Colin Forbes - The Power

'Mr Amberg is away at the moment. No, I have no idea when he will return.'

'I am a client,' Tweed persisted. 'Mr Amberg was going to collect two items which belong to me from the bank vault. Do you know if he did visit the vault…'

'I really have no idea. If you will leave your name…'

Tweed put down the phone, waited a moment, dialled police headquarters, asked for Beck. He explained what he wanted. Beck said he'd contact the Zurcher Kredit and call him back. Five minutes later the phone rang and Beck was on the line again.

'I put pressure on the old dragon who took my call, told her I was investigating three murders which took place on Swiss soil. Amberg did collect something from the vault before he left…'

'For his chateau up in the Vosges behind Colmar,' Tweed interjected.

'Don't go into France,' Beck warned. 'I can try to protect you here but France could be even more dangerous. The train incident has been dealt with. I'll need some more statements.'

'You'll get them before we leave.'

'For France? Don't do it, for God's sake. I'm carrying out a sweep through Basle. They obviously know you're here. Take care…'

Tweed was leaving the room when the phone rang again. He locked the door, ran to answer it, sure it would stop just as he reached it.

'Yes?' he said.

There's someone on the phone for you, Mr Tweed,' the operator told him. 'He won't give a name but says it's very urgent.'

'Put him on.'

'Dillon here. We have to take a decision-'

'Operator!' Tweed interrupted suddenly. 'This is a bad connection. I can't hear the caller…'

He waited. For the hotel operator to answer. For the click which would betray the fact she had been listening in. Nothing.

'Sorry, Dillon. It's all right. Go ahead.'

'Barton is in town. But so is the opposition. Believe me. Barton won't come to see you in Basle.'

'Cord, first give me a description of him. Detailed, if you please. I need to be able to recognize him.'

There was a pause. Tweed was taking no more chances -not after the fake Barton Ives, whom he was convinced had been Norton, had turned up at the Gotthard. Dillon spoke tersely.

'Six feet tall, slim build, wiry, black hair, now has a small black moustache, a small scar over his right eye – where a scumbag caught him with a knife. Speaks very deliberately. Economical in movement. Except in a crisis. Then he moves like a rocket taking off from Cape Canaveral. That enough? It had better be.'

'Enough. Today or tomorrow latest we move to the Hotel Bristol, Colmar, in Alsace. A thirty-minute train ride. He contacts me there. And so do you. In person. I'll meet you both in Colmar – together or separately. I don't give a damn. The alternative? Forget it.'

'Look, Tweed, when you're on the run…'

'By now I know at least as much as you do – maybe more – about being on the run. Time to stop running, to face the swine who don't care what methods they use. Ives must see me in Colmar. So must you. I have to go now…'

Tweed, his mood cold as ice, put down the phone. He had meant it. No more being driven from place to place by the opposition. Time to lay a huge trap for them. Probably in the Vosges mountains.

Tweed apologized to Eve as he rejoined her. She was smoking, waved her ivory cigarette holder.

'Please, say no more. I've been enjoying myself now I'm away from Zurich. Awful thing to say, but I'll always associate that city with Julius. Does that sound too too dreadful?'

Tweed noticed she must have drunk about three glasses of the Sancerre during his absence. Some of these women had heads like rocks. She showed no sign of being even slightly inebriated. He refilled her glass.

'No, it doesn't. If he gave you a bad time. The lines to London were busy. Hence my neglecting you.'

'Nonsense. As regards Julius, all those women. Ah, here is the waiter…'

They both ordered grilled sole. Tweed remembered from a previous visit that sole was particularly good at the Drei Konige. When they were alone again Eve leaned towards him, her greenish eyes holding his.

'You've changed since you made that call. You're like a pulsating dynamo now. Like a man about to do battle. I can sense the change.'

Tweed became aware that he was sitting very erect in his chair, that as he spoke he'd been making vigorous gestures. It was uncanny the way Eve had hit the nail on the head. He felt rejuvenated at the prospect of meeting Barton Ives, a man he was convinced knew a great deal about why the world was exploding about them.

He chatted to Eve about Switzerland in general until the main course arrived. They ate in silence, devouring the excellent fish. He began probing again when they had ordered their dessert. But first he refilled her glass. So far he had consumed one glass of wine and a lot of mineral water.

'How did you get here? By car?'

'Lord, no! The traffic is terrible. I flew from Zurich. It's only a half-hour flight. For some stupid reason I got to the airport at the last minute, boarded the plane and it took off.' She toyed with her half-empty glass. 'Are you still investigating the horrible murder of that woman – what washer name? Helen Frey.'

'I have other fish to fry – pardon the unintended pun. Could there be a link with her murder and the fact that she… knew Julius?'

'Why on earth should there be?'

'Just a thought. When are you leaving for Colmar?'

'Haven't made up my mind.'

'Where is Squire Gaunt at this moment?'

'No idea.' She emptied her glass. 'He comes and goes. I'm not his keeper- if I can put it that way.' She played with his sleeve. 'He's just an acquaintance – if you were thinking some thing else.'

'Never crossed my mind,' Tweed lied.

The orange mousse with Grand Marnier they had chosen was as mouth-watering as their grilled sole. Tweed was puzzled. Eve seemed so poised and interested in him. When she had finished her mousse she carefully wiped her full lips with a tissue and swung round in her chair to face him. Her jacket was open and the movement drew attention to her well-shaped breasts protruding against the white blouse. She plucked at his sleeve again.

'Why don't we have coffee upstairs in my room? It will be quieter there. And I would like to hear how you got on with Julius. He was, after all, my husband.. Please excuse me for a moment. The powder room …'

As she left the restaurant Tweed glanced across at the table where Paula sat with Newman. Paula was watching him with a half-smile, roguish. She beckoned to him, got up to meet him.

'Something fascinating you must see. There's a really weird ferry which keeps crossing the Rhine.' She led him to an end window. 'It's like a gondola. Bob says it's controlled by a wire running from the ferry to a cable which spans the river. There it is…'

In some ways the very small ferry did resemble a gondola. The stern half was roofed over with the for'ard part open to the elements. A strong current was running as it made its slow way across from the opposite bank. The craft was swaying in a brisk breeze and inwardly Tweed winced. His mind flashed back to the ferry from Padstow to Rock, the large powerboat. which had attempted to overturn them, Cardon lobbing his grenade. They watched it until it reached the side.

It carried a single passenger. A large man with his back to them. He wore a deerstalker.

'A curious contraption, that ferry,' Tweed commented.

'Your lady friend awaits,' Paula mocked him.

'I've just had a message that I have to go somewhere,' Tweed explained to Eve as they left the dining-room.

She looked at her watch, glanced at the reception clock.

'My watch is fifteen minutes slow. No wonder I nearly missed my flight at Zurich. There you go. A Swiss watch. It must have been slow for days…' She hesitated. Tweed thought she'd been going to say more, had changed her mind. 'Oh…' she said.