Colin Forbes - The Power

'You mean an X-ray machine?' Newman asked.

'Much better than that. It photographs all the contents of a closed case. I want to see what any new American arrivals are bringing in to this country…'

Louis Sheen, from Washington, arrived at Kloten Airport. He waved his diplomatic passport and prepared to walk past Customs.

'Excuse me, sir,' the Customs officer behind the counter said. 'Please place your case on the counter.'

Sheen was tall and slim, his face long and pale, and he wore rimless glasses. He put down the case, waved the passport again, spoke in a nasal drawl.

'This is a diplomatic passport. Something wrong with your friggin' eyesight? You can't examine my bag.'

The Customs officer nodded to one of his subordinates who stood on the same side of the counter as the American. The Swiss picked up the case, placed it in a certain position on the counter, which was etched with a curious mosaic design.

'Goddamnit! You can't open that case,' Sheen shouted. 'It would be a breach of diplomatic etiquette.'

'Who said anything about opening the case, sir?' asked the Customs officer. 'Could I have a closer look at that passport?'

'Your friggin' Passport guys saw it.'

'And now I would like to see it. This will only take a moment.' The officer opened the passport, walked a few steps along the counter, flipped open the pages. He handed it back, put his hand on the case as Sheen reached for it.

'Just leave it there for a moment longer. I have to check this passport number. It will only take a moment.'

'Friggin' Swiss bureaucracy,' Sheen stormed.

'It takes up a lot of our time too.'

The officer smiled, disappeared through a doorway behind him. The technician who had photographed the case through a hole in the patterned wall showed the officer the photo which was already developed. After one glance, the officer nodded to a plain-clothes policeman standing in the small room. The policeman nodded back.

When Sheen, fuming, was ushered on his way – fuming because he'd had to hold his left hand with the handcuff chain on top of the case – he was followed. Sheen was sweating as he sank into a cab.

It will take time, I fear. Beck had proved to be right. He'd had an excellent lunch brought in for Newman and Tweed at police headquarters. Each dictated a statement of considerable length and then both statements had to be typed out. By the time they had signed them the lunch had arrived. It was early afternoon. Tweed decided they might as well eat it and Beck joined them, chatting about past experiences.

It was late afternoon when a tired Tweed reached the Schweizerhof and listened in her room to Paula's account of her visit to Eve Amberg.

When she had finished, he thanked her and left for the Hummer Bar. It was dark as he walked down the side street to the direct entrance to the bar. Behind him on either side of the street Butler and Nield strolled along as though taking the night air.

Tweed pressed the bell which opened the door. He took a deep breath before walking inside to meet Jennie Blade. What would the girl he'd first met that grim afternoon outside Tresillian Manor have to tell him, he wondered.

Norton checked his changing appearance in the bathroom mirror before he left the apartment. After the second application of the colourant his hair was starting to look very grey. The half-moon glasses perched on his nose gave him a professorial look. He carried a large file full of business statistics which he had no interest in.

Checking his watch, he left the apartment to arrive in good time at the Baur-en-Ville before Louis Sheen turned up. The cab he flagged down swiftly transported him to Parade-platz. A short walk across Bahnhofstrasse and he was inside the Baur-en-Ville.

He entered the hotel, made certain arrangements with a messenger boy, then sat in a chair where he could see reception. The boy stood a distance away and watched Norton. It was precisely 5.30p.m. when Louis Sheen walked in with the brown suitcase attached to his left wrist with a handcuff chain.

Norton was ice cold as he watched over the top of his file. The reception area was crowded with soberly dressed Swiss men greeting each other. Norton knew they were bankers. He had phoned the hotel earlier, pretending to ask for a room.

'I'm sorry, sir,' the girl had told him. 'We have no rooms at all available. There's a convention of bankers from all over Switzerland

Sheen went up to the reception counter, perched on it the suitcase to rest his hand. His voice was loud and overbearing when a receptionist turned to him.

'Louis Sheen, Philadelphia. I have a room reserved for several nights.'

'Certainly, sir.' The receptionist checked his records. 'Did you say Sheen, sir? I fear there is no reservation.'

Norton put down the file in his lap. It was the signal the generously tipped messenger boy had been waiting for.

Norton also noticed a man in a Swiss suit who wandered in within thirty seconds of Sheen's arrival. He stared as the man checked his watch, picked up a magazine, remained standing. It appeared he was waiting for someone – but he hadn't glanced round the reception area. Norton pursed his lips. Sheen had been followed from the airport.

'Now look here,' Sheen continued at the top of his voice, 'Louis Sheen, Philadelphia. I phoned the booking-'

He broke off as someone touched his right arm. Glancing down he saw a uniformed messenger boy.

'Mr Sheen?'the boy asked.

'Maybe. Why?'

'I have a message for him. Are you Mr Sheen?'

'I am. Give it to me…'

He turned away from the counter, ripped open the envelope. A white sheet of paper without a printed address at the top was inside. The message was brief.

Take a cab at once to the address given below. Walk out now and get a cab. Lincoln Memorial.

Underneath the address the message was signed with a flourishing 'N'. Sheen had been warned this was how Norton always signed his instructions. He resisted the temptation to look around at the people assembled in the reception area.

Norton waited as Sheen left the hotel entrance leading to a side street. The man in the Swiss suit strolled after Sheen. Something would have to be done about him, Norton decided. He left by the same entrance in time to see the Swiss climb in behind the wheel of a BMW. His own limo, ordered in advance, was parked by the kerb. He climbed in the back as Sheen entered a cab.

That cab is the target,' he ordered the driver, one of Mencken's subordinates. 'Don't lose it. Just don't make it obvious we are following it – we have company. The white BMW. It will follow our target. You follow the BMW. One more thing you will not do. Just listen. Do not look at me in your rear-view mirror. See me and you're dead. Now, for Chrissakes, get moving…'

Jennie's golden hair glowed in the subdued lighting of the Hummer Bar. She sat on a bar stool and Tweed had to admit to himself she looked stunning.

She wore a deep purple suit, the jacket open to reveal a low-cut white blouse. Round her neck was a string of pearls which disappeared in the dip between her breasts. On the stool beside her lay a folded pale lilac coat.

She swung round off her stool to greet him. Her short skirt exposed her long legs. She kissed him on the cheek and a faint waft of perfume drifted in the air.

'I hope I haven't kept you waiting,' Tweed remarked as they hoisted themselves on to the stools.

'Not for one second. I like a man who is prompt. And I arrived early. You look very fresh and eager.' Her blue eyes were animated and she was giving him her full attention.

'I don't feel all that fresh,' Tweed confessed. 'I've been on the go all day.'

'Time to relax then.' She squeezed his arm. 'Sorry I didn't make it last night. But from my point of view that gave me this evening to look forward to.'