Colin Forbes - The Power

…'

Tweed was not surprised to be shown with Gaunt into a large luxurious cinema by Amberg. There was row upon row of comfortable seats and the floor slanted downwards towards a large screen.

'I have set up the tape on a recorder,' Amberg informed them in his fussy manner. 'I will operate the projector to show the film. Make yourselves comfortable. It is air-conditioned, of course.'

'Of course!' Gaunt whispered to Tweed as they walked together towards a middle row. 'That Yankee millionaire who built this horror wasn't short of a dollar. Damned place reminds me of pictures I've seen in magazines of a pre-Second World War Odeon.'

'I'll take an aisle seat,' Tweed said, glancing back to where Amberg had retreated to a large projector mounted on a high dais.

'At least we didn't have to buy a ticket,' Gaunt continued as he settled in a seat next to Tweed. 'Which is a surprise – considering Amberg's love of money.'

'This should be what we have come all this way to see.'

'What happened to Newman?' Gaunt enquired. 'He disappeared on our way down here.'

'Probably gone to the loo.'

Tweed was lying. Newman had taken Tweed aside and told him he was going outside.

'I think I'd better see how Butler, Nield and Cardon are getting on with checking the defences.'

Tweed had nodded agreement. He'd also noticed Newman was carrying the hold-all he had kept close to himself ever since they had arrived inside the chateau. The hold-all contained the Uzi sub-machine-gun Newman had taken off the two American thugs who had kidnapped Jennie at the Bristol.

'Time, gentlemen, for the big picture,' Amberg called out with unaccustomed humour.

The lights were switched down. Tweed and Gaunt sat in near darkness. Taking off his glasses, Tweed cleaned them on his handkerchief, put them on again, looked back once more to where the vague silhouette of Amberg was crouched over his projector.

'How on earth does he keep this place clean without any servants?' Tweed mused.

'He brings in peasants off the lower slopes,' Gaunt told him. 'Pays them a pittance but in cash. This is France. The tax man never sees a franc of their earnings, which makes it all worthwhile – for the peasants and for Amberg.'

A glaring light flashed on to the screen, white with odd streaks of black. Tweed leaned forward intently. In the heavy silence he could hear the tape recorder revolving, spewing out atmospherics. No voices yet.

The light continued to blaze at them. No picture yet. Tweed checked the running time by the illuminated hands of his watch. Almost noon.

The light continued glaring non-stop. The tape recorder went on spewing out atmospherics. Tweed stirred restlessly. It was about time they saw something in the way of images. He suspected Gaunt was equally irked. Gaunt took out a cigar, lit it, blew the smoke away from Tweed, who now had a grim expression.

The strong light vibrated for a while longer, accompanied by the recorder's atmospherics. Without warning the light was turned off. Gaunt blinked, but Tweed had earlier taken the precaution of staring at the floor to keep his vision. The screen went blank. Tweed jumped up, made his way along the aisle to where Amberg stood.

'It's blank,' the banker said in a bewildered tone of voice. 'There's nothing on the film, nothing on the tape…'

'That's because you've substituted an unused film for the real one,' Tweed said in a ferocious hiss. 'Same with the tape. Where have you hidden the real ones?'

Then he heard the distant rattle of a machine-pistol and froze. None of his team possessed one. Newman had the Uzi sub-machine-gun, but Tweed could hear the difference. The Chateau Noir was under attack by Norton's murderous professionals.

When Newman had left the chateau by a rear exit, armed with the Uzi and his Smith amp; Wesson, his objective had been to take the high ground – to get inside the keep and reach its flat roof.

Close to the keep's wall, which sheered above him, he had reached a closed door inside an alcove when he saw Butler waving frantically to him. With the Luger in his right hand, Butler was crouched inside and close to the open doors of the old building used as a garage. He appeared to be warning Newman for God's sake to keep under cover.

Newman then spotted Nield and Cardon pressed against the side wall of the building. What the devil was going on? He suddenly saw a strong rope, knotted at intervals, hanging down the side of the tower. A climber's rope.

He glanced upwards in the nick of time. Way above him on the roof a man was peering down, aiming a machine-pistol at him. Newman jumped back inside the alcove as a fusillade of bullets hammered down on the cobbles only feet from where he had been standing. They were trapped.

Marler's glider had been released from its tow-line some time before by the Swiss pilot, who had waved and flown away towards the Ballon d'Alsace. It was a beautiful sunny day and below him Marler saw the savage summits and snowbound ravines of the Vosges drifting past.

He had crossed route D417 and the formidable endless hairpin bends of the Col de la Schlucht. He was approaching the Chateau Noir. On the lower slopes of the map-like landscape spread out beneath him he saw the tiny figure of a man guiding a snowplough. The driver waved to the pilot of the glider. Marler briefly waved back.

He was concentrating on operating the controls. Since he was deliberately losing altitude he was wary of down-draughts, sudden gusts of air which could suck him down without warning. Then he saw it. The massive pile of the pseudo-medieval castle which was the Chateau Noir. As he removed his goggles he was surprised by its vast size.

He checked the time by his watch. Noon. As the glider continued to lose height he raised his binoculars, pressed them to his eyes. He frowned as he detected a Land-Rover half-hidden inside a copse of evergreens. Only one man – behind the wheel – but the vehicle probably was positioned to give the driver a clear view down inside the chateau wall. Not one of ours, he thought.

Marler continued to swivel his binoculars, focusing them now on the chateau which was coming closer every second. He stiffened as he saw Butler crouched, as though hiding, inside the entrance to a building. Then he saw Newman at the base of the keep, saw a burly figure in a sheepskin on the flat roof of the tower, peering over as he aimed a machine-pistol. Newman jumped back out of sight as the heavy silence of the Vosges was fractured by the rattle of a hail of bullets.

'You really shouldn't have done that, old man,' Marler said to himself, addressing the man on the roof of the keep. He pressed the foot pedals gently. Time for a really smooth glide. This will only take seconds…'

He heard a muffled explosion. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the wrought-iron gates guarding the entrance collapse. He did not allow his attention to be diverted from the task in hand as he reached for the Armalite.

On the roof of the keep the burly man in a sheepskin was peering over the edge, his machine-pistol reloaded, ready for a fresh burst, when his target reappeared. Confined inside the garage, Butler had fired three shots from his Luger but the range from where he crouched to the summit o, f the tower was too great.

Praying that the glider would continue on its level course for a few more seconds, Marler took careful aim. With his eye glued to the sniperscope attached to his rifle, he saw the cross-hairs covering the upper back of the burly thug on top of the keep. Holding his breath, Marler pressed the trigger.

His target jerked upright in a convulsive movement. The machine-pistol left his hands, dropped to the cobbles far below. He staggered, then fell forward, following his lost weapon, screaming in terror as he plunged down the side of the keep. His body hit the cobbles with a bone-breaking thud close to the alcove where Newman sheltered. The corpse lay inert.