Colin Forbes - The Power

As he stood near the kerb a large man wearing a hood with earmuffs and a long heavy trench coat brushed against him. Tweed stiffened as a strong hand gripped his arm.

'Now don't get alarmed, old chum. I've waited for ever for you to come out. Important development…'

The American twang was distinctive. Cord Dillon's voice. Tweed stood quite still, clapping his gloved hands together as though feeling the cold. He spoke without looking at the American, his lips hardly moving.

'From now on we must keep in close contact. You can phone me at the hotel after nine in the evening. What is the important development?'

'Special Agent Barton Ives is near by. Wants to talk with you. The recognition signal will be a Union Jack, your national flag.'

'Describe him to me again, briefly…'

'About my height. Much slimmer build. Thick black hair. Now clean-shaven. Aged thirty-seven. Strong Anglo-Saxon features. Ice-blue eyes. He'll find you when it's OK. This place is crawling with watchers – hostile.'

'Ives will be taking a chance unless he's careful,' Tweed warned.

'He's careful. He's FBI. Was. Be in touch

Tweed was still clapping his gloves together in a slow rhythm as Newman arrived with the Espace, punctuating his thoughts. Was one of the two key men in this crisis -Barton Ives and Joel Dyson – really going to contact him? If so how? He wished he'd told Dillon they were on their way into the mountains. Paula walked briskly out of the hotel. It was no surprise that close on her heels Jennie Blade, clad in sheepskin, hurried up to the vehicle.

Tweed wondered if Jennie would have been so eager to join them if she'd known what was facing them during the long climb into the even more heavily snowbound mountains.

'We're being followed already,' Newman commented as he drove the grey Espace along the snow-covered road across the plain below the foothills rising in the near distance.

'The big cream Citroen, you mean?' Tweed suggested.

'That's the bastard.' Newman glanced over his shoulder to where Jennie sat. 'Excuse my French but if you had any idea this would be a holiday outing you're in for a very big surprise.'

The Renault Espace V6 was a spacious vehicle which could easily seat six people in three rows. Its large curved snout reminded Paula, seated next to Tweed, of a shark. Tweed occupied the middle seat with Newman on his left. In the row behind them Jennie, huddled in her sheepskin, was curled up like a cat on her seat.

Butler, clad in leathers with a large helmet, had passed them riding a Harley-Davidson and was leading the convoy as it drew closer to Kaysersberg. A distance behind them Nield drove the station wagon with his Walther tucked under a cushion on the front passenger seat.

Philip Cardon, astride his own motorcycle, roared past them, then slowed as his eyes kept swivelling from side to side. The Citroen shadowing them had so far kept well back from Nield's station wagon.

'Why should anyone follow us?' called out Jennie.

'Presumably to see where we're going,' Paula snapped without bothering to turn her head.

'Why would they want to do that?' Jennie persisted.

'So when we skid they can see in time the dangerous stretches of the road,' Paula snapped again. 'Could we possibly have a little quiet so the driver can concentrate? Also I'm checking a map. We're coming into Kaysersberg very shortly,' she warned Newman. 'I can see the old buildings on the outskirts.'

' I'm not worried at all about us skidding,' Jennie went on. 'Bob is a marvellous driver. You should have more confidence in him.'

Paula's eyes blazed as she checked the map again. So far as she was concerned Jennie Blade was spare luggage which could be dumped by the roadside at any time. Tweed, seeing her expression, was secretly amused. He was also suspicious.

Jennie's air of naivety was just a little too innocent and he was certain she was baiting Paula. Cardon returned on his motorcycle, made a gesture for them to slow down. Newman responded immediately, saw Cardon perform a highly skilled U-turn in the snow, then come racing back, speeding up as he overtook them.

'We shall soon be inside Kaysersberg,' Paula warned again. 'Which probably means we'll have to crawl.'

'Presenting a slow-moving target,' Newman commented.

The ancient buildings of the medieval gem closed round them on both sides as Newman reduced speed to little more than walking pace. Paula stared with admiration at the antique buildings, many with wooden cross-beams buried in the plaster walls and slanting at crazy angles.

'This is wonderful,' she enthused. 'It reeks of character, of the Middle Ages. And look at that hump-backed bridge…'

Standing by himself in an alley-way midway inside Kaysersberg, the man wearing a fur hat and an astrakhan coat held a mobile phone to his ear. The aerial was extended as he peered at the bridge through his half-moon glasses and listened to the report from another mobile phone inside the cream Citroen.

'Our main competitor is aboard the grey Espace,' the driver reported. 'Plus a man and two women.'

'Maintain your present position,' Norton ordered. 'Keep well back. I'm talking about survival…'

He slid the aerial back inside the phone. Once the Espace started to cross that bridge it was the end of Tweed. One mission accomplished. Chateau Noir next.

'Brake!' Tweed ordered. 'Stop this vehicle at once.'

Newman obeyed immediately, sat behind the wheel with the engine ticking over. Cardon was approaching on his motorcycle. Newman was mystified by Tweed's sudden command.

'What is this in aid of? The pause?' he enquired.

'Something about that bridge I don't like. If I were planning an ambush – and ruthlessly, didn't care tuppence about innocent civilian casualties – that bridge would be the death-trap.'

'I think we may have a problem,' Cardon said, speaking through the open window, straddled on his machine. 'I suggest you don't proceed any further until Butler and I have spied out the lie of the land.

'What triggered off this mood of caution?' Tweed asked.

'There's an old castle perched up just behind these old houses. Anyone located on top has a perfect view of the bridge and any vehicle crossing it. Harry and I saw at least one man at the summit of the keep – with what looked like a rifle in his hands. I'm going to check under the bridge, Harry takes the castle. Sit tight.'

'Look! A lovely cat…'

Before Tweed could stop her Paula had opened the door, jumped out and was walking briskly behind Cardon who was approaching the bridge on foot, leaving his motorbike leaning against the Espace. There was a large fat cat on the parapet of the bridge and Tweed knew she was fond of cats. But he also noticed she had undone the flap of her shoulder-bag next to her hip. Inside was an easily accessible pocket which had been specially designed to take her. 32 Browning.

Tweed watched as Paula, clad in a padded windcheater and ski pants tucked into leather boots with rubber soles, strode confidently on to the bridge. Any watcher was unlikely to suspect her of being anything but a ski-season tourist.

She picked up the heavily furred cat which was coffee-coloured with white 'stockings' and a white chest. She glanced around as it purred at her attentions and saw the swiftly moving figure of Harry Butler disappearing below the looming castle. Cardon had referred to a 'keep' and this was a great round tower rearing up above the rest of the edifice. She nipped one of the ears of the cat which protested, prepared to leap out of her arms. She aimed it over the edge of the parapet on to the snow-covered bank at the edge of the frozen stream.

Cardon, seeing the opportunity she'd provided, lowered himself over the stone wall as though in pursuit of the animal. Agilely, Paula dropped over the wall, followed him under the bridge. The cat perched on a snowbound rock at the far end of the arch, glaring at them. Cardon raised a warning hand.