apartment when he came back. I'm very grateful to you.'
'One more thing.' Tweed had stood up after draining the excellent coffee his assistant had brought in earlier. 'I expect you know whether Julius had viewed the film, listened to the tape Joel Dyson delivered before having them sent to Basle?'
'No idea. Why was Dyson so frightened when he brought them to us?' Amberg asked.
'Oh, that's simple. There are assassins here looking for him – to kill him. At least ten people have so far been murdered over this business. Maybe you should have a guard, Walter.'
'This is Switzerland,' the banker said indignantly.
'Something's very wrong about the sequence of events,' Tweed said as they left the building and headed for Bahnhofstrasse.
Butler and Nield appeared out of nowhere as they walked along. Newman was walking on the inside nearest the shops with Paula between him and Tweed on the outside. Butler strolled slowly past Tweed, staring ahead as he spoke out of the corner of his mouth.
'You've been followed. Chap in ski gear. Peaked cap with tinted visor…'
He continued on ahead of them while Nield remained behind the trio. Paula stopped for a moment, apparently to glance into a shop window. In the reflection from the brilliant sun she saw the man in a ski outfit walking ahead of Nield. She resumed her conversation as they approached Bahnhofstrasse.
'What is wrong about the sequence of events Walter described to us?'
'Dyson arrives with film and tape. Who could resist the temptation to watch, to listen? This coincides with Julius leaving his wife, Eve. It further coincides with his urgent call to me to meet him, followed by his flight to Tresillian Manor. Plus the fact he transferred film and tape to the bank vault in Basle. Dyson asked to be let out by the back exit. The only reason for that is he suspected he'd been followed, which he probably told Amberg. Even if he didn't, Amberg would guess the reason.'
'Why do you think Julius left his wife so suddenly?'
'I can only guess. But I know he had a mistress in Geneva. Normal lifestyle for some Swiss bankers. Live in one city, have your mistress in another, visit her at the weekend on a fictitious business trip. Maybe Eve found out – being English she might not have appreciated old Swiss bankers' customs. That's why I want to see her. I'm hungry. Let's have a coffee and cake at Sprungli before we start checking…'
The tea room at the famous Sprungli was on the first floor, overlooking Bahnhofstrasse. It gave Paula an eerie feeling when she recalled the package the 'postman' at Tresillian Manor had delivered before murdering eight people – a box of chocolates from Sprungli.
'Excuse me a moment,' Newman said.
They ordered coffee from the waitress as Newman peered out of the window down into the boulevard-like street. He joined them as they went to the counter to select a cake, waited until they were seated again.
'We still have company. Ski-man with his tinted visor is leaning against a tree on the far side where he can watch the entrance to this place. No sign of Pete Nield or Butler.'
There wouldn't be, but they'll be out there,' said Paula as she dug her fork into a cream pastry. This is super.' She glanced round the long room where wooden-topped tables were carefully arranged, at the hygienic counter they had visited for their cakes. 'I think this is where the Zurich grandes dames meet each other to natter about the latest gossip. Bet there's plenty of that if they have bankers for husbands.'
'Why should they be bankers' wives?' Newman asked.
'Just look at them. Dripping with pearls, three or four solid gold bangles round their wrists. Dripping with wealth.' She looked at Tweed. 'What's next on the programme – and why did we register in our own names at the Gotthard?'
To smoke out the enemy,' Tweed said, his expression determined. 'This is the battlefield. When we leave here we'll go to police headquarters, hope to find Beck there. Philip Cardon wants a weapon. Then we'll take a taxi up to that villa in the Dolder area in the hope I can talk to Eve Amberg. That could be interesting…'
Sara Maranoff walked into the Oval Office, closed the door, locked it. She ran a finger over her lips as she tried to assess her boss's mood. Bradford March was twisted sideways in his chair, staring out of the windows, his thick lips pressed together. A black stubble covered his jaw and she didn't like the look of his expression. She took a deep breath as he turned to glare at her.
'Bad news won't wait, Brad. I just took a call from Zurich – whoever it was cleverly insisted on speaking to me. You may be glad about that.'
'More bad news I can do without. Get to it. Norton telling us he hasn't achieved one friggin' thing?'
'Norton is holding on the line, but this call came from a no-name guy. Said he had a couple of items you might not want him to go public with – not how he phrased it but that's what he meant. He's demanding twenty million dollars for them – whatever they may be. Could be a crank…'
She was watching March's reaction closely. The President leaned forward, folded his hairy-backed thick fingers, rested them on the desk. He had a look of thunder and she was careful to keep quiet.
'You traced the number he was calling from?' snapped March.
'Tried to. He wasn't on the line long enough. All they could get was a Zurich call. Is there something I should know, Brad?'
'You should put Norton through now…'
'Norton here, Chief. I've taken personal control of the operation on the spot. I'm in Zurich. I've traced Tweed and company, got the bastard in my sights.'
'Handle that your own way.' March's tone became tough. This is an order. Track down Dyson, Ives and Dillon. Take them out. Got it? No more friggin' around. Just do it…'
He slammed down the phone, stood up and began prowling. Wearing an open-necked shirt which exposed his hairy chest he was also clad in jeans and sneakers – the outfit he wore when mixing with the 'common folk'.
'What about this crank?' Sara pressed. 'We ignore him if he calls again?'
'He calls again, say we'll pay. Ask him where the money is to be deposited. Then call Norton, tell him the location. He's to surround it with an army of concealed and armed men. Tell him to make up a bundle which looks like it contains banknotes as bait. Just do it – and it isn't anything you need to know about.'
Tweed had left Sprungli with Newman and Paula and they were walking up Bahnhofstrasse en route to police headquarters. Despite the brilliant glare of the sun it was bitterly cold and there were few people about. A small crowd stood waiting for a tram.
They heard one rumbling from behind them and had just reached the crowd when the Ski-man brushed close to Tweed. Newman had gripped his Smith amp; Wesson and behind the skier Butler held his Walther concealed in his hand. The Ski-man had white hair projecting from under the back of his cap. Tweed laid a restraining hand on Newman's arm.
'It's all right
'Tweed' – the Ski-man spoke rapidly in an American accent – 'one thing I forgot. My office safe at Langley was raided – they have photos of yourself and Paula…'
He leapt aboard the tram just as the automatic doors were closing. Newman and Paula stared at Tweed.
That was Cord Dillon,' he told them. 'Wearing a white wig. Well disguised. And now we know the worst. Paula and I are recognizable to the opposition. Bob, stay close to Paula.'
'And I'm staying close to you,' Butler told him. 'I was expecting Dillon to produce a knife. If he had done he'd have got a bullet through the spine.'
'Don't think badly of him. He's on his own and running. He just did us a big favour. Now for Beck and then Eve
