'Like you're persisting now,' he told her. 'Sowing a few doubts in my mind.' , 'Who do you think is behind all these brutal murders?' Paula asked, changing the subject. 'Have you any idea yet?'
'A very good idea. Go back to the beginning. Blowing up our headquarters in Park Crescent with a huge bomb. The timer for the bomb – a more sophisticated device than Crombie had ever seen. The fact that there are so many Americans swarming over Switzerland – all holding diplomatic passports. The fact that when Joel Dyson arrived at Park Crescent to hand over copies of the film and the tape Monica saw inside his suitcase American clothes – which suggests he'd just arrived from the States. The fact that our PM seems to be in the palm of the American President. All that has happened suggests limitless sums of money, a huge hostile organization. All that adds up to power – great power. Work it out for yourself. It's frightening.'
'You don't sound frightened,' she observed.
' I am not. I'm indignant, determined. The garrotting of Helen Frey and Klara was bad enough – although sometimes it's a risk of their trade. But Theo Strebel was a nice chap, didn't deserve to be shot. And that's curious and significant – two women garrotted, a man shot by someone he knew.'
'How do you know that?'
'Think of the precautions he took when we arrived – how we had to say who we were before he'd admit us.'
'I don't see the significance,' Paula confessed.
On a seat across the aisle Newman sat listening. He'd removed the two Walther automatics from behind his back. They now rested inside the pockets of the trench coat folded beside him.
Their owners, Butler and Nield, had hired cars in Basle for future use in the Vosges. It would have been risky taking firearms by car past a frontier post. They were now racing along the A35 autoroute to Colmar where they'd wait for Tweed and his team at the Hotel Bristol.
Cardon was seated in his usual strategic position at one end of the long compartment. Armed with his Walther, he could see any stranger approaching from either direction. He appeared to be asleep but his eyes never left the back of Tweed's head.
The express had stopped at St Louis, later at Mulhouse. Then it raced along to the distant stop of Colmar. Paula gazed out of the window to the west on the stretch from Mulhouse to Colmar. The Vosges were coming into view in the distance.
The sun was shining brilliantly again and the range, snowbound to midway down its slopes, showed up clearly. They'd be driving up into those mountains soon. Why did she find them sinister on this lovely morning? They swooped up and down in great saddlebacks with here and there a prominent summit. They looked so dreadfully lonely, Paula thought, so remote from the villages amid vineyards on the lower slopes.
As the express raced on north she reflected on the strangeness of this beautiful province. Its odd mix of French and German which appeared in the names of towns on a map she'd studied. Bollwiller. Ste-Croix-en-Plaine. Munster. Ribeauville.
In 1871 Bismarck's Prussia had annexed Alsace-Lorraine. At the end of the First World War France had taken Alsace-Lorraine back. She was still staring out of the window. Many of the houses had steep-pitched rooves like flat chutes, which suggested winter could be severe, with heavy snow.
She glanced at Tweed and he was humming to himself, which was a rare habit. Why was he so pleased?
'What are you thinking of?' she asked him.
'That with a bit of luck soon I shall meet the two men who, I'm convinced, hold the key to this whole horrific business.'
'And you're keeping their names to yourself?'
'Joel Dyson – who knows Amberg is at the Chateau Noir. Who is, I'm sure, so anxious to get back the originals of his film and tape.'
'The second man?'
'Probably the most important of all. Barton Ives, Special Agent of the FBI…'
'These are the ideal ambush points,' Norton said. 'All up in the Vosges. You should wipe out the whole of Tweed's team at one blow.'
Norton was meeting Marvin Mencken for the first time, because he had to make sure Mencken didn't make a mistake. But even at this face-to-face meeting Mencken realized Norton had been clever. Close together as they were, he couldn't see Norton's face.
They were sitting inside a small cafe in Little Venice, deep inside Colmar. Norton had searched the area to discover this place before phoning Mencken. The cafe was divided into two sections, separated by a heavy lace curtain. Tables on either side were close to each other.
One side was for customers who required food. Norton had arrived early, consumed an omelette and salad and a huge quantity of French bread. He needed plenty of food to fuel his exceptional energy. He had finished the meal before Mencken arrived, had waved away the waiter.
'Later…'
The windows facing the narrow street were also hung with heavy lace curtains. Mencken, as instructed, went into the bar entrance, ordered a glass of white wine and took it to the table next to Norton's beyond the curtain. As he sat down, facing the curtain, the only other customer had twisted round in his chair as though greeting a friend.
Yes, Mencken thought, Norton had been clever. The face he looked at was distorted by the lace curtain. Norton wore a French beret he'd purchased and his grey hair was tucked under it. He also wore a windcheater and a scarf which covered his chin. Perched on his nose was a pair of pebble glasses. The eyes which stared at Mencken were huge, intimidating. The map was held so Mencken could see it clearly, pressed against the curtain.
'Each cross marked on this map locates the ambush points,' Norton continued. 'See this one in Kaysersberg.'
'I've studied my own map. That place is a short drive from Colmar…'
'Just listen. The cross marks a bridge. If they go that way into the Vosges you could mine that bridge with explosives, detonate them by remote control.'
'OK,' Mencken said impatiently. 'I visited hardware and electrical shops before I drove here from Basle. I have the equipment I can use to make a timer system; crude, but it will work.'
There's a stone quarry I've marked here – on the way to Colmar from Basle. It has a shed with explosives inside
'OK, I don't miss much. I spotted it on my way here. It'll be like breaking into a piggy bank…'
'Kindly listen! Tweed and his team may arrive in this area at any moment – he moves very fast. So your first priority is to grab those explosives…'
'Which was my priority one anyway
'This cross, if you're listening, marks a cliff by the roadside. It looked pretty unstable and faces an abyss. Maybe you could create an avalanche when they…'
'OK. I like that…'
'This position – again high up above the snowline – is where you could catch them in a crossfire. You're not making notes.'
'Yes, I am.' Mencken tapped his forehead. 'Up here. I've a mind like a computer – one that works. Next?'
Norton gazed at Mencken from his side of the curtain. His view was also distorted – and the pebble glasses increased the effect. Mencken's face looked very skeletal with its hard pointed jaw line and prominent cheekbones. A man who would not hesitate to carry out any cold-blooded execution. Which suited Norton. But he still didn't trust him. In the slate-grey eyes which stared back he detected overweening ambition. You wouldn't miss a single chance to take over from me, he thought. So the answer was to be very tough with Marvin Mencken, a natural killer.
For several minutes he listed other areas in the Vosges marked by crosses. With his hands covered with silk- lined gloves, he eventually passed the map through to Mencken under the curtain. Mencken found the use of gloves interesting. It suggested Norton's fingerprints were on record in the States – maybe under a different name. Ex-CIA, FBI? Or a criminal history?
He snatched the map from under the curtain, put it in his pocket. He'd had a bellyful of Norton – explaining
