Terminal. Part 15

'They're looking for signs of a struggle,' Beck remarked. 'G.o.d, the wind cuts you in two up here. And it wasn't an accident,' he continued. 'There's no ice on the stones he could have slipped on...'

Newman placed both hands on the top of the wall close to the roped-off section and peered over. Vertigo. The great wall fell into the abyss. He studied the area, looking along the wall in both directions. His hands were frozen.

'Interesting,' he commented.

'What is?' Beck asked sharply.

'Look for yourself. This is the one place where there are no b.u.t.tresses to break his fall. He'd still have been seriously injured- but he might just have survived. He went over at the very place where it was certain he'd be killed...'

He looked round the great Plattform which was divided up into four large gra.s.sy beds. Stark, closely trimmed trees reared up in the night which was now lit by the moon. Behind them the huge menacing spire of the Munster stabbed at the sky. Newman thrust his hands into his pockets and began walking towards the exit he knew led into the Munsterplatz. Beck followed without comment.

Emerging from the gateway, Newman stood for a moment, staring round the cobbled square and across at the Munsterga.s.se. The arcade on the far side was a deserted tunnel of light and shadow. He walked diagonally across the square and inside the arcade. He continued walking until he reached the Finsterga.s.schen Finsterga.s.schen, the narrow alley leading towards the Marktga.s.se, one of the main streets of Berne. He checked his watch. Five minutes. That was the time it had taken for him to walk from the place where Nagy had died to the Finsterga.s.schen.

The patrol car Beck had sent on ahead was parked by the kerb. Newman climbed into the rear seat without a word as Beck settled himself beside him He gave the driver a brief instruction.

'Not the front entrance. We'll take the long way round to my office.'

'Why?' asked Newman when the policeman had closed the part.i.tion dividing them from the driver.

'Because the front entrance may well be watched. I rushed you into the car on the way out but I don't want anyone to see you come back - even in those togs...'

Togs. Newman smiled to himself. During his stint in London Beck had picked up a number of English colloquialisms. He left the talking to Beck who continued immediately.

'Do you know that pathetic crumpled wreck back there?'

'Julius Nagy,' Newman replied promptly. 'The Tyrolean hat. He was wearing it when he followed me about in Geneva..

He had to admit that much. He had no doubt Beck had contacted Chief Inspector Tripet of the Sfirete in Geneva. Beck turned to face the Englishman.

'But how did you identify him in Geneva?'

'Because when I was last here I used him. He deserved a better death than that. He was born to a poor family, he hadn't enough brains to get far, but he was persistent and he earned his living supplying people like me with information. He had underworld contacts.'

'Here in Berne, you mean?'

'Yes. That was why I was surprised he had moved his sphere of operations to Geneva...'

'That was me,' Beck replied. 'I had him thrown out of the Berne canton as a public nuisance, an undesirable. I too felt sorry for him. Why did he risk coming back is what I would like to know...'

Again Newman refused to be drawn into conversation. They were approaching the building close to the base of the Marzilibahn when Beck made the remark, still watching Newman.

'I am probably one of the very few people in Switzerland who knows that what you have just seen is the second murder in the past few weeks.'

'Who else knows?'

'The murderers ...'

The atmosphere changed the moment they entered Beck's office from the hostility which had lingered in the air during Newman's earlier visit. A small, wiry woman whose age Newman guessed as fifty-five, a spinster from her lack of rings, followed them inside with a tray. A percolator of coffee, two Meissen cups and saucers, two balloon-shaped gla.s.ses and a bottle of Remy Martin.

'This is Gisela, my a.s.sistant,' Beck introduced. 'Also she is my closest confidante. In my absence you can pa.s.s any message to her safe in the knowledge it will reach my ears only.'

'You're looking after us well,' Newman said in German and shook hands as soon as she had placed the tray on the desk.

'It is my pleasure, Mr Newman. I will be in my office if you need me,' she told Beck.

'She works all hours,' Beck commented as he poured the coffee. 'Black, if I recall? And it is a swine of a night - on more accounts than one. So, we will treat ourselves to some cognac. I welcome you to Berne and drink your health, my friend. You must excuse my earlier reception.'

'Which was about what?'

'That b.l.o.o.d.y anonymous phone call to Pauli reporting you were seen in the vicinity. Someone wants you off the streets. We have procedures - and my immediate purpose was to close off the cantonal police. I can now tell Pauli I cross-examined you and am fully satisfied you had nothing to do with the death of our late lamented Julius Nagy. He minutes the file - sends it over to me and I lock it away for good.'

He wheeled his swivel chair round the desk to sit alongside Newman. They drank coffee and sipped their cognac in silence until Beck started talking, the words pouring out in a Niagara.

'Bob, in the last twelve hours there have been no less than five incidents all of which worry me greatly. They form no clear pattern but I am convinced all these incidents are linked. First, a mortar was stolen from the military base at Lerchenfeld near Thun-Sud. The second mortar stolen within a month...'

'Did they take any ammo. - any bombs?'

'No, which in itself is peculiar. Just the weapon. The second incident also concerns the theft of a weapon. You know that all Swiss have to serve military service up to the age of forty-five, that each man keeps at his home an Army rifle and twenty-four rounds of ammunition. A house was broken into while the owner was at work and his wife was out shopping. A rifle - plus the twenty-four rounds- has disappeared. Also the sniper-scope. He was a marksman...'

'Which area? Or can I guess?'

'Thun-Sud. Late this afternoon the third incident occurred on a motorway. The driver of a snowplough was viciously attacked and his machine later found on the motorway. You want to guess the area?'

'Somewhere near Thun?'

'Precisely. Always Thun! The fourth incident you know about. The murder of Julius Nagy...'

'And Number Five?'

Tee Foley, alleged ex-CIA man, has disappeared today from the hotel we traced him to. The Savoy in the Neuenga.s.se. Bob, this American is one of the most dangerous men in the west. I rang a friend in Washington - woke him up, but he's done the same to me. I wanted to know whether Foley really has left the CIA and he said he had. I'm still not totally convinced. If the job was big enough Foley could get cover right to the top. He's a member - a senior partner - in the Continental International Detective Agency in New York, so I'm told...'

'For argument's sake,' Newman suggested, 'let's suppose for a moment that is true. What then?'

'It does nothing to ease my anxiety. Foley is a skilled and highly-trained killer. That poses two questions. Who has the money to pay a man like that?'

'The Americans ...'

'Or the Swiss,' Beck said quietly.

'What are you hinting at?'

Beck glanced at Newman and said nothing. He took out of his jacket pocket a short pipe with a thick stem and a large bowl. Newman recognized the pipe and watched as the police chief extracted tobacco from a packet labelled Amphora. He began packing tobacco into the bowl.

'Still wedded to the same old pipe,' Newman remarked.

'You are very observant, my friend. It's made by Cogolet, a firm near St Tropez. And the tobacco is the same - red red Amphora. The second question Foley's presence poses is Amphora. The second question Foley's presence poses is Who is the target? Who is the target? Identify his paymaster and that may point to who he has come to kill...' Identify his paymaster and that may point to who he has come to kill...'

'You're convinced that is why he is really here?'

'It is his trade,' Beck observed. 'Why have you come to Berne?'

So typical of Beck. To throw the loaded question just when you least expected it. He had his pipe alight and sat puffing at it while he watched Newman with a quizzical expression. The Englishman, who knew Beck well, realized the Swiss was in a mood he had never seen him display before. A state of fearful indecision.

'I'm here with my fiancee, Nancy Kennedy, who wanted to visit her grandfather.' Newman paused, staring straight at Beck behind the blue haze of smoke. 'He's in the Berne Clinic.'

'Ah! The Berne Clinic!' Beck sat up erect in his chair. His eyes became animated and Newman sensed a release of tension in the Swiss. 'Now everything begins to come together. You are the ally I have been seeking ...'

Beck had poured more coffee, had freshened up their gla.s.ses of cognac. All traces of irresolution had vanished: he was the old, energetic, determined Beck Newman remembered from his last visit to Berne.

'I noticed something strange when we were at the Clinic this afternoon,' Newman said. 'Is that place by any chance guarded by Swiss troops?'

The atmosphere inside the bare, green-walled office illuminated by overhead neon strips changed again. Beck gazed at his cognac, swirling the liquid gently. He took a sip without looking at his guest.

'Why do you say that?' he asked eventually.

'Because I saw a man inside the gatehouse wearing the uniform of a Swiss soldier.'

'You had better address that question to Military Intelligence. You know where to go...'

Beck had withdrawn into his sh.e.l.l again. Newman was aware of a sense of rising frustration. What the h.e.l.l was wrong with Beck? He allowed his irritation to show.

'If you want my cooperation - you mentioned the word "ally" - I need to know what I'm getting into. And how much freedom to act has the Chief of Federal Police given you? Refuse to answer that question and I'm walking away from the whole d.a.m.ned business.'

'Plenipotentiary power,' Beck replied promptly. 'Incorporated in a signed directive in that locked cabinet.'

'Then what are you worrying about?'

'The Gold Club...'

Newman drank the rest of his cognac slowly to hide the shock Beck had given him. He placed the empty gla.s.s carefully back on the desk top and dabbed his lips with a handkerchief.

'You have heard of the Gold Club? Not many have.. commented Beck.

'A group of top bankers headed by the Zurcher Kredit Bank. Its base is in Zurich. The only other group capable of standing up to them are the Basle bankers. Where does the Gold Club fit in with the Berne Clinic?'

'A director on the board of the Zurcher Kredit Bank is Professor Armand Grange who, as you doubtless know, controls the Berne Clinic. He also has a chemical works on the sh.o.r.es of Lake Zurich near Horgen. I am under extreme pressure to drop my investigation of a project code-named Terminal Terminal...'

'Which is?'

'I have no idea,' Beck admitted. 'But there are rumours - unpleasant rumours which have even reached the ears of certain foreign emba.s.sies. Incidentally, a fellow-countryman of yours who is also staying at the Bellevue Palace is making enquiries about Professor Grange. A dangerous pastime - especially as news of his activities has already started circulating. Switzerland is a small country...'

'This fellow-countryman of mine - he has a name?'

'A Mr Mason. He flew in via Zurich. That is where he started his investigation - and that is where news of what he was doing leaked out. Now, as I have told you, he is here in Berne.'

'Anything else I should know?'

'Have you ever heard of a man called Manfred Seidler?' 'No, I haven't,' Newman lied. 'Where does he fit into the picture?'

Beck's pipe made bubbling noises. He was a wet smoker. He stirred in his chair restlessly as though bracing himself for a major decision.

'Everything about our conversation is confidential, cla.s.sified. Now we are coming to the guts of the whole crisis. I have been asked by Military Intelligence to put out a dragnet for Manfred Seidler. They say say he stole something vital from the chemical works at Horgen. Once I find him I am supposed to hand him over to Military Intelligence. Immediately! No questioning.' he stole something vital from the chemical works at Horgen. Once I find him I am supposed to hand him over to Military Intelligence. Immediately! No questioning.'

'You don't like it?'

'I am not not going to put up with it. I shall grill Seidler when we find him until I find out what is going on. There is a split between two power blocs on military policy. One group, the Gold Club, believe we should adopt more extreme measures to protect the country against the menace from the East. They even suggest we should organize guerrilla forces - that teams specially trained in sabotage should be positioned outside our borders. Specifically in Bavaria. That is a complete reversal of our policy of neutrality.' going to put up with it. I shall grill Seidler when we find him until I find out what is going on. There is a split between two power blocs on military policy. One group, the Gold Club, believe we should adopt more extreme measures to protect the country against the menace from the East. They even suggest we should organize guerrilla forces - that teams specially trained in sabotage should be positioned outside our borders. Specifically in Bavaria. That is a complete reversal of our policy of neutrality.'

'Beck, I'm not following this. Why should a group of bankers concern themselves with military strategy?'

'Because, my friend, a number of those bank directors are also officers in the Swiss Army. Not regulars. Captains, colonels. They carry a lot of clout inside the Army where the policy dispute is raging. The Gold Club, which advocates total ruthlessness, is beginning to get the upper hand. The whole thing scares me stiff. And these are the people who are trying to stop my investigation into the Berne Clinic..

'You said the killing of Nagy was4he second murder. What was the first?'

Beck walked round his desk, unlocked a drawer and brought out a file. He handed it to Newman. The file had been stamped Cla.s.sification One Cla.s.sification One on the cover. Newman opened it and read the heading at the top of the first typed page. on the cover. Newman opened it and read the heading at the top of the first typed page. Case of Hannah Stuart, American citizen. Klinik Bern Case of Hannah Stuart, American citizen. Klinik Bern.

'Who is Hannah Stuart?'

'She was an American patient at the Berne Clinic. She died at the end of last month - as you will see recorded in the file. I have a witness, a farm worker who was cycling home late near the grounds of the Clinic. He states he saw a woman running towards the fence surrounding the grounds, a woman screaming, a woman pursued by dogs...'

'They do have Dobermans prowling the place...'

'I know. That was the night Hannah Stuart died...'

'Haven't you confronted the people at the Clinic with your witness?' Newman asked.

'It would be useless - and would show my hand. The witness has a history of mental instability.' Beck leaned forward and spoke vehemently. 'But he is completely recovered. I personally interviewed him and I am convinced he is telling the truth. He had the sense to come to police headquarters in Berne with his story. Pauli phoned me and I took over the case. That woman was murdered in some way.'

'It says here she died of a heart attack. The death certificate is signed by Dr Waldo Novak...'

'Who is also American. A curious coincidence...'

'What about getting an order for an autopsy?' Newman suggested.

'The body was cremated. And that is where the trouble really started. I had an official from the American Emba.s.sy here who complained. Apparently Hannah Stuart was very wealthy - from Philadelphia. Her heirs, a son and his wife, were furious. In her original will she had made the inheritance conditional on her body being buried in Philadelphia...'

'Then how the devil was the Clinic able to get away with cremation?'

'Dr Bruno Kobler, the chief administrator, produced a doc.u.ment signed by Hannah Stuart stating she wished to be cremated. You'll find a photocopy at the end of the file. I had the signature checked by hand-writing experts and they say it's genuine.'

'Which blocked you off. Neat, very neat...'

He broke off as someone knocked on the door. Beck called out come in, a small, myopic-looking man wearing thick gla.s.ses and a civilian suit entered. He was carrying a cellophane envelope.

'We have obtained some fingerprints,' the man informed Beck. 'All of them the same person. Probably the deceased's - but we shall only know that when the pathologist has released the body.'

'Thank you, Erich...' Beck waited until the man had gone and then handed the envelope to Newman. 'Inside is the envelope - still sealed - which Moser found inside Nagy's coat pocket...'

Newman extracted the crumpled, cheap white envelope and saw it carried a few words. For M. Robert Newman, Bellevue Palace For M. Robert Newman, Bellevue Palace. He opened it and inside there was a sc.r.a.p of paper torn from a pad and a key. In the same semi-literate script as the wording on the envelope were written the words M. Newman - Bahnhof M. Newman - Bahnhof. He replaced the contents inside the envelope and slipped it into his wallet.