too was feeling peckish.
'Are we safe now?' Amberg suddenly demanded in a commanding voice.
'No,' Tweed told him. 'We are only safe when we have our hands on the film and the tape. So really,' he went on in an offhand manner, 'it's entirely up to you, Amberg.'
'They won't know we're going to Ouchy,' the banker suggested.
'Don't count on that either,' Tweed replied, determined to keep the Swiss rattled.
'Do stop fussing, Walter,' Eve broke in with one of her rare interventions. Her manner was calm, her voice fresh. Paula admired her stamina. 'Walter,' Eve continued, 'if you're nervous don't eat or drink anything at dinner. You might get indigestion. You wouldn't like that, Walter,' she ended, her voice dripping with sarcasm.
Amberg relapsed into silence after casting her a venomous look which Paula noticed. The traffic was now very heavy and, following Newman, Tweed was inching the Espace next to the kerb along the wide pavement outside the shops facing the railway station.
He braked as Newman stopped the station wagon ahead. It occurred to Tweed that it was along this same pavement at a later hour that Jennie Blade had encountered the Shadow Man. What had been her description of the sinister figure? A man wearing a long black overcoat and a wide-brimmed hat which completely concealed his face. Had she been telling the truth? he wondered. Newman appeared at his open window.
'I suggest you all get out here and walk straight into the Brasserie where there are other people. Marler is parking the station wagon a short distance away. I'll take over the wheel of the Espace. Paula, could you run back to the BMW which is pulled up a few yards behind? I want you to escort Jennie into the Brasserie. But first tell Gaunt to follow me in the Espace. And tell Gaunt – I don't want any argument.'
'Butler and Nield?' Tweed queried.
Told over my walkie-talkie to follow the convoy. Now, I want to get behind that wheel fast…'
Tweed dropped into the road and hurried to the pavement followed by Paula, Eve, Amberg and Cardon, who had a firm hand on the arm of the Swiss. Newman, Tweed ruminated, was now capable of taking control of the whole operation if anything happened to him.
Eve caught up with him, linked her arm inside his, her rifle concealed under her long trench coat. Paula ran back to where Gaunt had begun to honk his horn non-stop, just when they didn't want to be noticed. Jennie lowered her window when she saw Paula coming. Paula stopped, her tone icy as she addressed Gaunt.
'Stop making that noise at once. Jennie, get out and I will take you inside the Brasserie.'
As Jennie opened the door, moving quickly, Gaunt leaned forward. He glared at Paula.
'Just who do you think you're addressing?' he demanded in a lofty tone.
'You, you stupid arrogant bastard!' she blazed. 'You're putting people's lives in danger. To hell with your own, but get that tin can moving pronto.'
Gaunt was so taken aback, he obeyed. As Paula slammed the door shut he nodded to her, began moving forward, following Newman who was disappearing round the corner in the Espace. Paula took Jennie by the arm, glanced at the mob of people pushing and shoving up against each other while they hurried across to the station. Gaunt had just beaten the lights before they turned red.
Rush hour with a vengeance. Everyone looked sick of doing a day's boring work, sick of trudging through the slush, sick of the penetrating cold. Paula found the normality of all this strangely reassuring after their nightmare trip into the Vosges.
A wave of warmth met them as they pushed open the doors into the well-heated Brasserie. Tweed was already seated at a table in the dining area closest to the hotel with Eve beside him. Cardon sat at the end of the long table where he could survey the whole restaurant.
'A glass of Riesling for everyone who likes the idea,' Tweed announced. 'I think we need a stimulant before we go to our rooms and freshen up before dinner.'
Well, at least we're safe in here, Paula was thinking as she sat next to Cardon and Jennie chose the chair next to hers. Paula agreed enthusiastically to some Riesling and glanced round the restaurant. A handful of locals having a drink on their way home. Then she frowned.
At a table by himself, not ten feet away, sat one of the most repulsive men she'd ever seen, a man who looked just like a bulldog.
Norton drove very slowly when he reached Kaysersberg. The snow was piled up in the ancient narrow streets. This was some country. Hadn't they ever heard of snow-ploughs? He parked the Renault in a side-street some distance from the Green Tree. The less the proprietor of the small hotel knew about him the better.
He met no one as he trudged back through the snow. The old buildings, lit by wrought-iron lamps, had oak beams sunk into the plaster walls. The plaster had a different colour for each building – bright scarlet, deep ochre, flaming orange. Kaysersberg was beautiful, but Norton noticed none of it. Whole lot ought to be pulled down, replaced by modern buildings with plenty of plate-glass.
He walked into the entrance hall of the Green Tree, ignoring the iron scraper outside, littering the carpet with snow. The woman behind the desk called out to him.
'A phone call for you. The same person each time, I think. Called six times. Left a message.'
Norton nodded, took the folded piece of paper. He waited until he'd taken off his fur hat and coat in his small room, then read the message.
Call urgently. Repeat, urgently. Sara.
'Hell. Go jump off a building. A high one,' Norton said out loud.
He checked his watch. It would be 2p.m. in Washington. He'd half a mind to ignore the message. Sitting on the bed, he decided he'd better make the call. Probably he'd get such a lousy connection it would be pointless.
In a grim mood, he started the laborious business of trying to get through to Washington. The connection wasn't lousy, it was perfect, goddamnit. Sara answered.
'He's pretty anxious to talk with you. I'd go easy if I were you. ..'
'You're not me,' Norton snapped.
'Please yourself.' Sara's tone was calm, indifferent. 'I am putting you on the line. Don't ever say I didn't warn you…'
Norton, who had exceptional stamina, was in an ugly mood. It had been a tough day. All attempts to exterminate Tweed had failed. And he hadn't laid his hands on the film or the tape. He wasn't going to bow and scrape.
'Norton?' President Bradford March's tone was aggressive. 'What crap are you feedin' me this time? Give.'
'I know now where what you want is. I'm leaving for some dump called Ouchy in Switzerland. That's where they are. I'll give you my new number after I've got there. Later this evening, European time. We're almost there.'
'I don't give two shits for 'almost',' March shouted. 'I should have sent a bell-boy to do this job. Someone is playing you like a fish on a line
Which was true, Norton had realized. Growly Voice had adopted the technique used by kidnappers. Always sending him on to a new destination to wear him down. The aptness of the President's comment did not improve his temper.
'Just you listen to me for once,' he rapped back. 'I'm the guy on the spot. I know the angles now. Get off my back. Hear me? You listenin' in that snazzy office?'
March had not reached the Oval Office by losing self-control in a crisis. His explosions of abuse were always calculated. Leaning back in his chair, March perched his feet on his desk, crossed his ankles while he thought.
'You still there?' Norton demanded abrasively.
'Sure I am,' March replied quietly. 'Is Mencken still around?' he asked casually.
It was Norton's turn to pause. The one possibility which bothered him was that he might be replaced by that scumbag, Mencken. He decided to hold back nothing. March mimicked in a controlled voice Norton's earlier question.
'You still there?'
'Yeah. Let's hope the line holds. You'd better realize we've taken heavy casualties…'
'So this Tweed is smarter than we thought?' commented the President in the same quiet tone.
'He just got lucky.' Norton was leading March away from the subject of Marvin Mencken. 'We've taken some heavy casualties,' he repeated.
