Terminal. Part 31

In a chair offside with his back to the wall sat Lee Foley, holding his gla.s.s as his cold eyes studied each person in the room. Tweed, looking uncomfortable in his dinner jacket, sat near Foley, watching the room with no particular expression.

'I think that must be Grange over there, holding court,' Nancy whispered.

At the back of the room, surrounded by half-a-dozen men, a tall, very heavily-built man wearing tinted gla.s.ses was talking while others listened. His left hand was close to his side, the fingers stretched downwards while his right hand held a gla.s.s. There was a gap in the crowd and Newman had a good view of him. A large head, his complexion pale, his lips appeared hardly to move as he spoke. The feature about him which intrigued Newman was his sheer immobility.

'Is that Professor Grange over there in the corner?' Nancy asked a pa.s.sing waiter with a tray of gla.s.ses.

'Yes, it is, madame. May I offer you champagne?'

They both took a gla.s.s for appearance's sake. Newman sipped at his champagne, listening to the babble of voices, the clink of gla.s.ses. Another large man brushed past him without apology and made his way, very erect and confident, over to join Grange's group. Victor Signer had arrived.

'I can't see Kobler,' Newman whispered. 'That worries me...'

'Someone has to mind the store back at the Clinic, I suppose...'

'You're probably right. Let's circulate - horrible word. When are you going to challenge Grange..

'Bob!' She grabbed his arm. 'Wait! Look at that...'

Newman was looking at the weird incident. Grange had just greeted Signer when a waiter tipped a full gla.s.s of champagne off his tray. The liquid spilt down the lower half of Grange's dinner jacket and the upper half of his trousers. The waiter, obviously appalled, took the napkin folded over his sleeve, ran to the buffet, dipped it in a jug of water, returned to Grange and began to sponge the damp material.

The uncanny aspect of the incident was that as the waiter sponged and dabbed at the damp cloth Grange remained totally motionless, his left arm still close to his side, his large figure more Buddha-like than ever as he listened to Signer, ignoring the waiter as though nothing had happened. It was abnormal, unnatural. Newman stared incredulously as Nancy spoke in a low, tense tone.

'My G.o.d! No sane man has that amount of self-control. I think he's unbalanced - and I've had psychiatric training...'

It was the first doubt raised in Newman's mind as to Professor Grange's sanity sanity.

Thirty- Three Jesse Kennedy opened his eyes and blinked. What the h.e.l.l was going on? He was lying full-length on a trolley which was being wheeled somewhere. He couldn't see properly - a mask of some sort had been placed over his head and face. He was gazing through eyepieces up at a white sheet pulled over the mask thing. The trolley was moving downhill now.

He tried to move his hands and realized both were strapped down by the wrists. He attempted to shift the position of his legs and found they too were strapped down round the ankles. He was completely immobilized. What was happening to him?

Then he recalled his last memory. They had injected him with a sedative. Not Novak. That b.i.t.c.h, Astrid, had done the job. He fought down a feeling of panic, of claustrophobia, and began to flex his fingers to get some strength back into them. The same with his feet - but cautiously. He sensed that the orderlies pushing the trolley, which was now tilted at an angle as it moved down a steep slope, must not know he was preparing himself for escape.

The sound of hydraulically-operated doors closing. The angle of the decline increased. He blinked again. It was more difficult to see even the sheet: the eyepieces were steaming up. He was suddenly wide awake and became aware of other sensations and sounds. The squeak of the trolley's wheels, the dryness in his throat, the circulation returning to his arms and legs. Another door opened and they moved on to a level surface. Weird, animal-like sounds - was he going out of his mind? He closed his eyes when the trolley stopped moving.

The sheet was whipped off him. There should be voices, the voices of the orderlies. Why weren't they talking to each other? The absence of voices got on his nerves, was frightening - together with the continuous animal-like gibbering. It recalled monkeys chattering inside cages in a zoo. Ridiculous...

They were removing the straps now. One near the head of the trolley taking off the straps binding his wrists, the other unfastening the ankle straps. Then he was free. He remained inert, eyes closed. Hands grasped both his forearms, jerked him upright. In a sitting position he was swivelled round until his legs dangled over the edge of the trolley. He let his head flop, still keeping his eyes shut. Holding him by both arms, they hauled him off the trolley and held him upright. They shook him roughly. He opened his eyes and gasped in horror.

He was wearing a heavy dressing gown over his pyjamas, the cord round his waist tied firmly. He was inside the laboratory, he was convinced of it. It was colder. The steam cleared completely from the eyepieces. Plastic green curtains were closed over long narrow windows. The huge room was filled with large benches. The tops of the benches were crowded with cages - wire cages. Inside the cages, which varied in size, were the animals he had heard. It was a nightmare.

The two orderlies wore gas masks Soulless eyes stared at him. From their height, their build, he guessed they were the two men he had heard called Graf and Munz. A third man stood further back, also wearing a mask, pacing among the cages. His way of moving told Jesse this was Bruno Kobler. Jesse pretended to sway unsteadily on his feet as Munz and Graf approached him.

A variety of animals occupied the cages: mice, rats and a lot of chimpanzees which chattered incessantly, their faces grinning hideously at him seen through the Plexiglas of the eyepieces. This section of the laboratory was dimly lit by low-power neon strips which cast an eerie light over the horrific scene.

Still swaying, stooping, Jesse noticed a giant door which was open, the door to the atombunker atombunker. A fourth man appeared from inside, a man carrying a metal cylinder in each hand, cylinders which reminded Jesse of mortar bombs he had once seen in a war film. Graf took hold of the side of Jesse's mask and eased it upwards so he could speak.

'This is the final stage of treatment, a revolutionary technique invented by Professor Grange. It may cure you - but you must fallow instructions. When we take you outside you run down down the slope - the slope - down down. I will point the way...'

Could the chimpanzees sense that something evil was about to be perpetrated, Jesse wondered. They were going wild, their chattering increasing in volume as they scrambled up and down inside their cages, clutching at the wires, staring at Jesse as the two men grasped him firmly by both arms and led him to a door Kobler had opened. Icy cold night air flooded into the laboratory and Jesse shivered. They had slipped walking shoes on to his feet, his own shoes, while he had lain unconscious.

He dragged his feet, slumped, a dead weight between the two masked men. They went outside into the bitter night. Jesse shook his head slowly, glancing all round. On top of a small rocky hill men in uniform crouched round a squat barrel like a piece of sawn-off drainpipe, a barrel aimed at a trajectory across a declining slope. A mortar. Jesse again recognized the weapon from a war film. And Christ! It was manned by men in uniform, army uniform. Grange was a puppet of the Swiss Army...

'You run down down that slope,' Munz yelled in his ear. 'Go!' that slope,' Munz yelled in his ear. 'Go!'

They released his arms and Jesse stood swaying. Beside the mortar was a neat pile of bombs, bombs like those carried by the man who had emerged from the atombunker atombunker. Behind the mortar a windsock billowed from a small mast, a windsock like those seen on small airstrips. The windsock was whipping parallel to the ground showing the direction the wind was blowing. Down the slope. Away from Away from the mortar position. the mortar position.

Jesse staggered towards the edge of the slope. Masked figures like robots watched him. One man held a bomb over the mouth of the mortar. Ready to open fire as the target moved on to the range. The target. Himself...'

b.a.s.t.a.r.ds! The adrenalin was flowing fast through Jesse. He paused at the edge of the slope and stared down it to check for obstacles, to accustom his eyes to the darkness. The slope was blind territory, could not be seen from the road, was concealed under a fold in the ground. They were waiting for him now. He thought he heard Munz shout again. He took a step forward, stumbled like a man on the verge of collapse. They couldn't fire their infernal machine yet. Suddenly he took off, running like mad. The adrenalin was flowing fast through Jesse. He paused at the edge of the slope and stared down it to check for obstacles, to accustom his eyes to the darkness. The slope was blind territory, could not be seen from the road, was concealed under a fold in the ground. They were waiting for him now. He thought he heard Munz shout again. He took a step forward, stumbled like a man on the verge of collapse. They couldn't fire their infernal machine yet. Suddenly he took off, running like mad.

He caught them off balance. As he ran with long strides, stretching his legs, increasing speed, he heard the thump of a bomb exploding behind behind him. A long way off the clouds parted briefly and he caught a glimpse of a huge mountain, a flat-topped b.u.t.te, like the b.u.t.tes of Utah. He was heading for the distant road. That b.u.t.te was the Stockhorn. He had watched it when they had let him sit for brief periods inside the enclosed verandah. him. A long way off the clouds parted briefly and he caught a glimpse of a huge mountain, a flat-topped b.u.t.te, like the b.u.t.tes of Utah. He was heading for the distant road. That b.u.t.te was the Stockhorn. He had watched it when they had let him sit for brief periods inside the enclosed verandah.

Despite his age he was a virile man, strong from so many hours of riding in the saddle. His legs were gaining power, flexibility. He paced himself like a professional runner, knowing he would cover the ground faster that way. He wished Nancy could see him - he was giving the swine one h.e.l.l of a surprise. He heard a thud. The ground quavered under his feet. Closer, that one.

He made no attempt to tear off the mask. He could feel the tightness of the straps round his neck, over his head. Stopping to attempt that would be fatal. And they had made another mistake. By tying the cord tightly round his waist they had obviated the danger that he might be slowed down by the flapping of the dressing gown. He ran on.

The bomb landed ten feet in front of him. It burst. A cloud of mist-like vapour drifted across his face as he ran through it. Too late to run round it. He began coughing, choking. Another bomb landed ahead of him, another cloud spread. He was choking horribly, his eyes trying to force themselves through the Plexiglas. He reached out with both hands and crashed to the ground. His gnarled hands scrabbled, twitched once more and then he lay still.

Five minutes later the stretcher bearers took him away.

Thirty-Four.

By 7.30 pm. there was a mellow, relaxed atmosphere at the reception. Over a hundred people were present and the room was crowded, shoulder to shoulder. With Newman following her, Nancy threaded her way through the mob to where Professor Grange stood in deep conversation with Victor Signer. She walked straight up to Grange.

'I'm Dr Nancy Kennedy. My grandfather is a patient at the Berne Clinic...'

'If you care to make an appointment, my dear,' the soft voice intoned. Blank eyes stared down at her from behind the tinted gla.s.ses. 'This is hardly the moment...'

'And this is an intrusion on a private conversation,' Victor Signer informed her in a tone which suggested women were an inferior species.

'Really?' Nancy turned on him, raising her voice so that people nearby stopped talking to listen, which made their conversation carry an even greater distance. 'Maybe you would like to talk about the convenient execution of Manfred Seidler up in the Juras last night? After all, Colonel, you were there. Alternatively, perhaps you could kindly shut up while I talk to Professor Grange...'

'Gross impertinence...' Signer began.

'Watch it,' Newman warned. 'Remember me? Let her talk.'

'Your suggested appointment is not helpful,' Nancy continued in the same clear, carrying voice, staring straight at the tinted gla.s.ses. 'You hide behind Bruno Kobler at the Clinic. You are never available. Just exactly what is it you fear, Professor?'

An expression of fury flickered behind the gla.s.ses. The hand holding the champagne gla.s.s shook. Grange tightened his pouched lips, struggling for control while Nancy waited. The silence was spreading right across the room as people realized something unusual was happening: a woman was confronting the eminent Professor Armand Grange.

'I fear nothing,' he said eventually. 'What exactly is it you want, Dr Kennedy?'

'Since I have no confidence in your Clinic and the secretive way it is run, I wish to transfer my grandfather, Jesse, to a clinic near Montreux. I wish to arrange this transfer within the next twenty-four hours. That is what I want, what I am going to get. You have no objection, I a.s.sume?'

'You question my competence?'

Nancy sidestepped the trap. 'Who was mentioning your competence - except yourself?' Nancy's voice rose and now every person in the room could hear her loud and clear. 'Are you saying it is against the law - or even medical etiquette - in this country to ask for a second opinion?'

Possibly for the first time in his life - and in public-the head of the Berne Clinic was checkmated. Newman could see it in the rigid way he held himself. There were even beads of moisture on his high-domed forehead and the tinted gla.s.ses stared round at the silent a.s.sembly which stood gazing at him.

'Of course,' Grange replied eventually, 'I agree to your request. May I, with the greatest possible courtesy, remind you that we are here to enjoy ourselves tonight?'

'Then start enjoying yourself, Professor...'

On this exit line Nancy turned and made her way between the crowd which parted to let her through. Watched by Grange and Signer she went straight up to Beck and started talking to the police chief, giving the impression she was seeking further backing for the decision she had prised out of the Professor. Newman seized his opportunity, guessing that Grange would not welcome a fresh public row.

'I'm glad to meet you at last.' He smiled amiably without offering to shake hands. 'I'm writing a series of articles on Swiss industry and I understand you have at Horgen one of the most advanced factories in the world for the production of commercial gases?'

'That is so, Mr Newman...' Grange seemed relieved at the change of subject, by the prospect of conversing with someone in normal tones. 'Horgen is totally automated, the only type of plant in that field in the whole world...'

'Except that, naturally, the containers are supplied from outside...'

'But they are not, Mr Newman. We manufacture our own cylinders.'

'Some photographs would help...'

'I will send some to you here by special courier. It will be a pleasure...'

'Thank you so much. And now I had better... circulate.'

Newman smiled and withdrew. He joined Nancy who was still chatting with Beck. The police chief looked quizzically at Newman and then glanced across the room to where Signer was talking rapidly to Grange.

'You had a pleasant conversation?' he enquired.

'Grange just made one of his rare - and possibly fatal - mistakes. He gave me the last piece of information I was seeking ...'

'You know Dr Novak has arrived?' Nancy said to Newman as soon as they were alone. 'I think he tanked up in the bar before he decided to join us...'

She stopped speaking as a hush fell on the guests. The silence was so p.r.o.nounced that Newman turned towards the entrance to see what had caused every head to turn in that direction. A short man with a large head and a wide mouth, smoking a cigar, stood surveying the a.s.sembly.

'My G.o.d!' he heard someone behind him say in French. 'Dr Max Nagel has arrived. Now we'll see some real fireworks.'

Nagel, whose dinner jacket emphasized the great width of his shoulders, carried two large envelopes tucked under his arm. He dipped his head, acknowledging a waiter and taking a gla.s.s of champagne from the proffered tray, then walked across the room slowly, his mouth tightly clamped on the cigar.

There was a feeling of tension, hardly anyone was talking as Grange and Signer watched him coming. Nagel paused, thanked another waiter who held a tray with an ash-tray for him. He carefully dropped the ash from his cigar, increasing the tension. The man was a superb actor, Newman reflected.

He held the entire gathering in the palm of his large hand. 'Good evening, Grange. Colonel Signer. I have something for you both...'

'This is a medical reception,' Grange said coldly. 'I was not aware you had joined the profession...'

'Signer is a doctor?' Nagel's voice was a rumbling growl.

Newman glanced over his shoulder. Signer had switched his gaze to someone behind him. Blanche was watching the scene with a frown. Not Blanche. Lee Foley, one of the few men present not in evening dress, who was wearing a dark blue business suit with matching tie, a cream shirt and gold links fastening his cuffs, was now standing, staring at Signer. Close to him stood the small Englishman, Tweed, who was gazing intently through his spectacles. Newman had the impression of a stage manager studying the actors performing in a play he had rehea.r.s.ed. Newman heard the growl continuing and faced the other way.

'I think we're near the end of the line,' Nagel p.r.o.nounced. 'It has taken two months for the most brilliant accountants to trace the movement of two hundred million francs to its ultimate destination. A copy of the report for you, Professor Grange, one for you Colonel Signer. Terminal is terminated.

'What is this to do with me?' Signer asked with a sneer as he took the sheaf of stapled papers from the envelope and gave them a mere glance.

'They are photocopies,' Nagel rumbled on, 'the original is in my vault. And I expect you're capable of recognizing your own signature, Colonel. It appears three times on those doc.u.ments. And you might care to know, Grange, I have called a meeting of bankers to take place in Zurich. We will travel to meet you from Basle. The main item on the agenda? Those complex transactions. I bid you good night. Enjoy your medical ruminations, gentlemen...'

Newman turned round again as the banker left, smoking his cigar. He saw Dr Novak leaning up against a wall, holding a gla.s.s at a precarious angle. Novak was watching the drama like a man hypnotized. It seemed a good moment to persuade the American to fall in with his plans. He excused himself and the buzz of many voices talking started up as Nagel let himself out through the revolving doors and climbed into the rear of a waiting limousine.

'Novak,' Newman said, 'they're all watching Grange and Signer. Go to the lift - I'll join you there in a second. We have to talk. Don't argue - the whole thing is collapsing and they'll be looking for scapegoats. You could fit the part beautifully. And dump that gla.s.s on the table...'

He walked out into the main hall, asked the concierge to have two pots of black coffee sent up to his room, and went along to the lift where Novak was waiting.

'Novak, tomorrow night I'm going to break in to the Berne Clinic and you're going to help me...'

'You crazy, Newman?'

The American was sagged on the bed in Room 428, his shirt collar open at the neck, his tie loose. He also wore a business suit and Newman had emptied one jug of black coffee inside him. Novak was sober, reasonably so.

'You saw Lee Foley tonight at the reception?' Newman asked. 'One word from me and he'll put in motion the revoking of your pa.s.sport. You have access to those computer key cards which open the outer doors. I'm going inside that laboratory...'

'Those keys I don't have...'

'But I do. I got them off w.i.l.l.y Schaub this afternoon - they're so important he carries them with him everywhere. He talked, Novak. And he won't be coming back to the Clinic. I imagine Sunday is quiet at the Clinic?'

'Yes, it is. The only day both Grange and Kobler are away from the place. Grange spends the night at his large house in Elfenau - that's a suburb of Berne. Kobler spends the night with a girl somewhere. But there are a whole posse of guards left...'

'So I'll have to evade them. We meet after dark. The only problem I haven't solved is the Dobermans...'

'They're keeping them indoors. They don't patrol at the moment - not since that business with Mrs Laird. Grange has said he wants the place to look normal. I go off duty myself Sunday night at nine in the evening.'

I'll be there before then. About eight o'clock. Just be waiting for me inside that lobby. And Novak, I'd pack a bag and clear out yourself. I've booked a room for you here at the Bellevue. Stay inside it. Use Room Service for food until I arrive back. You'll do what I'm telling you?'

'I want out. I'll do it. It sounded downstairs like Nagel is going to blow the whole thing wide open...'

Newman escorted him to the door. 'If you think of changing your mind, just say two words to yourself. Lee Foley.'

He was closing the door when someone pushed against it from the outside. He eased it open a few inches, then opened it wide. Blanche walked into the room carrying an envelope similar to those Nagel had handed to Grange and Signer. She pirouetted in the middle of the bedroom.

'Like my dress, Bob? If you come closer you'll be able to appreciate my perfume...'

'You've the nerve of the devil. Nancy could arrive at any moment...'

'When I slipped up to my room and then along here she was deeply involved in conversation with a doctor from Phoenix...'

'Blanche, I think your dress is out of this world, to say nothing of what's inside it. By the way, how did you manage to arrive just after Novak left?'

'By waiting on one of those seats in the corridor. Bob, I don't like the look in your eye, the set of your mouth. You aren't planning on doing something foolish, I hope? Watch your answer - I know you...'