Colin Forbes: The Power

Now Paula could only hear the whirring of the machines behind her. Why did the silence seem even more awful than what they had seen so far? She was startled when the stocky man emerged by himself, closed the door, locked it, tossed the key on the roof. Why?

'Oh, my God, no!' she whispered to herself.

The answer to her question was horrifically clear. Smoke was drifting out from behind a shuttered window. Almost at once it burst into flames. The camera zoomed in for a close-up of the killer. A look of sadistic satisfaction. Sweat streamed off his face.

The camera now showed the man full length. He appeared to be staring straight at the lens. Snatching a gun from his belt, he moved closer. Paula flinched back in her seat. Her hand clenched as the whole cabin seared into a flaming inferno. The girl left inside would be incinerated.

The loud crackle and roar of the huge fire made the man pause, look briefly at the dying cabin. Gun in hand, the man turned again towards the camera, began advancing towards it, his famous face again so clear, identifiable…

The screen went blank, the white glare returned, vanished as Marler switched off the machines, The audience sat as though frozen. The only sound was the click of Marler switching on lights. Paula blinked, glanced at Tweed, at Ives. It was difficult to decide which man looked grimmer.

It was Tweed who broke the silence. He leaned forward to speak to Ives across Amberg.

'Now you have your evidence. That was Bradford March, President of the United States.' He turned round, looked at Joel Dyson whose pouched lips were quivering.

'You took those pictures. Don't argue with me. I just want a simple answer. Who was the girl – the victim?'

'His secret girl friend. Cathy Willard, daughter of the San Francisco newspaper magnate.'

'So, well-heeled,' Ives commented.

'Oh, a very wealthy family. I heard later it was called an accident. She got herself shut in the cabin. The weather was cold, so she had a log fire' – Dyson was reverting to his normal loquacious self, Newman thought, as the story continued – 'a spark jumps out, sets fire to the rug and whoosh! the whole place goes up. Windows shuttered so she can't get out that way.'

'Sounds as though you wrote that version yourself,' Newman said cynically.

'No! But that's the way I heard they told it…'

'You have your evidence, Ives,' Tweed repeated, interrupting Dyson. 'It follows a similar pattern, doesn't it?'

'It does indeed. You see, March was a hick from the boondocks. It flattered his ego to make it with well-educated and wealthy women. Now you have your answer to the weird question – who would a wealthy woman driving in the dark across lonely country stop for? A man standing in the headlights of his brown Cadillac, a well-known Senator running for the White House, his mug plastered on billboards along every state highway. Maybe he pretended his car had broken down. They'd feel so safe with Senator Bradford March. It hit me suddenly that I'd found my serial killer – six women slaughtered. I have to take this film, this tape back to Washington.'

'They'll kill you thirty minutes after you leave the plane,' Newman warned.

'I have a powerful friend. He'll meet me at Dulles Airport with a large entourage, smuggle me into his house. Then it's up to him.'

'I think we'd better come with you,' Tweed said.

'I'm not coming,' Dyson protested.

'You'll be held in cold storage in Britain. After you've made a statement describing what you saw when you made the film.' Tweed's manner was harsh. 'A sworn statement made before a Swiss lawyer. That or come with us to Washington.'

'I'm not sure ethically I can release these items,' Amberg asserted.

'Ethically?' Tweed stared at the banker. 'You have to be joking. If you'd handed these over to me earlier think of how many lives would have been saved. Why did you hang on to them? You'd watched this film on your own much earlier, hadn't you?'

'Yes. When I saw what was on it I realized my own life was in danger…'

'So, ethically,' Tweed rasped, 'you kept quiet. If those are ethics I'll do without them. Amberg, from now on you had better shut up – if you want to stay alive…'

The man with long shaggy grey hair peered over his half-moon glasses at the entrance to the Zurcher Kredit Bank. Norton was too smart to sit in the car he'd used to follow the Tweed group from the Chateau d'Ouchy. The rush-hour traffic had helped to mask his presence behind Nield's station wagon following the familiar Espace. He was standing in front of a book-shop, pretending to study a volume he had bought at random.

Norton, staying at the Chateau d'Ouchy, had watched Tweed having breakfast from his corner table, seated by himself. He was confident that the transformation in his appearance would save him from recognition – and so it had turned out.

Called to the phone, Norton had left his breakfast to take the call in his room.

'Mencken here,' the urgent voice had begun.

'I told you not to call except in case of a major crisis.'

'Which is what I'm dropping in your lap. All our troops have been rounded up, taken away in cars. Official…'

Which was Mencken's cautious way of saying 'police' over the phone.

'I'm glad everything is going so well. Thank you so much for calling…'

For Norton it was a panic situation, but Norton, ex-FBI, never panicked. He had created the core of Unit One when Senator Bradford March had offered him a large salary as his personal chief of security. It was Norton who had organized the attempts to kill Barton Ives before Ives had fled to Europe. Norton had proceeded methodically.

He paid his hotel bill, put his bag in the hired Renault and returned to the dining-room. Five minutes later he watched Tweed and his companions leaving. Later he was ready to follow them in his Renault to the Zurcher Kredit Bank. Now he waited patiently, then saw Marler coming out with the same equipment he'd taken inside earlier – a long cylinder which could contain a viewing screen, a tape recorder, a canvas hold-all which was more tightly packed.

Pressed against the canvas was a circular shape about the size of a film canister. Turning over a page of his book, Norton shrewdly summed up the situation.

'If only I still had the troops…'

But he hadn't any troops left. They had all been taken by the police. Standing with the book in his hands Norton took a major decision. He couldn't report to March that he had failed – that would be committing suicide. Time to change sides again, to survive.

'That film March was raving to get his hands on must contain some deadly material. Otherwise why send such a large body of Unit One to Europe?' March was losing a battle – Norton's sixth sense, developed during his years as a top FBI agent, told him this.

He recalled a certain powerful senator he had once done a favour for, suppressing certain incriminating documents which would have ruined his career on the hill. Yes, it was time to contact Senator Wingfield, to offer him his services again. For a substantial fee…

Norton followed the Espace and the station wagon and was not surprised when the. two vehicles entered the car park at the Chateau d'Ouchy. Parking his car near where the boats left for Evian in France, he walked back to the hotel. He strolled into reception just in time to hear Tweed giving instructions to the girl behind the counter.

'We shall be leaving today. Could you please make up the bill for myself and Miss Grey. No hurry. We'll be here for lunch…'

Which gave Norton time to clear up a loose end. Mencken. Norton was very careful about clearing up loose ends. He was not going to risk Mencken reaching Washington first – maybe even telling March how all the failures had been Norton's fault.