black beret and glasses with plain lenses, he chose a corner seat, parked his bag on the next seat in the otherwise empty compartment. Archie was unrecognizable. He had even got rid of his half-smoked cigarette stub.
Much earlier, during the night, he had been standing in Zurich Hauptbahnhof when Beck's army of detectives had invaded the station. The detective who checked his identity saw no reason to be suspicious of the mild- mannered little man.
Archie had immediately grasped why the round-up of a number of ugly-looking characters was taking place. He had rushed to his small hotel nearby, used mostly by travelling salesmen, had paid his bill, collected his bag, and returned to the main station. There he had resumed his vigil.
Archie could wait for ever without becoming impatient or tiring. His persistence had been rewarded when eventually he had seen Newman boarding the first express for Geneva. He had then boarded the same train himself and had gone to sleep until shortly before it arrived in Comavin. Now he was aboard yet another train.
Anton Marchat, he thought as he sat in his corner. I'm sure they are forgetting Marchat. I will go to see him myself when this train reaches Sion…
Marler had not yet begun his patrol of the express to check who was on board when Newman, in a compartment by himself, heard the door opening. He slipped his right hand inside his jacket, grasped the Smith amp; Wesson as he looked up.
'No cause for alarm, Bob.'
Bill Franklin was grinning when he entered the compartment and closed the door. He dumped his bag on a seat and sat opposite Newman. He carefully folded his trench coat and placed it on top of the bag.
'Hope you don't object to the intrusion. You're like lightning with a gun.'
Momentarily annoyed that Franklin realized what he had done, Newman recalled his new companion had once been in the army.
'You just never know.' he responded.
'You never know.' Franklin agreed. 'Mind if I light a cigar?'
'Go ahead. I'd have thought you'd have smelt the smoke from the cigarette I've just extinguished.'
'I did. But it's polite to ask.' Franklin said with a smile.
Newman had heard that Franklin played the devil with the ladies. He could understand the reason for his success with his amorous adventures. Franklin had an easy manner, was courteous, smiled a lot.
'How did you know I was on this train?' he asked suddenly.
'Because I have a good team of detectives. I've had one man watching the airport, another down at Anne- masse, a sleepy station on Geneva's southern frontier with France. Just the place where Brazil would bring in his thugs – and he did. Then a third man watching Cornavin. He spotted you.'
'So you decided you'd come along for the ride?' Newman enquired, watching Franklin's reaction closely.
'No. I decided you needed all the back-up you can get. I don't think you know what's waiting for you in the Valais.'
'What is waiting for me?'
'At least forty of Brazil's professional thugs have passed through Geneva, then boarded a train for the east.' He paused as, having trimmed the end of his cigar, Franklin passed a match backwards and forwards, getting it alight to his satisfaction. 'And undoubtedly we missed some of them.'
'So you've come as back-up?'
Franklin heaved his case across to the seat next to Newman. Unlocking it, he lifted the lid, exposing a neatly folded jacket. He lifted the jacket after glancing into the deserted corridor. Nestling on a pair of pyjamas was a Heckler amp; Koch MP5 9mm sub-machine-gun.
'You don't believe in doing things by halves,' Newman commented as Franklin quickly put back the jacket, closed the case. He took a long puff at his cigar.
'No, I don't believe in doing things by halves. You'll know that little baby has a rate of fire of six hundred and fifty rounds per minute. And I've got plenty of spare mags.'
'I'd call you a pessimist,' Newman said with a smile.
'I'd call myself a realist. We're approaching a major battlefield. You know Brazil has a villa up the Col de Roc, overlooking a glacier? Above Sion.'
'No, I didn't.' 'Had it built to his own design. It's equipped with a high-power radio transmitter. Yes, Bob, that's what is ahead of us. A major battlefield.'
35
Tweed returned to Park Crescent two hours after leaving for Downing Street. He walked into his office, took off his coat, put it on a hanger after putting his gloves on his desk. Monica watched him with growing impatience, sure that he was being tantalizing. Then she saw his pensive expression, realized he was thinking. He sat down behind his desk, still with the abstracted look on his face.
'Would you like some coffee?' she ventured.
'Yes, please.' He paused. 'After I've told you what happened.'
'The PM is still at sixes and sevens,' she guessed.
'No, not any more. I talked to him pretty frankly and he listened. By the time I'd finished he'd calmed down. He can even take a decision now.'
'And did he?'
'Yes. He agreed to several suggestions I made. First he's alerted the Rapid Reaction Force to be ready to fly to Europe. Then he phoned the German Chancellor and told him to have the airfields ready to receive it when it lands.'
'Told him? Told the German Chancellor?'
'That's what I said. Actually the Chancellor was glad to have someone taking a decision. I also suggested the PM refused any calls from the President at the White House, telling him to inform the President the PM was not available, that his Private Secretary should take the calls.'
'What was the idea of that?'
'To stop Washington spreading their frenzied mood.
The White House is in the greatest panic ever known. All in all I've poured oil on the troubled waters.'
'Not petrol, as you told Howard?'
'That was just to shut him up. How is Reginald coming on with his computer toys?'
'He's still upstairs with his team. They're frantic.'
'They would be. I'll pop upstairs and sort them out. If a pot of coffee was ready when I get back I'd be most grateful…'
Tweed strolled up to the next floor. The door to the computer room was open, lights were flashing. He went in to find Reginald, long hair trailing down over his neck, staring fixedly at the master computer. His two assistants seemed equally hypnotized by their equipment.
'Getting anywhere?' Tweed asked.
'I'll say we are.' Reginald's bulging eyes gleamed as he turned to look at Tweed. 'The trouble is we can't cope with the amount of data coming in.'
'Data? The rubbish you're being fed? Nothing major has actually happened so far.'
'You're wrong, sir. Look at the screen. It's reporting extensive troop movements converging on Moscow from all sides.'
'Do the satellites confirm that? They'd see those movements.'
'Well, not yet.'
'Don't you find that puzzling?' Tweed asked gently.
'Modern communications are a complicated business,' said Reginald, sounding pretentious.
'You haven't answered my question.'
'We are getting reports from all over the world…'
'I did query whether the satellites confirm these reports.'
'Well, Washington may be sitting on what they're getting from that source.'
