superhighway.'
'Plus.' Philip added, 'the most alarming rumours from Moscow. That the city is ringed with advancing troops – crack divisions. And a General Ivan Marov is supposed to have issued a proclamation closing the frontiers of Russia from Vladivostok on the Pacific to Belarus in the west. The President, it's alleged, is ill, has been taken to a clinic.'
'Terror tactics to unnerve the West.' Newman commented. 'But really it's developed into a duel between two men – Tweed versus Brazil.'
'You have a plan for destroying the ground station?' Marler enquired. 'If so, I ought to know the details.'
'We do have a plan.' Newman assured him, 'a plan largely devised from something Philip observed when he was on the Kellerhorn with Paula. They worked out the plan between them. I have approved it. Give you the details after Philip and Paula have left.'
'Bob.' Paula said emphatically, 'when did you last get some sleep?'
'Can't remember.'
'I thought not. As soon as we leave you get some kip. You can tell Marler the plan when you wake up. You'll be fresher. Marler can stay on guard while you're comatose which – from the look of you – you will be the moment your head hits the pillow.'
'Where are Butler and Nield?' Marler asked.
'Prowling the streets.' Newman replied. 'Both wearing black leather outfits and helmets like the Leather Bombers, and riding Fireblades. They're checking for signs of the opposition. Butler is keeping an eye on that airfield.'
'We could shoot them.' Marler objected.
'We thought of that. Both Harry and Pete have red crosses painted on the fronts and backs of their helmets.'
'And where are Paula and Philip off to?' persisted Marler, who always liked to be in the complete picture.
Paula had taken out her. 32 Browning, was checking its action. Philip had just slipped the mag out of his Walther, examined the weapon, then rammed the mag back inside the butt before returning the gun to his hip holster.
'They're on their way to try and find a man called Anton Marchat,' Newman told him.
'Last seen at Devastoke Cottage in Dorset.' Marler recalled.
'When you find him.' Newman went on, 'ask him if he knows anything about the Kellerhorn, about the ground station.'
'Do our best.' said Philip as he got up and left with Paula. 'We're walking there.'
The streets of Sion were deserted and silent after dark. Philip, who had studied the street plan, guided them in the right direction. Paula realized they were heading for the enormous hunk of rock with an ancient building on its summit which dominated the town.
'How are you getting on with Eve, Philip?' Paula asked. 'Or would you sooner not talk about it? You haven't seen her for awhile.'
'I've decided she's no good for me. She's a consummate liar. I've detected that, even when I've been glad to be with her. One part of my brain seems to function in spite of the grief for Jean. I know now my feelings for Eve were an infatuation, a dangerous one.'
'So you're going to ditch her?'
'One way of putting it.' Philip laughed without humour. 'I think women are more realistic than men about women. More ruthless in their assessment, too. If they've got brains, and you're fully equipped with them.'
'I didn't put that very nicely.' She paused. 'Philip, we are being followed.'
'I know.' They rounded a corner. 'Quick! Get into that doorway. Keep perfectly still. Don't say a thing…'
As they huddled into the alcove-like porch Philip took out his Walther. Paula already had her Browning in her hand. They waited, listening for the sound of approaching footsteps.
Paula found the atmosphere eerie. The side-street was as black as coal tar. The nearest street lamp was a long way away. The silence was oppressive, like a heavy blanket pressing down on her. They went on waiting, two figures like waxworks, neither moving a muscle.
When five minutes had passed Philip told Paula in a whisper to stay where she was. He walked quietly out into the street, peered round the corner. No one. Nothing. Not a sound. He went back to the doorway.
'I don't think it was our imagination, but whoever it was he's gone. So let's get moving. It could be a relevation – talking to the highly elusive Mr Marchat.'
40
'Well.' Philip remarked, as they neared the great rock, 'we should certainly recognize Marchat.'
'He looks a most unusual character,' Paula agreed.
They had both studied their photos of Anton Marchat before Marler had arrived in Newman's hotel room. His full face was hairless, very smooth skinned. The face was roundish, the eyes were the most compelling feature. They stared out of the photo from under heavy lids, as though hiding secrets. A gentle face but without the hint of a smile, and a note of determination about the chin. The hair had been smoothed down so it appeared as though it had been painted on his skull.
'What's this?' whispered Paula, grasping Philip's arm.
It was a place which encouraged whispering, as they huddled under the massive rock which sheered above them. As he had at frequent intervals, Philip suddenly looked back, plunged his hand inside the satchel looped over his shoulder.
'Don't be startled.' he hissed.
Turning round, he hurled the object in his hand at the place where he had seen the stooped shadow. The stun grenade landed, the shadow vanished behind a wall. The grenade exploded. The weird silence was broken by the sound of its hideous crack. Philip stood quite still, the Walther now in his hand.
'Have you gone mad?' Paula whispered. 'You could kill a pedestrian.'
'I definitely saw the shadow of a man following us. He won't be so keen to follow us now. Don't forget that Newman believes The Motorman is in Sion. We don't want to lead him to Marchat.'
'I suppose you know what you're doing.'
'I do know. We're close to the street where Marchat is living.. .'
Paula stared ahead, her eyes now well accustomed to the dark since clouds had obscured the moon when they had started out. A small colony of ancient houses had come into view and she realized what old Sion had once been like.
Crouched under the sheer rock face towering above them the old houses stood almost shoulder to shoulder, were built of wood, two storeys high with sloping shingle roofs. One house was even perched on a mass of rock with a wooden staircase leading up to it. The windows all had shutters which were closed. Here and there was a gleam of light where shutters met, but some of the old houses were empty, Paula felt sure. They were a world -a century – away from modern Sion.
'Which one?' Paula whispered.
'They have numbers.'
Philip shone a pencil torch briefly on a square of wood with a number, just visible, carved into the square.
'Number 14 is where Marchat lives. It must be that one standing back between two other houses.'
His pencil torch flashed on and off quickly.
'This is it. Take a deep breath. Say a little prayer. We're a long way from Devastoke Cottage.'
Paula's heart sank when she saw there were no gleams of light showing between the shutters. Philip lifted the wooden knocker, shaped like the head of some animal, knocked quietly several times, waited.
They seemed to wait for ever and Paula, looking up, could have sworn the huge rock outcrop above them was leaning slowly further out. Then there was the sound of a key grinding in a lock and the heavy wooden door opened
