Terminal. Part 24

'Yes. Medical. Standards of and practice in their private clinics...'

Newman had little doubt he had just read a report drawn up by Mason - Mason who had 'accidentally' b.u.mped into him in that bar, who was now dead. He asked Blanche the question, feeling pretty sure he already knew the answer.

'At the end of the report the word "preliminary" is used. That suggests more to come. Did you get the impression from your other client this would be the case?'

'No, I didn't.' Blanche paused. 'Nothing was said about any further data coming from the same source.' She perched on the arm of the sofa next to him. 'Bob, that report is frightening. Where is all this leading to? There is a mention of the Zurcher Kredit Bank - my stepfather is president of that bank...'

'There really isn't a close relationship between you two?'

'If you don't do exactly what my stepfather wants you to - and I didn't - he just forgets all about you. He's very much the military man. Obey orders - or else...'

'Blanche...' He took her hand. '... this whole business is beginning to look far more dangerous than I ever suspected. Is there any way your father could know that we are friends?'

'Our lives have gone separate ways. He doesn't know who my friends are - and doesn't want to know. And he is my stepfather. My mother divorced my real father who is now dead. You see now why we're so far apart...'

'I'd like you to keep it that way.' Newman kissed her and walked across the room to collect his coat. 'I'm off now - and thanks for this report...'

'Take care, Bob. Please. Where are you going now?' 'To blow someone up with verbal gelignite...'

Lachenal agreed to see Newman as soon as he arrived. It is only a ten-minute walk from the upper Junkernga.s.se to the Bundeshaus Ost. On that morning it had been a freezingly cold walk through the warren-like arcades and on the way Newman had taken the precaution of slipping into the Bellevue Palace to leave the report on Grange in a safety deposit box at the hotel.

Coming out of the safety-deposit room, he b.u.mped into a small, plump-faced man who had turned away from the reception counter, a man who blinked at him through his gla.s.ses before he spoke.

'I'm sorry,' Tweed said. didn't see you coming... 'No harm done,' Newman a.s.sured him.

'I haven't been here long,' Tweed rambled on as though pleased to encounter a fellow-countryman. 'Has the weather been as beastly as this recently?'

'For days - and I think we're due for snow. Best thing is to stay indoors if you can. The wind out there cuts you in two...'

'I think I'll take your advice. This is a marvellous hotel to take refuge in...'

Tweed wandered off across the inner reception hall and Newman paused by the door, taking his time putting on his gloves. Sitting in a corner with her back to him was Nancy and the plump Englishman was heading straight towards her table followed by a waiter carrying a tray of coffee - coffee for two.

Newman waited just long enough to see the Englishman sit down opposite her while the waiter served them with coffee. They were talking together when Newman walked out and turned left to the Bundeshaus Ost.

'Lachenal,' Newman began savagely in the Intelligence chief's office as he sat facing the Swiss across his desk, 'what was all that b.l.o.o.d.y nonsense out at the Berne Clinic? I'm referring to that Leopard tank - for a moment it looked as though it was going to blow us to kingdom come. My fiancee nearly had a fit. I didn't enjoy the experience too much myself. And what is a German Leopard 11 tank doing in Switzerland? If I don't get some answers I'm going to file a story...'

'Permission to reply?' Lachenal's tone was cold, hostile. Even seated he seemed a very tall man, his back erect, his expression mournful. He's not a very happy man, Newman was thinking as he remained silent and the Swiss continued.

'First, I must apologize for the most unfortunate incident due entirely to a brief lack of communication. It was a simple but unforgivable misunderstanding. The people responsible have been severely reprimanded..

'What's a Leopard 11, the new German tank, maybe the most advanced tank in the world, doing in Switzerland..

'Please! Do let me continue. That is not cla.s.sified. As you know, we manufacture certain military equipment but we buy a lot abroad - including tanks. We are in the process of re-equipping our armoured divisions. We have just decided to buy the Leopard 11 after thorough testing at Lerchenfeld. It is no secret...'

'Tabun. Is that a secret? The special team sent into Germany near the end of the war to bring back Tabun gas. Is that a secret?' Newman enquired more calmly.

'No comment!'

Lachenal stood up abruptly and went over to the window where he stood gazing at the view. Even dressed in mufti, as he was that morning, Lachenal reminded Newman of de Gaulle more than ever. The same distant aloofness at a moment of crisis.

'You know the fohn fohn wind has been blowing,' Lachenal remarked after a pause. 'That probably contributed to the incident outside the Berne Clinic. It plays on the nerves, it affects men's judgement. It is no longer blowing. Soon we shall have snow. Always after the wind has been blowing,' Lachenal remarked after a pause. 'That probably contributed to the incident outside the Berne Clinic. It plays on the nerves, it affects men's judgement. It is no longer blowing. Soon we shall have snow. Always after the fohn fohn...'

'I didn't come here for a weather forecast,' Newman interjected sarcastically.

'I can tell you this,' Lachenal went on, thrusting his hands into his pockets and turning to face Newman, 'it is true that the Germans had a large quant.i.ty of Tabun, the nerve gas, near the end of the war. Twelve thousand tons of the stuff, for G.o.d's sake. They thought the Soviets were going to resort to chemical warfare. The Red Army captured most of it. They've now drawn level with the West in a more sinister area - in the development of organo-phosphorous compounds. They have perfected their toxicity...'

'I do know that, Rene,' Newman said quietly.

'But do you also know the Soviets have perfected far more deadly toxic gases - especially those highly lethal irritants which they have adapted for use by their chemical battalions? I am referring, Bob, specifically, to hydrogen cyanide ...'

Hydrogen cyanide...'

The two words rang through Newman's head like the clang of a giant hammer hitting a mighty anvil. Lachenal continued talking in a level voice devoid of emotion.

'This substance is regarded in the West as being too volatile. Not so by the Soviets. They, have equipped their special chemical warfare sections with frog rockets and stud missiles. Artillery sh.e.l.ls filled with this diabolical agent are also part of their armoury. Did you say something, Bob?'

'No. Maybe I grunted. Please go on...'

'The Soviets have further equipped aircraft with sophisticated spray tanks containing this advanced form of hydrogen cyanide gas. We have calculated that a single sh.e.l.l fired through the vehicle of a missile, an artillery sh.e.l.l or from a spray tank - aimed by a low-flying aircraft - would destroy all life over an area of one square kilometre. Just a single sh.e.l.l,' Lachenal repeated.

Newman heard him but he also heard Nancy's diagnosis of how Mrs Holly Laird had died. And the complexion of the face showed distinct traces of cyanosis And the complexion of the face showed distinct traces of cyanosis. What was it Anna Kleist had replied? My examination so far confirms precisely Dr Kennedy's impression My examination so far confirms precisely Dr Kennedy's impression...'

Lachenal walked back from the window and again sat behind his desk, clasping his hands as he stared at his visitor who sat motionless. Newman shook his head slightly, brought himself back into the present. He had the distinct conviction that the Swiss was labouring under enormous tension, that he was concealing that tension with a tremendous effort of will.

'And so,' Lachenal concluded, 'all that started with Tabun. Which was what you came here to talk about - not the Leopard.'

'If you say so, Rene.' Newman heaved himself to his feet and reached for his coat. 'I'd better be going now...'

'One more thing, Bob.' Lachenal had stood up and he spoke with great earnestness. 'We all have to be the final judge of our own conduct in this world. No hiding behind the order of a so-called superior...'

'I would say you're right there,' Newman replied slowly.

It was this conversation which decided Newman as he left the Bundeshaus Ost - decided him that at the very first opportunity he would get Nancy out of Switzerland-even if it meant he had to crash the border.

Twenty-Six.

'I'm going to visit Jesse - with or without you,' Nancy announced when Newman returned to their bedroom. 'They're holding that Medical Congress reception here tomorrow evening. Are you, or are you not, coming with me?'

'I agree - and I'm coming with you.'

Newman dragged a chair over to the window and sank into it, staring at the view. The dark grey sea of cloud was lower than ever. He thought Lachenal had been right: they would have snow in Berne within the next twenty-four hours. Nancy came up behind him and wrapped her arms round his neck.

'I expected an argument. You're looking terribly serious. G.o.d, you've changed since we started out on this trip. Has something upset you?'

'Nancy, I want you to listen to me carefully. Most people think of Switzerland as a country of cuckoo clocks, Suchard chocolate and skiing. In one of his novels a famous writer made a wisecrack about the cuckoo clocks. There's another side to Switzerland most tourists never even dream exists.'

'Go on. I'm listening...'

'That makes a change. The Swiss are probably the toughest, most st.u.r.dy nation in Western Europe. They are ruthless realists - in a way I sometimes wish we were in Britain. They'll go a long way to ensure their survival. You know about their military service. This country has been on a wartime footing ever since nineteen thirty-nine. They still are. From now on we have to move like people walking through a minefield - because that's what lies in our path. A minefield...'

'Bob, you've found out something new since you left the hotel. Where have you been? And why the sudden turnabout as regards visiting the Berne Clinic?'

Newman stood up and began pacing the large room while he lit a cigarette and talked. He punctuated each remark with a chopping gesture of his left hand.

'We started out with four people who might have told us what is really going on. Julius Nagy, Mason - the Englishman I met briefly in the bar - together with Dr Waldo Novak and Manfred Seidler. The first two have been murdered - the police are convinced of that although they can't prove a thing. That leaves us Novak and Seidler.

'You want to see Novak again? That's why you agreed to go back to the Berne Clinic?'

'One reason. If I can get Novak on his own for a short time I think he will tell me more - especially after that appalling episode over the death of Mrs Laird. He's very close to cracking, I'm convinced. Incidentally, you mentioned the Medical Congress reception. Why do you want to see Jesse before that takes place?'

'To get more information from him, if I can. To find out, again if I can, what his real condition is. Then at that reception I'm going to confront Professor Grange. We know he's going to be there. Don't try and stop me, Bob - I've made up my mind. Now,' she continued briskly, 'what about Seidler?'

'He could be the key to the whole labyrinthine business. He's phoning me here at five and we'll meet him this evening. Better pack a small case for both of us - essentials for an overnight stay...'

'Why?' she asked suspiciously.

'Seidler sounds even more trigger-happy than Novak. My guess is he'll fix a rendezvous point a long way off - some place we can just reach in time after his call by driving like h.e.l.l. That way he'll hope we won't have time to alert anyone else. He smells like a man who trusts no one.'

'Oh, by the way, Bob,' she said casually, 'Novak knows I'm visiting the Clinic today. I phoned him while you were out. I got lucky. That creepy old b.i.t.c.h, Astrid, must be off duty. A man answered the phone and put me straight through to Novak. And he told me Kobler is away some place.'

'Kobler's not at the Clinic?' Newman asked quickly.

'That's right. Neither is Grange. Novak did ask me if you would be coming. He sounded anxious that you would be. Can we leave soon?'

'After I've kept a brief appointment with someone in the bar. I met him on my way in. One of your own countrymen - a Lee Foley...'

'And who might he be?'

'A killer...'

He left her on that note, driving home again that she had better watch her step if she wanted to live.

The tall American with the thatch of white hair stood up courteously as Newman came across to his table inside the bar. He already had a drink in a tall gla.s.s crammed with ice. Newman said he would have a large Scotch and sat down on the banquette alongside Lee Foley who wore an expensive blue business suit, a cream shirt and a smart blue tie with small white checks. Gold links dangled from his cuffs.

'You're staying at the Bellevue, Lee?' Newman enquired.

'For the moment, yes. Unfinished business.' He raised his gla.s.s. 'Cheers! I've just had a visit from that b.a.s.t.a.r.d Federal policeman, Beck. I could feel sorry for the gentleman - he can't find a reason to throw me out of the country...'

'Not yet...'

By then I'll be gone...'

'You still keep up your flying - piloting a plane?'

'Just light aircraft. Pipers, stuff like that...'

'What about a Lear executive jet?' Newman suggested.

'Now you're reaching.' Foley smiled his dry smile which was not reflected in the ice-blue eyes. 'Beck,' he continued, 'is concerned with the way the body count is rising. Two so far. The little man you and I talked with - and now some Englishman...'

'Three,' Newman amended. 'An American woman has just died outside the Berne Clinic...'

'I know. Just goes on climbing, doesn't it?'

'I get the impression,' Newman ruminated, 'that Clinic is a place needing a lot of protection. They could afford someone expensive...'

'You'd better apply for the job ...'

'More your line of country, I'd have thought...'

Foley put down his gla.s.s and stared at it. 'Remember that night we took the town apart on the Reeperbahn in Hamburg? You're the only man who ever drank me under the table...'

'The night you you took the town apart,' Newman amended. 'Do you still speak good German?' took the town apart,' Newman amended. 'Do you still speak good German?'

'I get by. You know something, Bob? The West is getting too civilized. There was a time when the Brits. stopped at nothing when survival was at stake. I'm thinking of Churchill ordering the sinking of the whole G.o.dd.a.m.ned French fleet at Oran - to stop the n.a.z.is getting their hands on some real sea-power. Ruthless. He was right, of course...'

'You're trying to tell me something, Lee?'

'Just having a drink with an old friend, making a few random observations...'

'You never made one of those in your life. I have to go now. See you around, Lee ...'

Newman let Nancy take the wheel of the Citroen for the drive to the Clinic. She handled the car with the confident ease of an expert driver along the motorway. In his wing mirror Newman kept an eye on the black Audi behind them which maintained its distance. Beck's minions were on the job.

'We're approaching the turn-off,' he warned.

'And who is driving this G.o.dd.a.m.n car?'

'You are, I hope - otherwise we're in trouble...'

'How did you get on with that man you went to meet in the bar? What was his name?'

'Lee Foley. I'm still trying to work out why he wanted to see me. He's a cold-blooded sod. As much a killing machine as that Leopard 11 we met. What I can't yet decide is who he is working for. If I knew that I might have the final piece of this enormous jigsaw in my hand.'

'We're both meeting some interesting people,' she observed as she turned off the motorway. He checked the mirror. Yes, the Audi kept on coming. 'This morning while you were out doing G.o.d knows what,' Nancy went on, 'I was having coffee in the reception hall with an intriguing little man, another Englishman. He seemed so mild and yet I sensed, under the surface, a very determined personality. Tweed, his name is.'

'What did you talk about?'

'I told him about the Berne Clinic...' There was a touch of defiance in her tone, challenging him to criticize her indiscretion. He said nothing as she chattered on. 'He's a very sympathetic type - easy to talk with. He advised me to be very careful...'

'He did what!'