They had been allocated Room 428. A bathroom led off the entrance hall. There was a separate toilet. But the room itself was the cherry on the cake. Very large with a couple of comfortable armchairs, a desk in front of the spacious windows where Newman could work. Two generous single beds had been placed alongside each other to form a double. Nancy bounced her backside on one of the beds.
`Bob, this is marvellous. We could live here for weeks…' 'Maybe we will. Come and look at the view. The porter made a big fuss about it and rightly so.'
They stood with his arm wrapped round her and she made cooing noises of sheer delight. Newman opened the first set of windows and then the outer ones a foot beyond. Chill air floated into the room which had the temperature of a sauna bath.
`That hill beyond the river with the snow is the Bantiger,' he explained. 'If this overcast clears over there to the left you'll get the most fantastic panorama of the Bernese Oberland range. Now,' he became businesslike, 'this afternoon I'm hiring a car from Hertz next door. We're driving to the Berne Clinic at Thun…'
`Just like that?' Her professional instincts surfaced. 'We should phone for an appointment to see Jesse…'
`We do nothing of the sort. We arrive unannounced. You're not only a relative, you're a doctor. With me accompanying you we can bulldoze our way in, maybe catch them on the hop..
`You really think that's a good idea?'
`It's what we're going to do. After a quick lunch…'
`Bob, they have three separate restaurants. One gorgeous room overlooking the terrace down there. The Grill Room. And the coffee shop…'
`The coffee shop. It will be quick. We have to move before our arrival is reported. Don't forget that bloody newspaper article.'
`Let me just fix myself.' She left him and sat down in front of the dressing table. 'Did you notice that Englishman who was registering while you waited? I was sitting on a sofa and I saw him look back and stare at you.'
`He'd probably seen my picture in that paper…'
Newman spoke in an off-hand manner, dismissing the incident from her mind. But he knew the guest she was talking about. He even knew the man's name, but he had detected no significance in the guest until Nancy's remark.
He had waited patiently while the other Englishman filled in the registration form, ignoring the receptionist's attempt to do the job for him. A slim, erect man with a trim moustache, he wore a short camel-hair coat and would be in his early thirties.
`The porter will take your bag to your room, Mr Mason,' the receptionist had informed him, returning his passport.
`Thank you,' Mason had replied, accepting the small hotel booklet with his passport and turning away to where the porter waited.
Now he remembered Mason had glanced over his shoulder at Newman before leaving the counter. A swift, appraising glance. He frowned to himself and Nancy watched him as she combed her hair.
`That man at the reception desk. You know him?'
`Never seen him before in my life. Are you ready? It will have to he a very quick meal. I have to hire the car and it's a half hour's drive to Thun along the motorway.'
`How did you locate it so quickly?'
`By asking the concierge when you wandered off into that huge reception hall. They have a fashion show this afternoon…'
`And a medical congress reception in a few days' time.. `So what?' he asked, catching a certain inflection in her tone.
`Nothing,' she answered. 'Let's go eat…'
Mason sat on the bed in his room, dialling the number which would put him straight through to Tweed's extension. He never ceased to be impressed with how swiftly the continental phone system worked – providing you were in Sweden, Germany or Switzerland.
`Yes,' said Tweed's voice. 'Who is it?'
`Mason. How is the weather there? We have eight degrees here…'
`Nine in London…' That established not only their identities, but also told Mason that Tweed was alone in his office – that Howard wasn't leaning over his shoulder, listening in.
`I've just booked in at the Bellevue Palace,' Mason said crisply. 'I stopped over in Zurich to gather a little information. Grange.' He said the name quickly.
`Do use the Queen's English,' Tweed complained. 'You stayed on in Zurich. Continue…'
`I've built up a dossier on the subject in question. Not easy. Swiss doctors close down like a shutter falling when you mention his name. I found an American doctor working in Zurich who opened up. God, the subject carries some clout. He's a real power in the land. Right at the top of the tree. You'd like a quick run-down?'
`Not over the phone,' Tweed said quickly, aware the call had to be passing through the hotel switchboard. 'I'm coming out there soon myself. Keep making discreet enquiries. Don't go near the British Embassy…'
`One more thing,' Mason added. 'Don't imagine it means anything. Robert Newman, the foreign correspondent, booked in here after me. He had his wife with him. I didn't know he was married…'
`He probably isn't. You know the bohemian life those correspondents lead…' Tweed sounded dreamy. 'Keep digging. And stay in Berne…'
Tweed put down the phone and looked at Monica who was sorting files. 'That was Mason calling from the Bellevue Palace. He has data on Professor Armand Grange of the Berne Clinic. Anything on the computer? Just supposing the damned thing is working…'
`It is working. I did check. Not a thing. I tried Medical and came up with zero. So then I tried Industrialists – because of his chemical works. Zero again. I even tried Bankers. Zero. The man is a shadow. I even wondered whether he really exists.'
`Well, at least that has decided me.' Tweed was polishing his glasses again on the worn silk handkerchief. Monica watched him. He was always fingering the lenses. 'I'm going to Berne,' Tweed told her. `It's just a question of timing. Book me on Swissair flights for Zurich non-stop. As I miss one flight, book me on the next one. When I do leave it will be at a moment's notice.'
`What are you waiting for?' Monica asked.
`A development. A blunder on the part of the opposition. It has to come. No one is foolproof. Not even a shadow…'
Thirteen
The coffee shop at the Bellevue Palace is a large glass box-like restaurant perched above the pavement on the side overlooking the Hertz car hire office. Newman gobbled down his steak as Nancy ate her grilled sole. Swallowing his coffee in two gulps, Newman wiped his mouth with a napkin and signed the bill.
`You're going to hire the car now?' Nancy asked. 'I'll dash up to the room and get my gloves. Meet you over there?' `Do that.'
Newman waited at the exit until she had disappeared and then retraced his steps to one of the phone booths near the garderobe, the cloakroom where guests left their coats. It took him one minute to make the call and then he ran back to the exit, along the pavement and into the Hertz office. Slamming down his driving licence and passport he told the girl what he wanted.
`They have a Citroen. Automatic,' he told Nancy when she came inside. 'This chap is going to take us to the car. It's on Level Three…'
In less than five minutes he was driving the car round the sharp curves up to street level. Nancy put on her wool-lined leather gloves, fastened her seat belt and relaxed. An expert driver, she still preferred to travel as a passenger.
The sky was a heavy pall hovering close to the city as they crossed one of the bridges and within a short time Newman was on the four-lane motorway which runs all the way to Lucerne via Thun. Inside forty minutes they should have arrived at the Berne Clinic.
Lee Foley paid a very generous sum in Swiss francs to borrow the red Porsche from his Berne contact. He needed a fast car although normally its conspicuousness would have worried him. But this was an emergency.
He drove just inside the speed limit through the suburbs of Berne, but as soon as he turned on to the motorway he pushed his foot down. The highway was quiet, very little other traffic in mid-afternoon. His cold blue eyes flickered from side to side as he increased speed.