Colin Forbes - Precipice

Brazil had then replaced the second compartment holding several large boxes of Spriingli chocolates. Finally, he had attached the lid, held in place by four large screws. All this had been completed when the jet was within fifteen minutes of landing. The steward had been told to stay in the crew cabin while Brazil discussed something highly confidential with Eve, who had sat watching her boss do all the work.

Now, with the jet on the ground, Brazil showed his fitness and strength by carrying the crate off the plane to the waiting stretch limousine himself. The customs officials had joked with him.

'More sweetmeats for your lady friends, sir?'

'That's the trouble with having so many.' Brazil had joked back.

Fifteen minutes later, driving by a devious route into the open countryside, which skirted Bournemouth, he had backed the car into a quiet field in the sunlight blazing out of a clear blue sky. A gusty wind was blowing as he released a sleepy Igor from the crate and resumed driving.

He hit his first snag when he arrived at the car ferry which, crossed the entrance to Poole Harbour. ferry out of use until Thursday, a large notice proclaimed. He climbed out of the limo, swearing.

'What's the trouble?' he asked a workman in yellow oilskins.

'A freighter comin' in grazed the ferry as it was crossin' the exit. It's berthed on the Shell Bay side over there while they works on it…'

Brazil returned to the limo, was sitting behind the wheel when the workman approached him.

'Where you goin' to?'

'Corfe,' Brazil answered through the window he had lowered.

'Only way there is by Wareham. And you'll run into more trouble. Roadworks. Lights, single-line traffic, the lot. Take for ever,' the workman said with satisfaction.

'Thank you for the warning. Why do these people love to give you bad news?' he snapped as he drove off, heading for distant Wareham.

'Because the lower orders love to take a smack at someone driving a decent car,' she commented. 'I'd like a drink. Can't we stop at that hotel over there?'

'No, we can't. We'll just keep going,' he snapped.

'No need to be such a boor.'

'Don't ever talk to me again like that,' he replied in a calm voice.

They drove off round Poole Harbour. Brazil noticed what looked like storm clouds coming in from the west. The wind also was rising.

At Kloten Airport the Controller was as good as his word. The jet was given permission to take off. Inwardly, Tweed sighed with relief. Waiting until the machine levelled above the clouds, he went back to have a word with Butler and Nield.

By now the steward had served coffee and sandwiches on Coalport china he had found in a cupboard. Mr Brazil does well for himself, thought Tweed as he reached the seat where Butler, now fully awake, had devoured his plate of sandwiches, was asking for a second helping.

'Harry, I've been in touch with the Controller based at Bournemouth International. There'll be a car there waiting for you.'

'Not another ambulance!' Harry bridled.

'I did say a car.' Tweed reminded him. 'A car to take you with Nield to a rest home. You stay there two days and then Pete drives you to London. You have had a bullet in you.'

'Which is no longer there. The doctor in Zurich said I should take gentle exercise as soon as possible.'

'Fine. Go for a walk along the front.'

'I might drive Pete to London.' Butler said aggressively.

'I'm giving you an order. Pete drives you back.'

Having sorted that out, Tweed returned to his seat and his meal. Newman, who had heard his conversation with Butler and Nield, walked along the aisle, bent over Tweed, keeping his voice down.

'Without Butler and Nield we'll be short of manpower, just supposing Brazil has another gang of thugs at Grenville Grange.'

'We'll cope. We have done before,' Tweed told him firmly. 'Go back and finish your meal. We don't know when we'll eat next.'

Marler, who had been passing with a plate in his hands, waited until Newman had returned to his seat. He also kept his voice down when he spoke to Tweed. He was carrying a satchel over his shoulder.

'I don't think we need worry, whatever's waiting for us. Bypassing Passport Control and Immigration, we have kept what's left of our armoury, which is quite a lot.'

'Just keep it under cover when we land,' Tweed warned.

Paula was gazing out of the window, fascinated by the sight of the grim but magnificent Bernese Oberland. Tweed tapped her on the shoulder, told her to eat while she could. From now on he was taking over control as they approached the climax of their long trek from Dorset to the Valais.

Landing at Bournemouth International, still in brilliant sunlight, Tweed supervised the transfer of a protesting Butler to a waiting car. He had a driver, so Nield sat in the back. As it vanished in the direction of Poole, Marler pointed to two four-wheel-drive vehicles parked nearby.

'That's what I ordered, as you suggested,' he told Tweed. 'I'll deal with the paperwork, then we can get cracking.'

While he was doing this Tweed had a word with the Controller, referring to his friend Jim Corcoran, Chief of Security at Heathrow. He was told that Brazil had left with a lady in a large limo three-quarters of an hour earlier. He went back and told Newman and Philip while Paula listened.

'He's got a head start on us.' Newman said grimly.

'The hazards of chance,' Tweed replied.

They drove from the airport with Philip behind the wheel of the vehicle carrying Tweed and Paula. Marler drove behind them with Newman by his side, his case in the back.

They drove a more direct route to the car ferry than the one taken by Brazil, were confronted with the same depressing notice informing them the ferry was out of commission. Tweed pursed his lips, then took his next decision.

'We'll have to go via Wareham, it's a long roundabout route, but there's nothing else for it.'

Take you hours to get there,' the same workman who had spoken to Brazil informed them. A minute before he had explained with glee what had happened to the ferry.

'This is no good.' said Philip. 'I know what we must do.'

Gesturing for Marler to follow, he backed away from the ferry point, drove along a road which ran parallel to the large harbour. Frequently Paula saw forests of masts swaying gently between trees. They were sitting together in the back and Tweed called out: 'Philip, maybe you'd let me in on what you propose.'

'When I was up on Lyman's Tout with Eve, the night of the fire, I noticed an old jetty at the foot of a nearby cove. There was a footpath leading down to it. If we hire a boat that's the quickest way to get to the area.'

'By boat?' Tweed was horrified.

Take these.' Paula whispered. 'Two Dramamines for sea sickness. You've taken them before. And I've got a small canister of water – Tupperware – in my shoulder bag. Now don't argue. Just swallow them.'

Reluctantly, Tweed did as he was told, swallowing all the water to get the two tablets down. He hated the sea, as Paula knew.

'Are you sure it's going to get us there quicker by boat?' he demanded.

'Absolutely certain.' Philip had the bit between his teeth. 'That's what I was checking on the map aboard the jet. I have plenty of money and I also have a certificate for handling any kind of craft. I used to sail a lot before I met Jean. Hardly more than a kid, I was.'

He turned off the main road down a side road with a sign, TO MARINA. When they arrived Tweed saw the masts swaying. He turned to Paula.

'Looks as though the sea is rough.'

'Just a gentle swell.' Philip assured him.

'I seem to have heard those words before.' Tweed said without any enthusiasm.

'The Dramamines will have worked by the time we're aboard.' Paula whispered.