Colin Forbes - Precipice

Philip had been joined by Newman and Marler. He argued with them forcefully, convinced them he knew what he was doing. Marler also knew about handling boats so it was arranged he would back up Philip if necessary. The next thing they discussed was the choice of the craft available.

Tweed wandered with Paula out onto the marina. Even inside the harbour there was Philip's so-called 'gentle swell'. Tweed began talking to take his mind off the coming ordeal.

'Brazil is a strange man. I suppose we're all a weird mix, but he has changed the course of the world and his name will never appear in any history book. I'm sure he knows this.'

'Then why has he done it?' Paula wanted to know.

'Not for personal glory, that's certain.'

'Yet he seemed to love being on close terms with the occupants of Downing Street, the White House, the Elysee, and so on.'

'I think he was just using his powerful personality to weigh up what sort of people were running the world -and was appalled by the lack of ability he found in high circles.'

'But he's such a ruthless man,' she persisted.

'If you set out to change the balance of world power you have to be ruthless, I'd say. He's a unique mixture of statesman and villain. The unusual aspect of his character is he must be completely lacking in vanity. And, unlike most of the men at the top, his view is global.'

'I get the impression he doesn't like modern communications.'

'I'm sure he doesn't. Neither do I. The way to a truly catastrophic explosion is to bring everyone on the planet on top of each other. People sit in front of their TV and think they're getting the news. All they're getting is sensational horrific pictures, often of something which doesn't have any effect on the way the world is moving. Important news is ignored if it doesn't produce lurid pictures. TV so-called news is entertainment – if that's the right word for the horrors they love to show us.'

'And we don't like mobile phones. At least, I don't.' said Paula.

'Carting one of those about means you never have time to think. The knowledge that anyone can contact you even when you're out for a walk is disturbing. Brazil was so right about scientists – they never consider the possible consequences of what they're inventing.'

They both turned round as they heard someone running up behind them. It was Marler.

'We've found a beaut. It's costing a mint to hire but it will get us there fast.'

'I'm looking forward to this.' Tweed said ironically.

Paula glanced at Tweed with anxiety as they arrived at where the chosen vessel was berthed. A gangplank with rails was in position. It was a huge power cruiser and had a high, closed-in bridge. Philip was already inside, behind the controls. Newman was unfastening a rope round a bollard, waiting to cast off.

'Has the Dramamine started to work?' whispered Paula.

'It has.'

'There's a very luxurious-looking cabin. I think you will be comfortable there.'

'Well, I'm not going below decks. First, it's closer to the water. Second, I want to see what's happening. I'm going onto the bridge.'

'If you feel like that.' Paula replied dubiously.

'I do!' Tweed walked across the gangplank with a firm step. He never grasped the rails although the gangplank was swaying with the swell. Newman called out to Paula, handed her a pair of powerful field glasses he'd dug out of his satchel.

'One for you, one for Tweed.'

Philip had started up the engines. He slid aside a window, poked his head out, shouted down.

'All aboard that's going aboard. Look lively down there.'

'He's in his element,' Paula commented as she caught up with Tweed.

Marler and Newman cast off at bow and stern, rushed across the gangplank, hauled it on board. Tweed reached the bridge as Philip began to manoeuvre the cruiser into the main channel. He stared round in surprise at the size of the bridge, at the array of controls, at the chart obtained from the boat hirer on the chart table.

'It's like the control panel of a Boeing 747,' he said quietly to Paula.

'Don't worry. It won't become airborne.'

Below them Marler and Newman were coiling up their ropes. They passed Brownsea Island, a low hulk masked by trees, looking more like Devil's Island than a pleasure resort. Then they were coming up to the exit. Tweed stood grasping a rail, guessing what was coming when they hit the open sea.

They cruised past the impotent car ferry at a few knots. Paula could see where some other very large vessel had collided with its hull, leaving a brutal graze which men were working on. They emerged into the open and the swell increased in magnitude as Philip opened up the engines and they roared across giant waves. Taking one hand off the wheel briefly, Philip pointed shoreward.

'That's Studland Bay.'

'I know.' said Tweed, who was studying the chart. 'In summer on that Shell Bay beach it's near-naked bodies lying shoulder to shoulder. Sardine sunbathing. And look at it now.'

A strand of sandy beach was deserted, behind it was a ridge covered with miserable gorse, wind-blown and grey. One word summed up the whole stretch of this coast. Desolation.

'Old Harry Rocks coming up.' called out Philip. 'We're making good progress.'

The strange large stacks of chalk cliff, standing isolated from each other, projected into the sea and had a prehistoric appearance. Behind them, like a wave, a far larger wave than those which they were swooping up and down over, rose the Purbeck Hills. Almost bereft of trees, they had a grim look and no sign of habitation anywhere.

'Well, Eve and I drove over those hills.' Philip recalled. 'What a bloody waste of time.'

Paula noticed there wasn't a hint of nostalgia in his tone. He had spoken in a quite matter-of-fact way. Well clear of the coast, they were passing the chalk stacks. They roared on, past distant Swanage and its long bay. Smoke rose drearily from several chimneys, was blown helter-skelter in all directions the moment it emerged. Paula peered out of the window Philip had now closed.

Marler and Newman were sheltering on the starboard. On the port side spume and sea water splashed over on to the deck. Philip pointed to a cape.

'That's Durlston Head. We're getting there. Once we pass that it's only St Alban's Head. Then we're there.'

When she had peered down to starboard Paula had seen that Marler had his Armalite slung over his shoulder along with his satchel. She began to feel tense. Glancing at Tweed she could see no sign of nerves in his expression.

'Brazil.' he said, 'must pay for the people who died -for Ben, the barman at the Black Bear Inn, Partridge, an innocent bystander, mistaken for Marchat at Devastoke Cottage, Rico Sava, arms dealer in Geneva, General Sterndale, and his son. To say nothing of the bankers who were murdered. Eve Warner was a willing accomplice. She shut her eyes to what was happening. And Karin and Anton Marchat. Yes, Brazil must pay his dues.'

Driving towards Corfe, Brazil was held up for a long time by roadworks. He thought he had never driven along a stretch of road with so many traffic lights controlling single-file traffic. The light was always red when he came to it.

Eve, in a bad temper because she had been moved to the back of the limo, was grouching constantly, which didn't help Brazil to keep his temper. Her main grudge was that Igor was sitting in the front passenger seat alongside its master.

'I don't see why I should be stuck in the back just to give a dog the best seat,' she grumbled on.

'Igor likes to see what is coming, to look at the view,' Brazil replied, waiting for a green light.

'Damn all for him to see.' she grouched.

'You never notice scenery.' he reminded her. 'I know what's eating you – the lack of a drink.'