'That's right,' March said off-handedly. 'As from today those Secret Service types are out. They seem to think they can run my life. Unit One takes over from them. And you're right again -I didn't consult you.'
'I don't like it…'
'Don't recall asking you to like it. That's the way it's going to be. Unit One types are tougher than the Secret Service. My own ruthless boys. I want men I can trust around me.'
'They haven't the experience of the Secret Service,' she persisted.
'They shoot on sight. They don't monkey around. I like their attitude. And I tell them what to do.'
'I think it's a mistake…'
'You're due for a break.' March leaned against a wall, ankles crossed, hands shoved inside his baggy trouser pockets. 'Go climb Mount Rushmore. Drop off it.'
Sara gave up, said nothing. There was a time when he'd listened to her. All of the time. The phone rang. The private line. She answered it, put her hand over the mouthpiece.
'Norton on the line.'
He raised his thick eyebrows, walked slowly towards her, grinned. He stroked her strong-boned face with his index finger. He grinned at her again.
'I know I'm an old grouch. Pals again? Don't know what I'd do without you. Let's hope Norton's cleaned up.'
He took the phone and waited until she'd left the office. Sara's head was spinning. One moment she could kill him, then he turned on the charm and she knew she'd go on being his right arm.
'President March here,' he said in a cold voice. 'You've got the two items I'm waiting for?'
'Not yet, but I'm close.:.' Norton began.
'Close to Mencken taking over from you. Norton, how many of the four targets have you hit?'
Taking twenty men away from me back to Washington hasn't helped
…'
'Bullshit. You still have over thirty under your control. What do you need? The friggin' Army? Norton!' March shouted. 'This is final. You have ten days to bring me those two items. In case your memory is failing, you'll recognize the film in the first few seconds when you see who is on it. You then switch it off. On the tape you will hear a hysterical girl screaming because she's seen fire. She's in no danger but as a kid she had to run out of a burning building. Soon as you hear screaming you switch off the tape. Bring them both to me. Got it now?'
'Nothing wrong with my memory, Mr President…'
'So maybe you lack guts. Now you listen and listen good.
You have ten days to take out that Brit Tweed, Ives, Joel Dyson and Cord Dillon. To remove them from the face of the earth. It's March 3. That ten days includes today. That's your deadline. I stress the word 'dead'…'
March put down the phone, took out a handkerchief, mopped his brow and his thick neck. He was sweating like a bull. Within twenty-four hours of handing over to him the film and tape Norton would suffer an accident. A fatal one.
'We may well be close to the moment of decision,' Tweed said. 'Tomorrow we take the train to Colmar and go up into the Vosges. We'll have an advantage there we've lacked so far.'
He had phoned Beck, had thanked him for saving their lives. He'd had to take a gentle lecture from the Swiss about the risk of leaving the hotel. In his bedroom he was outlining his plan of action to Newman and Paula.
'What advantage?' Paula queried.
'So far it's been like street righting – we've been in cities, not sure where the opposition would strike at us next. Out in the open we'll see them coming – in the mountains.'
'When we go up to see Amberg at the Chateau Noir?' Newman suggested.
Earlier, Tweed had told them of his conversation over lunch with Eve. He had recalled the information she had given him about Amberg leaving for France. Newman was dubious when Tweed confirmed that was their destination.
'Here we have Beck's protection,' he pointed out. 'The moment we cross into France we're on our own. There appears to be a huge apparatus operating against us. Have you any idea who is controlling it? If it's the film and the tape Dyson brought here, what could be on it to cause all these deaths?'
'I've no idea. That's why I'm going to see Amberg. I'm convinced he's taken the film and the tape with him. Maybe he's been threatened – so he's using possession of the film and the tape to stay alive. That's one thing.'
'What's another?' Newman asked.
'I'm determined to watch that film, to listen to that tape. I've phoned Monica and she's been in touch with Crombie, who's supervising clearing the rubble at Park Crescent.'
'Why?' Paula queried.
'Because he's still digging for my safe – which has the copies of the film and the tape inside it. No sign of it yet.'
'I'd also like to know what Cardon has been up to,' Newman remarked. 'We hardly saw him in Zurich.'
'Then let him tell you. I'll get him along here now.'
Tweed grabbed the phone, dialled Cardon's room number, asked him to come at once. He looked at Newman when he put down the receiver.
'You want to know. Ask him yourself…'
Tweed stood staring out of the window while they waited. An incredibly huge oil tanker was moving upriver. Along its deck was a network of pipes and warning notices. Newman let in Cardon when he knocked on the door.
'The floor is yours,' Tweed said, moving around restlessly.
'Philip,' Newman began, 'we're interested in what you spent your time doing in Zurich.'
'Using the photocopy of Joel Dyson Paula helped to produce. Criss-crossing Zurich hour after hour. Looking for Dyson.' Cardon grinned. 'Then I found him.'
'You did!' Paula exclaimed. 'Where? Why didn't you grab him? He can probably tell us all we desperately need to know.'
'Hold your horses.' Cardon smiled at her. 'I spotted him getting into a cab in Bahnhofstrasse. Couldn't grab him when the cab was moving, could I?'
'You lost him, then?'
'I said hold your horses,' Cardon went on patiently. 'I took another cab, followed him to Kloten Airport. Lots of people about – a plane had just come in. Plus security men. Again, couldn't just walk up and stick a gun in his ribs.'
'I suppose not,' Paula agreed. 'What happened next?'
'The only thing that could happen. I watched him check in. I was close behind him. He had one case. He really has a foxy-looking face.'
'He's a creep!' Newman snapped.
'Do get on with it,' Paula urged, knowing Cardon was playing with her.
'He'd worked it so he just had time to catch his flight. Without a ticket – and no time to get one -I couldn't follow him through Passport Control and Customs. Guess what his destination was.'
'The planet Mars,' Paula said in exasperation.
'Not quite as far as that. His destination was Basle. He's somewhere in this city.'
Paula looked stunned. Newman suggested a course of action immediately.
'Let's trawl Basle like we did Zurich. Philip came up trumps there eventually. We all have photocopies of the sketch of Dyson.'
'No,' said Tweed. 'Beck told us to stay in the hotel. We ignored his advice – at least, I did. The result? I came within a hair's breadth of getting us all killed. Basle, like Zurich, is a big city. Within a few hours – tomorrow morning – we leave for Colmar. I'm not risking anyone's life again in this city.'
'What about the weapons we're carrying?' Cardon queried. 'Won't Beck want them back?'
'Significantly, knowing we will be venturing into France, he hasn't mentioned them. And Arthur Beck never forgets a thing.'
'But we'll be crossing a frontier,' Paula reminded him.
'Bob, you remember when we once went to Colmar? It's the most curious set-up at the station here. You
