Colin Forbes - The Power

'Jolly good.' Marler gave Paula a little salute. 'Get to bed now. I'll be up at crack of dawn. For Der Tag.'

Norton had returned to the Green Tree, satisfied that the bridge was a perfect ambush location – if Tweed chose the Kaysersberg route. He took off his fur hat and astrakhan coat in the entrance hall, shook off the snow, went up the staircase to his room.

As he inserted his key he heard the phone ringing inside. Once in the room, he slammed the door shut, locked it and hurried to the phone. He had no doubt it was the President calling yet again.

'A call for you,' the hotel operator informed him and he heard the click as she went off the line.

'Norton here.'

'Good evening to you, Mr Norton,' a hoarse growly voice said. 'You will know who has given me your number. Now please be so good as to listen carefully to my instructions. If you really want the film and the tape.'

'Who is this?' grated Norton.

'Are you deaf? I told you to listen. One more comment and I go off the line. Have you got that?'

'Yes,' Norton replied with great reluctance. He was used to giving orders, not receiving them.

'You will drive to Lac Noir in the Vosges tomorrow, arriving there at sixteen hundred hours. Since you are American that is four o'clock in the afternoon…'

'I damn well know that…'

'One more interruption and this call ceases. Someone in Washington would not be pleased with you. The patron of the Green Tree, where you are staying, will show you on a map how to reach Lac Noir. Tell him you want to arrive at four and he will tell you when you must start. Have you understood me so far?'

The growly voice purred with menace. Even Norton, who thought he had experienced everything, was disturbed. He was careful with his reply.

'Yes, I have understood you.'

'Lac Noir – the Black Lake – is a lonely place. It is also

363 easy to observe from many points. You will bring the money and you will come alone. I said alone. If you bring anyone else we will never meet. I will show you the film, play the first section of the tape. You will give me the money. The exchange will be completed.'

Norton instantly saw his chance to manipulate the arrangement to suit his own purpose. His tone was dominant and grim.

'OK so far. But hell, you think I have that kind of dough in my back pocket? Because I haven't. It's in a safe place under heavy guard. I might be able to bring it up to you by six in the evening. No earlier. In any case, I want proof you have the items I need. So now you'll listen to me – if you want that dough. Or, to use your own words, we'll never meet. Six o'clock,' he repeated emphatically.

'Washington isn't going to like this at all…'

At this point Norton knew he had Growly Voice on the defensive for the first time. He hadn't broken off the call. He hadn't refused the later time of six o'clock Norton had laid down. Keep up the pressure, Norton told himself, and barked into the phone: 'Screw Washington. You can tell them I said that. I am the guy in charge of this operation. I am on the spot. I know where the money is. You're dealing with me? Get it? Just me. I'll be at the Black Lake at six o'clock in the evening tomorrow. All on my ownsome. And since presumably you're a European, six o'clock is eighteen hundred hours. Good night…'

Norton slammed down the phone before the voice at the other end could respond. He lit a cigar, dwelling with satisfaction on how he'd turned the tables on Growly Voice. Four in the afternoon it was still daylight, but by six it was black as pitch. The blackmailer was going to get a very nasty surprise tomorrow. And the timing fitted in with eliminating Tweed and his team if they went up into the mountains – they were bound to choose daylight hours. The big bucks were safe, too. Maybe he could clean up the whole operation by this time tomorrow evening. He took another puff at his cigar, a choice Havana. Banned in the States – just because it came from Cuba.

Twenty million dollars is a lot of money to have suspended from a chain attached to your right-hand wrist. Louis Sheen still had the chain linking his wrist with the brown suitcase containing the fortune in US banknotes. From his room in the Basle Hilton he had been transported by car across the frontier to the Hotel Bristol in Colmar.

His room, on the first floor, was probably the most heavily guarded area in Alsace-Lorraine. At all times three armed men occupied the room with him. Sheen was beginning to get fed up with room service. He peered at Mencken who had just been let into the room, glared at him through his rimless glasses.

'Look, Marvin, there are too many scumbags infesting this room. If I have to stay here a night longer I want them cleared out. You think I enjoy trying to sleep with this case as a bedmate? Because I don't.'

Mencken stroked a finger down the side of his long pointed jaw. Through half-closed eyes he studied Sheen with an expression which hardly radiated liking or sympathy. He spoke throatily as he made his casual suggestion.

'You've got the keys to unlock those steel cuffs hidden somewhere. Must have for when the time comes to hand over the billion dollars. So why not unlock the cuff on your wrist? No one can fool with trying to open the case. You're the only one who knows the code for those combination locks. Anyone who did try fooling around would end up igniting the thermite bomb inside – burning the money to a crisp, probably themselves, too.'

'I have my instructions,' Sheen snapped. 'And they come from a far higher source than you'll ever meet, let alone reach.'

Sheen, wearing a grey Brooks Brothers suit, was an accountant by training. He felt himself superior in intellect and class to these people. It was just unfortunate he had to spend time in such bad company. This attitude was not lost on Mencken. He leaned his face close to Sheen, who sat on the bed, propped against pillows, the case next to him.

'I'm Marvin to a few good friends,' he informed Sheen. 'But you don't come into that category. So, in future it's Mr Mencken. I'm the boss. OK?'

'Makes no difference to me,' Sheen retorted in a bored tone. 'And the boss is Norton. He's the only one who can tell me to release what's inside this case.'

'You listen to me.' Mencken's expression had become ugly. 'These men are here to protect your worthless hide. They heard you call them scumbags – so if that door burst open and the Marines arrived, just how much enthusiasm do you think they'd have protecting you?'

'You were ordered to protect me. You must have a good idea how high up that order came from. And the amount in this case is not a billion. You know that. Now, go away and put these men outside in the corridor.'

Sheen's eyes gazed contemptuously at Mencken from behind the rimless glasses. Mencken shoved the fingers of both hands inside his belt. At last Sheen had given him an opening to hit back at the creep.

'Listen, buddy boy, you know this is a hotel, that we're keeping you under cover. So what the hell do you think it would look like if I put the three scumbags – wasn't that the word you used? – outside your door in the hotel corridor? I've got news for you, Sheen. You look after the dough, I'll look after everything else. Sleep well, buddy boy…'

Mencken left the room which was immediately locked again from the inside. The secret order from Norton gave him a big kick. When the case had eventually been opened, the thermite bomb removed, at the first opportunity Mencken had personally to shoot Louis Sheen in the head and dispose of the body. He couldn't wait for that happy moment.

Prior to going to bed, Newman had gone into the Brasserie to buy a large bottle of mineral water. He often woke up in the middle of the night feeling parched. They were cleaning up in the Brasserie as he entered, sweeping floors, wiping the counter, polishing glasses. Newman was surprised to see Eve Amberg nursing a glass of champagne at a table. She raised her glass to him.