'Where are the rumours coming from?'
He received the answer he had least hoped to hear.
'That's the odd thing. I am sure they are deliberately being spread by some central organization. And not from Russia. Somewhere in Europe. But Howard is seeing the PM almost hourly, working him up with his panic. It's very serious.'
'What you're suggesting.' Tweed said grimly 'is that the situation is bad enough for me to return to London at once?'
'They're running round like headless chickens. And the atmosphere is getting worse by the hour. Yes, I think you should return. Howard has no idea I'm making this call.'
'Where is Howard now? Could I speak to him for just a minute?'
'I'm afraid not. He's over at Downing Street, waiting to wind up the PM some more.'
'Monica, you realize you're talking to me in my room. There's an unimportant item I'd be interested in. You have obviously been checking these rumours carefully. Where did they start?'
'That's difficult to say.' Monica paused, then went on quickly. 'Zurich.'
After he had told Monica he would call her back when he had had time to take a decision, Tweed told Newman what she had said.
'Could all this come from a rumour factory?' he asked Newman. 'You've had a lot of experience as a foreign correspondent.'
'It could, easily. All you need is a top-flight organization, a big staff, and a brain like Brazil has for planning. You then arrange to phone the right man or woman at key radio outfits, TV – and the newspapers. You'd time it carefully so simultaneous calls were made – to London, Paris, Bonn, Madrid, Stockholm, and Washington. They would immediately start checking with each other and find the same rumours everywhere.'
'It would be the first phase of Brazil's plan. Sometimes,' Tweed mused, 'I think Brazil hates America more than Russia – because of his being thrown out as chief executive in the States. The Americans frighten easily - imagine the panic in Washington if Russia overnight became rampant again.'
'What are you going to do about Howard?'
'I'm thinking of putting you in sole command of the team we're sending to Sion. That I'll have to fly back to London before Howard does any more damage.'
'I'm ready to go, then.' Newman stood up. 'I'll be looking for the ground station controlling that satellite, Rogue One.'
'That has to be Brazil's key weapon to spread chaos in some way. You know, Bob, if I didn't detest Brazil's violent methods, I'd have a sneaking sympathy for what he's trying to achieve – to wake up the West.'
'He's a villain who employs villains.' Newman looked at Tweed as he heaved the shoulder strap of his canvas bag over his shoulder. 'One thing I've been going to ask you. With both Bill Franklin and Keith Kent you haven't ever mentioned to either of them the existence of The Motorman.'
'Must have slipped my mind…'
'Oh, come on!'
'Well, I have a strong feeling that we have already met and know The Motorman.'
32
When Philip, standing on the platform at Sion station, had watched the express carrying Inspector Leon Vincenau disappear, he felt thirsty. Exploring the lonely station he found a restaurant, to his relief. He went inside, ordered coffee from the pleasant waitress he addressed in French.
He suddenly felt bone-weary, with a desperate need to talk to someone in this grim Valais. Apart from himself the place was empty and he smiled at the waitress. She began talking at once.
'I hope you are not thinking of climbing a mountain. The weather is closing in and we have already had a tragedy.'
'What tragedy is that?' asked Philip.
'Two Englishmen with an American girl went skiing on a slope. They had been warned it was dangerous. They were all killed in a snow-slide yesterday.'
'I'm sorry to hear that – even if they were warned.'
'There is a mystery, so we have heard. The American girl had a bullet in her back. The police have transported the bodies to Geneva.'
'A bullet in her back? You mean someone shot her? So where did the tragedy take place?'
'I will bring you a map.'
Obviously glad of someone to talk to, the waitress hurried away, came back with a map which she unfolded and spread on the table. She pointed to an area on the northern mountains rising up behind Sion.
'It happened near the Col du Lemac on the Keller-horn. That is the name of the mountain, which means Wild Boar Mountain – because the summit is shaped like the head of a wild boar. To get there you have to drive up this dangerous road…' She pointed to a road which, marked on the map, looked like no more than a narrow yellow thread. 'That is where the new meteorological station has been built. It has been in working order for some time.'
'A weather station? A state enterprise?' Philip enquired casually.
'Oh, no! A very wealthy man had it built. He is interested in making weather forecasts more accurate. It was built very quickly before the snows came. It must have cost him a fortune. He brought in workers from outside and they worked in three shifts all day and all night.'
'How could they work at night?'
'He is clever. He had huge arc lights erected so the men could work easily in the dark. He brought most of the workers from the Balkans. Now they have returned to their homes with their pockets full of money.'
'And this weather station is close to the Kellerhorn?'
'It is built on the Kellerhorn, close to the summit. He has it well guarded against vandals. His security force patrols the area day and night.'
'And was it close to this station where the tragedy you have just described took place?'
'Yes, it was. We hear the police visited the chief of security but neither he nor any of his guards had seen the skiers.'
'Point out the site of this weather station to me on the map, if you would be so kind.'
The waitress made a small cross below the word Kellerhorn. She looked at Philip.
'You seem interested. You can keep this map. I have another one.'
'Thank you.' He took the map she had folded and put it in his pocket. 'I suppose you wouldn't know the name of the man who had the station built? He must be very well known round here.'
'No one knows his name. He arrives in a private jet at the airfield outside Sion. A big car with tinted windows so you cannot see inside waits for his plane, then takes him up to his villa.'
'His villa? That is near the weather station?'
'Oh, no. It is in the mountains on the other side of the valley. He had it built when they were creating the weather station. The villa was completed first. It is very remote and overlooks a glacier. I could show you on the map.'
Philip took out the map again, unfolded it, spread it out. The waitress's finger followed another yellow thread of a road, again with frequent zigzags, like the road to the weather station. She marked the position of the villa and the glacier below it. The area was called Col de Roc.
'You want to see the villa? You will have to hire a car with chains. That road is as dangerous as the other one. But do not go now.'
'Why not?'
'Because we have heard this very important man is due to fly in to the airfield. A friend who knows the controller told me. He is always escorted with motorcyclists.'
'Do you know where I could hire a car with chains?' enquired Philip. 'I could go to see this villa when he has gone.'