'Something has happened he must know about. Where has he gone to?'
'I have no idea, madame.'
'Has he caught a plane, a train, or left by car?'
'I really have no idea.'
'But he knew I was going to call. He must have left a forwarding address. Check your records.'
'He has left no forwarding address.' The concierge's tone was becoming brittle. 'I cannot help you.'
'You're useless!' she shouted at him, and broke the connection.
She packed in a rage, stuffing expensive clothes into her suitcase, ramming in the folds which protruded over the edges. The laundry could sort out the creases. They'd better make a perfect job of it or they'd hear from her.
'Damn and blast you, Bob Newman.' she muttered. 'Well, the price has just gone up to a hundred and fifty thousand pounds.'
The only items she took care with were the sheets she had later photocopied from the files in Gustav's cabinet. These she folded neatly, tucking them into a flap after taking out the canister of Mace gas Jose had given her. She put the Mace back last, zipped up her shoulder bag. It contained a fortune – with those sheets inside it.
After locking the case she sat down, crossed her legs, tapping one foot as she glanced at another fashion magazine, deciding what she would buy next. She never looked at the prices.
Aboard the jet at Kloten, Tweed sat patiently, reading a paperback. He had brought a collection from Shopville. Newman sat opposite him across the aisle, reading the latest reports.
Marov had sealed up Russia tight. No ships were allowed to leave the two ice-free ports – Murmansk in the west, Vladivostok on the Pacific coast. A new organization of secret police, called MOVAK, was patrolling the streets of Moscow and other major cities, rounding up the Mafia. Parliament had been dissolved, 'pending new elections'. No date was given for when they would be held.
Behind him Butler, in the most comfortable seat, normally occupied by Brazil when aboard, was fast asleep. Pete Nield, keeping an eye on him, was also reading a newspaper. Paula, seated in front of Tweed, was immersed in her own paperback. She had one more in reserve in her lap. Paula read swiftly. Across the aisle from her sat Philip. She glanced over, saw him gazing into space, put down her book, and went over to perch by him.
'Thinking of Eve? Or shouldn't I ask?' she said quietly.
'Lord, no! I mean I don't mind your asking,' he said hastily. 'I was thinking of Jean. The only other time I've passed through the Valais was when the two of us were returning from a holiday in Verona. Had a marvellous time. Jean loved Verona – so old. We explored the amphitheatre, which is in perfect condition. Then we had a day trip to Venice – Jean thought a day there was long enough, magical though it is. I agreed with her. We returned aboard an express from Milan. It was dusk when we passed through the Valais, so we didn't see much of it. We were moving on to spend the last few days in Geneva. Had kir royales at Les Armures. A wonderful evening – although I don't expect you to recall it with any pleasure after what we experienced there.'
'A pleasant memory.'
'Yes.'
Philip gulped, turned his face away, said he had to go to the loo.
Marler appeared from the crew cabin. Restless as ever, he had been strolling up and down the aisle, smoking a king-size, spending time chatting with the aircrew. He continued his slow patrol up and down the aisle, went back into the crew cabin.
He returned quickly, stopped by Tweed's seat.
'The pilot has just told me Brazil has arrived with a woman. They've boarded their jet. Expected to take off at 11 a.m. Destination still Bournemouth International.'
'How time has passed.'
Tweed glanced at his watch, surprised to see it was close to eleven in the morning. He closed his book, saw that Newman had heard what Marler had said.
'Here we go.' said Newman. 'The last phase, I suspect, of a long saga.'
'Let's wait until we're sure the control tower can let us take off soon after Brazil.' Tweed warned. 'This is a busy airport these days, even in March.'
'I agree.' said Newman. It's going to be tricky. We have to land at Bournemouth International soon after he has left for Grenville Grange – but not too soon after.'
'In fact.' Paula pointed out, 'this jet has to land when Brazil is far enough away not to see it landing with his name splashed along the fuselage.'
'You're right.' said Newman. 'It's going to be a nerve-racker.'
50
In the absence of Jose, Brazil held Igor's leash as the wolfhound bounded up the steps and inside the Lear jet. Igor loved flying. Sitting in his favourite seat, the dog peered out of the window as Brazil tied the leash to the arm of the seat.
He went back for his case and met Eve, wearing the trench coat, and carrying her own suitcase. She dumped the case, went and sat in the seat behind Brazil's swivel chair. The moment he occupied it the outer door was closed, the mobile staircase removed. The whine of the engines, already warming up, climbed to a roar. Brazil swung round in his seat to face her, checked his watch. 'Splendid! We're taking off exactly at eleven o'clock.' 'Great. You got your money from the bank?' 'Who said it was money?' He tapped the smaller executive case on his lap. 'Important documents.' he lied. He was carrying one million Swiss francs in high-denomination banknotes, the proceeds from the bearer bonds he had sold.
I don't believe you, she thought as she lit a cigarette, puffed a smoke-ring into the air. She stuck her finger through it. The steward appeared.
'I'll have a large vodka.' she called out.
'Bit early, isn't it?' suggested Brazil.
'It's never too early.'
The jet, tearing down the runway, became airborne, left behind the stands of fir trees surrounding that part of the airport, soared up through clouds, emerged above them into brilliant sunlight.
'One of these days,' Eve said, 'you'll have trouble with Igor. You're not supposed to take him into Britain like you do. Igor should spend six months in quarantine.'
'Oh, I'll put him inside his special crate before we land. The top compartment is stacked with boxes of Swiss chocolates in case it is ever opened by customs, which it won't be. They know who I am at Bournemouth International, that I'm a friend of the Prime Minister.'
'Where the hell's my vodka? You ought to change that steward, get someone who knows how to do his job.'
She had just spoken when the steward appeared with a large glass, the equivalent of three normal vodkas. Eve brightened up as he pulled out a tray, set down the glass inside a deep aperture.
'At least you remembered I wanted a large one.' she said ungraciously.
'Another is available as soon as Madame requires it.'
The steward knew her tastes. He couldn't understand how she could consume so much hard liquor and leave the aircraft sober. He gave her a smile, which she ignored. Never coddle the staff was her motto – if you did they became familiar with their betters.
She had folded her trench coat carefully because she was always fond of her latest purchase. Striding down Bahnhofstrasse after she'd bought it, hands in her pockets, she had felt like a general commanding his troops.
'When we land a car will be waiting for us.' Brazil informed her. 'We'll drive straight to Grenville Grange.'
'I hope you've alerted servants to clean up the place before we get there.' she responded.
'I did put in a phone call. Let's hope they got the date right.'
'Well, if they haven't, I'm not doing it. I wasn't hired to do menial work.'
'It would be a waste of your talents in other directions.' Brazil said, smiling.
