Colin Forbes - Terminal

`Gold Club? What's that?'

`Well, it doesn't really exist officially. I gather that it comprises a group of bankers who have certain views on national policy. The group is known as the Gold Club…'

`And your boss belongs to it?'

`On the contrary. He doesn't agree with their views, whatever they may be. The Gold Club is based in Zurich. `Zurich? Not Berne?' he probed.

`Definitely Zurich…'

`Who is your boss?' he enquired casually.

`I'm talking too much about my job…'

`I could find out so easily,' he pointed out. 'I'd only have to phone you at work and you'd say, "Office of…" There are other ways. You know that.'

`I suppose you're right,' she agreed. In any case, it really doesn't matter. I work for Dr Max Nagel. Now, does terminal mean a railway station? That's the current thinking…'

`They got it right first time. More than that I don't know.'

`A railway station – not an airport?' she persisted. 'We do have an airport at Basle.'

`Positively nothing to do with airports,' he assured her.

He stood up and wiped his mouth with his napkin. He offered to clear the table but she shook her head and stood close to him, coiling her hands round his neck. As they kissed he wrapped his arms round her body and felt the buttons down the back of her blouse.

`That Gold Club,' he whispered. 'Something to do with gold bullion?'

`No. I told you. It's just a name. You know how wealthy the Zurich bankers are. It's a good name for them…'

He unfastened the top two buttons and slipped his hand inside, searching for the splayed strap. His exploring fingers found nothing. He undid two more buttons and realized that beneath the blouse she was naked. She had stripped herself down while he trudged through the snow from the station.

He enjoyed himself in the bedroom but when the aftermath came he began to worry like mad about what she'd said. Was Basle the worst place in the world he could have come to escape? Had he wandered into the lion's pit? He'd have to keep under cover. He'd also watch the newspapers – especially those from Geneva, Berne and Zurich, plus the locals. Something might show up in them, something which would show him the way – the way to escape the horror.

London, 13 February 1984. 6?. The atmosphere inside Tweed's office at 10 am was one of appalled mystification. Besides Tweed, the other people gathered in the office included Howard, who had just returned from a weekend in the country, Monica, the middle-aged spinster of uncertain age Tweed called his 'right arm', and Mason, summoned urgently from Vienna on an apparent whim of Tweed's.

The 'object' Mason had brought with him and which he had purchased from Franz Oswald, was now locked away in Tweed's steel filing cabinet. No one had wanted to continue staring at that for long.

Howard, wearing the small check suit he kept for the country, was furious. He was convinced Tweed had exploited his absence to set all sorts of dangerous wheels in motion. To add insult to injury, Tweed had just returned from Downing Street where he had remained closeted with the Prime Minister for over an hour.

`Did you ask her for that document?' he enquired coldly.

Tweed glanced at the letter headed 10 Downing Street which he had deliberately left on his desk. It gave him full powers to conduct the investigation personally. There was even a codicil promising him immediate access to her presence at any time there were developments.

`No,' replied Tweed, standing like the rest and polishing his glasses with a shabby silk handkerchief. 'It was her idea. I didn't argue, naturally..

`Naturally,' Howard repeated sarcastically. 'So, now you've got the whole place in an uproar what's the next move?'

`I need outside help on this one.' Tweed looped his glasses over his ears and blinked at Howard. 'As you know, we're fully stretched. We have to get help where we can..

`A name – or names – would be reassuring..

`I'm not sure that's wise. Reliable help will only cooperate on a basis of total secrecy. If I'm the only person who knows their identity they know who to point the finger at if things go wrong. I take full responsibility..

`You've hired an outsider already,' Howard accused.

Tweed shrugged and glanced at the letter on his desk. Howard could have killed him. It was an uncharacteristic action on the part of Tweed, but he would go to any length to protect a source. He decided he had treated Howard rather badly – especially in front of the others.

`There's already been a body,' he informed his chief. 'A man was murdered in Vienna. Mason can tell you about it…'

`God Almighty!' Howard exploded. 'What are you letting us in for?'

`Permission to explain, sir?' the trim, erect Mason interjected. Taking Howard's curt nod for an affirmative he described in concise detail his experience with Franz Oswald. Howard listened in silence, his pursed lips expressing disapproval – and anxiety, a reaction Tweed sympathized with. He wasn't at all happy about the way the situation was developing himself.

`And did he tell you – while he was alive – how he obtained the thing?'

Howard nodded again, this time towards the locked drawer in the filing cabinet. He had calmed down while listening to Mason, a man he disliked but respected – they came from the same background. The trouble was he was Tweed's man. Like that bloody old spinster, Monica, who hadn't spoken a word- but Howard knew that later she could repeat the entire conversation back verbatim from memory.

`No, sir, he didn't,' Mason answered. 'I did ask but he refused point-blank to go into details. I have, however, got a photograph of the man who boarded the plane at Schwechat – that new camera is a wizard and I always carry it with me. It was a long shot, telephoto lens, but it's come out rather well.'

`Show it to me. You have got it on you?'

Mason glanced quickly at Tweed, which infuriated Howard once more. Tweed nodded acquiescence and wished Mason hadn't asked his permission. Still, Mason was being ultra- careful with this one. He watched Howard studying the photograph Mason handed to him.

`Any idea who he is?' Howard demanded.

`He's familiar,' Tweed replied. 'It will come back to me…'

Tut it through Records,' Howard suggested. 'Now, Mason, I'm going to say a word and I want you to react instantly. Give me the first association that comes into your head. Don't think about it. Ready? Terminal…'

`An electrical circuit,' Mason responded promptly.

`That's interesting.' Howard turned to Tweed. 'The Swiss are transforming their whole economy to run on electric power. New houses are heated by electricity – to avoid dependence on oil. Did you know that?'

`Yes, I knew that. You might have a shrewd point there,' he agreed.

`Supposing this whole business hinges on a massive sabotage operation?' Howard warmed to his theme. 'The enemy is planning to hit all the key points in the Swiss power system when the moment comes for them to make their move.'

`You could be right. We'll know when we find out what really is going on inside Switzerland. I need to send in someone the Swiss police and military intelligence don't know. Mason would fit the bill. And the Ambassador in Vienna agreed to bring forward his leave – three weeks…'

`Good idea,' agreed Howard. He felt a little better about the whole thing now he was contributing. Time to show a modicum of goodwill. He nodded towards the letter on Tweed's desk. 'With her backing we have an open-ended call on resources. But this business still worries me. Who would imagine the Swiss getting mixed up in a situation of such international dimensions? Yes, Mason, was there something?'

`Permission to find some breakfast – if you're finished with me, sir? Airline meals turn my stomach. I haven't eaten since last night.'