`Who was that on the phone?' Newman asked as he came into the bedroom. 'And you left the door unlocked again…'
`A wrong number.' Nancy had replaced the receiver. She came towards him with an anxious expression. 'Forget about the door – I've been worried sick. What did the police want?'
`Pour some of that coffee. Sit down. And listen!' `Something is wrong,' she said as she handed him his cup and sat down, crossing her legs.
`Everything is wrong,' he told her. 'On no account are you to take the car and visit the Berne Clinic on your own…'
`I'll do so if I want to. And I do want to see Jesse today. You have your date with Dr Novak tonight in Thun. You won't want two trips…'
`Nancy, listen, for God's sake. There's been another killing. At least, that's the theory the police are working on. This time some Englishman – and he was staying at this hotel. They hauled his drowned body out of the river in the middle of the night. A man called Mason. There's something odd about him – the British Embassy is making too much fuss.'
`That's dreadful. But that is a problem for the police…'
`Nancy! We can no longer trust the Swiss police. I have also visited an old friend in Swiss Army Intelligence – counter-espionage it comes to the same thing. We can no longer trust Army Intelligence. They're both trying to manipulate me. I'm almost certain they're using me as a stalking horse – and that is very dangerous. For you as well as for me.'
`A stalking horse?' She wrinkled her smooth brow. Nancy really did have a superb complexion Newman thought. He had a vivid recall of the state of Tommy Mason's complexion in the morgue. 'I don't understand,' Nancy said.
`Then I'll try and explain it, so you'll understand, so maybe just for once you'll listen to me. And – no maybe – do as I tell you…'
`Give me one good reason.'
She annoyed him by standing up and walking over to gaze out of the window. It was another overcast day. A cloud bank like a grey sea pressed down on Berne. A white mist drifted closer along the river, heading in towards the city off the Bantiger.
`There's some kind of conspiracy,' Newman began. 'It's very widespread. I'm still vague on the details but I sense that it affects the whole of Switzerland – what you'd call in America the industrial-military complex. The police – the Federal lot – may be mixed up in it. Do you realize what that means?'
`I'm sure you're going to tell me…'
`I'm sure as hell going to do just that. You didn't understand my reference to a stalking horse. I happen to be a well-known foreign correspondent. I can't convince anyone I'm not here after another big story. The Kruger thing has caused them to think like that. So if we make one wrong move, take one step that disturbs them, the whole Military Intelligence and police machine will crash down on our heads. Are you with me so far?'
`I think so. The weather is beginning to look fantastic…'
`Bugger the weather. There appear to be two rival power groups fighting each other for supremacy. One group may be trying to use me to break the other – by exploding the whole conspiracy in a sensational expose story in Der Spiegel. The group working underground is very powerful – I think it may have millions of Swiss francs at its disposal. Money means power – power to infiltrate the security organs of the state…'
Newman stopped in mid-sentence. When she turned round he was staring at the bottom of his cup. She went to him and placed her arm round his neck.
`What is it, Bob?'
`I may have missed something. What if we are dealing with patriots? Not villains in the normal sense of the word – men who sincerely believe they are protecting their country, who will go to any lengths to achieve their purpose?'
`And if that is the case?'
`It makes things far worse, more dangerous.' Newman put the cup on the tray and started pacing the room, hands clasped behind his back. 'I'm right, Nancy. There is no one we can trust. We're on our own. There are only two men who could crack this thing wide open…'
`Waldo Novak?'
`Yes. And Manfred Seidler. The police have put out a dragnet for Seidler. I have to reach him first. You make no trips to the Berne Clinic on your own. A certain Army officer went cold on me when I mentioned the place. So, we only visit the Clinic together. And when I'm out on my own – as I will be tonight when I see Novak – you stay in this hotel. Preferably in one of the public rooms…'
`You make me feel like a prisoner,' she objected.
He grabbed her by both arms and pulled her close to him. She stood quite still when she saw his expression.
`One more thing you'd better prepare yourself for. We might have to make a run for the border. I know places where it's possible to slip across quietly…'
`I won't go without Jesse…'
`Then we may have to take him with us. I don't like that remark he made to you about "experiments". God knows what is happening inside that place. Swiss Army guards. Dobermans. It's abnormal.'
`Bob, listen to me. In two days' time they're holding a reception here for that medical congress. I made some enquiries on my own from the concierge. He has a list of guests expected. One of them is Professor Armand Grange. Why don't we wait for him to come to us?'
He released his grip and she rubbed her upper arm. He had held her so tightly she felt bruised. She had never known him so alarmed and yet so determined at the same time. He went to the window. She had been right about the view. It was fantastic. The drifting wall of white mist now blotted out the lower slopes of the Bantiger so the flat summit appeared to be an island floating on a white sea.
`You could have an idea there,' he said slowly. 'So tonight it's Novak. Seidler as soon as we can arrange a rendezvous. Then I believe we shall know…'
A heavy grey overcast also shrouded lunchtime London, but here there was no mist creeping in. Inside the Park Crescent office Monica inserted the documents into the folder and handed it to Tweed who was checking the small suitcase he always kept packed ready for instant departure.
`Here are your air tickets for Geneva,' she said. 'A return flight booked for tomorrow. If anybody is checking at Cointrin they'll assume it's an overnight visit. You have that note with the train times to Berne?'
`In my wallet…'
Tweed looked up as Howard strolled into the office, again without knocking on the door first. He snapped the catches on his case shut and dumped it on the floor. Howard stared at it as Tweed, taking no notice of him, put a file in a drawer and locked it.
`I've just heard the appalling news,' Howard said gravely. `Are you off somewhere?'
`Berne, of course.'
`Because of Mason? The decoded telex from the Embassy refers to an accident…'
`Accident my foot!' Tweed allowed the contempt he felt to show in his tone. 'I talked to Wiley on the phone. Mason goes for a walk late at night, then falls into the river. Does it sound likely? Look at his age, his track record. Mason was murdered and I'm going to find out who did it.'
`Isn't that a job for the Swiss police?'
Howard brushed an imaginary speck from his sleeve, shot his cuffs and strolled round the office, glancing at the papers on Tweed's desk. Tweed sat in his chair and adjusted his glasses. He said nothing, waiting for Howard to go.
`The Swiss police,' Howard repeated somewhat peevishly.
`Have you forgotten what Mason brought back from Vienna? I gather you read the Ministry of Defence report on the object. I find the implications quite terrifying. I think that is why they killed Mason.'
`And who might be "they",' Howard enquired with characteristic pedantry.
`I have no idea,' Tweed confessed.
`You're going alone? No back-up?'
`I told you earlier I might have to call in outside help – that we're fully stretched with Martel being away. I've had someone out there for some time.'