Colin Forbes - The Power

He soon realized that the Old Town where the small hotels were situated was called Little Venice. Amazing how many Venices there were in Europe. The next thing to do when he'd found a room was to call the Bristol, ask to speak to a Mr Tweed. He felt sure that was where he'd hit the sack. When Tweed came on the line – if he did -he'd put down the receiver. That should twitch at his nerves. Mr Tweed didn't know it, but they'd bury him in Alsace.

'I expect the Vosges to be an area of maximum danger,' Tweed announced to the gathering in his bedroom at the Drei Konige.

Newman and Paula shared a couch, Butler and Nield sat in armchairs and Marler adopted his usual stance, leaning against a wall and smoking a king-size cigarette.

Marler, a member of the SIS and the deadliest marks man in Europe, had been summoned to fly from London to Basle when Tweed had phoned Monica. Of medium height and light build, he had fair hair, was in his early thirties and wore a smart check sports jacket and razor-creased slacks. He spoke in an upper crust drawl and was always crossing swords with Newman.

'Is this intuition on your part?' Marler asked. 'Or have you solid data to base your warning on?'

'Does it make any difference?' Newman snapped.

These two men were hardly mutual friends. But if it came to a firefight each knew they could rely on the other to the hilt.

'Yes, it does, old man,' Marler replied patronizingly. 'Is there any solid data?' he asked Tweed.

Since his arrival Tweed had brought Marler up to date on everything that had happened. Marler, with his fresh eye, might notice something significant they had missed.

'There is some data,' Tweed told them. 'Beck phoned me and reported that a man whose description sounds very like Joel Dyson's was held up outside the Zurcher Kredit here.'

'Held up?' Paula queried.

'Yes. An American shoved a gun into Dyson's back as he left the Zurcher Kredit. Fortunately a patrol car turned up, the American with the gun fled, and if it was Dyson he'd asked a Mrs Kahn at the bank where Amberg was. Beck never overlooks a thing – he phoned the bank, spoke to Mrs Kahn. She confirmed what Eve Amberg told me – that the banker is at the Chateau Noir.'

'You said if it was Dyson,' Paula commented. 'Not like you to accept an identification without proof.'

'Which is why,' Tweed told her, 'I sent Cardon to show the photocopy of your sketch of Dyson to Mrs Kahn…'

There was a knock on the locked door. Newman opened it and Cardon strolled in. He winked at Paula who made a moue.

'It was Dyson who called at that bank here in Basle,' Cardon addressed Tweed. He handed back the envelope containing the photocopy. 'She recognized him at once from the sketch. Beck is helpful – he had a detective waiting there to escort me into Mrs Kahn's office. She didn't hesitate to talk to me.'

'All of which confirms my warning about danger waiting for us in the Vosges. That American who held up Dyson and then escaped probably asked him where Amberg was. We shall have company – unwelcome company – in Alsace.'

The phone rang. Paula picked it up, listened, said she would tell him, put down the receiver and looked at Tweed with an amused smile.

'You already have company waiting for you in the lounge. More welcome company. Jennie Blade is anxious to talk to you.'

'She didn't mention Gaunt?' Tweed asked, frowning.

'Not a word.'

'When I spoke to Monica she told me she'd added to her profile on Mr Gaunt. At one time he was an officer in Military Intelligence. Intriguing…'

Jennie Blade sat upright in an armchair. She was dressed in ski pants tucked into smart leather ankle boots and a blue silk polo-necked sweater which hugged her figure. Folded neatly on a nearby chair was a fur-lined jacket.

When Tweed stepped out of the lift she was smoothing down her blonde mane with one hand, checking her appearance in a compact mirror with the other. The moment she saw Tweed she snapped the mirror shut, put the compact inside a Gucci handbag with a shoulder strap.

'Long time no see,' she greeted him.

She tilted her head, held up her right cheek. He bent down and kissed it, perched himself on the arm of her chair. It was an unusual place for him to sit but he sensed she was putting herself out to be seductive. Her long legs were crossed.

'Not so long since we had a drink in the Hummer Bar in Zurich. Where is Gaunt?' Tweed asked.

'Oh, the Squire? God knows. He's a pain in the proverbial. Disappears for hours, days. He told me he'd seen you here. I have the strong impression you're a very reliable man – by which I mean a man a woman can rely on.'

'Depends on the woman, the circumstances.'

'And I thought you liked me.'

She twisted round – as she had on the stool in the Hummer Bar – clasped her strong slim hands and rested her forearms on his leg. She gazed up at him pleadingly.

'Let's say I do like you,' Tweed suggested. 'What comes next?'

'I'm frightened. I'm being followed by someone. They appear when I'm least expecting it. As I'm leaving a shop just before closing time when it's dark outside. When I'm getting my keys out to enter the apartment Gaunt has near Bankverein. It takes a lot to scare me but I admit I'm really worried about this shadow man.'

'Describe him.'

She took hold of his right hand. Holding it between both of hers she continued gazing up at him.

'I said describe him,' Tweed repeated in a hard voice.

'Wears a black wide-brimmed hat, tilted down over his face. About five foot six tall. I might be wrong about his height. He also wears a long black overcoat and a woollen scarf.'

Without showing it, Tweed was taken aback. Jennie had just given almost exactly the same description of the man seen leaving Klara's apartment in Rennweg after she had been garrotted. Her words were almost precisely those used by Old Nosy who occupied the ground-floor apartment in the Altstadt building where Klara had been murdered.

'You are talking about Basle?' he checked. 'This man is following you here in Basle?'

'Yes. The Shadow Man.' She shivered. 'It's getting on my nerves. Which is ridiculous considering the jobs I've had.'

'What jobs might those be?' he asked gently.

'I had a training as an accountant. Found it frantically boring. Then I got a big job with a huge firm in New York. They checked up on the financial stability of firms all over the world for a fabulous fee. Also on prominent individuals. I had to bluff my way into offices and private apartments to check on the lifestyle of certain individuals. That's how I saved quite a packet. I left them when one target threatened me with a gun. Felt my luck was running out. I came back to Britain, to London.'

She was interlacing her fingers with Tweed's as she spoke. He thanked Heaven that Paula wasn't there to see him. She'd pull his leg unmercifully.

'And then you met Gaunt?' he suggested.

All the time she told him the story of her life she was gazing at him, her glowing eyes almost hypnotizing him. Watch it, he warned himself.

'No, Gaunt came later,' she went on. 'Back in London I got a job with a private investigation agency. That lasted six months and was sordid work, but it led me to Gaunt.' She paused.

'Go on, I'm still listening.'

'You make a good audience. My last job at the agency was to check up on Walter Amberg.'

Again Tweed was taken aback. Again he maintained a poker-faced expression, but stared back at her to try and penetrate her character. Her voice was soft and soothing, which added to the hypnotic effect. Gaunt was mad not to grab her. For the first time since his wife had left him years ago for a Greek millionaire Tweed wondered about throwing overboard his solitary life. He pulled himself up sharply. This was a job he was working on, the most dangerous he'd ever encountered.