Part 6 (1/2)

'The computer came up with zero,' Monica added.

'Computer?' An odd expression flickered behind Tweed's gla.s.ses and was then gone. He relaxed again. 'Mason, from the moment you leave this building I want you to watch your back. Especially when you've arrived in Switzerland.'

'Anything particular in mind?'

'We've already had one murder - Franz Oswald. People will kill for what I've got in that locked drawer...' He looked at Monica. 'Or has the courier from the Ministry of Defence collected it?'

'Not so far...'

'They must be mad.' Tweed drummed his thick fingers on the desk. 'The sooner their experts examine it...'

'Charlton is a careful type,' Monica reminded him. 'He's very conscious of security. My bet is the courier will arrive as soon as night has fallen.'

'You're probably right. I shan't leave my office until the thing is off our hands. Now, Mason,' he resumed, 'another unknown factor is the att.i.tude of the Swiss authorities - the Federal police and their Military Intelligence. They could prove hostile...'

'What on earth for?' Monica protested.

'It worries me - that Lear executive jet Mason watched leaving Schwechat. The fact that it bore a flag on its side with a white cross on a red ground, the Swiss flag. Don't accept anyone as a friend. Oh, one more thing. We've reserved a room at the Bellevue Palace in Berne.'

Mason whistled. 'Very nice. VIP treatment. Howard will do his nut when he finds out...'

'It's convenient,' Tweed said shortly. 'I may join you later.'

Monica had trouble keeping her face expressionless. She knew that Tweed had his own reservation at the Bellevue Palace a few days hence: she had booked the room herself. Tweed, naturally secretive, was playing this one closer to the chest than ever before. He wasn't even letting his own operative know about his movements. For G.o.d's sake, he couldn't suspect Mason?

'Why convenient?' enquired Mason.

'It's central,' Tweed said shortly and left it at that. 'We're getting things moving,' he went on with that distant look in his eyes, 'placing the pieces on the board. One thing I'd dearly like to know - where is Manfred Seidler now?'

Basle, 13 February 1984. 0?. Seidler still felt hunted. He had spent the whole weekend inside Erika Stahel's apartment and the walls were starting to close in on him. He heard a key being inserted in the outer door and grabbed for his 9-mm Luger, a weapon he had concealed from Erika.

When she walked in, carrying a bag of groceries, the Luger was out of sight under a cus.h.i.+on. She closed the door with her foot and surveyed the newspapers spread out over the table. She had dashed out first thing to get them for him. Now she had dashed back from the office - only one hour for lunch - to prepare him some food.

'Anything in the papers?' she called out from the tiny kitchen.

'Nothing. Yet. You don't have to make me a meal...'

'Won't take any time at all. We can talk while we eat...'

He looked at the newspapers on the table. The Berner Zeitung Berner Zeitung, the main Zurich morning, the Journal de Geneve Journal de Geneve and the Basle locals. He lifted one of them and underneath lay the executive case. He'd made up his mind. and the Basle locals. He lifted one of them and underneath lay the executive case. He'd made up his mind.

Since he was a youth Seidler had involved himself in unsavoury activities - always to make money. Brought up by an aunt in Vienna - his mother had been killed by the Russians, his father had died on the Eastern Front - Seidler had been one of the world's wanderers. Now, when he had the money, when he felt like settling down, the whole system was trying to locate him He felt a great affection for Erika because she was such a decent decent girl. He laid the table, listened to her chatting with animation while they ate, and only brought up the subject over coffee. girl. He laid the table, listened to her chatting with animation while they ate, and only brought up the subject over coffee.

'Erika, if anything happens to me I want you to have this...'

He opened the executive case, revealing the neatly stacked Swiss banknotes inside. Her face, which always showed the pink flush Seidler had observed when women were pregnant, went blank as she stood up. Her deft fingers rifled through several of the stacks at random and replaced them. She stared at him.

'Manfred, there has to be half a million francs here...'

'Very close. Take them and put them into a safety deposit- not at the bank where you work. Call a cab. Don't walk through the streets with that - not even in Basle...'

I can't take this.' She grasped his hand and he saw she was close to tears. 'I'm not interested - you're the only one I'm interested in.'

'So, bank it for both of us. Under your own name. Under no circ.u.mstances under my name,' he warned.

'Manfred..' She eased herself into his lap. 'Who are you frightened of? Did you steal this money?'

'No!' He became vehement to convince her. 'It was given to me for services rendered. Now they no longer need me. They may regard me as a menace because of what I know. I shouldn't stay here much longer...'

'Stay as long as you like. Who are these people?'

'One person in particular. Someone who wields enormous power. Someone who may be able to use even the police to do his bidding.'

'The Swiss police?' Her tone was incredulous. 'You look so tired, so worn. You're over-estimating this person's power. If it will make you feel any better I will put that case in a safety deposit - providing you keep the key...'

'All right.' He knew it was the only condition under which she'd agree to do what he asked. They'd find some place inside the apartment to hide the key. 'You'd better hurry. You'll be late for work,' he told her.

She hugged him as though she'd never let go. He almost had tears in his own eyes. So decent, so nice. If only he'd met her years ago ...'

Inside their bedroom at the Penta Hotel, situated amid the vast enclave of Heathrow Airport, Newman checked his watch again. Nancy had gone out hours ago on her own - she knew how he hated shopping expeditions. They still had plenty of time to catch Swissair Flight SR 837 which departed 19.00 hours and reached Geneva 21.30 hours local time. The door opened and she caught him looking at his watch.

'I've been hours, I know,' she said cheerfully. 'Think we were going to miss our flight? Have I enjoyed myself...'

'You've probably bought up half Fortnum's...'

'Just about. It's a marvellous shop - and they'll post off purchases anywhere in the world.' She looked at him coyly as she hung up her sheepskin in the wardrobe. 'I'm not showing you the bills. G.o.d, I love London ...'

'Then why don't we settle down here?'

'Robert, don't start that again. And you've been out. Your coat is on a different hanger...'

'For a breath of fresh air. Tinged with petrol fumes. You're cut out to be a detective.'

'Doctors have to be observant, darling.' She looked at the bed. 'Do we eat now - or later?'

'Later. We have things to do.' He wrapped his arms round her slim waist. 'Afterwards we'll just have a drink. Dinner on the plane. Swissair food is highly edible ...'

Belted in his seat aboard an earlier Swissair flight, Lee Foley glanced out of the window as the aircraft left Heathrow behind and broke through the overcast into a sunlit world. He was sitting at the rear of the first-cla.s.s section.

Foley had reserved this particular seat because it was a good viewing point to observe his fellow-pa.s.sengers. Unlike them, he had refused any food or drink when the steward came to put a cloth on his fold-out table.

'Nothing,' he said abruptly.

'We have a very nice meal as you can see from the menu, sir.'

'Take the menu, keep the meal...'