Terminal. Part 32

'I have no intention of bedding you here...'

'That's not what I meant.' She held out the envelope. 'I was asked to give this to you by Mr X. No probing trying to get his ident.i.ty out of me. Maybe I had letter leave now.'

Newman slipped the envelope inside a drawer. 'Your stepfather is at the reception. Have you talked to him?'

'You must be joking. He walked straight past me as though I didn't exist. I was rather glad. I took a good long look at him and I didn't like what I saw. He's grown even harder. I'll go now.' She kissed him full on the mouth, then gave him a tissue from her handbag. 'You're wearing the wrong shade of lipstick. Bob, for G.o.d's sake don't do anything I would worry about. Promise?'

'I'll bear your affectionate request in mind...'

It was midnight when the unmarked van carrying Beck's film unit arrived at the forest above the Berne Clinic. Leupin was behind the wheel with Marbot alongside him. In the back of the van was the cine camera technician, Rolf Fischer, and his equipment.

Leupin stopped the van and then backed it off the s...o...b..und road into a clearing under the trees. He had no way of knowing he was choosing the same vantage point Lee Foley had selected to observe the Clinic on the previous Tuesday. Leupin, having tested the firmness of the ground, now swung the vehicle through a hundred and eighty degrees so the rear of the van faced the panoramic view of the Clinic and its grounds.

In each rear door of the van was a round window of frosted gla.s.s, a hinged window which could be opened so Fischer's telephoto lens could be aimed at any required area of the Clinic, a lens which could see what was happening as clearly in the darkness as in broad daylight. Leupin got out, treading carefully in the snow, and made his way to the back where Fischer had already opened one of the windows.

'This suit you?' Leupin called out.

'Perfect. I can see everything - the Clinic, the laboratory, the grounds, even that deep slope near the lab.'

'And they won't see us in the daytime - not a white van against the snow. Just a moment, something's moving beyond the Clinic...'

Leupin raised the night-gla.s.ses looped round his neck and focused them on the drive curving down to the gatehouse. A black, six-seater Mercedes was driving away from the Clinic. Leupin lowered his gla.s.ses, calling out again to Fischer.

'That's funny. I'm sure that car is Grange's. He's not supposed to be here tonight...'

It was Beck who had vetoed the suggestion that they should arrive earlier. He was determined the van should not be spotted. And, as he had remarked, nothing would happen that evening with Grange at the reception and later spending the night at Elfenau.

Thirty-Five.

Sunday, 19 February. The call came late in the morning just after Newman and Nancy had got out of bed. They had slept in late and Nancy drew back the curtains as Newman reached for his wrist.w.a.tch on the bedside table. 11.45 am. He threw back the bed-clothes and hoped no one would make a loud noise.

'Bob! Just come and look at this...'

He blinked at the unusually strong light. The sun was shining brilliantly. Slipping into his dressing-gown, he yawned and joined Nancy at the window. No more mist. No traffic on the Sunday roads. Nancy gripped him by the arm and pointed to the left.

'Isn't it just magnificent? And we might never have seen it if the weather hadn't cleared.'

In the near distance - or so it seemed - they were gazing at the vast panorama of the Bernese Oberland range, a wall of mighty s...o...b..und peaks silhouetted against a background of an azure sky. Newman wrapped an arm round her waist, squeezing her. The long night's sleep, the dream-like view, had relaxed her.

'I think that big job is the Jungfrau,' he commented. 'It's the right shape...'

'Isn't it just wonderful? We can have breakfast up here, can't we?'

'Probably the only way we'll get some at this hour...'

That was when the phone started ringing. Nancy danced to the phone, picked up the receiver and announced herself in a lilting tone.

Newman realized something was very wrong from the change in her expression, in her tone of voice, in the way the conversation turned. She was standing very erect now, her complexion drained of all its natural colour and she began to argue, her voice harsh and aggressive.

'You can't do that! I forbid it! You b.a.s.t.a.r.d! I'll call you a b.a.s.t.a.r.d any time I want to - because that's what you are... I don't believe any of it... I'm going to raise b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l! Don't interrupt... You murdering swine...' Her voice suddenly went strangely quiet. 'You'll pay for this - that I promise you...'

'Get them to hold on,' Newman called out. 'Tell me what it's about. I'll talk to them...'

She had slammed down the receiver. She turned to look at Newman and he stared back at her. Her face had closed up. She began to walk slowly round the room, sucking her thumb, which Newman guessed was reversion to a childhood habit.

'Tell me,' he said quietly.

She went into the bathroom and closed the door. He tore off his night clothes, slipped into vest and pants and pulled on a pair of slacks, his shirt and shoes. At that stage she emerged from the bathroom where he had heard the tap running. She had washed and applied her makeup. She moved like a sleepwalker.

'Do as I tell you,' he snapped. 'Sit down in that chair. Talk.'

'They've killed Jesse...' She spoke in a flat monotone. 'That was Kobler. He said Jesse had had a heart attack - that he died almost immediately. They've already cremated him...'

'They can't do that. Who signed the death certificate? Did Kobler say?'

'Yes, he said that Grange signed the certificate. He said they have a sworn doc.u.ment signed by Jesse requesting cremation...'

'They can't get away with that. It's too quick. Christ, this is Sunday...'

'They covered themselves on that one, too. Kobler said Grange found Jesse was infected with cholera. That could justify immediate cremation. I think it could. I'm not familiar with Swiss law...'

She was talking like the playback of a slow-running tape- recorder. She sat quite still, her hands slack in her lap as she looked up and Newman was startled by the coldness in her eyes.

'We'll get them to send up some coffee...'

'That would be nice. Just coffee, no food. You order for yourself. You must be hungry...' She waited while he gave Room Service the order and then asked the question. 'Bob - can you tell me something? Is Signer really mixed up in this Terminal thing Dr Nagel mentioned last night?'

'Yes, I'm sure now. I'll show you something while we're waiting for the coffee.' He was glad to get her mind moving on another track - any other track. He produced the report Blanche had brought him. She remarked wasn't that what he had been reading when she'd fallen asleep? He said it was and showed her three pages where he had turned down the corners.

'His signature confirming the transfer of these huge sums of money is clear enough. Victor Signer. He's president of the Zurcher Kredit Bank, the outfit which dominates the Gold Club which backs Grange. After breakfast,' he went on, 'I suggest we go and see Beck if he's in his office - which I'm sure he will be. He's practically sleeping on the job...'

'So,' she said, ignoring his last suggestion, 'Grange and Signer and Kobler are the mainspring behind the Terminal thing?'

'It's beginning to look very much like that. Did you hear what I said about Beck? That we go and see him after we've eaten?'

'I think I'd like that ...'

Beck, clean-shaven and spruce, sat behind his desk listening while Nancy repeated the gist of her phone call from Kobler. As she talked he glanced at Newman once or twice, raising an eyebrow to indicate he was disturbed by the calm, detached way she spoke. At the end of her story he used the intercom to call in Gisela and was waiting by the door when she came in.

'Stay with Dr Kennedy until we come back,' he whispered. 'On no account leave her alone - not for a moment. I think she is in a state of severe shock.' He raised his voice. 'Bob, could you come with me, please? There's someone you will want to meet.'

When they were outside in the corridor he closed the door and folded his arms. He pursed his lips as though uncertain how to phrase what he was going to say.

'Ever since you arrived I have sensed you found it difficult to trust anyone - probably for very good reasons. That included myself. We are now going to the radio room. You have met Leupin, you know his voice. Since about midnight I have had a film unit van in position watching the Berne Clinic from the edge of the forest above it. When we reach the radio room you can ask Leupin any question you like - bearing in mind security - including checking his position. Now, let's get this poison of mistrust out of your system. I need all the help I can get...'

It took less than five minutes inside the radio room and Newman immediately recognized Leupin's voice. The policeman confirmed that they were in position 'by the forest'. He further mentioned that they had watched 'a certain eminent personage's well-known car leave the place in question about midnight...'

And that, thought Newman, unfortunately would fit in with the story that Grange had diagnosed cholera, had signed the death certificate, had been present at the Clinic after leaving the Bellevue reception to carry out these actions. He asked Beck if they could have a few minutes alone where they could talk privately. Beck led him inside an interrogation room and closed the door.

'This tape,' said Newman, placing the spool on a table, 'is the recorded interview I had with Manfred Seidler when he admitted bringing in Soviet gas masks on the instructions of Professor Grange. Nancy will give you a sworn statement confirming she witnessed the interview - but not today, if you don't mind. And this is the film of several shots I took of the gas mask Seidler handed to you when you grabbed his suitcase...'

'I am grateful,' Beck replied.

'And this cartridge is from a rifle fired at a certain member of Grange's staff at the Clinic. I'm talking about w.i.l.l.y Schaub, head porter. You'll find him at this address. When you pick him up include a man who speaks good English. Tell him to knock on the door of the first-cla.s.s flat and call out, "Newman here". He'll tell you a lot. Keep him in a safe - very safe - place. Don't be worried by the name alongside the bell-push, B. Signer. She's Victor Signer's daughter and I don't want her bothered. Signer has no time for her. May I rely on you?'

Tor every request, yes.'

'You can bring in Grange now?' Newman asked.

'Not yet. That cholera nonsense is clever. He will have put the Clinic in a state of quarantine...'

'So we still haven't got him?'

'Not yet. He is very powerful.'

It was 6 pm. Soon it would be dark. Blanche sat at a window table in the Bellevue coffee shop, eating a leisurely meal which she had paid for in advance. Earlier, she had watched Newman's parked Citroen from her bedroom window at this side of the hotel. Now she watched it from the table. Her scooter was parked against the wall of the Hertz offices and she was dressed in her riding gear. The wet-look pants, a thick woollen sweater - and her windcheater was thrown over the back of her chair.

Pausing before dessert, she glanced round the empty room and opened her handbag. The hand grenade she had brought from her flat bulged in the side compartment. Strange how she had acquired it - going back to the days when her stepfather had tried to mould her to his will.

He had taken her with him to a grenade practice range and, she had suspected, only his rank had permitted her to accompany him. He had thrown several grenades himself, then asked her to follow his example, watching her for any sign of nerves. That was when she had pocketed this grenade while he watched the previous one explode behind the concrete barrier. She had already escaped being raped in a dark alley by producing the egg-shaped weapon and threatening to blow herself and her attacker to pieces. She zipped up the compartment, looked out at the Citroen again and continued her meal. She was convinced Newman was going to make some reckless move before the evening was out. And to reach the Berne Clinic he had to use that Citroen.

Thirty-Six.

It was that intense dark which only comes on a cold, starlit night when Newman parked the Citroen within inches of the wire fence surrounding the Clinic. Switching off the motor, he got out and his feet ground into crusted snow. This part of the fence was a long way from the gatehouse.

He climbed on to the bonnet, heaved himself up on to the roof of the car, and he was within six inches of the top of the fence. He flexed his legs, crouched down and jumped up and over. He landed the way he had seen paratroopers land, rolling over, and when he stood up his only memento of the leap was a bruised shoulder. He walked briskly across hard snow towards the Clinic entrance at a diagonal angle, his ears attuned for the slightest warning that Dobermans were on the prowl despite Novak's a.s.surance to the contrary.

He reached the entrance without seeing anyone, frozen by the wind blowing from the north. Without hesitation he mounted the steps, opened the first door, strode across the deserted verandah, threw open the inner door and two people turned to stare at him.

Astrid was seated behind the counter. Novak, wearing a business suit ready for departure, was checking a file which lay open on the counter-top. Astrid stood up, astounded, then she recovered her poise and grabbed for the phone. Newman leaned over the counter and smashed his fist against her full, fleshy chin. She reeled over backwards, caught her head against the rear wall and sagged out of sight.

'My G.o.d! You could have killed her...'

'No such luck. Let's move, Novak. Open that door into the corridor. Come on! Is that your car outside?'

'Yes, I...'

'When you've opened the door, get behind the wheel and pretend it's Indianapolis...'

Novak produced his card, inserted it inside the slot and the door slid back. Newman s.n.a.t.c.hed the key card out of Novak's hand and walked into the deserted corridor. The door closed behind him He was wearing a dark padded windcheater and a pair of jeans - clothes he rarely used - and his tough walking shoes were rubber-soled.

The only sound in the eerily silent corridor was the muted hum of the air-conditioning. He walked on rapidly, moving down the slope now. He paused where the corridor turned and the angle of descent increased, peering round the corner. A further stretch of empty corridor illuminated by overhead neon strips until it reached the hydraulically-operated steel door which was closed.

As he walked up to the door he extracted from his pocket the six key cards w.i.l.l.y Schaub had handed to him. The first three cards he tried didn't work. He inserted the fourth card and there was a sound of whirring machinery as the steel slab elevated. He walked through quickly and again heard the door closing behind him.

This section was different. At intervals in the green walls on both sides were windows. He paused to glance through one and there was something about the surface of the gla.s.s which suggested this was one-way gla.s.s - you could see outside but no one would be able to look inside from the grounds.

He guessed he was very close to the laboratory - it was probably behind the closed door at the end of the pa.s.sage. He was looking uphill towards the wall of dark fir forest which overlooked the Clinic. On top of a small mound uniformed figures moved slowly round some device perched on top of the mound. He couldn't see too clearly.

By the side of the door at the end of this pa.s.sage was a box with a slot exactly like the previous lock. The first card he chose operated the door which slid up, revealing what lay beyond. A dimly-lit chamber, very large and crammed with tables which supported wire cages. Inside these cages were housed animals. The chimpanzees turned round to stare silently at the intruder.

The room was not only occupied )y animals. At the rear of the chamber behind the cages stood Professor Armand Grange. Two figures wearing the weird gas masks stepped forward, grabbed Newman by the arms as the door closed. A fourth man stood near Grange. Bruno Kobler. Newman ground his shoe down on the instep of the man on his left who grunted in pain but retained his grip. Kobler walked over, staring at the prisoner, not hurrying, and while the two men held Newman he searched him, running his hands over his padded windcheater, under his armpits and down the sides of his arms and legs.

'He is carrying no weapon,' he reported.

'But why should he carry a weapon, Bruno?' Grange asked as he padded closer. The poor lighting had the effect of blanking out the tinted gla.s.ses so he seemed eyeless. 'He is a reporter,' Grange continued. 'He works on the basis that the pen - the typewriter - is mightier than the sword. This may be an occasion when the old adage is proved wrong...'

'How the h.e.l.l did you know I was coming?' Newman enquired. His tone expressed disgust, his expression showed a hint of fear.

'Through the medium of radar, of course! Also we have concealed television cameras sweeping the approaches. The security here has been brought to a fine art, Mr Newman...'

'Along with ga.s.sing people to test those Soviet masks...'

'A well-informed reporter, Bruno,' Grange commented, his tone mocking.

'Except that isn't the real object - it's the gas which you're testing, the gas you manufacture at Horgen. You made a slip when you told me you manufacture your own cylinders at Horgen - you have the facilities to make the bombs which contain the gas you test here. Tous azimuts Tous azimuts. All-round defence of Switzerland, isn't that it, Professor?'

'Oh dear, he is too well-informed, Bruno...'

'You have have developed a new gas, haven't you?' Newman persisted. 'A gas which will penetrate the latest Soviet masks. Hence developed a new gas, haven't you?' Newman persisted. 'A gas which will penetrate the latest Soviet masks. Hence tous azimuts, tous azimuts, the new strategy. If the Red Army does come you plan to encircle the whole of Switzerland with this wall of gas they will never get through - alive. But you had to be sure the latest Soviet masks were useless against it - so you used patients to test it...' the new strategy. If the Red Army does come you plan to encircle the whole of Switzerland with this wall of gas they will never get through - alive. But you had to be sure the latest Soviet masks were useless against it - so you used patients to test it...'

'But Mr Newman, these patients are terminal...'

'Hence the name of the operation which has puzzled so many people - because the word has different meanings. What kind of gas, Grange? Something developed from Tabun, the gas you grabbed out of Germany when you were a member of the special team sent in at the end of the war?'

'Worse and worse, Bruno. So very well-informed. I repeat, the patients are terminal, so what difference does it make? We have a population of millions to defend. It is a question of numbers, Mr Newman. As to the gas, we have come a long way from Tabun. We now have the most advanced form of hydrogen cyanide in the world - and we have found a way to control its volatility. We can distribute belts of the gas as we wish - in the face of an advancing armoured division. They will be dead within thirty seconds, their tanks useless sc.r.a.p metal. But the gas, Mr Newman, disperses very quickly - swiftly loses its toxicity...'

'You think you'll get away with murder?'

'We have triumphed...' Grange's voice rose to a pitch of ecstasy. Newman realized finally he was faced by a megalomaniac- Grange was a madman. He went on in the same tone of exhilaration. 'Signer has called a meeting of the General Staff for Wednesday night. The new policy will be adopted - with the aid of what we call the irregulars - those officers who support our determination to defend our country at all costs...'

'And Nagel's conference of the bankers?'

It is scheduled for Thursday morning. The meeting will be cancelled. A matter of military security. And now, since you know it all, we will convince you I am right. You will be our final experiment - a more virile specimen than those who went before you. Bruno! Proceed...!'

'You dare not let me see inside the atombunker atombunker then?' 'Of course you may see. Bring him inside.. then?' 'Of course you may see. Bring him inside..