Part 31 (1/2)

In a chair offside with his back to the wall sat Lee Foley, holding his gla.s.s as his cold eyes studied each person in the room. Tweed, looking uncomfortable in his dinner jacket, sat near Foley, watching the room with no particular expression.

'I think that must be Grange over there, holding court,' Nancy whispered.

At the back of the room, surrounded by half-a-dozen men, a tall, very heavily-built man wearing tinted gla.s.ses was talking while others listened. His left hand was close to his side, the fingers stretched downwards while his right hand held a gla.s.s. There was a gap in the crowd and Newman had a good view of him. A large head, his complexion pale, his lips appeared hardly to move as he spoke. The feature about him which intrigued Newman was his sheer immobility.

'Is that Professor Grange over there in the corner?' Nancy asked a pa.s.sing waiter with a tray of gla.s.ses.

'Yes, it is, madame. May I offer you champagne?'

They both took a gla.s.s for appearance's sake. Newman sipped at his champagne, listening to the babble of voices, the clink of gla.s.ses. Another large man brushed past him without apology and made his way, very erect and confident, over to join Grange's group. Victor Signer had arrived.

'I can't see Kobler,' Newman whispered. 'That worries me...'

'Someone has to mind the store back at the Clinic, I suppose...'

'You're probably right. Let's circulate - horrible word. When are you going to challenge Grange..

'Bob!' She grabbed his arm. 'Wait! Look at that...'

Newman was looking at the weird incident. Grange had just greeted Signer when a waiter tipped a full gla.s.s of champagne off his tray. The liquid spilt down the lower half of Grange's dinner jacket and the upper half of his trousers. The waiter, obviously appalled, took the napkin folded over his sleeve, ran to the buffet, dipped it in a jug of water, returned to Grange and began to sponge the damp material.

The uncanny aspect of the incident was that as the waiter sponged and dabbed at the damp cloth Grange remained totally motionless, his left arm still close to his side, his large figure more Buddha-like than ever as he listened to Signer, ignoring the waiter as though nothing had happened. It was abnormal, unnatural. Newman stared incredulously as Nancy spoke in a low, tense tone.

'My G.o.d! No sane man has that amount of self-control. I think he's unbalanced - and I've had psychiatric training...'

It was the first doubt raised in Newman's mind as to Professor Grange's sanity sanity.

Thirty- Three Jesse Kennedy opened his eyes and blinked. What the h.e.l.l was going on? He was lying full-length on a trolley which was being wheeled somewhere. He couldn't see properly - a mask of some sort had been placed over his head and face. He was gazing through eyepieces up at a white sheet pulled over the mask thing. The trolley was moving downhill now.

He tried to move his hands and realized both were strapped down by the wrists. He attempted to s.h.i.+ft the position of his legs and found they too were strapped down round the ankles. He was completely immobilized. What was happening to him?

Then he recalled his last memory. They had injected him with a sedative. Not Novak. That b.i.t.c.h, Astrid, had done the job. He fought down a feeling of panic, of claustrophobia, and began to flex his fingers to get some strength back into them. The same with his feet - but cautiously. He sensed that the orderlies pus.h.i.+ng the trolley, which was now tilted at an angle as it moved down a steep slope, must not know he was preparing himself for escape.

The sound of hydraulically-operated doors closing. The angle of the decline increased. He blinked again. It was more difficult to see even the sheet: the eyepieces were steaming up. He was suddenly wide awake and became aware of other sensations and sounds. The squeak of the trolley's wheels, the dryness in his throat, the circulation returning to his arms and legs. Another door opened and they moved on to a level surface. Weird, animal-like sounds - was he going out of his mind? He closed his eyes when the trolley stopped moving.

The sheet was whipped off him. There should be voices, the voices of the orderlies. Why weren't they talking to each other? The absence of voices got on his nerves, was frightening - together with the continuous animal-like gibbering. It recalled monkeys chattering inside cages in a zoo. Ridiculous...

They were removing the straps now. One near the head of the trolley taking off the straps binding his wrists, the other unfastening the ankle straps. Then he was free. He remained inert, eyes closed. Hands grasped both his forearms, jerked him upright. In a sitting position he was swivelled round until his legs dangled over the edge of the trolley. He let his head flop, still keeping his eyes shut. Holding him by both arms, they hauled him off the trolley and held him upright. They shook him roughly. He opened his eyes and gasped in horror.

He was wearing a heavy dressing gown over his pyjamas, the cord round his waist tied firmly. He was inside the laboratory, he was convinced of it. It was colder. The steam cleared completely from the eyepieces. Plastic green curtains were closed over long narrow windows. The huge room was filled with large benches. The tops of the benches were crowded with cages - wire cages. Inside the cages, which varied in size, were the animals he had heard. It was a nightmare.

The two orderlies wore gas masks Soulless eyes stared at him. From their height, their build, he guessed they were the two men he had heard called Graf and Munz. A third man stood further back, also wearing a mask, pacing among the cages. His way of moving told Jesse this was Bruno Kobler. Jesse pretended to sway unsteadily on his feet as Munz and Graf approached him.

A variety of animals occupied the cages: mice, rats and a lot of chimpanzees which chattered incessantly, their faces grinning hideously at him seen through the Plexiglas of the eyepieces. This section of the laboratory was dimly lit by low-power neon strips which cast an eerie light over the horrific scene.

Still swaying, stooping, Jesse noticed a giant door which was open, the door to the atombunker atombunker. A fourth man appeared from inside, a man carrying a metal cylinder in each hand, cylinders which reminded Jesse of mortar bombs he had once seen in a war film. Graf took hold of the side of Jesse's mask and eased it upwards so he could speak.

'This is the final stage of treatment, a revolutionary technique invented by Professor Grange. It may cure you - but you must fallow instructions. When we take you outside you run down down the slope - the slope - down down. I will point the way...'

Could the chimpanzees sense that something evil was about to be perpetrated, Jesse wondered. They were going wild, their chattering increasing in volume as they scrambled up and down inside their cages, clutching at the wires, staring at Jesse as the two men grasped him firmly by both arms and led him to a door Kobler had opened. Icy cold night air flooded into the laboratory and Jesse s.h.i.+vered. They had slipped walking shoes on to his feet, his own shoes, while he had lain unconscious.

He dragged his feet, slumped, a dead weight between the two masked men. They went outside into the bitter night. Jesse shook his head slowly, glancing all round. On top of a small rocky hill men in uniform crouched round a squat barrel like a piece of sawn-off drainpipe, a barrel aimed at a trajectory across a declining slope. A mortar. Jesse again recognized the weapon from a war film. And Christ! It was manned by men in uniform, army uniform. Grange was a puppet of the Swiss Army...

'You run down down that slope,' Munz yelled in his ear. 'Go!' that slope,' Munz yelled in his ear. 'Go!'

They released his arms and Jesse stood swaying. Beside the mortar was a neat pile of bombs, bombs like those carried by the man who had emerged from the atombunker atombunker. Behind the mortar a windsock billowed from a small mast, a windsock like those seen on small airstrips. The windsock was whipping parallel to the ground showing the direction the wind was blowing. Down the slope. Away from Away from the mortar position. the mortar position.

Jesse staggered towards the edge of the slope. Masked figures like robots watched him. One man held a bomb over the mouth of the mortar. Ready to open fire as the target moved on to the range. The target. Himself...'

b.a.s.t.a.r.ds! The adrenalin was flowing fast through Jesse. He paused at the edge of the slope and stared down it to check for obstacles, to accustom his eyes to the darkness. The slope was blind territory, could not be seen from the road, was concealed under a fold in the ground. They were waiting for him now. He thought he heard Munz shout again. He took a step forward, stumbled like a man on the verge of collapse. They couldn't fire their infernal machine yet. Suddenly he took off, running like mad. The adrenalin was flowing fast through Jesse. He paused at the edge of the slope and stared down it to check for obstacles, to accustom his eyes to the darkness. The slope was blind territory, could not be seen from the road, was concealed under a fold in the ground. They were waiting for him now. He thought he heard Munz shout again. He took a step forward, stumbled like a man on the verge of collapse. They couldn't fire their infernal machine yet. Suddenly he took off, running like mad.

He caught them off balance. As he ran with long strides, stretching his legs, increasing speed, he heard the thump of a bomb exploding behind behind him. A long way off the clouds parted briefly and he caught a glimpse of a huge mountain, a flat-topped b.u.t.te, like the b.u.t.tes of Utah. He was heading for the distant road. That b.u.t.te was the Stockhorn. He had watched it when they had let him sit for brief periods inside the enclosed verandah. him. A long way off the clouds parted briefly and he caught a glimpse of a huge mountain, a flat-topped b.u.t.te, like the b.u.t.tes of Utah. He was heading for the distant road. That b.u.t.te was the Stockhorn. He had watched it when they had let him sit for brief periods inside the enclosed verandah.

Despite his age he was a virile man, strong from so many hours of riding in the saddle. His legs were gaining power, flexibility. He paced himself like a professional runner, knowing he would cover the ground faster that way. He wished Nancy could see him - he was giving the swine one h.e.l.l of a surprise. He heard a thud. The ground quavered under his feet. Closer, that one.

He made no attempt to tear off the mask. He could feel the tightness of the straps round his neck, over his head. Stopping to attempt that would be fatal. And they had made another mistake. By tying the cord tightly round his waist they had obviated the danger that he might be slowed down by the flapping of the dressing gown. He ran on.

The bomb landed ten feet in front of him. It burst. A cloud of mist-like vapour drifted across his face as he ran through it. Too late to run round it. He began coughing, choking. Another bomb landed ahead of him, another cloud spread. He was choking horribly, his eyes trying to force themselves through the Plexiglas. He reached out with both hands and crashed to the ground. His gnarled hands scrabbled, twitched once more and then he lay still.

Five minutes later the stretcher bearers took him away.

Thirty-Four.

By 7.30 pm. there was a mellow, relaxed atmosphere at the reception. Over a hundred people were present and the room was crowded, shoulder to shoulder. With Newman following her, Nancy threaded her way through the mob to where Professor Grange stood in deep conversation with Victor Signer. She walked straight up to Grange.

'I'm Dr Nancy Kennedy. My grandfather is a patient at the Berne Clinic...'

'If you care to make an appointment, my dear,' the soft voice intoned. Blank eyes stared down at her from behind the tinted gla.s.ses. 'This is hardly the moment...'

'And this is an intrusion on a private conversation,' Victor Signer informed her in a tone which suggested women were an inferior species.

'Really?' Nancy turned on him, raising her voice so that people nearby stopped talking to listen, which made their conversation carry an even greater distance. 'Maybe you would like to talk about the convenient execution of Manfred Seidler up in the Juras last night? After all, Colonel, you were there. Alternatively, perhaps you could kindly shut up while I talk to Professor Grange...'

'Gross impertinence...' Signer began.

'Watch it,' Newman warned. 'Remember me? Let her talk.'

'Your suggested appointment is not helpful,' Nancy continued in the same clear, carrying voice, staring straight at the tinted gla.s.ses. 'You hide behind Bruno Kobler at the Clinic. You are never available. Just exactly what is it you fear, Professor?'

An expression of fury flickered behind the gla.s.ses. The hand holding the champagne gla.s.s shook. Grange tightened his pouched lips, struggling for control while Nancy waited. The silence was spreading right across the room as people realized something unusual was happening: a woman was confronting the eminent Professor Armand Grange.

'I fear nothing,' he said eventually. 'What exactly is it you want, Dr Kennedy?'

'Since I have no confidence in your Clinic and the secretive way it is run, I wish to transfer my grandfather, Jesse, to a clinic near Montreux. I wish to arrange this transfer within the next twenty-four hours. That is what I want, what I am going to get. You have no objection, I a.s.sume?'

'You question my competence?'