Colin Forbes: The Power

'Newman had gone off somewhere,' Tweed replied. 'Monica left a message on his answerphone to come and see her. She'll tell him where we've gone.'

Tweed had deliberately answered her question to introduce a whiff of normality back into her life. Middle-aged, of medium height and build, he wore horn-rimmed glasses. He was outwardly the man you pass in the street and never notice – a characteristic which had served him well as Deputy Director of the SIS. He walked quickly up the steps, put his arm round Paula, squeezed her.

'What's happened here?'

'It's ghastly. No, that isn't data, which is what you always want.' She took a deep breath. They're all dead.'

'Who exactly?' Tweed asked calmly.

'Julius Amberg, his guards and the butler, Mounce. Eight corpses waiting for you inside that lovely house. The postman did it…'

'Tell me more later. I'd better go and see for myself. This postman you mentioned has gone?'

'I haven't had time to search the upper floor. Downstairs is clear.'

'Harry,' Tweed said, taking command immediately, 'go upstairs and search for a killer, who will be armed. Take Philip Car don with you.'

'On my way…'

Butler, a 7.65-mm Walther automatic in his hand, entered the manor followed by Cardon also gripping a Walther. As Paula and Tweed followed them they saw Butler, holding the gun in both hands, creeping up the wide staircase. Cardon was a few paces behind, sliding up close to the wall, starting at the upper landing.

'They're in here,' Paula said. 'Prepare yourself for something pretty awful. Especially Amberg's face.'

Tweed, wearing a trench coat over his navy blue business suit, paused. Hands deep inside his trench coat pockets, a stance he used to adopt when interrogating suspects in the old days when he had been the youngest

Scotland Yard superintendent in the Murder Squad, he stared at the dead body of Mounce.

'I'd like to know what is inside that package the postman delivered. But we mustn't disturb anything until the police get here. We'll call them in a minute,' he said, glancing at the phone on a table against the hall wall. He listened as Paula thought of something else.

The kitchen staff behind that door were attacked with tear-gas, then I think the killer knocked them unconscious with something. One of the three girls has an ugly bruise on her head. They're all alive, thank heavens.'

'Pete.' Tweed addressed Butler's partner, a very different character. Slim, dressed in a smart blue suit under his open raincoat, he had neat dark hair and a small moustache. The staff are unconscious in the kitchen…'

'I heard what Paula said, Chief.'

'Go and see what you can do for them. Get a statement if any of them recover and are up to it.'

'I'll get it all down on my pocket tape recorder,' Nield assured him.

He produced the miniaturized recorder the boffins in the basement of Park Crescent had designed. Giving Paula a smile and a little salute, he headed for the kitchen.

'Now for it,' Paula warned.

She opened the door to the dining-room. Tweed walked in ahead of her, stood still after taking two paces. His eyes scanned the carnage, stared briefly at the red lake on the ceiling, walked slowly past each body until he arrived at the head of the table.

'It's a blood bath,' Paula commented. 'You won't like Julius Amberg's face. It's been sprayed with acid.'

'Ruthless,' Tweed said, looking down at his old friend. 'Also intriguing. Julius has – had – an identical twin brother. Julius was Chief Executive of the Zurcher Kredit Bank in Zurich, the driving force. Walter, the brother, is Chairman, does very little except draw a fat salary.'

He looked up as Butler appeared at the door, the Walther still in his hand. He nodded to Tweed.

'All clear upstairs. No one else is here.' His gaze swept round the room. 'Bloody hell.'

'A perfect description,' Tweed responded. 'Lucky we were late. Paula, how did you avoid this massacre…?'

His expression changed. His hands jumped out of his pockets and he was alert as a prowling tiger.

'My God!'

'What is it?' Paula asked.

Tweed had grasped something everyone else had overlooked. His own remark about being lucky to be late triggered off the alarm bells inside his head.

'We were supposed to be the targets. I must phone Park Crescent instantly. This is a major emergency.'

'I'll call them immediately,' Butler said, ran into the hall and picked up the phone. He was dialling as Tweed hurried into the hall. 'Shouldn't be long now…'

'Hurry!' Tweed urged him. 'Park Crescent could be in terrible danger…'

It took Butler several minutes – he had to dial again and Tweed stood close to him. Butler listened, nodded and handed the phone over.

'Pray God I'm in time,' Tweed said as he took the instrument.

Tweed and the others have driven down to a Tresillian Manor on Bodmin Moor,' Monica told Newman as she closed a file on her desk at Park Crescent.

Newman had just arrived in response to the urgent call from Monica waiting for him on his answerphone at his flat. He took off his favourite Gannex raincoat, hung it on the stand, settled in a chair facing her desk.

'Bodmin Moor? That's Cornwall. Who are the others and why has he gone down to that remote spot?'

'He took Butler, Nield and Cardon with him as guards…'

'A heavy delegation. As guards? That's unlike Tweed. Were they armed? What's going on?'

'Yes, they were armed.' Monica sounded disturbed. 'He was going to meet a Swiss banker, Julius Amberg, who flew in from Zurich.'

'Amberg. That nasty little berk, Joel Dyson, knows Amberg. A very odd coincidence. Has Tweed seen that film or listened to the tape?'

'No, they're still in the safe. He hadn't time. It was action stations from the moment he arrived and took the call from Amberg – begging him to hurry to Cornwall.'

'More and more mysterious. And why did you call me?'

Tweed wanted you to drive down there if you contacted me in time. I think it would be pointless your going now. The meeting at the manor was for lunch. It will all- be over-'

She broke off as the phone began ringing. Picking up the receiver she started to announce 'General amp; Cumbria Assur-'

'Monica, this is Tweed. You recognize my voice? Quick.'

'Yes, is something…'

'Exit One! Exit One! Exit One! For Christ's sake

'Understood.'

Monica rammed down the receiver, took a key from a drawer, knocked over her chair in her haste. Inserting the key in a metal box attached to the wall, she pulled down a red lever, slammed the door shut. The moment the lever was operated screaming alarm bells alerted every office in the building – including Tweed's.

'Emergency evacuation!' Newman shouted to make himself heard as he jumped up, grabbed his Gannex. Monica stuffed her Filofax in her handbag and Newman held the door open. Men and women were already moving down the staircase. There had been rehearsals: no one panicked. They kept moving.

In the entrance hall George, the guard, was slamming down a phone. He had a clipboard in front of him and ticked off people as they filed out through the front door. The bell in the hall was more subdued.

As Newman reached the entrance hall with Monica he glanced at Lisa, the fair-haired girl who operated the switchboard. He saw row upon row of red lights. Every phone was – had been – in use. Lisa snatched up her coat and handbag, as Newman asked the question.

'So many calls all at once?'

'Switchboard jammed,' Lisa replied quickly. 'Except for Tweed's line, which is separate.'

' I had a crazy call,' George commented, ticking off more names. 'Some nutcase said he was phoning from Berlin, had an urgent message. Been jabbering away for five minutes…'