Precipice

'Nary a sign of the lady so far this morning. Signing off.'

Take care…'

'Why don't I keep my big mouth shut?' Newman said to himself as he emerged from the phone box in South Street in Wareham. Standing on the kerb, leaning against her red Porsche, was Eve Warner. Dressed in a clean white windcheater with the hood hanging on her shoulders, she waved to him. She had a small frame, he noted, and even wearing drainpipe blue denims with the windcheater she looked very attractive. No wonder Philip seems to be falling for her, he thought.

Top of the morning to you, Bob,' she called out cheekily. 'I see your Merc parked behind me. Going someplace? I'll come with you. Hello, Philip. Sleep OK, all on your ownsome?'

'Very well.'snapped Philip, who had just walked out of the Black Bear. He thought her remark tactless, as he'd told her that this was his first holiday on his own since Jean's death.

'Then don't sound like a sore-head,' she rapped back. 'Where are we off to today?'

'You're not invited.'Newman told her bluntly as she came up close to him.

Marler had slipped out of the hotel and into the back of Newman's car without her noticing. She was too busy flashing her seductive smile at Newman, intent on persuading him.

'Don't be an old spoilsport.'she challenged him. 'I need company.'

'Look elsewhere, then. Excuse me…'

'I can always follow you!' she shouted at his back as he disappeared inside the hotel. It took him only a few minutes to locate the burly Harry Butler, to give him Tweed's instructions about checking on Partridge and the address in Poole.

'What about my sidekick, Pete Meld? He's in his room.'

'Tell him to stay here and keep a discreet watch on the Priory Hotel for any sign of Chief Inspector Buchanan. He's round here somewhere. I'll come back here for your report later in the day.'

When he came out on to the street Eve was leaning up against her car, arms and legs crossed.

'You don't get rid of me as easily as that,' she told him.

'We'll see about that.'

Being careful not to show his annoyance at her persistence, he got behind the wheel. Philip was already in the front passenger seat; Marler was secreted in the back. He drove off towards the bridge, heading for Corfe and then Kingston, recalling that Philip had told him about the route over breakfast. In his rear-view mirror he saw Eve take off after him.

'I'll lose you, hellcat.'he said aloud.

'She's all right.'Philip protested.

Newman made no reply.

Back in his office at Park Crescent Tweed had relayed to Paula and Monica the gist of his conversation with Newman.

'The Motorman?' Paula repeated. 'He does sound a bit sinister. From what you've told me he must have moved jolly fast to commit that foul murder at Devastoke Cottage.'

'Hence his nickname, I presume. The Motorman,' Tweed said grimly. 'I've heard mention of him before. I know who it was. Arthur Beck, Chief of Federal Police in Switzerland. Get him on the phone, Monica – you should find him at his headquarters in Berne.'

Monica was reaching for her phone when it began ringing. Answering it, she nodded to Tweed.

'It's Lasalle from Paris again. Sounds urgent.'

'Tweed,' Lasalle burst out the moment he knew he was talking to him, 'we've just discovered another topflight scientist and his family have disappeared. Over a month ago. From Grenoble. He was on leave, hence the delay in his unit realizing he'd gone missing.'

'Another one? That makes a total of twenty of the world's most important scientists missing from Europe, here, and America. Details, please. What was this one's speciality?'

'Advanced satellite communication. Very secret work – probably the top man in his field anywhere. Georges Blanc. Like the others, his wife has disappeared too.'

'Kidnapped?' Tweed suggested.

'No evidence of that. Before vanishing he instructed his lawyer to sell his house and contents – antiques included. The lawyer has to send the proceeds to a numbered account in a Belgian bank. The President is raving mad. We were leading the world in that field.'

'Any clue as to how Blanc left Grenoble?'

'His chauffeur – I'm having him flown to Paris so I can interrogate him myself – told me on the phone he had driven Blanc, his wife, and a load of luggage over the border to a remote airfield in Germany. He was ordered to drive back to Grenoble after Blanc handed him a handsome bonus to keep his mouth shut. Blanc's story was he was on a top secret mission.'

'Any type of aircraft waiting on the airfield while this chauffeur was there?'

'No. Blanc is brilliant. He was working on an advanced satellite – for communications between the Earth and the orbiting satellite.'

'I'll add him to the list. While you're on the phone, have you ever heard of The Motorman?' Tweed enquired.

'God! Why do you ask?'

'Because this reputed assassin may be operating over in this country.'

'He's a new, highly skilled killer. Very expensive, so the underworld rumours have it. He's assassinated two bankers in Paris. That's confidential. We've kept very quiet about him while we track him. Not a clue so far.'

'What sort of bankers?' Tweed asked quietly.

'Both owned small, very exclusive banks. One founded in the time of Napoleon. Family banks.'

'How can you be certain The Motorman was responsible?' Tweed pressed. 'He leaves a calling card?'

'Of course not. It's the technique. Both bankers had a lot of security round their houses. It was bypassed, God knows how. They both died of broken necks. One was killed in his library while his wife was in the adjoining room. She never heard a thing.'

'Any money missing?'

'Strange you should ask that,' the Frenchman commented. 'In each case a lot of the capital was held in bearer bonds. They've vanished. How the hell am I supposed to trace bearer bonds?'

'The banks have gone bust?' Tweed enquired.

'No. Enough cash was kept in each branch to keep them solvent. Tweed, I'm up to my neck, over my head.'

'You'll swim to the surface,' Tweed assured him. 'You always do. Keep in touch…'

Tweed sighed to himself as he put down the phone. Monica asked him whether she should still call Arthur Beck and he nodded. She began dialling immediately.

'Beck here. What is it, Tweed?'

The Swiss police chief, normally genial and calm however fraught a situation, sounded brusque.

'Arthur, a little while ago you mentioned an assassin, a professional, called The Motorman. Have you had any luck identifying him?'

'Why?'

'He's been operating in France…'

'I know that…'

'Well, what you probably don't know is that he's now in this country as far as we can tell. He tried to kill a key witness to a double murder but by mistake murdered the wrong man.'

'First time he's made a mistake.' There was a pause. 'I don't like this – he's becoming very international. I've got nowhere tracking him down. He just disappears into thin air. He's responsible for killing three Swiss.'

'What were their professions?'

'Bankers.'

'Owners of small private long-established banks?'

'How on earth did you guess that? We've kept silent about his activities. I thought that might throw him off his guard.'

'And you know it was The Motorman because with all his three victims he broke their necks?'

'Yes. He's the bloody Invisible Man. No amount of top security can keep him out. You can imagine how security-conscious bankers are.'

'He bypasses their security in some weird way?'

'Oh, I think I've now worked that out. Tweed, he talks his way in. In all three cases the security was still intact. I'm wondering now if he has an attractive woman with him when he calls to help get him inside.'

'Could The Motorman be a woman?' Tweed speculated.

'She'd have to be pretty strong. One of the bankers was built like a bull. Didn't save him. And there's no sign of a struggle in all three cases. Except with the bull, whose feet scuffed up the carpet.'