Precipice

'I shouldn't tell you.' Jose himself now hesitated. 'I will, though. They were operating what Brazil called his radio exchange, contacting people all over the world. I don't know why.'

'Sounds bonkers. I'd better get back to bed, try and get some sleep. Thanks again for the canister.'

***

Newman and his team were aboard the night express to Geneva. They had boarded the almost empty train separately. Newman sat in the corner of a first-class compartment by himself. He knew Marler was patrolling up and down the corridor at intervals, keeping guard. Newman appeared to be asleep but came awake the moment Marler entered his compartment.

'All's quiet.' he reported. 'What do we do when we get to Cornavin Station?'

'We eat in the buffet – at separate tables. Then we're boarding the Milan express. Only a few stops and we'll arrive at Sion.'

'And when we get there?'

'We check all the hotels until we've found Paula and Philip. I don't like them being on their own in that area. It will be crawling with Brazil's thugs.'

'And after we've found Paula and Philip – assuming we do?' asked Marler.

'We try to locate this ground station which controls the satellite orbiting over our heads. When we have found it – because we will.' Newman said decisively -'then we destroy the damned thing.'

'There may be a little opposition that will object to that.'

'Then we destroy the opposition.' Newman glanced out of the window. 'In a minute we'll be coming into Cornavin.'

Monica, baggy-eyed, looked up from her desk, astounded as Tweed entered his office.

'This is magic.' she said. 'I had a message from Beck to say you were catching the first early flight out of Zurich. You're three hours early…'

'Sometimes a little magic is called for – it catches people on the wrong foot. Present company excluded, I emphasize.' He had taken off his scarf and coat, dropped his bag by his desk. 'Where is Howard?'

'Just back from Downing Street.'

'How many times has he been to the holy of holies?'

'Three times in the past twenty-four hours.'

'Too many visits. He'll just wind up the PM. I'll have to go to perishing Downing Street myself, calm them all down.'

'You've heard about the rumours? They're coming in from all over the world – including Tokyo.'

'Yes.' Tweed was not in a forgiving mood. He looked up from his desk as Howard came in like a whirlwind. 'Have you been wasting your time chatting up the PM?'

Howard, normally immaculately dressed, was a sartorial mess. The jacket of his business suit was crumpled, and the creases in his trousers were still there, but only just. His tie was askew and he'd unbuttoned his collar. Tweed, by comparison, was a fashion plate.

'Thank God you're back… Never expected to see you so… soon,' Howard almost stuttered. 'You don't know what's happening.'

'Actually, I do.'

'Downing Street is in a frenzy. Washington's gone berserk. Paris is running round in circles…'

'Calm down,' said Tweed quietly. 'And do sit down. You are moving round like a tango dancer on cocaine.'

Howard flopped into the largest armchair, arms hanging loose over the arms, staring at Tweed with a glazed look as he went on.

'It's international. It's everywhere. The world has gone mad.'

'So let's not go mad with it,' Tweed said in the same calm voice. 'You're flaked out, exhausted. I'm going to see the PM, put him right about a few things.'

'You'll be careful.'

'No, I won't. I'll be blunt – blunt as the notorious instrument the police talk about when someone's murdered.'

'Oh, dear, you'll add fuel to the flames.'

'Exactly. I'll be taking along a can of petrol with me.'

'How is everyone?' Howard asked in an off-hand tone.

'Thought you'd never ask. They are your people. Newman nearly got killed but is all right. Paula and Philip were engaged in a firefight in Geneva. The outcome was six dead bodies – fortunately not theirs among them. The thugs involved in both cases belong to Leopold Brazil.'

'Brazil?' Howard repeated in a dazed voice.

'Yes, Brazil – the individual, not the country. The nice man the White House, Downing Street, and the Elysee hold champagne dinners to entertain. That Brazil.'

'You're sure?' Howard bleated.

'No, I'm not sure, I'm certain. I have had it from the horse's mouth. The horse in this case being Brazil. Get that camp bed out in your office, throw some blankets over it, flop there, and go to sleep. Monica will come and tuck you up.'

'That won't be necessary.' Howard forced himself to stand up. 'I'll do as you say. How are things out on the front in Europe?'

'You don't want to know. They are – and will be -taken care of. Bedtime, Howard…'

Monica glared at Tweed as soon as they were alone. Tuck him up, indeed!'

'I thought that would get you.' Tweed told her mischievously. 'Now get the PM's private secretary on the phone. You speak to him. Tell him I'll be arriving at Downing Street thirty minutes from now to talk to the PM. If there's any protest tell him in that case I won't be coming. Now or ever.'

'That's pretty tough.' she said, reaching for the phone. 'I feel pretty tough.'

In his office in Geneva, where he had earlier returned from Zurich, Bill Franklin picked up the phone. It was Lebrun, his man watching Cornavin Station.

'Yes, what is it?' Franklin enquired amiably.

'The Zurich express came in five minutes ago. One of the passengers who alighted was Robert Newman. He went into the buffet and is eating breakfast. Another intriguing point is three other men off the express came in by themselves at intervals. It's early and there are normally hardly any customers in the buffet at this time. I think they may all be together.'

'What types are the other three men?'

'I wouldn't like to cross swords with any of them.' Lebrun replied. 'And I'm pretty sure they're waiting to board the Milan express, due shortly. In about half an hour.'

'What makes you think that, Lebrun? Rather a wild assumption.'

'Not so wild. I wandered into the buffet and Newman was studying a rail timetable – open at the page with trains for Milan.'

'And he let you see what he was looking at?' Franklin asked sceptically.

'Well, I only paused a moment by his table.'

'A pause which Newman would notice. He deliberately let you see the page he was looking at. I must get moving. Get me two tickets for Milan – one first-class, one second-class. Wait on the platform and hand the tickets to me when I arrive. I'll be boarding the Milan express myself. Better go to the ticket office now…'

Franklin sat thinking for a short time just after the call had ended. Milan? He doubted it. He had just discovered Leopold Brazil had a villa in the mountains outside Sion. 'I'd better go and see what's happening in that part of the world.' he said to himself as he got up to collect an already packed case from a cupboard.

Newman didn't give a damn who else boarded the express. He could find out by sending Marler on a patrol along the train once it began moving. So, as his team entered other coaches, he didn't see Bill Franklin, carrying a suitcase and wearing a trench coat, climb aboard near the back. But Franklin saw him disappearing inside a coach midway along.

Fifteen seconds before the train left Cornavin another passenger entered a coach at the very rear. Wearing a