Precipice

4.30 a.m. or 5.30 local time.'

'It will be as black as the hole of Calcutta.' Monica shouted at him in despair.

'You've forgotten something. Swiss pilots will fly me there. They know their own airspace better than any pilots in the world. And the moonlight will help.'

'It may not. The moon is often obscured by clouds.'

'It won't be. I am lucky. Now you have a lot to do.' He counted off items on his fingers. 'First, call Jim Corcoran at Heathrow, tell him when I wish to fly out to Sion. Ask him to alert the aircrew. The present for Newman is downstairs, just brought up from Send on my orders. It is in a jeep, carefully packaged, and George is guarding it along with the men who brought it up. Have it sent to Heathrow so it can be put aboard the jet. It is to be handled only by the men who brought it up from Send.'

'Not an atom bomb, I hope.' said Monica, half-joking, half-fearful.

'Of course not. Although when used it may well have a similar effect. Check that the aircrew agree they can take off at 3 a.m. Warn Corcoran that a delicate cargo has to be put aboard, that it is on the way, ask him to warn the crew that it – the cargo – is perfectly safe, that it is weapons which have not been armed.'

'Is that all?'

'By no means. Get Corcoran to phone you the moment the jet is airborne, then phone Beck. Tell him I'm aboard, that I will be landing at the agreed ETA at Sion. Ask him to warn the airfield to be ready to receive the jet when the pilot contacts the control tower. Above all, do not phone Beck until I am in the air, beyond recall.'

'Beck will blow a gasket.'

'He may, but he'll do all he can.'

'That sounds ominous.'

'Nothing is certain in this world. We are all, at some time, poised on the edge of a precipice.'

Leaving Park Crescent, Tweed drove himself through the night to Professor Grogarty's quarters in Harley Street. He had, earlier, phoned Grogarty to see if it would be convenient for him to call on him. Grogarty's response had been typical.

'Of course. Where do you think that I would be at this hour? Asleep? Surely you know by now I – like you – do my best work when the rest of the world sleeps

Grogarty answered Tweed's ringing of the bell himself and once again his pince-nez was askew. Oh, Lord, thought Tweed, I'll spend my time trying to decide which eye to focus on.

'Have a brandy.' Grogarty said jovially as he escorted his guest to a comfortable armchair. 'Yes, I know you rarely drink, but just a small one. I hate drinking on my own.'

'If you insist.'

'I do, sir!'

Tweed glanced round the large, so well-furnished room while Grogarty poured the drinks. On an antique sideboard he saw a strange microscope, very squat and with a series of lenses. Grogarty caught his glance.

'Yes, that's what I examined those photos from French Guiana with. I designed it myself. Most of my equipment I have knocked up myself – can't get what I need from manufacturers. They tell me what I want is theoretically impossible.'

'Which spurs you on – to prove they're wrong.'

'Exactly. Your health, sir. Now what can I do for you this time?'

'Speaking of time, I won't take up much of yours. I'm due to fly off somewhere at 3 a.m.'

'You're always flying off somewhere. At 3 a.m.? Didn't know there were flights at that hour.'

'I invented one.'

'You would.'

Grogarty, a tall man, was standing with stooped shoulders. Tweed stared at him strangely, so strangely that his host reacted.

'Got a pimple on my nose?'

'Sorry, I just had an idea. Forget it. Now…'

Tweed described concisely – but vividly – what he had experienced in the computer room at Park Crescent. He ended by telling his host that the three operators inside the room were dead.

'This happened, but I wanted to check with you. Does it make sense?'

'Most certainly.' Grogarty had settled himself in another armchair facing Tweed. 'Nowadays we are cursed with TV pictures – and sound – transmitted from satellites orbiting the earth. Scientists have become the devil's disciples. They don't care what happens so long as they can make their names designing some infernal contraption. Mobile phones – so we no longer have privacy, personal computers which can be operated from the home, et cetera, et cetera. But what is the result of all this so-called scientific advance? The world is being brought so close together everyone has become neighbours. Pressures are increased on the human mind -which can only take so much. I am a scientist but I know the world would be a safer place if most of the top scientists were shot.'

'Coming from you, that is an original thought,' Tweed remarked.

'A thought I suspect you have already had. The core of the danger is this – scientists are so intent on making a name for themselves in their chosen field that they never give a moment's thought beforehand about the consequences of what they plan to invent. They are amoral.'

'A profound thought.'

'Also, many think they are kings of the earth. They will mould the future. I have an old-fashioned idea that it is governments who are expected to guide us out of danger.'

'You would advocate controlling science?' Tweed suggested.

'I have done, sir! Many times. At secret seminars which receive no publicity. I said earlier all the world has become neighbours. Where, in private life, does serious trouble so often start? With your neighbour – over the garden fence. Now the bloody boffins are creating a world where all the nations will be at each other's throats. I suspect the man behind what you described as happening at Park Crescent – and all over the planet -is bent on wiping out modern science. Especially in communications, which bring nations too close to each other. I drink to him.'

Grogarty raised his glass, swallowed more brandy, smiled at his guest.

'You don't look shocked.'

'I'm not.'

'So, as I have explained – only briefly – what is happening is perfectly possible, given the murderous advance of science. I use the word carefully. Mentally, they are murdering our civilization, reducing us to the servants of infernal machines. I also believe you are set on countering this terrible menace.'

'I am doing what I can,' said Tweed, standing up to go.

'Then it will be done.'

Brazil had felt relieved when the helicopter landed him inside the perimeter fence surrounding the complex on the Kellerhorn. He immediately held a meeting with Luigi in his subordinate's ornately furnished office. Weird tapestries and old posters decorated the walls. The chairs arranged round a circular table of solid glass were stark, modern, uncomfortable.

Craig had come into the room, was wriggling his bulk trying to find an easy position. He gave up, leaned forward, and rested his thick elbows on the glass.

'Congratulations to you, Luigi.' was Brazil's first remark. 'You did a splendid job.' He looked at Craig. 'You have heard the news?'

'Had my ear glued to the radio. Chaos everywhere. Just what we hoped for. What's next?'

'I will personally send the second signal tomorrow, the one which will totally smash the West's morale. That will enable other events elsewhere to take place. Then we evacuate this establishment – after destroying the equipment.'

'What about those pesky scientists and their grouching women?' Craig wanted to know.

'That is your job. After the signal is sent you will cut off the air-conditioning system to the houses they live and work in.'

'Cut it off?' Craig raised a thick eyebrow. 'You had those old cabins sealed off so not a bit of outside air could get in. Cut off the air-conditioning and they're dead in thirty minutes.'

'That.' Brazil said quietly, 'is the idea. To coin a cliche, dead men tell no tales.'

'True.' Craig agreed. 'Just tell me tomorrow when to do it.'