Precipice

possible. To make sure that if two men board that jet they really are who they're supposed to be.'

'I think you've just had a flash of inspiration.' Tweed thought for a moment, then looked at Monica. 'Would you call back to Beck and give him Paula's idea? Tell him it came from Paula – he respects her – and that I'm in full agreement with the suggestion.'

He had just finished speaking when the phone rang yet again. Monica answered, frowned, looked at Tweed.

'Bill Franklin is waiting downstairs. Says he'd like to see you briefly if you have the time.'

'Then we'll make the time for Bill. Call Beck after he's gone.. .'

In a small stone villa on Kochergasse in Berne, not far distant from Federal Police Headquarters, Brazil sat behind a huge Louis Quinze desk. The only other occupant of the room, its walls covered in ancient tapestries, was Jose, a tall lean man wearing a grey business suit. He sat in a corner behind his own much smaller desk.

'Well, Jose,' Brazil boomed cheerfully, 'would you say I fooled them all last night? Your idea of changing limousines was brilliant.'

'From what I've heard of Tweed I would assume it was dangerous to feel too confident.'

'I was talking about Beck, not Tweed,' Brazil said sharply.

'My comment stands.'

Brazil stared at his most trusted confidant. In his late thirties, Jose came from French Guiana, the one-time French colony in South America, now a departement of France. Jose had a poverty-stricken childhood but, working hard, he had saved enough money for a one-way ticket to the States.

There he had sold newspapers on the streets, washed up in restaurants, living in one slum of a room while he studied in the early hours to be an accountant. Achieving top marks in his exams, he had applied to a conglomerate run by Brazil in America for the job of junior accountant.

Brazil had wandered into the office where Jose was being interviewed, had taken over the interview himself. He was so impressed by Jose's intelligence, by his ethics, he had appointed him as his deputy, a post Jose had held ever since Brazil had moved to Europe.

His skin was coffee-coloured. Clean-shaven, he always dressed impeccably and was the only man who didn't hesitate to disagree with his chief. It was a quality which Brazil admired.

'Now you have a moment free,' Jose began, 'I can tell you of a phone call from England which came in early this morning, our time. It was from the informant you nicknamed the Recorder.'

'Interesting information?'

'The Recorder told me a few names of key personnel on Tweed's team. Robert Newman, Paula Grey, and - subject to confirmation – William Franklin.'

'Is that all?' There was an edge to Brazil's voice. 'I must have at the earliest possible moment the names of all the key members of Tweed's team. That reminds me, I must put in a phone call to England.'

Paula thought how smart Franklin looked as he came into the office. He wore a thigh-length navy-blue coat and a matching pair of well-tailored slacks. Taking off the coat, he revealed a navy-blue blazer with gold buttons, a blue-striped shirt, and a pale grey tie.

'Morning all,' he greeted the occupants. 'It's cold enough outside to freeze an Eskimo. Thank you,' he said as Tweed invited him to sit down.

'A cup of coffee?' Monica suggested. 'No sugar and with a dash of milk.'

'You have angels on your staff,' he said with another smile, looking at Paula. 'Yes, please, Monica.'

'Where is Eve now?' asked Tweed.

'I think Philip dropped her off at her flat in South Ken. Not far from your pad.' he told Newman.

'I gather she was unwell soon after we left.' Tweed continued quickly.

'She was. She'd had a big meal and no sooner had you gone than she said she felt ill. She had some stuff in her suite which she said settled stomachs, so off she went. So I was left on my ownsome. I lit a cigar and a few minutes later went outside for a drop of fresh air in the square. Felt like a bit of silence and what did I get? A motorcyclist roaring at top speed up South Street towards North Street. He must have been doing sixty.'

'How long was that after we had left?' pressed Tweed.

'Ten minutes at the outside.'

'And how long.' Tweed asked, looking at Newman, 'do you reckon it took us to reach Bowling Green?'

Twenty-five minutes at the outside. I checked the time we left and looked at my watch again after we found what we did.'

'And what did you find?' Franklin asked after thanking Monica for the cup of coffee she handed him. 'Or is it a state secret?' Tweed shook his head.

'Sorry!' Franklin raised an apologetic hand. 'Guess I shouldn't have asked. Also, I shouldn't waste your time so I'll get straight to why I'm here. You said down in Dorset you might want to use me. A big job has just landed on my desk. It's boring and I'd just as soon give it to one of my staff – that is, if you want me to carry out an investigation.'

'I do. Just a small one.' Tweed smiled grimly. 'A man called Leopold Brazil.'

'I see.' Franklin smiled back drily. 'A mere nothing. What do you want to know about that gentleman, where do you suggest I start?'

'I want to know everything you can dig up. Especially all the places he operates from. Geneva is the place to start. You said you had an agency there.'

'Geneva, here I come.' Franklin swallowed the rest of his coffee, stood up, slipped on his coat, looking across at Paula. 'Tweed, if you have to send someone out there to meet me I'd be quite happy if it was Paula.'

'And Paula would be quite happy to come.' said Paula.

Franklin gave everyone a little salute. He looked now at Marler, who was leaning against a wall, smoking a king-size, and had said nothing.

'I don't think I know your name.'

'No, you don't,' Marler replied.

'Another state secret,' Franklin said to Tweed, grinned, and left the room.

'He doesn't waste much time,' Paula remarked.

'And you find him interesting, don't you?' Tweed teased her.

'Yes. He's courteous, intelligent, and good fun. And he likes women.'

'What more could you ask for?'

'Why were you so interested in the timing of that motorcyclist Bill heard just after we'd left the Priory to go and meet poor Ben?' she asked, changing the subject.

'Because I think that could have been The Motorman, getting to Bowling Green to kill Ben before we arrived.'

'But how on earth could anyone have known the timing and place for our meeting him?'

'You've forgotten,' Tweed told her. 'When we did make the arrangement Ben lifted his voice several times - and there were two strange men waiting at the bar, the ones who tapped on the counter with a coin. They could have told someone else who instructed The Motorman. I feel I should have spotted the danger.'

'You can't think of absolutely everything. And I wonder how Philip is getting on with Eve?'

***

Philip had driven back from Wareham in his Land Rover with Eve behind him in her Porsche. Whenever she could she overtook him to be in the lead. Philip then waited until the road ahead was clear and would overtake her, waving a hand at her as she had waved to him. They continued this leap-frogging until they ran into London's traffic.

Philip was surprised at how close her flat was to Bob Newman's. Eve lived in a large red-brick house which had been converted into flats and looked expensive. Inside her first-floor flat she threw her coat carelessly on to the end of a long couch.

'The drinks cabinet is that thing over there.' she informed him. 'Make me a large vodka while I go to the loo.'

He opened the cabinet, took a glass, and put a modest amount of vodka in the glass – modest for Eve. Then he went over to the bay window and looked down into the South Ken road. In mid morning it was quiet.