she had seen. The forest moved in to the edges of the road, creating tunnels which she found claustrophobic. Inside the Espace the temperature was dropping despite the fact that Tweed had the heaters turned full on.
They emerged from the tunnels as they reached lower levels and lights inside houses appeared as they passed hamlets tucked into bends and located inside ravines. Their headlights swept over small houses with red- tiled rooves showing in patches close to chimneys: heat from a stove inside had temporarily melted a little snow. First-floor balconies looked as though they'd soon sag under the accumulated snow they supported.
They passed through the small town of Munster, bumping over cobbled streets, slowing down as they approached the outskirts of Colmar. They had just passed a petrol station with a small cafe attached when a motorcyclist drew alongside the Espace out of nowhere. Eve, who had remained calm and quiet during the drama of the falling cliff, raised her rifle. Paula was already aiming her Browning as Tweed slowed down, saw them.
'Put down those weapons, for God's sake, both of you!' he shouted.
He stopped the Espace as the motorcyclist, a Union Jack whipping from its aerial, pulled up. Tweed left the engine running and looked over his shoulder before he opened the door.
'Paula, keep him covered with your gun, but don't fire unless he produces a weapon.'
He opened the door and the. tall motorcyclist stood in the road, the machine leant against him, both hands raised above his head.
'You're Tweed. I've been waiting here hours for you. I'm Barton Ives, Special Agent FBI…'
'How did you know I would be coming this way?' demanded Tweed.
'Cord Dillon said you had to pass this spot when you came down from the mountains. That was in the afternoon. I have papers…'
'Be very careful what you take out of your pocket,' warned Paula as the stranger reached inside his leather jacket.
He slowly produced a folder, handed it up to Tweed, who examined it by the courtesy light. With the front door open the temperature inside the Espace dropped even further.
Newman appeared behind the stranger. He pressed the tip of his Smith amp; Wesson into his back.
'This is a gun,' he warned.
'Yeah. I guessed it was. You guys are wise to take all precautions. But aren't we exposed, standing out here?'
'Not really,' Newman told him.
Marler had left the station wagon, was now positioned at the side of the cafe next to the petrol station. He had loosened the belt round his fur-lined windcheater so he could thrust the tear-gas, belt inside it. He was holding the Armalite, his eyes scanning the whole area. Butler, who had returned on his motorcycle, had taken up a position on the opposite side of the road.
Tweed had examined the folder, which seemed genuine, had compared the photograph with Ives' appearance. The American had removed his helmet, had pulled down the scarf from his face. What convinced Tweed of the man's identity was that he fitted the descriptions Dillon had given him. At long last he was meeting the real Barton Ives.
'Get in,' Tweed ordered, 'sit next to me, keep your hands in your lap. There are people behind you with guns and itching trigger fingers. Bob, put his machine in the back of the Espace…'
Tweed's careful check had taken no more than a minute. He signalled to Marler and Butler that they were moving on. He waited until Newman had returned to the station wagon and Ives whispered to him.
'I need to be alone with you. I've one helluva story to tell you. My guess is you've no idea what you're up against. Doubt if you'll believe a word I say. It's all incredible, but true.'
'Not now,' Tweed replied. 'We're in a hurry to leave France to cross the border into Switzerland – travelling non-stop this evening. Norton hasn't given up yet – of that I'm sure.'
'You can bet on it,' agreed Ives.
Paula was impressed with the FBI agent's appearance and manner. In his late thirties, she estimated, he was tall, had thick dark hair, his strong-featured face with a firm jaw was clean-shaven. Despite his long ordeal of staying under cover, moving constantly from place to place in fear of his life, he showed no signs of strain. His voice was quiet, controlled, almost matter-of-fact.
'We're going to have to hurry to do that,' Ives observed. To reach Switzerland tonight.'
'It's just a matter of organization,' Tweed commented as he continued to drive the Espace close to the station wagon.
The rendezvous point where they had picked up Barton Ives had been well chosen. An oasis of quiet, there had been no one else about. Now, only minutes later, they were caught up in Colmar's rush-hour traffic. The convoy had closed up and Gaunt's BMW was on Tweed's tail, a little too close for his liking, but that was Gaunt.
'How shall we manage it?' Paula called out.
'I'll go out the way we came in. By train to Basle. I want you to come with me, and you too, Eve. Philip,' he called over his shoulder to Cardon, 'you'll also be with us as bodyguard, together with Butler and Nield. Ives, you come with us aboard the train.'
Tweed had no intention of letting the elusive American out of his sight after waiting so long to contact him.
'Anything you say,' Ives agreed cheerfully.
'What about the Espace, the station wagon and the weapons?' asked Paula, her mind racing ahead to the next problem.
'I'm changing tactics from the way we came in,' Tweed said with a surge of vigour in his voice which made Paula feel tired. He glanced briefly back at her at a red traffic light and his eyes gleamed with purpose and drive. This, Paula thought, is where we really take off.
They were nosing their way closer to the Bristol as Tweed explained further.
'I'm assuming our friend, the Swiss police chief, Beck, will be on the alert at the frontier. The French frontier control will still be on the look-out for terrorists entering France – not the other way round. If Newman and Marler meet trouble Bob will immediately ask to be put in contact with Beck.'
'What about the Uzi Bob is carrying?' Paula pressed.
'All the weapons will be hidden, attached under the chassis of the station wagon and the Espace – including the Uzi. That is the sort of trouble Newman may run into. We shall need those weapons for a final showdown, I'm convinced of that.'
'And we stay in Basle overnight?' Paula asked.
'No! We keep on moving. We arrange to meet Newman and Marler with their transport at Basle Bahnhof. From there we drive on non-stop south-west into French-speaking Switzerland. From Basle to Neuchatel, on past the lake to Yverdon, then due south to Ouchy on the shores of Lake Geneva. Amberg, you did say that is where you have hidden the items I want to see and hear?'
'I did,' the banker replied tersely. 'But we have to stop at my branch in Basle for a few minutes – so I can collect a safe deposit key.'
'Make sure it is only a few minutes. Two of my men will accompany you into the bank. Paula, when we reach the main station in Basle phone up two hotels in Ouchy – the Hotel d'Angleterre to book rooms for Butler and Nield, then the Hotel Chateau d'Ouchy to book rooms for the rest of us, including Amberg.'
'I prefer to stay at-' Amberg began.
'Your preferences went out of the window when we watched a blank screen at the Chateau Noir,' Tweed snapped. 'You stay with us – all the way.'
'So,' Paula mused, 'we'll be ahead of the opposition for once, may never see them again.'
'That,' commented Eve, stretching her arms above her head,'will be a dream.'
'And if you believe that,' Tweed warned, 'considering the huge organization we're up against, you are dreaming…'
On the heights of the Vosges Norton, just managing to stop himself from freezing into a block of ice by keeping the engine running, the heaters turned full up, had earlier received a static-ridden report on progress from Mencken.
Progress! Norton would probably have strangled Mencken had his subordinate been close enough. Bleakly and bluntly Mencken had told his chief about the failure of the major ambush planned on D417.
'You say the Nestle truck was crushed, sent over when the cliff came down?' Norton asked
