Terminal. Part 30

'That I cannot permit...'

'Then you only get her statement in the presence of the most high-powered lawyer in Berne. Take your choice...'

'You give me one?' Beck spread his hands. 'You are in a ferocious mood, Bob. I will ask them to send Dr Kennedy up now and we will take both statements and get the d.a.m.ned paperwork out of the way. What frightens me is that you are going to do something independent - and highly dangerous ...'

Their statements had been taken, signed and witnessed by Gisela. Beck had courteously asked Nancy whether he could have a few words in private with Newman and she had been taken to another room. It was Beck's turn to startle Newman. Opening a drawer he brought out a shoulder holster, a 7.65-mm. police automatic and six magazines which he pushed across the desk.

'Bob, I am not convinced Seidler was the target last night. I also believe you were earlier at Le Pont station when two hired gunmen were killed. No, please don't interrupt. I think you were the target. I recall you are familiar with the use of firearms?'

'What are you proposing?'

'Take this automatic for your protection...'

'So you can have me picked up, searched and found to be in possession of a deadly weapon? No thanks. I happen to know the Swiss penalties for carrying firearms...'

'Then for the protection of Dr Kennedy...'

Beck produced from the same drawer a permit to carry the weapon which he again pushed across the desk. Newman read the doc.u.ment upside down without touching it.

'I will sign the permit personally,' Beck continued, 'and Gisela - or a policeman chosen at random - will witness my signature. I am pleading with you. For old times' sake...'

Newman agreed to take the weapon.

The day was moving fast. It was 1 pm when Tweed, seated in a chair in the reception hall, saw Blanche Signer arrive with a case. He waited until she had registered, then stood up and strolled over to join her by the lift. He spoke only when the lift doors had closed, holding his brief-case in his left hand.

'Come to my room, Blanche. We have to talk...'

She slipped inside his room unseen by anyone and dropped her case on the floor. In her concise manner she explained why she had booked in at the hotel - that Newman needed her flat for a purpose unknown to her.

Tweed listened and nodded his head in approval. He should have thought of this precaution himself - Blanche would be safer inside the Bellevue until they had brought this matter to a successful conclusion - if that were possible. Taking a set of the accounts he had received from Dr Nagel and which he had put inside a sealed envelope, he handed the envelope to her.

'Can you get this into Newman's hands very urgently? And he must have no inkling as to where you obtained it...'

'I'm sure I can manage that. I'm just not sure when. He may be staying here but I don't want his fiancee to see me.'

Tweed smiled sympathetically. 'I understand. But as soon as possible. Any moment now everything may blow up in our faces ...'

Newman had strapped on the shoulder holster, slipped the automatic inside it and dropped the magazines inside his coat pocket before he joined Nancy and they left the building. He made no mention of the weapon to her.

He insisted that they had a leisurely lunch in the Grill Room and, because he sensed she was jumpy, steered the conversation away from recent events. Occasionally he checked his watch.

'You're going to meet that last witness this afternoon,' she observed quietly, watching him over the rim of her gla.s.s. 'Isn't that why you keep checking your watch?'

'I looked at it twice...'

'Three times...'

Oh, Jesus! he thought. He smiled. 'Yes, I am. It may take me a couple of hours - I can't tell. I'd appreciate it if you would stay inside the hotel...'

'After last night wild horses wouldn't drag me out ...'

'You wanted to see me, Bruno?'

Kobler stood up behind his desk and closed the file he had been checking, the file on Jesse Kennedy. He walked round the desk and hesitated, unsure of his employer's reaction.

'If something is worrying you, Bruno, tell me. So far I have found your instinct for problems infallible. Do we have a problem?'

'It's w.i.l.l.y Schaub, the head porter. I saw him carrying on a long conversation with Dr Novak before he went off duty. And Schaub is greedy for money,' added Kobler who was paid an enormous salary.

'So?'

'It's Schaub's day off. He lives in the Matte district in Berne. I really think it might be worth checking him out.' 'Do it,' said the Professor.

Lee Foley's plans for a quiet afternoon inside the hotel were changed by the phone call. Wasting no time, he put on his jeans and windcheater and left the hotel, carrying the holdall in his right hand.

Like Newman, he had also realized that the way to leave unseen was by descending in the lift to the lowest level, walking past the garderobe garderobe and emerging by the exit from the coffee shop. He crossed the road, went inside the cafe facing the Bellevue and ordered coffee. He was careful to pay as soon as the beverage was served. The Porsche was parked round the corner so there was nothing more he could do. Except to sip at his coffee and wait - and watch. and emerging by the exit from the coffee shop. He crossed the road, went inside the cafe facing the Bellevue and ordered coffee. He was careful to pay as soon as the beverage was served. The Porsche was parked round the corner so there was nothing more he could do. Except to sip at his coffee and wait - and watch.

Newman drove a long way round to reach Gerbernga.s.se 498, the home of w.i.l.l.y Schaub. Novak had made the appointment for three in the afternoon so he left the Bellevue in the Citroen half an hour earlier.

One of the great advantages of Berne, he reflected, was that it was not to difficult to throw off a tail. The place was such an intricate network of streets - and with a little audacious driving the trams could be exploited.

At 2.50 pm he was driving along the Aarstra.s.se with the river on his right. He drove on past the sluices, into the Schifflaube which brought him deep into Matte where everything was centuries-old. Continuing on into the Gerbernga.s.se, he slowed down as he approached the Nydegg bridge and slid into an empty parking slot.

On both sides of the street ancient houses formed a continuous wall, a huddle of misshapen edifices - several storeys high - which protruded at intervals. The street was deserted in mid-afternoon and the mist, which had withdrawn earlier, was coming back. It was very silent in the canyon and w.i.l.l.y Schaub's place was on the left, overshadowed by the bridge high up. 2.55 pm. Newman peered up a covered wooden flight of steps which ran up to the bridge alongside it and went back to Schaub's house. He pressed the bell alongside Schaub's name and wriggled his shoulders. He was still very much aware of the automatic nestling inside the holster under his left armpit.

A short barrel-shaped man, late middle-aged and holding a bottle of beer in his left hand which, Newman reflected, explained his large belly, opened the creaking door and stared suspiciously at his visitor. Wisps of white hair stuck out from his turnip-like head and his only small feature was the wary eyes peering at Newman.

'w.i.l.l.y Schaub?'

'Who wants to know?' the man asked truculently in German.

'Robert Newman. You're expecting me. Three o'clock...' 'Got some identification?'

Newman sighed audibly. 'It might not be too bright keeping me out here on view, you know.' He produced his pa.s.sport, opening it at the page which showed his photograph, closing it again and holding up the cover which bore his name.

'You'd better come inside, I suppose.'

The interior was gloomy and strangely constructed, stepped up on different levels because it climbed the steep hillside on which it was built. Newman followed the wheezing barrel up three twisting staircases and the place had a musty smell. He wondered whether Schaub lived on his own and they entered a weird, box-like room with the far wall occupied almost entirely by a grimy window broken up into large panes of gla.s.s. A , decrepit roller blind ran across the top of the window.

'We'll sit here and talk,' Schaub announced. 'Beer?'

'Not just now, thank you,' Newman replied, noticing the grubby gla.s.s on the table.

It was only when he walked over to the window and gazed up the slope of terraced garden that he realized he was inside one of the old houses he had looked down on with Nancy the previous Thursday when he had walked her to the Nydegg bridge and told her this was the Matte district. When he turned round Schaub was seated at the table in the middle of the room, guzzling beer from the upturned bottle. He reached up and pulled the roller blind down to cover the upper half of the window.

'What you do that for?' Schaub demanded. 'I like to look at the view...'

'This room is very exposed.' Newman took a folded five- hundred franc note from his pocket and placed it on the table. 'That's for answering questions about the Berne Clinic. You've worked there long enough - you have to know just about everything that goes on there...'

'Novak said you'd pay more...'

Newman produced a second five-hundred franc note and sat down alongside Schaub, facing the window. The porter was wearing a baggy pair of stained corduroy trousers, an open-necked shirt and shoes which hadn't seen polish in months. He shook his head at the second note.

'More...'

'This is the lot. No more haggling...' Newman produced a third note and placed it with the others. 'What goes on inside that laboratory for starters...'

'More...'

'Forget it!' Newman reached slowly for the notes but Schaub beat him to it, grabbing all three in one scoop and thrusting them inside his trouser pocket. 'All right, answer the question...'

'Never been inside the lab...'

The bullet shattered a pane in the window and blew the beer bottle Schaub had left on the table into small pieces. Newman put his hand against Schaub's shoulder and shoved the porter's considerable weight off the chair, toppling him onto the wooden planks of the uneven floor.

'Keep down you fat slob or they'll kill you!' he yelled.

Newman had dropped to the floor as he shouted. His shout synchronized with the second bullet which shattered two more panes and thudded into the rear wall. Newman could never recall how the automatic found its way into his right hand but he realized he was holding it as he scrambled low down across the floor to the window - just in time to see the muzzle of a rifle disappearing over the top of the wall on the street leading to the bridge.

'Get behind that cupboard! Stay behind it! I'll be back in a minute...'

He rushed, stumbled, half-fell down the b.l.o.o.d.y staircases, threw open the front door, the automatic inside his pocket now. Running along the empty street, he turned up the covered steps leading to the bridge. There were a h.e.l.l of a lot of steps, treads worn in the centre by the feet of ages. Why do people always walk straight up the middle? The useless question flashed through his mind as, panting, he reached the top and came out on to the street.

He glanced in both directions. Nothing. Not even a pedestrian. He walked a few paces towards the centre of Berne, then scooped up off the pavement an ejected cartridge which he pocketed. No sign of the other one. The killer must have collected one and departed in a hurry.

Newman leaned over the wall at the point where the cartridge had fallen and stared down direct into Schaub's living-room. If he hadn't lowered the blind the porter would now be a bloated corpse. He looked towards the city centre again and saw a man standing outside a shop who was watching him.

'Thought I heard something,' Newman remarked in German as he joined the portly man who wore no overcoat. 'Sounded like a shot, two shots...'

'Or a couple of backfires.' Newman smiled. 'I arranged to meet a girl at the top of the staircase. A brunette - a slim girl in a pant suit, maybe wearing a windcheater. I wondered whether you'd seen her?'

'That description fits half the girls in Berne. I only came out to check this window I'm dressing. No, I haven't seen your girl. All I saw after the backfires was the red car...'

'Red.? What make? A Porsche? A Mercedes?'

'Couldn't say - I just saw the flash of red as it roared out of sight across the bridge. Exceeding the speed limit, too ...'

Returning to the house, Newman found Schaub still crouched behind the cupboard, a shivering jelly of a man. He looked up, his beady little eyes terrified.

'Have they gone?'

'Yes. I'll give you two minutes to pack a small bag - just your pyjamas and shaving kit. I'm taking you where no one will dream of looking for you. Hurry it up...'

'But my job at the Clinic ...'

Newman looked at him with a stare of sheer amazement. 'I thought you'd have grasped it by now. The people at your Clinic are out to kill you...'

Newman drove the Citroen up to Schaub's front door and the porter did what he had been told to do. Running in a crouch, he dived inside the rear of the car through the door Newman had opened, hauled the door shut and pressed his bulk close to the floor. To all outward appearances the Citroen was occupied only by the driver.

In the centre of Berne Leupin, behind the wheel of a Fiat, a car Newman had not seen in the Juras, followed one car behind the Citroen. Marbot sat alongside him.

'I wish we could have got closer to that house in Gerbernga.s.se,' Leupin remarked.

'Then he would have spotted us. We'll have to find out who lives there,' Marbot replied. 'Beck will want to know that - but first let's find out where Newman is going. He seems to be leading us round the houses...'

'My thought, too...'

Newman glanced in his rear-view mirror again. The Fiat was still there. He timed it carefully, slowing down as he came up to the intersection. The tram which had stopped in the main street to his right began to move forward again. Newman accelerated, sweeping forward and missing the nose of the on-coming tram by inches. The tram made a rude noise. Behind him Leupin jammed on the brakes.

'The clever b.a.s.t.a.r.d! We've lost him...'

Five minutes later Newman led Schaub inside Blanche's flat and showed him how to operate the special security lock. He also gave the porter a lecture on keeping the place clean, although to be fair, despite his clothes, Schaub had the appearance of a man who bathed regularly and his jowly chin was well-shaven.

'Now,' Newman said, 'you stay here until I come for you. No answering the door or the phone. No calls to anyone - it could be the last call you,ever made. There's food in the fridge - to go on living, stay here. And I have fifteen minutes before I must go. For starters, what goes on inside that laboratory? Talk...'

Schaub talked.

Thirty-Two.

Nancy took trouble over her battle gear for the Medical Congress reception. Coming out of the bathroom, swearing at having to wear a dinner jacket, Newman stopped and stared. She was clad in a long, form-fitting dress of red taffeta. Round her slim neck glittered a pearl choker.

'Well, will I do?' she enquired. 'I'm out to kill the compet.i.tion...'

'You'll slay them. You look terrific. And isn't that the outfit you were wearing that first night we met in London - when by chance I was also at Bewick's?'

'By chance?' She was amused. 'Half London knew you took your latest fling to that place. It's seven - shouldn't we be getting downstairs? I am completely ready and rarin' to go.

'Give me a minute to fix this b.l.o.o.d.y tie. You're nervous, aren't you? I can tell.'

'So are a lot of doctors before a tricky case - if they're not they're probably no good. But I can tell you one thing, Bob. When I walk into that reception I'll go cold as ice. I don't care how much clout Grange carries - he's going to hear from me...'

'Pioneer stock,' Newman joked as he finished fixing the tie. 'There's still some of it left in Arizona. I'm ready. Are you?'

She thumped his arm and they made their way to the bank of lifts. The celebration was being held in the large reception room between the lobby and the terrace restaurant. The floor was covered with priceless carpets, including one huge Persian hunting carpet. A large buffet table had been furnished with champagne gla.s.ses and a selection of food. There were a lot of people there already. Newman held Nancy back by the arm.

'Let's just see who is here and where they are. Tonight could be very decisive...'

Blanche Signer was talking to Beck. She wore an emerald green dress with a mandarin collar which showed off her superb figure to full advantage. Her small feet were sheathed in gold shoes.

'Your next conquest?' Nancy enquired.

'I was wondering what Beck is doing here...'