in Cornwall. Check on who set up fake roadblocks one night recently. Get a description from anyone who was stopped by them. Make sure you ask what nationality they were…'
'Are you telling me how to do my job?'
'I'm simply suggesting you actually do your job. Have to go. Goodbye
Sitting next to Paula in mid-air he had relayed his conversation with Buchanan to her. He made his comments after he told her how he had ended the call.
'The significance of that verbal duel was what Buchanan didn't say.'
'What was that?'
'He didn't deny he'd been told to pigeon-hole the case. I expect he was ordered to by the Commissioner. After the Commissioner had taken a call from Downing Street. They have thrown a tight net round the whole horrific business.'
'But why? I'm getting scared the way Howard can't contact the PM.'
'Someone with immense power has thrown out a smokescreen. By labelling these violent events as the work of a major terrorist organization it gives the people at the top a perfect excuse for their inexcusable actions. I know I've just contradicted myself, but you grasp what I'm getting at.'
'Except I can't grasp who could have such an evil influence over our Prime Minister.'
'Read the papers – the international news. That's where one of the keys lies. Now I want to give a message to the pilot to be radioed ahead of us.'
'Can I see it?' Paula asked, her curiosity aroused.
While Tweed was writing on a small pad he'd taken from his pocket Paula glanced beyond him from her window seat at Newman and Cardon who were seated opposite across the aisle. Newman grinned at her, gave a thumbs-up signal. Tweed and Paula occupied the front seats where there was plenty of leg room. Immediately behind them sat Butler and Nield who had refused drinks and remained very alert.
Tweed finished writing, showed her the message, put it in an envelope, sealed it and called to the stewardess.
'Could you please hand this to the wireless operator? It's very urgent.'
'Certainly, sir
Paula sat frowning. She asked her question as the plane flew on over dense clouds which looked just like the Alps, shining in the brilliant sun. At that moment the aircraft was barely midway between London and Zurich.
'I thought you said Switzerland would be a haven of safety?'
'It won't be,' Tweed said with a face like stone. 'Not for the opposition once I locate them.'
The radio message, addressed to Tweed's old friend, Arthur Beck, Chief of Federal Police, had been terse and to the point.
Urgently request full protection six people aboard flight SR 803. ETA Kloten Airport, Zurich, 1625 hours your time. Tweed.
The plane had begun its descent to Kloten when Paula saw out of the opposite window a breathtaking panorama of a great range of snowbound mountains. Massive in their continuity, she realized she was staring at the Bernese Oberland, the most spectacular mountains in all Europe. She continued gazing at them. They reminded her of some enormous tidal wave about to engulf the entire continent. The descent increased in angle, the view vanished. Beyond her own window there was nothing to see but a curtain of clouds drifting past, growing denser as they dropped lower and lower.
Suddenly the clouds cleared and the lights of Switzerland were coming up to meet her. The stewardess returned again, whispered to Tweed.
'We've had instructions from Zurich Control that you and your party will leave the plane first after landing.'
'I'm glad you added 'after landing,' Tweed joked.
Paula sensed his sudden change of mood – Tweed was looking forward to the opportunity to take action. She felt her own spirits rise. For days she had lived in a state of suppressed terror. She stared eagerly out of the window again.
They were landing – she could see the forest of evergreens which surrounded Kloten Airport. The Swiss pilot brought the machine down so smoothly the wheels barely kissed the concrete runway. As they emerged Paula saw a familiar figure waiting just beyond the metal platform leading from plane to airport building. The Chief of the Federal Police. He took hold of her in both arms and hugged her.
'Welcome to Switzerland, Paula.'
'I'm here too,' said Tweed, amused because he knew Beck was very fond of Paula.
Arthur Beck, in his forties, was slim and plump-cheeked. His most arresting features were his alert grey eyes beneath dark brows and his strong nose above a trim moustache. Of medium height, he moved his hands and feet quickly, his complexion was ruddy and he wore a smart grey suit, a blue striped shirt and a blue tie. Tweed quickly introduced him to Philip Cardon: Beck had met the others before and knew Bob Newman well. He led the way, talking rapidly to Tweed and Paula in perfect English.
'We're bypassing Passport Control and Customs. I have limos outside waiting to take you wherever you want to go.'
The Hotel Schweizerhof opposite the Hauptbahnhof. It will be our official residence but we won't actually be staying there. We'll be at the Hotel Gotthard just behind the Schweizerhof,' said Tweed.
'You are taking great precautions, my friend,' commented Beck. 'This must be a very serious affair.'
'A matter of life and death – for all of us. I'll tell you what's happened while we're driving into Zurich.'
'Our bags,' Paula intervened. They'll be delivered to the carousel…'
'We travelled first class and were the only passengers,' Tweed said quickly.
'Easy.' Beck grinned. He spoke to an aide in plain clothes who had walked alongside them. As the man dashed off he explained. 'I've told him to collect all the first-class luggage off the carousel. He'll bring it to the cars…'
They were escorted via a devious route which bypassed Passport Control and Customs. Striding across the concourse, Beck guided them to a convoy of three waiting stretched Mercedes, all black in colour. Near by uniformed motorcyclist police waited, straddling their machines. Beck gestured towards them as he opened the door of the first car.
'Outriders. Our escort. After receiving your message I decided to take no chances. I drop you outside the Schweizerhof?'
'Yes, please,' said Tweed. 'Later we make our way on foot one by one to the Gotthard. I've booked rooms in both hotels…'
It was a twenty-minute drive from the airport into the centre of Zurich. Beck sat next to Tweed in the rear of the limo while Paula was seated alongside Tweed. The driver wore civilian clothes, as did the tough-looking individual in the front passenger seat.
Newman, Butler, Nield and Cardon occupied seats in the limo behind them and the third car was full of more men in plain clothes. The outriders on motorcycles led the way into the Swiss city while two more brought up the rear.
Beck listened in silence as Tweed told him concisely everything that had happened to them – including the bombing of SIS headquarters in London and the events in Cornwall. Frequently the Swiss glanced back through the rear window. At one moment he interrupted Tweed for the first time.
