Colin Forbes - This United state

'Roy Buchanan phoned,' Paula reported. 'When I told him I'd no idea when you'd be back he told me instead. He's heard a positive rumour that the American syndicate has bid for two leading daily newspapers, a key TV station and two important radio outfits. The money offered is so huge he's sure that a majority of shareholders will accept.'

'I know. The PM told me. It's a fact, not a rumour.' 'We're letting them get away with it?'

'The PM is still cleverly playing it softly, softly. He's allowing the bids to be made, then he'll refer them to the Monopolies and Mergers Commission. Meantime, he's going to watch how the Americans handle their new propaganda machine.'

'That is clever. How did you get on with Morgenstern – or shouldn't I ask?'

Paula was talking as much as she could. Anything to cover up her nagging doubts about Tweed.

'Paula,' he began, his expression grave, 'what I am about to tell you is for your ears only. I may tell Newman and Marler later – and anyone else if I feel they should know. Has this room been checked for bugs recently?'

'Only an hour ago. Harry Butler came in, checked everywhere – then he told me it was clean.'

'This is going to take awhile. I'm recalling everything which Morgenstern said to me…'

Paula found her confidence in him flooding back as he recited word for word the entire conversation over dinner. He ended by clenching his fist, banging it on his desk.

'Now you have the lot. Except I now believe the Americans are operating at two different levels.'

'What does that mean?'

'One is the diplomatic level. Morgenstern handles that. I'm certain he was telling me the truth when he vehemently would not believe any of his people could be involved in the bomb in Oxford Street. They're concealing the other level from him – knowing such a man would never go along with it.'

'And the other level?'

'The Charlie-Ronstadt level – the thugs and killers whose job is to destabilize Britain. I'm convinced now the two levels are operating in watertight compartments. One doesn't know the other exists. Someone – probably Charlie – is being diabolically clever. They're using every dirty method in the book – intimidation, bribery, mass murder, you name it. The object is to bring Britain to its knees, then the proposal that we merge with the US will seem attractive. We may see an FBI team arriving, "to clear up the mess".'

'Would the PM accept them coming?'

'I just don't know. Incidentally, when I was with the PM I suggested he take action in case they use logic bombs.'

'What on earth are they?' Paula wondered.

'New American expression. It covers advanced techniques for closing down phone communications and power supplies inside a country they want to destabilize. Imagine the breakdown if we couldn't contact anyone, if we had no power for heat and for lighting in present weather conditions. They could also insert misleading information into our computers. Hence the phrase, logic bombs. Logic would vanish.'

'Can't anything be done to stop them?'

'It can, provided we prepare for such an onslaught in advance. The PM has ordered troops to guard key exchanges in London – keeping out of sight. He's shutting down vital computers, fax machines. From now on communication is by a troop of army couriers on motorcycles.'

'That wouldn't be your idea?'

'Well, the PM and I did discuss the problem.'

'And we're still going to Basel tomorrow by early flight?'

'We most certainly are.'

'It will be interesting staying at the Three Kings Hotel – we stayed there once before. Remember?'

'Of course I do. Intriguing that Sharon and Denise are also staying there. I'd like another talk with Sharon.' 'I'm looking forward to this trip,' Paula mused. 'Maybe you shouldn't. My sixth sense tells me we're walking into an inferno.'

Tweed, Paula and Newman boarded the early morning flight to Basel. They were escorted to the plane by Jim Corcoran, a friendly man in his late thirties. Later the other passengers took their seats. The plane was three- quarters empty and Tweed gave Paula the window seat, with himself alongside her. Behind them Newman occupied one of the two seats on his own. Even though no other passengers were near them, he was protecting the privacy of Tweed and Paula so they could talk freely.

Tweed was clutching an executive case which he kept in his-lap. The plane was flying over France, heading for Germany where the pilot would turn south up the invisible Rhine. They both accepted the offer of drinks and Paula teased Tweed.

'You're getting to be a regular toper. Drinking on top of all that wine you told me you consumed last night.'

`You know I can turn it on and off like a tap. Like to see what I have inside this case?'

'I did wonder.'

Glancing over his shoulder, making sure the stewardess was busy at the rear of the plane, Tweed unlocked the case, raised the lid. Paula stared. It was neatly stacked with packages of one-hundred-dollar bills. He must have transferred the bills from the old briefcase, Paula thought.

'Should be enough to pay the hotel bill,' Tweed joked. 'I'll say. At a guess there must be a hundred thousand dollars you're carrying.'

'Nearer two hundred thousand.' He closed the lid, relocked the case. 'They're for Keith Kent, who is meeting our flight at Basel.'

`The brilliant money tracer. Why does he need them?'

`To pay into a certain account at the Zurcher Kredit Bank in Basel. No idea how he's going to do it, but he's going to manipulate the transaction so the millions of dollars paid in from Washington get lost in the system. That should help to stir things up a bit for starters.'

'They'll go berserk!'

'And that might cause them to make a big mistake. Doesn't look very wonderful out of your window.'

Paula felt a sensation of enormous relief now she knew what the huge sum of dollars was intended for. This was followed by a feeling of guilt that she could ever have doubted the integrity of Tweed.

She looked out of the window. Ever since they had left Heathrow there had been nothing but sullen dark overcast below them. It seemed even denser, the closer they approached Basel.

'I suppose that was one reason why you got Jim Corcoran to bypass most controls – all that money.'

'It was the reason. The case was specially designed some time ago at my suggestion by the boffins in the basement at Park Crescent. It looks normal but it hasn't a hint of metal in its construction. Plastic to look like metal was used. You noticed I carried it through the detector and there wasn't a hint of a ping. Because Jim was with us they didn't even ask me to open it. We've begun to descend.'

Five minutes later they broke through the overcast. Paula looked down at the ground and sighed heavily. 'Something wrong?' Tweed asked.

'There's a covering of snow, of all things. I didn't think Basel ever had snow.'

'It rarely does. It looks much heavier over there in Germany. That huge uplifted hump is the Black Forest…'

Tweed had asked Monica to arrange for two hire cars to wait for their arrival. Basel still had a very small, cosy airport, unlike Geneva and Zurich where once-compact airports had expanded into major terminals. Keith Kent was waiting for them when they walked outside.

'Welcome to Switzerland. The locals keep saying they never get snow and are very indignant. Is it in that executive case, Tweed?'

'It is,' Tweed assured him, handing over the case. 'So how long before millions of American dollars vanish into thin air?'

'About a couple of hours from now.'

Keith Kent was of medium height, slim, clean-shaven, with a sharp-featured face and shrewd dark eyes. He had a ready smile and was dressed in a dark suit under a smart overcoat. Anyone who met him immediately had the impression of a businessman, probably the director of a firm.