This United State Part 36

'What is it about her that makes her so attractive to men?' Tweed enquired.

'I can tell you that,' Paula replied. 'Personality. She's a mix of the cool and the exciting. This intrigues men. They're not sure where they are with her. Outcome? They want to know her better.'

'That's pretty shrewd,' Newman agreed.

'I've got grim news for you,' Tweed said suddenly. 'It came to Marler and me via Beck and Roy Buchanan...'

He told them about the horror which had taken place in London. They listened in complete silence. Butler bunched a fist as though he wanted one of the opposition present to slam it into. Nield closed his eyes, then opened them, his expression one of fury.

'We've got to bust these b.a.s.t.a.r.ds,' Butler exclaimed. 'I agree with you one hundred per cent,' Tweed a.s.sured him. 'I want you all now to watch a tape of Roy Buchanan broadcasting on TV this afternoon. Marler, could you oblige?'

'Right now,' Marler said.

He inserted it into the video recorder. Picking up the remote control, he backed away, perched on the arm of Paula's chair. The red light was already glowing on the set. He pressed the b.u.t.ton and a BBC news bulletin was showing. Scenes of carnage far worse than those seen earlier of the bombed store in Oxford Street were preceded by an unusual warning from the newsreader.

'Before we show the following pictures we would advise anyone who is squeamish not to watch. We especially suggest children should not see what follows.'

Paula gasped, wanted to close her eyes. She forced herself to go on viewing. They reminded her of scenes of the war in Vietnam. The pictures were a tangle of horribly injured victims, of stretcher after stretcher being brought out with the bodies on them showing no signs of life. Chaos and blood were everywhere. A woman staggered out of the ruined entrance. A paramedic appeared, took hold of her gently, removed her from camera range.

The scenes of carnage gave way to the reappearance of the newsreader, his voice solemn.

'There will now be a short broadcast by Superintendent Buchanan of the Metropolitan Police.'

Roy Buchanan's image appeared, a view of head and shoulders. He stared straight at the camera, his expression grim, his voice calm and determined.

'Ladies and gentlemen, the Commissioner of the Metropolitan Police has just appointed me as Head of the Anti-Terrorist Squad. I have also been given full powers to call on the help of any other unit I may deem to be necessary. We know that the atrocity you have just seen - together with the bombing of two other department stores in the capital - is not the work of the IRA. Nor is it the work of any ultra-extremist Muslim sect. I shall be working day and night to hunt down these vile murderers. I have given orders that when they are encountered by my men, if they open fire, we shall shoot to kill. Lot there be no doubt about that. Thank you for giving me your attention.'

'That was pretty tough,' Newman said as Marler switched off the TV. 'Thank G.o.d. He really means it.'

'So do I,' Tweed said very quietly. 'We will exterminate these vermin.'

Marler remained behind when the others had left, after a warning from Tweed that no one should contemplate going to bed. That they must be ready to leave at a moment's notice.

'After we got back from Beck's place,' Marler said, 'and you missed death by inches, I went up to my room. I immediately phoned Windermere's room. There was no reply. I then phoned Rupert's room. Again there was no reply. So both were out.'

'You think one of them is the Phantom?'

'Don't you?'

'It could be a third person who hasn't yet appeared on the scene,' Tweed mused.

'The Phantom is a crack shot, although twice he's just missed. Once with Paula at Irongates in Kent, the second time with you tonight.'

'You don't think they could have been deliberate misses, to unnerve me? And why has it to be a man. These days there are some women who are as expert shots as men,' Tweed speculated.

'I'll get him - or her - in my sights sooner or later. I still have my Armalite.'

'By the way,' Tweed said, 'when we drive to Freiburg, which I'm convinced 'Mill be the case, we'll be staying at the Colombi to begin with. I remember it - a first-cla.s.s hotel not far from the railway station and fairly close to the outskirts. We have the Schwarzwalder Hof as an alternative base. It's deep inside the old city. We may even dodge backwards and forwards. And don't be surprised if, when we do arrive at the Colombi, we see Sharon. She told me at dinner she's going there.'

'What is that woman up to? I saw her when you came through the Bra.s.serie on your way to the bar.'

'She's trying to decide whether to leave America for ever, to settle down in England.'

Someone tapped on the door. When Marler opened it Paula walked in. Without sitting down, she stopped uncertainly.

'Is this the wrong moment for me to turn up? I can always go back to my room. I was restless. The waiting.'

'Stay,' Tweed told her. 'Sit down.' He turned to Marler. 'I was wondering why you asked about Sharon.'

'I doubt if instructions to kill you were transmitted over the phone. Which suggests to me they were given by someone inside this hotel.'

'What are you talking about?' Paula demanded. 'Instructions to kill Tweed?'

'I was going to tell you later,' Tweed said quickly. 'On our way back from seeing Beck across the road someone took a pot-shot at me. Missed by a mile.

'A short mile,' Marler corrected.

'So why query Sharon?' Tweed asked him. 'There are other people in the hotel.'

'Who, for example?'

'Ed Osborne.'

It was in the middle of the night when Jake Ronstadt called the members of his outfit to his suite. As ordered, they were all fully dressed. Unusually he stood at the head of the table.

'Who the h.e.l.l gave you permission to sit down?' he snarled when they had automatically occupied their chairs. 'Get on your feet.'

'Anyone gettin' old and tired?' he sneered as they jumped up.

'Sorry, Chief. We're OK,' said Vernon.

'You'd better be - otherwise you'll find yourself with a bullet in the head, dumped in a ditch.' His voice changed, became dangerously wheedling. 'Has everyone packed, like I said? If you ain't raise your right hand.'

No hands were raised. Ronstadt stared slowly round, his hard eyes glaring at each man. They waited, not daring to move a muscle. Ronstadt spoke again, this time in a calm voice.

'We're leaving - for Freiburg first, then the Black Forest. I've told you before. But in case you've got short memories I'm goin' to repeat myself. I'll drive the lead car. Vernon comes up behind me. When we're on the autobahn, Vernon, I'll signal where you turn off - with a wave of my arm. You go up the slip road, meet the two cars waiting, transfer the weapons into your car, then drive down to rejoin me. Is that too difficult for you?'

'Piece of cake.'

'Then ram it down your throat. The bill's paid, so why are you all hangin' around here?'

'So Denise never called you after leaving?' Tweed asked.

'No. Why would she?' Marler said. 'I'm the last person she'll want to see again. She must have concocted that whole yarn about the Minotaur Minotaur.'

'Seems she did.

Tweed was trying to think up things to say. In his room everyone was gathered, including Keith Kent, who seemed the most placid. In the middle of the night there was an air of unspoken tension. Everyone was waiting to get on with it, knowing that nothing might happen. Paula sat in an armchair, swinging her crossed legs. She reached for her pack in her shoulder bag, then decided she didn't want a cigarette. Newman, seated on a couch, kept checking his watch. Marler was leaning against a wall. The other two who were most patient were Butler and Nield, chatting quietly to each other.

'Anyone like some more coffee?' Tweed enquired. 'Helps to keep you alert.'

No one did. Newman was thinking he could have had a nap in his room. Paula got up, went over to the windows, carefully peeked through a gap she made in the closed curtains. On the opposite bank of the Rhine a few lights gleamed in the old houses, their reflections trembling in the river. Insomniacs, she thought. They existed all over the world.

The mobile phone on the table began buzzing. Tweed forced himself not to grab. Picking it up, he was aware of six pairs of eyes watching him intently.

'h.e.l.lo?'

'They're on the move. Must be close to the border.' 'Thank you.'

Beck's distinctive voice had come clearly across. Tweed put the mobile into his pocket. He spoke offhandedly, as though they were going on a day trip to a resort.

'Time to go. I suspect we have very little time left.'

In the Atlantic, well clear of the American coastline, Crag - Rear Admiral Joseph Honeywood, in command of the huge naval task force - settled into his seat in the Island of the President President. It was night and he liked to be at control after dark. That was when you could get an unpleasant surprise. He looked at his Operations Officer.

'We're making good time. We should be on station in the English Channel less than four days from now.'

'No doubt about it, sir.'

'And so far, Bill, we've been lucky. We haven't been spotted by any other ship or a commercial airliner.'

'I have a feeling that will go on. The Brits will wake up to find us off their sh.o.r.es.'

'The SEALs are ready for action?'

'They are. If they have to land they'll sweep over anything that gets in their way. They're rarin' to go.'

32.

Driving through Basel at night was an eerie experience, Paula was thinking. She liked the city, but in the dark the medieval buildings, illuminated only by street lanterns at intervals, had a majestic - and sinister - atmosphere. There were no trams running at this hour, the streets were deserted, the shadows deep and menacing.

She sat beside Newman, who was driving the first car. In the rear seats Tweed was alongside Keith Kent. Tweed was sitting up erect, his eyes everywhere. The adrenalin was flowing and he was very alert. He knew the layout of the city well and was on the lookout for anything unusual, which should not be there.

'We're getting close to the border,' he warned after a while.

'Marler's keeping up with us well, not too close, not far behind,' Newman commented after checking his rearview mirror.

Tweed glanced back through the rear window. Marler was driving the second Audi. As pa.s.sengers he had Butler and Nield in the back. The seat beside him was unoccupied - for a purpose. He slowed as Newman's car lost speed, then the two cars stopped.

In the near distance was the checkpoint at the border. Paula could make out the heavy figure of Jake Ronstadt behind the wheel of a black Audi. He had his window down and appeared to be arguing with the duty officer. Another officer searched the interior of the car while three men in dark coats stood outside.

'What the h.e.l.l is this all about?' Ronstadt was demanding for the third time. 'I've shown you my diplomatic pa.s.sport. You have no right to stop us - let alone search the car.'

'Information received, sir,' another officer replied. 'What information might that be, buddy?'

'We are not allowed to disclose our sources. Would you mind stepping out so I can check the front?'

'I d.a.m.ned well would. I'm reporting this to Washington. And I'd like your name.'

'As Chief Customs Officer at this crossing point I have sole authority...'

He paused as another officer pulled at his sleeve. They walked a short distance from the car. They conversed briefly and the Chief Customs Officer was careful not to look to where Newman's car was waiting with Marler's, parked in the shadows. He returned to the Audi.

'If it was a large consignment we would have found it by now. You are free to proceed.'

Ronstadt started his engine. He lowered his window. The moment he had crossed the border he shouted back, 'You can stick your sole authority.'

He pressed his foot down, increasing speed as he drove onto the autobahn. Behind him three more black Audis followed. In his own Audi, Newman commented while he waited a little longer.

'Four cars. I counted four men in each - that's sixteen. We're outnumbered.'

'That worries you?' Tweed enquired from the back. 'Not at all. We've been outnumbered more heavily before. Time to go.'

The officer waved them through. He even saluted them. Then they were on the wide autobahn. It had two lanes in both directions, separated by a metal crash barrier and hedges. They drove on through the night and there was no other traffic as Newman held back from the convoy ahead. He drove so he could always see the red lights of the rear-most vehicle. Paula was shielding a pocket torch as she examined an ADAC map she had purchased of the Schwarzwald area.

'We turn off at junction 63 to get to Freiburg,' she called out. 'It's quite a distance yet.'

'We'll get there.'

In Ronstadt's car Leo Madison, the man who had murdered Juliette Leroy in St Ursanne, sat beside Ronstadt. He kept looking back down the autobahn behind them. He was trying to decide if it was wise to speak. He decided it was.

'Every time we go round a big curve I see two white cars behind us.'

'So?'

'When you speed up, they speed up. When you go slower, they do.'

'So?'

'Reckon it could be Tweed and his mob. I've heard German drivers love overtaking.'

'That worries you, Moonhead?'

'The name is Leo Madison. They may tail us to where we're goin' and that could be a problem.'

'Moonhead, I expected Tweed to follow us. What do you think that c.r.a.p at the checkpoint was about? Holdin' us up so Tweed could get there. A little idea of that nutter Police Chief Beck. I'm happy if that is Tweed behind us. Wait our opportunity and wipe out Tweed and his boys off the face of the earth. Any more comments floating round in that thing you call a brain?'

'Nothin' I can think of, Chief.'

'Well, we're comin' up to junction 66. That's where Vernon peels off up the slip road, collects the weapons, brings them back to us. We wait.'

A few minutes later he slowed, lowered his window, reached out an arm and made a circling gesture. He continued to slow down and then parked at the side of the autobahn, which was illegal.