'I've got the envelope ready…'
Marler spoke up when she came back and reported the courier was on his way with Butler driving him.
'I've just decided I want to fly to Geneva – not to Zurich. I have a contact there I'd like to visit. We'll need an armoury of weapons.' He was thinking of Rico Sava, the arms dealer. 'Then I'll catch an express to Zurich and be there in good time before the meeting with Brazil…'
'Monica, please change Marler's ticket for a flight to Geneva. The earliest possible.' Tweed requested.
She had just put down the phone after calling Heathrow when it rang again. She raised her eyebrows.
'You said it would be a long night.' she told Tweed.
'It's Keith Kent, long distance.' she told him after answering the call.
'How's it going, Keith?' Tweed opened.
'I'll probably have that information about the Geneva bank tomorrow – no, today. Where can I reach you?'
'Hang on…' Tweed called across to Monica. 'What is the phone number of the Schweizerhof in Zurich?'
She gave it to him instantly. He repeated it to Kent.
'Zurich?' Kent chuckled. 'Checking up on me about the Zurcher Kredit?' he joked.
'Of course. I always double-check you.' Tweed joked back. 'Now you know where you can get me. After five in the afternoon, Swiss time.'
'Be in touch
'Keith Kent is in Geneva.' Tweed told the others after putting down his phone. 'Seems to be a popular place.'
He had hardly finished speaking when the phone rang once more.
'Bill Franklin is on the line.' Monica informed Tweed.
'No one sleeps these days.' Tweed greeted Franklin.
'I doubt if you ever did.' Franklin replied with a chuckle. 'Your stamina never ceases to amaze me.'
'Don't do so badly yourself. What's happened?'
'Hoped I'd get you. My phone is safe.' Franklin paused. 'But is yours?'
'Come off it, Bill. You know I'll be on scrambler.'
'Good for you. That you remembered to press the button.' Franklin chaffed him. His voice became businesslike. 'My agency team has been very busy. Mr Brazil, at this moment, is in his villa in Berne. On Kochergasse. Almost opposite the Bellevue Palace Hotel. A woman arrived there earlier last night, driving herself in a Renault. A red job.'
'Description?'
'Difficult. She had a scarf over her head, another one round the lower half of her face. She walked very slowly from the underground garage when she'd parked her car. The garage is just beyond the eastern end of the Bellevue Palace. My chap guessed she was in her fifties, maybe sixties. By her walk.'
'Unless she's very cunning.' said Tweed.
'What does that mean?'
'Nothing. Just a random thought. Any more?'
'Yes. Carson Craig, Brazil's deputy, arrived before the woman. He went inside the villa with an ugly-looking thug, a small lean man. Tell you more when I know more.'
'Take down this number…' Tweed gave him the phone number of the Schweizerhof in Zurich. 'I'll be there tomorrow evening.'
'Going on your travels again. So you're launching a big offensive?'
'Not necessarily. Keep me informed of developments.'
'Don't go yet.' Franklin said quickly. 'One more item. My chap watching Brazil's villa said that soon after Craig and Co. had arrived a team of ten motorcyclists came purring along Kochergasse. They parked their machines in the garage and then came out and walked into the villa. They were dressed all in black leather and wore their helmets. In Geneva last night there was a battle in the Old City between similar motorcyclists and someone else – don't know who. The locals, scared out of their wits, have nicknamed them the Leather Bombers. It appears they've now turned up in Berne.'
'That's very interesting. Thank you, Bill…'
As Tweed told the others what Franklin had said, Marler, standing against a wall, was twiddling a king-size between his fingers, not lighting it. He was frowning.
'That last bit of news from Franklin gives me an idea.' he said slowly. 'You'll need protection, Tweed, when we get to Zurich.'
'Yes, you will,' Newman said vehemently. 'I still think this could be a trap.'
'I don't agree.' Tweed replied. 'I'm getting the measure of Leopold Brazil. Despite what villainies he may have been responsible for I think he has his own peculiar code of honour. Now, I'm going to have a doze for thirty minutes. Unless the phone rings to remind us it's there.'
He had taken off his jacket and tie, loosened his shirt collar, when Pete Nield came in.
'Wrong moment?' he said, looking at Tweed.
'No. What is it?'
'I haven't had a chance to tell you what I found out while I was on my own in Dorset. Buchanan is going berserk down there. He's got it into his head the key to the four murders is the missing Marchat and he's turning Dorset upside-down to find him.'
'Thanks for the information. I wish him luck.' Tweed commented, 'Marchat is somewhere in Switzerland.' He shut his eyes and fell asleep.
It was snowing as they left Geneva early in the morning with Philip behind the wheel of a hired Audi he'd collected from the airport. Paula, sitting by his side, was thinking I told you so, but refrained from saying anything.
They were light flakes, drifting down, creating a weird luminosity as the moon faded for another day. To her left Paula gazed at the high white outline of the distant Jura Mountains, the old villages across the fields with snow piled on their rooftops.
'The scenery is beautiful.' she remarked. 'Incidentally, and just for the record, do you think we are being followed?'
'No sign of pursuers so far.'
'What time do you think we'll reach Berne?'
'In time for breakfast at the Bellevue Palace. I have been wondering what Archie had in mind when he mentioned Berne.'
'He's probably after another piece Tweed can fit into the jigsaw he's building up.'
'I've also been wondering where The Motorman is now.'
'Don't go and spoil the journey. I'm enjoying it.'
Which was true. Paula, an expert driver, loved being driven by someone who could really handle a car and she assessed Philip as a superb driver. She'd just had the thought when they skidded. Philip went with the skid, pulled out of it before they hit the barrier.
'This light snowfall is masking the ice.' he commented.
'You did all the right things.' she replied. 'And it was clever of you to ask the receptionist at the hotel when we were leaving the best route to Basle.'
'Well, if anyone enquires where we've gone they'll waste a lot of time searching for us.'
'I guessed that was the idea. You know, I have a feeling our trip to Berne will prove to be very uneventful.'
'Famous last words..?'
Tweed woke up, stretched his arms, stood up, put on his jacket after buttoning his shirt and straightening his tie in a mirror Monica held up for him. He felt as fresh as a daisy.
'You did have a deep sleep.' Monica told him. 'Thirty minutes. Cord Dillon phoned back from CIA HQ at Langley and you never batted an eyelid.'
