Colin Forbes - The Power

'No idea. I won't have until I've reported our conversation to him. You never know what he's really after.'

Tweed arrived back in the late afternoon from police headquarters with Newman. He went straight to Paula's room and Butler left them alone.

'Tell me,' Tweed requested.

Paula began to speak by rote. She spoke with her eyes closed, seeing and hearing all that had happened from the moment she had left the car and walked up the drive to Eve Amberg's villa.

Meticulously, she recalled every detail – the Audi in the drive, Eve answering the door quickly, dressed to go out shopping. Her clothes, her manner, every word she had said. Tweed sat in a chair facing her, recording every word Paula said.

'That's it,' she eventually told him.

'Word for word?'

'That's what you asked for. That's what you got.'

'What was her mood after she'd taken that phone call?' he asked.

'I told you. Annoyed. Irked. A bit put out.'

'Gaunt. Gaunt. Always Gaunt,' he repeated.

'No point in asking what you're after?' she suggested.

'A link, between Cornwall, Zurich – and Washington.'

'Norton here…'

President Bradford March lounged in his chair, his feet clad in sneakers perched on his desk. He wore jeans and an open-necked shirt exposing the hair on his broad chest. A leather belt encircled his waist in an attempt to hold in his ample belly.

'Norton here,' the abrasive voice repeated. 'I got the code-word on my answerphone to call you…'

'So squat on the butt and listen. The courier with the big bucks is on his way. He hits Zurich airport tomorrow certain. Aboard Swissair flight SR 805, ETA Zurich 4.25p.m. He takes a cab to Hotel Baur-en-Ville. That right? Where Mencken is shacked up?'

'I don't want Mencken in on this

'Shut your trap. I said listen. OK? Great. You'll make it yet. Courier's name is Louis Sheen. Got it? He'll carry a suitcase, brown in colour. When he arrives at this Baur place 5.30p.m. Zurich time, he goes to reception, tells them at the top of his voice that he's Louis Sheen, that they have a reservation, which they won't have. You contact him immediately with the code-words Lincoln Memorial. Got that? Then you take him to a safe place, wait for instructions from the creep who calls me.'

'I'm not showing my face

'Your problem. The creep demanding the dough phoned, gave three possible exchange points. Note them – I'll spell them out… OK? Something else – Sheen will be handcuffed to that suitcase. It stays that way until you meet the bastard who tries to collect. The case has combination locks. Only Sheen knows the numbers which open it. Try opening that case without operating the combination, a small thermite bomb inside explodes, burns the contents to crap.'

'I ought to know that combination,' Norton demanded.

'All those big bucks? You're a joke, Norton. One more thing – you kill the guy who comes to collect…'

In Zurich Norton was surprised when the line went dead. He'd never have thought March could have dreamed up such a diabolical trap as the thermite bomb.

At the Schweizerhof, after talking to Paula, Tweed was in a rush to keep his appointment with Jennie Blade. He asked Newman to phone the Zurcher Kredit to make sure Walter Amberg was still in Basle.

Newman recognized the voice of the girl who answered the phone. She was the attractive personal assistant who had shown them into the banker's office.

'Bob Newman here. I was with Mr Tweed when he called on your boss

…'

'I remember you well, Mr Newman. How are you? How can I help?' she enquired.

'Well, I just wanted to check that Mr Amberg is still at the Basle branch, that he will be there tomorrow.'

'Oh, he will be. He'll be in Basle for several days. You can count on it. And you are the second person within the hour who has asked that question.'

'Who else did? Or shouldn't I ask?'

'Oh, that's all right, Mr Newman. He didn't leave a name. I'm new here, don't yet know all the clients. The man who called had a husky growly voice. Not very polite.'

'A lot of people aren't. I really am very much obliged to you. Thanks a lot.'

Newman wondered who 'growly voice' could be, made a mental note to tell Tweed.

Newman sat in the dimly lit bar leading off the lobby, drinking a glass of white wine. He was recalling the tough interview with Beck after the Swiss police chief had arrived at Theo Strebel's office.

'I'm not easily shocked, as you know,' he told Tweed as he viewed Strebel's corpse. 'But before he left us to set up a private investigator business – you can make more money that way – he solved a baffling murder case I couldn't crack. He was a great detective and it's a great loss.'

Beck kept his voice down. The office was swarming with the forensic and fingerprint teams. The police doctor had just left after officially pronouncing Strebel dead.

They had then hurried over to Klara's apartment. Newman had come with them and was not disappointed when Old Nosy poked her vulture-like nose out of the door.

'Is there some trouble upstairs?' she asked.

'Stay in your apartment,' Beck ordered. 'I'll want to talk to you later.'

'And who do you think you are?'

'Police.' Beck flashed his folder under the nose. 'I said stay until I get round to you…

'Local Eye-at-the-Keyhole,' he remarked as he strode up the stairs. 'There's one in every district…'

The doctor had visited Klara's apartment first and by the closed door to the ante-room stood a uniformed policeman. He saluted Beck, opened the door and they went inside.

Beck stared at the garrotted woman. He pursed his lips, turned to Tweed.

'I see now why the doctor said it was a bit nasty here. Never known him make a comment like that before and he's seen everything.'

Beck leaned against a wall. He folded his arms as he stared first at Tweed, then at Newman.

'Yesterday there was a small blood bath in Bahnhofstrasse. Have you seen the papers? No? Well they report a cripple in one of those battery-operated wheelchairs blew himself to pieces with a grenade. At about the same moment an American was shot dead – holding a machine-pistol. Now would you by chance know anything about these events?'

Tweed explained exactly what had happened – that he'd been up to his neck in trying to track down who was behind the murders. Beck nodded without comment as Tweed continued, then concluded: 'I'm sorry I didn't contact you earlier.'

'And I'm damned sorry too you didn't. I do like to know what is happening on my patch, as I think they say in Britain. And my patch is the whole of Switzerland – which includes Zurich.'

'I have apologized,' Tweed said quietly. 'How close are you to discovering what is happening, to solving the murders of this poor woman, Klara, and Theo Strebel?'

'I've only just arrived,' Beck pointed out. 'You mean you have some idea of who the murderer is?'

'The pieces of a huge international jigsaw – stretching all the way from Washington via Cornwall to here – are beginning to fall into place. I'm a long way from seeing the whole picture, but I'm getting there. Your further cooperation would be much appreciated.'

'Oh, you have that. Unreservedly. You're continuing your investigation in Zurich?'

'Not for much longer. Tomorrow we leave for Basle.'

'May I ask why?'

'You just did,' Tweed told him tersely. 'Walter Amberg is reported to have gone to Basle. I need to talk to him again.'

'Thank you. I think I can hear the technical teams arriving. Let's get out of here. If you could come to police headquarters I can take statements from both of you. It will take time, I fear. Oh, while we are still alone, I have had installed at Customs at Zurich, Geneva and Basle airports a special new machine. It checks the contents of cases without the arrivals knowing. A Swiss invention.'