He enjoyed himself in the bedroom but when the aftermath came he began to worry like mad about what she'd said. Was Basle the worst place in the world he could have come to escape? Had he wandered into the lion's pit? He'd have to keep under cover. He'd also watch the newspapers – especially those from Geneva, Berne and Zurich, plus the locals. Something might show up in them, something which would show him the way – the way to escape the horror.
Eight
London, 13 February 1984. 6?. The atmosphere inside Tweed's office at 10 am was one of appalled mystification. Besides Tweed, the other people gathered in the office included Howard, who had just returned from a weekend in the country, Monica, the middle-aged spinster of uncertain age Tweed called his 'right arm', and Mason, summoned urgently from Vienna on an apparent whim of Tweed's.
The 'object' Mason had brought with him and which he had purchased from Franz Oswald, was now locked away in Tweed's steel filing cabinet. No one had wanted to continue staring at that for long.
Howard, wearing the small check suit he kept for the country, was furious. He was convinced Tweed had exploited his absence to set all sorts of dangerous wheels in motion. To add insult to injury, Tweed had just returned from Downing Street where he had remained closeted with the Prime Minister for over an hour.
`Did you ask her for that document?' he enquired coldly.
Tweed glanced at the letter headed 10 Downing Street which he had deliberately left on his desk. It gave him full powers to conduct the investigation personally. There was even a codicil promising him immediate access to her presence at any time there were developments.
`No,' replied Tweed, standing like the rest and polishing his glasses with a shabby silk handkerchief. 'It was her idea. I didn't argue, naturally..
`Naturally,' Howard repeated sarcastically. 'So, now you've got the whole place in an uproar what's the next move?'
`I need outside help on this one.' Tweed looped his glasses over his ears and blinked at Howard. 'As you know, we're fully stretched. We have to get help where we can..
`A name – or names – would be reassuring..
`I'm not sure that's wise. Reliable help will only cooperate on a basis of total secrecy. If I'm the only person who knows their identity they know who to point the finger at if things go wrong. I take full responsibility..
`You've hired an outsider already,' Howard accused.
Tweed shrugged and glanced at the letter on his desk. Howard could have killed him. It was an uncharacteristic action on the part of Tweed, but he would go to any length to protect a source. He decided he had treated Howard rather badly – especially in front of the others.
`There's already been a body,' he informed his chief. 'A man was murdered in Vienna. Mason can tell you about it…'
`God Almighty!' Howard exploded. 'What are you letting us in for?'
`Permission to explain, sir?' the trim, erect Mason interjected. Taking Howard's curt nod for an affirmative he described in concise detail his experience with Franz Oswald. Howard listened in silence, his pursed lips expressing disapproval – and anxiety, a reaction Tweed sympathized with. He wasn't at all happy about the way the situation was developing himself.
`And did he tell you – while he was alive – how he obtained the thing?'
Howard nodded again, this time towards the locked drawer in the filing cabinet. He had calmed down while listening to Mason, a man he disliked but respected – they came from the same background. The trouble was he was Tweed's man. Like that bloody old spinster, Monica, who hadn't spoken a word- but Howard knew that later she could repeat the entire conversation back verbatim from memory.
`No, sir, he didn't,' Mason answered. 'I did ask but he refused point-blank to go into details. I have, however, got a photograph of the man who boarded the plane at Schwechat – that new camera is a wizard and I always carry it with me. It was a long shot, telephoto lens, but it's come out rather well.'
`Show it to me. You have got it on you?'
Mason glanced quickly at Tweed, which infuriated Howard once more. Tweed nodded acquiescence and wished Mason hadn't asked his permission. Still, Mason was being ultra- careful with this one. He watched Howard studying the photograph Mason handed to him.
`Any idea who he is?' Howard demanded.
`He's familiar,' Tweed replied. 'It will come back to me…'
Tut it through Records,' Howard suggested. 'Now, Mason, I'm going to say a word and I want you to react instantly. Give me the first association that comes into your head. Don't think about it. Ready? Terminal…'
`An electrical circuit,' Mason responded promptly.
`That's interesting.' Howard turned to Tweed. 'The Swiss are transforming their whole economy to run on electric power. New houses are heated by electricity – to avoid dependence on oil. Did you know that?'
`Yes, I knew that. You might have a shrewd point there,' he agreed.
`Supposing this whole business hinges on a massive sabotage operation?' Howard warmed to his theme. 'The enemy is planning to hit all the key points in the Swiss power system when the moment comes for them to make their move.'
`You could be right. We'll know when we find out what really is going on inside Switzerland. I need to send in someone the Swiss police and military intelligence don't know. Mason would fit the bill. And the Ambassador in Vienna agreed to bring forward his leave – three weeks…'
`Good idea,' agreed Howard. He felt a little better about the whole thing now he was contributing. Time to show a modicum of goodwill. He nodded towards the letter on Tweed's desk. 'With her backing we have an open-ended call on resources. But this business still worries me. Who would imagine the Swiss getting mixed up in a situation of such international dimensions? Yes, Mason, was there something?'
`Permission to find some breakfast – if you're finished with me, sir? Airline meals turn my stomach. I haven't eaten since last night.'
`Fuel up!' Howard said breezily, still buoyant. 'That is, if Tweed has nothing more?'
`I'll be organizing your flight to Zurich,' Tweed told Mason. `Get a train from there to Berne – it's only ninety minutes. Breakfast first though. And thank you, Mason. I'm not certain what you've triggered off yet, but it's something very big. I feel it in my arthritic bones…'
`Howard is a pain in the proverbial,' Monica remarked to Tweed when they were alone. `Up and down like a bloody yo-yo…'
`It's his wife, Eve,' Tweed said, slumping back in his swivel chair. 'I only met her once. Very County, very superior. She went out of her way to make me feel uncomfortable…'
`That's because she fears you,' Monica commented shrewdly.
`And that's ridiculous,' Tweed protested.
`She's ambitious, the driving force behind Howard. When he tells her the Prime Minister has given you carte blanche she'll really hit the roof. I know the type. On top of that she has money – a large block of ICI shares she inherited. That gives a woman a sense of power.'
`Poor Howard,' said Tweed and his sympathy was genuine. He looked at Monica, a comfortable woman whose deep loyalty to him he sometimes found worrying. Under other circumstances he might have considered marrying her, but that, of course, was quite impossible. `I have an appointment,' he said, standing up. 'Expect me when you see me…'
`No way of getting in touching?' she enquired mischievously.
`Not this time.' He paused near the door and she was careful not to help him on with his coat. Tweed hated fuss. `Monica, when Mason gets back, ask him to wait for me. Tell him one job will be to compile a file on Professor Armand Grange, head of the Berne Clinic…'