He was in a desperate rush to reach Les Armures by nine. But he had vital jobs to do first. He ran out of the concourse, grabbed a cab, asked to be taken to the Hotel des Bergues.
At the hotel he registered for a room quickly, left his bag for a porter to take up to his room. He paused to enquire whether his friend Paula Grey was in the hotel.
'No, sir. She went out…'
'Thanks.'
Philip dashed out, nearly lost his balance on the ice even though he was wearing special boots with soles to grip ice. He dived back into the cab he'd kept waiting, gave the driver the address of Marler's dealer in arms. Reaching his destination, he gave the driver an amount far exceeding the fare.
'Wait for me and there's a large tip. For God's sake don't go away. I'm late for an appointment with a girl friend.'
'I'll be here.' This driver had a sense of humour. 'Never keep a woman waiting is my motto…'
Philip had spoken in French, which he found came back to him easily. He nearly went mad as Rico Sava put him through the same procedure he'd adopted with Paula, taking centuries to open the Judas window, then the door. Asking for a description of Marler.
'I need a 7.65mm Walther automatic, the one with eight rounds capacity.'
'You may need more than that.'
'What do you mean?' Philip asked, controlling his growing impatience.
'I had a very nice lady here. She purchased a Browning automatic. ..'
'She did?'
'I warned her not to go into the Old City. I think she was going to ignore my warning. If you're here to protect her you'll need more than that.' Sava repeated.
'Supposing I was here to do that?'
'There's a villainous motorcycle gang…'
'I've heard about them…'
'After the lady had gone a murderous-looking man with a mean face called here and spent a fortune. I heard his motorcycle stop further down the street.'
'What about it?'
'I'm breaking my golden rule' – Sava looked regretful – 'never to inform on one customer to another, but you come from Marler. And I didn't like this man.'
'He spent a fortune, you said. What did he buy?'
'A large supply of stun grenades. Also a number of Army grenades. Lethal. Twelve handguns, plenty of ammo. And this, which puzzled me.'
He took Philip across the shop into another room, showed him a huge searchlight-like lamp. It wasn't cumbersome. Sava handed it to Philip, who was surprised at how little it weighed. Sava showed him how easily it was switched on.
'Motorcycles,' Sava reminded him. 'What do you want? I can put the searchlight into a canvas bag with a strap to hang from your shoulder.'
'What about both types of grenade?'
'They would go into separate pockets inside the bag.'
'How much? Don't forget the Walther with spare mags.'
'Expensive, especially the searchlight. Fifteen thousand francs.'
'Pack them quickly. Everything in the bag except the Walther. Very quickly, please…'
Thanking God that Tweed always insisted key members of his staff carried a lot of money in high- denomination Swiss francs and Deutschmarks, Philip peeled off fifteen notes.
'Excuse me.' Sava said as Philip was leaving, 'but you are a brave man…'
Canvas bag over his shoulder, Philip dived back into the waiting cab, told him to drive to Les Armures.
'I'm sorry, sir.' the driver said as he drove off, 'but I can only drive you as far as the cathedral. There is big trouble in the Old City. The police have got it wrong -they are watching the outskirts of Geneva to check everyone entering. The people they are after are already here.'
'All right, then. The cathedral.'
Philip checked his watch. Ten minutes to nine. Everything had taken too long. He had an awful feeling he was going to be too late.
18
As her cab vanished into the dark Paula climbed the few steps onto the elevated platform of old stone, roofed in and open on three sides. She walked past two ancient cannons, descended the steps on the other side, and a waiter opened the door of Les Armures.
'Good evening, madame. Are you by yourself?' 'I won't be. My friend is meeting me here later.' 'A drink at the bar while you wait?' 'No, thank you. I want a quiet table in a corner.' Which is what Archie would want, she thought. Leading the way, the waiter showed her a small table for two in the angle where two stone walls met. Paula looked back at the entrance and saw it was hidden from view.
'This would be perfect. He may not arrive for awhile.'
'That does not matter, madame. The table is yours…'
She looked round the restaurant as the waiter left her. The place was as she remembered it when she had once dined there with Tweed, very old with an arch leading to another cavern. The atmosphere was lively. Most tables were occupied, there was a babble of voices, laughter, the tinkling of glasses. The cloths on the tables looked brand new and waiters were dashing back and forth. No sign of Archie in the cavern beyond the first room. But she was very early. She turned, went back to the door. Her waiter ran up.
'Madame is not going out again?'
'Madame likes the fresh air…'
'Fresh air! It is like the North Pole out there! I must warn you there is solid ice on the cobbles.'
'I know.' She smiled. 'I'll be careful…'
After the glorious warmth of the restaurant the air hit her like a blow. I should have taken off my coat while I was in Les Armures, she thought. She mounted the steps on to the strange platform which was very wide and deep. Behind the two cannons there was solid stone wall, well back from the narrow roads surrounding it.
She walked down the steps into the main street where the cab had left her, nearly lost her balance. 'You watch it, my girl,' she told herself.
This was the main street, which led away from the cathedral and dropped steeply, she recalled. The only lighting came from lanterns attached to brackets protruding from the street's walls. She listened. The absolute quiet was disturbing.
She walked down the street, which was cobbled, stepping carefully. On either side there were ancient buildings with shops on the ground floor. Mostly antiques dealers and picture shops. She paused in front of one, looked at the single framed picture in the window of a waterfall. No price.
She began to explore the side-streets and alleyways to her right, all of which dropped steeply. Still no one about. It had been like this the time she had walked back down into the main part of Geneva with Tweed. As though no one lived there.
The atmosphere was eerie, her favourite word for such surroundings. She went back later, explored a narrow side street opposite to the platform. When she checked her watch she saw it was nearly nine o'clock. She had walked further than she realized. Archie might have arrived.
She was mounting the steps to the platform where the floor was not covered with ice, on her way back to Les Armures, when the first motorcyclist arrived, roaring up the hill, headlight glaring. She pressed herself against the rear wall, took off her glove, tucked it under her left arm and hauled out the Browning automatic. The headlight on the machine shone on her briefly, the motorcyclist, clad in black leather, slowed down, threw something towards her.
The pineapple-shaped object, seen briefly in the headlight, curved in an arc, landed on the far side of the
