'You are helping people like Marov to achieve his objective of a new all-powerful Russia?' Tweed asked.
'I can only tell you what I am doing if you agree to join me in a full partnership. The two of us would make an invincible combination. You must decide now. The hour is late.'
'Why me?'
'I have studied your track record. You are incorruptible, immensely determined, you keep your word.' For the first time Brazil smiled. 'You are a rare bird.'
Thank you for the compliment.'
Tweed stood up, paced slowly round the room. Brazil watched him, was careful to say nothing more. His mind racing, Tweed thought over what Brazil had said. Some of it he felt compelled to agree with. The West was drifting like a rudderless ship towards a stormy sea. Eventually Brazil did speak.
'I can tell you think very much like I do. I know you won't deny it. The West needs an earthquake-like shock.'
Tweed stiffened his shoulders. He turned round and stared straight at Brazil, meeting the ice-blue eyes. A truly remarkable, intriguing man, he was thinking. In the mould of General de Gaulle, Winston Churchill, and Konrad Adenauer. He smiled.
'Mr Brazil. I have to refuse your offer.'
'Reluctantly?' Brazil enquired as he stood up.
'I have to refuse your offer.'
'I feared you would take that decision. I will go now.'
Brazil left, closing the door quietly behind him. It seemed to Tweed the room was suddenly empty, as though a remarkable force had left behind a vacuum.
Newman, clad in a military-style trench coat with large lapels, a wide-brimmed hat on his head, and a scarf half-covering his face, walked across Bahnhofplatz as light snow began to fall. Standing at the top of the steps, leading into the main station, stood a man also wearing a trench coat and a hat. He had the appearance of a passenger who had just got off a train and was waiting for the snow to stop.
Newman paused beside him, apparently to light a cigarette.
'Well, Marler, did you get the clothing needed for Butler and Nield?'
'Yes. They're waiting just round the corner in Bahnhofstrasse. The clothing is a perfect replica.'
'Good. I wonder if it will be needed. Any sign of that Volvo?'
'Not so far. If it appears I signal Butler and Nield. I'm sure the charade will work.'
'Let us hope so, if it's needed. I'm going back so I am near the exit from the Schweizerhof. At least we are ready for them…'
29
Brazil avoided the lift after leaving Tweed's room. He ran down the staircase, reached the lobby, crossed it to the secluded bar. As he had hoped, at that time of the year it was empty except for the barman and one customer. Craig.
'I'll have a Cointreau,' Brazil said to the barman. He laid a large banknote on the counter. 'I don't want any change but my friend and I have something confidential to discuss. Would you mind waiting in the lobby? You can see from there if any new customer comes into here.'
The barman had trouble not spilling the glass of Cointreau. His eyes were on the banknote.
'Thank you very much, sir. I'll be outside if you do need me.'
'Well,' said Craig as soon as they were alone, 'did he agree to come in with us?'
'No, regrettably. He refused.'
'Then he's for the chop.'
Craig wore a heavy overcoat and a white silk scarf. He had trouble concealing his satisfaction.
'Craig.' Brazil said quietly. 'If anything happens to Tweed I'll see you don't stay alive an hour. And the way you treat your henchmen it will be a pleasure for any of them to carry out my order.'
'OK.' Craig was shaken. He drank the rest of his Scotch quickly. 'I've got the message. But what about his team? They're going to get in the way. You can bet on that.'
'I fear you're right.'
'So I have your authority to eliminate the whole of his team off this planet?'
'Yes.' Brazil paused. 'I suppose it's the only sensible thing to do.'
'Right. You'll be waiting for your limo.' Craig took a mobile phone from his pocket, dialled, spoke briefly. 'Craig here. Come and get me. Work to do. Pack the car with troops…'
Standing at the corner where Bahnhofstrasse met the platz, Newman brushed snow off his trench coat. He never took his eyes off Marler, still standing on the station steps. Then he saw him stretch both arms as though weary.
The Volvo had appeared, began to cruise round the platz. Craig, standing in the hotel exit, walked a few feet up the street away from Newman. The Volvo, with three men inside, the driver and one man in front, a third man in the back, paused and Craig opened the rear door on the pavement side and slipped into the vacant seat.
Newman removed his scarf and hat, tucked them inside his coat, waited on the edge of the kerb. Craig saw him immediately, said something to the driver. The Volvo cruised slowly towards where Newman stood. At the same moment two men appeared, clad in black leather, wearing helmets, and walking towards the approaching car. One man banged on the back window.
Craig, confused, told the driver to stop. He was convinced that, without orders, two of his Leather Bombers had arrived. He lowered the window and Newman walked up to him.
'Not a nice evening, Craig.' Newman called out.
'Not for you. You're the first.' Craig snarled.
He reached down to the car floor, grabbed hold of a shotgun. The first of the two men clad in leather, Butler, produced a tear-gas pistol and fired into the back of the vehicle. At the same moment Nield, similarly clad, fired his own pistol across Butler's shoulder into the front of the car.
Choking, the driver panicked, pressed the accelerator as one of Zurich's blue trams, built like a tank, was turning to proceed down Bahnhofstrasse. Craig saw the huge shape looming up through streaming eyes. He grasped the door handle, threw the door wide open, rumbled onto the pavement, rolling so his shoulders took the fall like a paratrooper landing.
The Volvo continued its onward rush for only a few seconds. A few seconds too long. It collided into the massive tram. The car telescoped with the force of the impact. The three men inside disappeared, lost in the mess of crushed metal. The tram's passengers were shaken, but unhurt.
Craig staggered to his feet, dazed. He recovered, ran off in the opposite direction, vanished. On the pavement lay the shotgun Craig had been going to use. Newman nodded to Butler and Nield. They ran along the platz, turned down the quiet side-street where Tweed had walked earlier.
Tearing off their leather, they stuffed it with the helmets into a litter bin. Wearing normal business suits, they disappeared inside the Gotthard via the door leading into the Hummer Bar. Newman was already inside the lobby of the Schweizerhof, heading for the lifts.
'Hell of a crash outside.' he said to the concierge, who was moving towards the front door. 'Some drunken oaf drove into a tram – at least that's what I was told.'
He went straight to Tweed's room. Brazil, still in the bar, heard what he had said. He pursed his lips. If Craig had been involved he was becoming a liability. If he was still alive.
'I saw it.' Tweed said when he had let Newman into his room. 'So the war has really started.'
'Craig had a shotgun…'
'I know. I saw that, too. Lying on the pavement. I turned down Brazil's offer for me to work with him – in a partnership. Now, it can only be twenty minutes since Brazil left this room, and they've already tried to kill you. Brazil himself must have given the order. He is not only ruthless, he is brutal.'
Tweed sounded grimmer than Newman had experienced for a long time.
'What partnership?' he asked.
