Colin Forbes - Terminal

Arthur Beck sat behind his desk eating the last of the English-style ham sandwiches his secretary had prepared for him. As far as Beck was concerned, the Earl of Sandwich was one of the great historical figures Britain had produced. He had acquired this liking during a stint spent with Scotland Yard in London. He was drinking coffee when the phone rang. His caller spoke in German.

`Leupin here, sir. Reporting from the station. Newman came in on the thirteen fifty-eight express from Geneva. He was accompanied by a woman American I would guess from her clothes. Marbot tailed them to the Bellevue Palace where they booked in ten minutes ago.'

`What about Lee Foley?'

`No sign of anyone answering his description. We both watched the passengers arriving off the train..

`Thank you, Leupin. Continue watching all trains from Geneva.'

`Marbot is on his way back here…'

Beck put down the receiver and ate the last sandwich while he thought. He had been right about one thing – that Newman would turn up in Berne. What bothered him was the earlier call from Chief Inspector Tripet. Newman, apparently, had shown no reaction to the casual reference to Terminal. Was it possible that the Englishman was working on an entirely different story?

Of one thing Beck was convinced – knowing Newman the way he did. The foreign correspondent wasn't visiting Berne just for a holiday. Newman was a workaholic: he never stopped looking for a fresh story.

But what really worried Beck was the non-appearance of Foley. Or should he say disappearance? If Lee Foley had slipped past the net Beck had a dangerous wolf stalking the streets of his city. He decided to call New York.

Lee Foley picked up the receiver on the second ring. Holding the phone to his ear he waited. The voice which spoke at the other end sounded impatient.

`Is that Mr Lee Foley?'

`Speaking. I'm in position. Listen, the first move is yours. You need to visit the place in question. Find out what the situation is. Could you please report back to me as soon as you can? No, please listen. Check out the security at the place in question. Any small item may be vital. When I'm armed with facts I can go into action. If it comes to it, I'll raise hell. I do have a talent for that, as you well know…'

Foley broke the connection and wandered over to the window of his bedroom which looked down a small alley. That was the place an experienced watcher would choose to observe the Savoy. The alley was empty.

Newman put down the phone as Nancy came into the small hallway, shut the door and entered the bedroom. She had a pensive look.

`Bob, who were you calling?'

`Your beloved Room Service for a large bottle of mineral water. You know my thirst, especially at night. They must be busy – I'll call again in a minute. Incidentally, you never showed me that Gucci perfume you rushed out to buy just before we left the Hotel des Bergues.'

`Voila!' She produced the bottle from her handbag. 'You should have noticed I was wearing it on the express. Isn't this a lovely room?'

They had been allocated Room 428. A bathroom led off the entrance hall. There was a separate toilet. But the room itself was the cherry on the cake. Very large with a couple of comfortable armchairs, a desk in front of the spacious windows where Newman could work. Two generous single beds had been placed alongside each other to form a double. Nancy bounced her backside on one of the beds.

`Bob, this is marvellous. We could live here for weeks…' 'Maybe we will. Come and look at the view. The porter made a big fuss about it and rightly so.'

They stood with his arm wrapped round her and she made cooing noises of sheer delight. Newman opened the first set of windows and then the outer ones a foot beyond. Chill air floated into the room which had the temperature of a sauna bath.

`That hill beyond the river with the snow is the Bantiger,' he explained. 'If this overcast clears over there to the left you'll get the most fantastic panorama of the Bernese Oberland range. Now,' he became businesslike, 'this afternoon I'm hiring a car from Hertz next door. We're driving to the Berne Clinic at Thun…'

`Just like that?' Her professional instincts surfaced. 'We should phone for an appointment to see Jesse…'

`We do nothing of the sort. We arrive unannounced. You're not only a relative, you're a doctor. With me accompanying you we can bulldoze our way in, maybe catch them on the hop..

`You really think that's a good idea?'

`It's what we're going to do. After a quick lunch…'

`Bob, they have three separate restaurants. One gorgeous room overlooking the terrace down there. The Grill Room. And the coffee shop…'

`The coffee shop. It will be quick. We have to move before our arrival is reported. Don't forget that bloody newspaper article.'

`Let me just fix myself.' She left him and sat down in front of the dressing table. 'Did you notice that Englishman who was registering while you waited? I was sitting on a sofa and I saw him look back and stare at you.'

`He'd probably seen my picture in that paper…'

Newman spoke in an off-hand manner, dismissing the incident from her mind. But he knew the guest she was talking about. He even knew the man's name, but he had detected no significance in the guest until Nancy's remark.

He had waited patiently while the other Englishman filled in the registration form, ignoring the receptionist's attempt to do the job for him. A slim, erect man with a trim moustache, he wore a short camel-hair coat and would be in his early thirties.

`The porter will take your bag to your room, Mr Mason,' the receptionist had informed him, returning his passport.

`Thank you,' Mason had replied, accepting the small hotel booklet with his passport and turning away to where the porter waited.

Now he remembered Mason had glanced over his shoulder at Newman before leaving the counter. A swift, appraising glance. He frowned to himself and Nancy watched him as she combed her hair.

`That man at the reception desk. You know him?'

`Never seen him before in my life. Are you ready? It will have to he a very quick meal. I have to hire the car and it's a half hour's drive to Thun along the motorway.'

`How did you locate it so quickly?'

`By asking the concierge when you wandered off into that huge reception hall. They have a fashion show this afternoon…'

`And a medical congress reception in a few days' time.. `So what?' he asked, catching a certain inflection in her tone.

`Nothing,' she answered. 'Let's go eat…'

Mason sat on the bed in his room, dialling the number which would put him straight through to Tweed's extension. He never ceased to be impressed with how swiftly the continental phone system worked – providing you were in Sweden, Germany or Switzerland.

`Yes,' said Tweed's voice. 'Who is it?'

`Mason. How is the weather there? We have eight degrees here…'

`Nine in London…' That established not only their identities, but also told Mason that Tweed was alone in his office – that Howard wasn't leaning over his shoulder, listening in.

`I've just booked in at the Bellevue Palace,' Mason said crisply. 'I stopped over in Zurich to gather a little information. Grange.' He said the name quickly.

`Do use the Queen's English,' Tweed complained. 'You stayed on in Zurich. Continue…'

`I've built up a dossier on the subject in question. Not easy. Swiss doctors close down like a shutter falling when you mention his name. I found an American doctor working in Zurich who opened up. God, the subject carries some clout. He's a real power in the land. Right at the top of the tree. You'd like a quick run-down?'

`Not over the phone,' Tweed said quickly, aware the call had to be passing through the hotel switchboard. 'I'm coming out there soon myself. Keep making discreet enquiries. Don't go near the British Embassy…'