window and the muzzle of a gun aimed point blank.
'I'm trying to do my best for you. No one is going to let you down. Maybe I was a little bitchy. Everything is under control. It will be a breeze…'
'No, it won't, sonny boy. Get that into your thick skull. Our competitor, Tweed, is a barracuda. Don't you ever forget that. Sonny boy…'
The phone went dead. Mencken kept his face to the wall so his men couldn't see his expression, a mixture of fright and rage. He was careful not to slam down the phone. Glancing down at his cigar, he saw that a length of ash had dropped on to the floor. He ground it savagely into the new carpet. When Tweed was blown into a thousand pieces he'd be top gun. And when Joel Dyson and Special Agent Barton Ives raised their heads above the parapet he'd personally put the bullets into both of them. Then he'd take out Cord Dillon.
Norton wandered out of the small hotel into the dark and paused. Snow had begun to fall. He adjusted his fur hat, pulled up the collar of his astrakhan coat. It was bitingly cold, well below zero, he reckoned. He began to stroll back into Kaysersberg – the Green Tree was located on the northern outskirts. No one else was in sight.
Norton had no eye for the beauty and character of the medieval village with its cobbled streets and leaning houses. Disneyland, he thought contemptuously.
A few minutes later he saw the bridge. He paused and studied it. Glancing up to his left he saw an ancient castle looming over the village – the perfect vantage point for the watcher who would control the detonation of the explosive under the bridge. Norton had a strong feeling this was the route Tweed would choose. He'd never even see the Chateau Noir. He turned back to the hotel. He was expecting a call from Bradford March. He had already informed Sara of his new phone number.
37
'We must prepare a battle plan for our expedition into the Vosges,' Tweed announced. 'Especially after what Philip has reported, which is alarming.'
He was standing in the sitting area of his bedroom. It was nearly midnight. When he had slipped down several hours before to put back the master key the hotel had been deserted.
Jennie had woken earlier, and said she wanted to go back to her own room for a shower. Nield had been selected to go with her to sit in the room on guard. Jennie had been secretly pleased with the choice. She rather liked the look of the slim Pete Nield with his trim moustache. He could be fun.
Paula sat on one of the beds, hands rested on the coverlet on either side, her legs crossed. Newman, Butler, Cardon and Marler listened. The latter, adopting his usual stance, leaned against a wall, smoking a king-size. The others occupied various chairs.
Marler had arrived back recently, carrying his cello case, cricket bag and a suitcase. He had carefully placed his wares in a corner.
'You'd like some sustenance?' Tweed had asked him. 'We got the Brasserie to prepare sandwiches and coffee in a Thermos.'
'Thank you. Might indulge later. I stopped for a snack on the way back from Strasbourg,' Marler had replied.
'What alarming news did Philip bring?' Paula asked. 'I was in the bathroom when he came in.'
'Philip,' Tweed told them, 'was observing comings and goings from a discreet position off the lobby. He told me he'd seen at least six pairs of Americans leaving the hotel at intervals. He heard cars starting up and all of them were a long time before they returned, again at intervals. I find those movements ominous.'
'Why?' pressed Paula.
'Butler,' Tweed continued, 'took over from Philip. He also reported pairs of Americans returning late in the evening. They had snow on their boots.'
'Why ominous?' Paula persisted.
'First, because I'm convinced that Norton – the man who impersonated Ives, I'm sure, at the Gotthard – is the evil genius behind the huge apparatus brought over here from the States.'
'Evil genius?' drawled Marler. 'A bit strong that, isn't it?'
'Is it?' Tweed looked grim. 'I told you how convincingly he bluffed us when he turned up at the Gotthard. Then when he ran for it he left behind a present for me. Prussic acid in my mouthwash. And that trap he had organized in Bahnhofstrasse. The fake cripple with the grenade -backed up by a second man with a machine-pistol. Norton is a top pro. I'm not making the mistake of underestimating him.'
'And the second point?' Cardon enquired.
Those Americans who have been away from the hotel this evening for hours. Some returning with snow on their boots. I think they've studied the routes up into the Vosges to the Chateau Noir.'
'I think so, too,' Newman agreed. 'And God knows what booby traps they've prepared for us – whichever of the routes we use.'
'So we must outmanoeuvre them,' Tweed went on. 'First we should list our resources. Yes, Harry,' he said, addressing Butler.
'Pete Nield and I brought in some useful transport. First, a Renault Espace V6, a spacious vehicle. I drove that and carried a couple of high-powered motorbikes inside it. Pete Nield hired a station wagon. We crossed the frontier into France without trouble. No one tried to search us. We could have taped our handguns under the chassis.'
'Anyone like to see my contribution?' enquired Marler.
Unfastening the cello case he had placed on the bed next to Paula, he raised the lid, removed the bow and then the black velvet cloth. Paula glanced at the contents, dropped off the bed, walked to the other bed and perched on it.
'If you don't mind,' she snapped at Marler. 'That little collection looks lethal.'
'Oh, very!' Marler assured her and grinned.
The men all gathered round the cello case. Cardon gave a yelp of delight.
'Grenades! Could I borrow six of those?'
'Which means I don't get them back,' Marler commented in mock annoyance. 'Help yourself.'
'I'll relieve you of the Luger,' Butler suggested. 'It makes a good back-up for a Walther.'
'Go ahead,' Marler told him. 'The Armalite is mine, of course. And I'm hanging on to the tear-gas pistol.'
'Like to see my contribution to the arsenal?' Newman suggested.
Fetching a canvas hold-all he'd dumped in a corner he unzipped it. When he produced the Uzi sub-machine- gun Paula stared.
'Are we thinking of starting a small war?' she asked.
'Which is just what the chap who supplied me with my toys said,' Marler recalled.
'We're well equipped,' Tweed decided. 'Put it all away. Now we must decide how we move into the mountains when the time comes. Which may be tomorrow. I have to talk to Amberg urgently – while he's still alive.'
'I could ride ahead of the cars on one of those motorbikes,' Cardon suggested. 'I can sniff danger a mile away.'
'Agreed,' said Tweed. 'Next suggestion…'
They spent less than half an hour working out the details of a convoy which would make its way up to the Chateau Noir. Cardon would be the advance scout on his motorcycle. He would travel ahead of the large Espace which Newman would drive, with Tweed and Paula as passengers.
Butler would ride the second motorcycle, was given a 'roving' duty to travel back and forth along the well- spaced-out convoy – well spaced to make a smaller target.
Nield would drive the station wagon, sometimes behind the Espace, sometimes ahead of it. A tactic which should confuse the opposition, if they were waiting for them.
That left Marler, who insisted on driving his red Mercedes. Tweed was doubtful of the wisdom of this, pointed out its colour could be spotted a long distance up in the mountains.
'I realize that,' Marler commented. 'But it moves like a bird. That's what I'll be driving.'
