loaded it, slid it inside the holster, put his jacket on again and buttoned it up. He looked down at the holdalls.
'What other little treasures did you buy?'
'Besides the tracking equipment, Walthers for Harry and Pete when they arrive, grenades, and smoke bombs. He even had the type of trick grenade I threw at those four thugs off Regent Street just before the Ear was killed. Can't keep a secret these days. I thought the Park Crescent boffins had come up with something no one else had. Oh, and a dismantled Armalite rifle with sniper- scope for myself.'
'You haven't forgotten the Phantom, then? Hence the Armalite.'
'I haven't forgotten the Phantom,' Marler agreed in a monotone.
'Better get those holdalls out of sight,' Tweed suggested. 'Arthur Beck is on his way here. With some bad news.'
'I thought Marler had brought us enough bad news,' Newman commented.
'Just information,' Marler replied, picking up the holdalls. 'And now I think I'd better get back to my room and hide these away…'
'Well, at least Ronstadt and Co. don't know we're in the same city,' Tweed remarked.
'Be nice to keep it that way,' Paula agreed.
Tweed answered the phone, which had started ringing. When he ended the brief call he looked at the others.
'Marler left just in time. Beck is here. On his way up.'
Arthur Beck entered the room with a smile. He went to Paula and hugged her. There had always been a warm rapport between them. The smile disappeared as he took off his snow-flecked overcoat. Refusing Tweed's offer to have fresh coffee sent up, he sat down in an armchair. Beck was in his late forties, a man of medium height, well-built, with a trim moustache, his thick hair greying. He had a strong face and a hint of humour in his penetrating grey eyes.
`I'll get straight to it. I've been in touch with Lasalle of the French. DST. He told me a small army of American gangster types passed through Paris on their way to London. Some by Eurostar, some by plane. He sent me a number of copies of photos taken of them – sent them by courier. I distributed them to officers at three airports here – Zurich, Geneva and Basel. Just in case. A number of them flew into Basel yesterday. I have these photos of those we spotted.' He took an envelope from his pocket, handed it to Tweed, who took out the prints, glanced at them.
'These are familiar faces, Arthur. Rene also contacted me – or rather, I phoned him. He sent me these pics. By chance we know where they are here. Some at the Euler, others at the Victoria.'
'You do keep up with what is happening in this nasty world.'
'It's likely to get nastier.'
'The frustration is I can't do anything about it. Officers at Basel airport informed me they all carried diplomatic passports. Washington is beginning to worry me. What is happening?'
'Briefly,' Tweed began, 'America is the superpower on this planet. They're well aware of this. Sometimes great power increases a lust for more of it. History tells us this – Napoleon and Hitler are two prime examples.'
'Britain could be in big trouble.'
'We are. It's possible, from information received, to coin a cliche, we may be able to clip their wings here. We're certainly going to try.'
'Any help I can give, I am available. I'll be staying on in Basel. Police headquarters here is just across the street. Spiegelgasse 6. I'll make it my temporary HQ. I notice, Newman, you have a bulge under your jacket.'
'I twisted a muscle, didn't I? Had to have it bandaged.'
'Do take care of that muscle,' Beck said with a dry smile. 'I must be going now. I rely on all of you to take care of Paula,' he said standing up, putting on his overcoat.
'Thank you. Actually Paula can take care of herself,' Paula responded with a smile.
'I'm sure she can.'
'He really had a wasted journey,' Newman remarked when Beck had gone.
'I don't agree,' Tweed objected. 'He now has a hint of what is really going on. And if we need him he's close by. He's a powerful ally. I'm going out now to a public phone box to call Monica. I don't want the call going through a hotel switchboard. Plus the fact that occasionally lines get crossed and someone inside the hotel, one of the guests, might listen in.'
'You'll have company,' Newman told him. 'No argument.'
Marler returned at that moment, knocking on the door. Newman held his Smith amp; Wesson behind his back until he unlocked the door, saw their visitor.
'Tweed wants to make a phone call outside,' he told Marler.
'Feeling like a breath of fresh air myself. I've fixed those direction finders in your cars. The doorman showed me where they were after I'd described both of you, told him when you arrived. You can see them later.'
'We'll have a quiet walk, said Tweed, putting on his coat. 'Lucky they don't know we're here.'
'It's bitterly cold out,' the concierge warned them as they arrived in the lobby.
'We're used to it,' Tweed joked. 'We come from England.'
The lobby was otherwise deserted. Whatever guests were in the hotel would be in the dining room. Marler walked through the revolving door first, stopped in the street, his eyes scanning in all directions. As Tweed, Paula and Newman followed him out he raised a hand to hold them back.
'Thought I saw a shadow disappear behind that corner.'
'Probably your imagination,' said Paula. 'Lord, it's icy cold. And mind your footing – the pavement is slippery.'
One of Basel's small green trams came into view. They heard its rumble as it disappeared, crossing the bridge. Tweed led the way, his hands in his pockets. The air hit them like a blow in the face. Their exposed skin began to freeze as soon as they left the hotel.
'We'll walk up almost to Market-platz,' Tweed told them. recall a phone box in a side street. Lucky I thought to bring plenty of Swiss coins with me.'
Once the rumble of the tram had died away a heavy silence fell. It reminded Paula of the silence of Romney Marsh when she had paused before reaching the Bunker. There was no one about anywhere. The street they were walking up was lined on both sides with old stone buildings. Paula felt hemmed in. She stopped suddenly.
'I can hear footsteps.'
'It's your imagination,' Marler said, repeating what she had said to him a few minutes before.
'Are you sure?' asked Tweed, who respected her acute hearing.
They had all stopped, between the glow of street lamps. She looked back, saw nothing. Marler shrugged impatiently.
'Can you hear them now?'
'No. They've stopped now we have.'
'I want to get to that phone,' Tweed said.
With Newman ahead of them, Paula and Tweed walked beside each other. Marler brought up the rear on his own. They reached the beginning of the large open market square with the Town Hall, elaborately decorated with the symbols of Swiss cantons, behind the huge open space which was the Market-platz. Marler hitched up the strap of the canvas bag he was carrying higher up his shoulder. They walked a short distance and Marler glanced back again. But he was watching for shadows, not listening for footsteps.
'We turn up this side street,' Tweed told them. 'It's the start of a very ancient part of Basel. And there's my phone box.'
Going inside the glass box, he extracted coins from his pocket, then at the right moment pressed numbers to call Park Crescent.
'Monica, Tweed here. I'm calling from a public phone. More secure…'
'I'm so glad to hear from you. Happenings. The Bomb Squad checked a key telephone exchange, found two huge bombs, made them harmless. Same thing at Mount Pleasant sorting office. But another bomb had been placed inside a major Knightsbridge store. Blew the first and second floors to smithereens. At least fifty dead and many injured. The number of casualties is rising. That's it.'
'Thank you. I'll keep in touch.'
