thrust them into his coat pockets. He started climbing his staircase to heaven.
Despite the icy surface of the worn steps he climbed steadily. One advantage of the eerie quiet was he would hear anyone who might be about. He counted as he climbed. It was sixty-eight steps to the top. He paused on the last step, listening, looking. A brand-new Yamaha motorcycle was perched against a wall. A BS registration number – Basel.
Nield knew he was gazing into Martins-platz, a small cobbled square enclosed by old buildings, hidden away from the city. He walked into the deserted but claustrophobic square. No sign of anyone. He knew the address he was looking for was just beyond where the motorcycle with the large saddle had been left. The heavy wooden door was closed, but when he turned the handle slowly it opened. Warmth flooded out to meet him. He pushed the door open slowly, soundlessly. The hinges were well oiled. A dim lamp illuminated the interior. He walked in a few paces and then stopped.
An old woman wearing a dark ankle-length dress sat in a chair, her grey hair tied back in a bun. An ape of a man had been holding a lighted cigarette close to her right eye. The ape was very big, very fat, clad in a black anorak, black slacks, a black beret on his melon-like head. He spun round, holding in his other hand a Magnum pistol, pointing it at Nield. The end of the muzzle seemed like the mouth of a cannon. Like so many fat men, the ape moved swiftly. Dropping the cigarette on the stone floor he leapt forward. The barrel of his weapon struck at Nield's head. He moved slightly so the barrel slid off the side of his face, but the force of the blow made him dizzy. The ape grasped him by the collar, threw him back with a vicious shove. He went backwards, dipped his head at the last moment so his shoulders took the impact of colliding with the stone wall. His legs gave way and he sank down, back resting against the wall.
He felt groggy, but was aware of the ape's hand feeling under his armpits, sliding down his sides, then down his legs, searching for a concealed weapon. Nield was not carrying a gun. Dimly, he saw the ape straighten up, his body enormous. He spat at Nield.
'Whoever you are, you can have the pleasure of watching me torture this stupid woman.' The accent was heavily American. 'I will then deal with you after she's talked – which she will.'
Nield tried to straighten up, sagged again. His vision was beginning to clear. He was in a square stone-walled room. The warmth came from an old ceramic wood- burning stove in a corner. The ape grinned, sharp teeth showing behind his thick lips. He lit a fresh cigarette, held it between his fingers, went over to the old woman, the burning end pointed towards her. On his way, he shoved the door closed.
21
Rage was growing like a fire inside Nield. It started the adrenalin flowing. The burning end of the cigarette was close to the old woman's eyeball. He eased himself a little higher up the wall. He dared not move much – it would attract the attention of the ape. His right hand crept up over his side. He leaned forward a few inches. His hand was behind his back. The ape became aware of movement. He turned round. In one hand he was still holding the huge gun.
Nield withdrew the stiletto-like knife from the sheath strapped round the top of his back. The stiletto flew across the room with great force and speed. It embedded itself in the throat of the ape. For a moment nothing happened. Then the ape dropped the cigarette, followed by the gun. One hand reached up to the knife, then fell to his side. He gurgled. Blood began to stream down his neck. His massive weight fell forward, his head and neck striking the stone floor. The hilt of the knife was rammed upwards, the point of the stiletto projected out of the back of his neck. He lay still.
Nield let out a deep breath of relief. The door opened. Marler came into the room, Walther automatic in his hand. He was followed by Tweed, Newman and Butler. Newman took in the situation in a glance, ran to help Nield who climbed shakily to his feet. He stiffened both his legs as Newman held on to him. He managed a weak smile.
'In the films they'd say, 'What kept you?''
'Who is this lady?' Tweed asked quietly, going to her. 'No idea.'
Tweed looked at her carefully. In her seventies, he estimated. Her face was lined, her hair was thinning. But her hazel eyes were clear as she looked back at him. He laid a gentle hand on her shoulder. He smiled sympathetically.
'It's all right now. Do you understand me?'
'I understand.'
'What's happened?' Tweed asked Nield.
Clearing his throat, Nield told them, in as few words as possible, his experience since reaching the top of the stone staircase. As he listened, Tweed bent down, checked the neck pulse of the body on the floor. He turned round, mouthed the word 'Dead' without saying it aloud.
'Good,' said Nield with grim satisfaction.
He then continued telling them what had happened up to the moment his knife had flown through the air like a dart. Marler whispered to him, 'Bull's-eye.'
'So,' Nield concluded, 'after the ape hits the floor you lot come charging in when you're not needed.' He grinned. 'I'm joking.'
'Could you tell me, please, who you are?' Tweed asked, turning back to the old woman, still sitting in the chair.
'You haven't said anything to me,' she told him in a clear voice.
'General Guisan,' Marler said suddenly.
'So, you are the right man,' the old lady replied. 'Kurt said you would come. You have come.'
'I come with bad news,' Marler said quietly.
'I know.' The old woman put a hand on her heart. 'I felt it here. Kurt, my husband, is dead.'
'I am sorry. He died very quickly.'
'I am Helga Irina,' she went on. 'Many years ago I was Russian. I met Kurt in the cheap bar. We fell in love then. He was clever man. He helps me to escape from Moscow. Terrible life. He takes me out to Finland. Secret route. To Helsinki. Then to West Germany. We come here, his home. We marry. He was the great man. He tell me if he loses his life his friend, the Englishman, comes. I know him if he says General Guisan. This KGB kind of man on floor follows Kurt. One day in a bar Kurt talks to his Swiss friend. This KGB man sees them. When Kurt goes his friend is made drunk by this man. Barman tells Kurt later. In his drink friend tells Kurt has wife, Irina. Me. Must be how torture man found me. The week later, after friend of Kurt is dragged from river, his head smashed.'
'Can I make sure you get home safely?' Tweed suggested. 'You have had a terrible time. I am sorry.'.
'No!' Irina jumped up from the chair quickly, looked at Marler. 'Kurt tells me give the little black book to the Englishman who says General Guisan.'
She staggered as she began to walk. Tweed grasped her arm, helped her to walk. After a few paces her legs moved normally. She went to the wall to one side of the stove, her gnarled right hand reaching up to a section of the wall. Her fingers worked with surprising agility, Tweed noticed, as she slowly eased out a stone which appeared to be firmly embedded in the wall. She seemed to read Tweed's thoughts.
'I was seamstress in Russia. I am seamstress in Basel when Kurt has married me. It gives me good money to live with.'
She had released the oblong stone which Tweed took from her. Behind where the stone had rested was a cavity. Reaching inside, she brought out a small black book with a faded cover. She walked across the room, handed it to Marler. Behind her back Tweed took out his wallet, extracted ten one-thousand-franc Swiss banknotes, put them in his coat pocket.
'Thank you,' said Marler, taking the notebook from her.
'That is what I would never give to the torture man – no matter what he does to me. Kurt says it has important information.'
'I must pay you the fee Kurt earned.'
'No! It is his gift for you.'
Staring at Marler, Tweed jerked his head towards the door. It was a gesture Marler grasped
