`That I could believe. He's a creepy, cold-blooded swine. But how did he do it?'
`You didn't notice? He took off one of his suede gloves and clenched his fist. Kill him! I think that was the way it was done.'
`You mean Beck and Signer worked as a team?'
`Nancy! I don't know yet!'
`Is that why you didn't give Beck that tape of your conversation with Seidler in the house – or the photographs you took of that hideous gas mask? That's vital evidence..
`It is, but Beck gets it only when I decide I can fully trust him -. if ever. That would be the time for another sworn affidavit from you – that you witnessed the recorded conversation.'
`I'm flaked out.' She drank her glass of wine, slipped off her skirt and sprawled on the bed, her raven hair spread out on the pillow. 'So what do you plan on doing next?' she asked sleepily.
`First, see my final witness tomorrow. He may just blow the whole thing wide open. Second, accompany you to the reception so I can get a good look at Grange, maybe Max Nagel, too – the leaders of the two opposing power blocs. Third, if nothing else has worked, I'm going to try and break in to the Berne Clinic – with Novak's help. I want to see inside the laboratory – and their atombunker…'
He stopped speaking. Nancy had fallen fast asleep, leaving her smoked salmon untouched. Newman swallowed his own food, drank some more of the wine, put on his coat and slipped out of the bedroom, locking the door behind him. As soon as he had left the room Nancy opened her eyes, sat up and reached for the phone.
Newman stepped inside the lift and pressed the button for the lowest level, the floor below the main entrance hall. Using this route he hoped to leave the hotel unseen. When the doors opened he turned right past the garderobe which was now closed. It was 10 pm.
Climbing a flight of steps into the deserted hall below the coffee shop, he walked out into the street, pausing to turn up his collar and glance in both directions. Then he walked rapidly to the public phone box, glancing all round again before he went inside. He dialled the number from memory. The familiar voice answered immediately.
Inside Room 214 at the Bellevue Palace, seated on the bed, Lee Foley picked up the phone on the second ring. He had been expecting the call for the past half hour. He listened for several minutes, then interrupted his caller and spoke rapidly.
`I know about Le Pont. I think from now on you're going to have to let me operate on my own. Goddamnit, we do have enough information at this stage in the game to guess at what is going on. It's going to get pretty tough. Playing tough games is what I'm trained for. Just go on keeping me informed..
Inside Room 312 at the Bellevue Tweed perched on a chair, crouched forward, his expression intent as he held the phone to his ear. When the conversation ended he replaced the receiver and walked over to his bed where he had spread out two maps.
One map, large-scale, showed the Canton of Berne. The second was a road and rail map of the whole of Switzerland. Polishing his glasses on the silk handkerchief, he looped the handles over his ears and stopped to examine closely the map of Berne.
Reaching for a ruler lying on the bed, he measured roughly the distance between Berne and Thun along the motorway. He'd have to hire a car in the morning – although he knew Blanche would have been happy to act as chauffeuse. Tweed hated driving; perhaps he should have asked Blanche who, he knew, had a car as well as her scooter. He decided he would sleep on the decision. Tomorrow promised to be D-Day.
`And who was that calling at this hour?' asked Gisela. 'It is after ten o'clock. Time you went home…'
`An informant,' Beck replied. He felt depressed. On his desk lay the new file Gisela had opened. Case of Manfred Seidler. He turned to the first page she had typed from his dictation and his eyes wandered to the neat stack of other files to his right. Hannah Stuart, Julius Nagy, Bernard Mason. To say nothing of the files which would need to be opened on the two bodies found at Le Pont station as soon as some sort of identification had been established. It was becoming a massacre.
`Things will look better in the morning,' Gisela said gently. `You're tired and in a black mood…'
`Not really. All the players in this terrible drama have – or soon will be – assembled under one roof. The Bellevue Palace. Tweed, Newman, Dr Kennedy, Lee Foley. Tomorrow we'll have under that same roof Armand Grange – doubtless accompanied by his hatchetman, Bruno Kobler. Also Dr Max Nagel is there already. Very satisfactory that to a policeman – to know the location of all concerned. Our people are already inside the Bellevue, I take it? With my trip to the Juras I've not been in touch..
`Three of our men – all unknown to the Bellevue staff – booked in at the hotel at different times. Their names are on the pad by your left elbow.'
`So, as the august Colonel Signer would say, we have made our dispositions. The Bellevue will be our battlefield…'
It was close to midnight when Bruno Kobler arrived back at the Berne Clinic and hurried inside to his office on the first floor while his chauffeur parked the red Mercedes in the garage. His employer was waiting for him.
Huge curtains were drawn over the smoked glass picture window. The office was illuminated by shaded lamps which threw dark shadows. The Professor stood listening while Kobler reported on the evening's events in terse sentences.
`Very good, Bruno,' he commented, 'that solves one outstanding problem very satisfactorily. All other discordant elements can be dealt with after the dispersal of the doctors attending the Congress. I have decided to bring forward our final experiment. Once that is confirmed as successful, Terminal becomes a fait accompli.'
`Bring it forward?' Kobler sounded puzzled. 'To when?' `Tomorrow evening.'
`While the reception is taking place at the Bellevue Palace?'
`Exactly.' There was a note of contentment in the soft voice. 'It occurred to me the opportunity was too good to overlook. You see, Bruno, everyone will have their eyes focused on the reception. It has become known that I shall put in an appearance.'
`But you will not be present to witness the results…'
`You are perfectly capable of supervising the experiment. As to the results, I can examine the body when I return from the reception. We chose female patients for the previous trials because – as you know – they are biologically stronger than men. This time, as I mentioned earlier, we will use a male patient.'
`I may have the perfect subject, Professor. Also, we know now this patient has been playing tricks on us. We moved him to another room for a few hours to clean out his permanent quarters. While removing the grille to feed a fresh reel on to the tape-recorder we discovered a quantity of sodium amytal capsules. This patient has not been sedated when it was assumed he was. He may have overheard anything.'
Kobler took a file from his drawer, opened it to the first page, which carried a photo and the name of the patient, and placed it under his desk-lamp for the Professor's inspection.
`Excellent, I agree.'
The photograph showed a man with strongly-defined features and a hooked nose. The name at the top of the page typed in red and underlined was Jesse Kennedy.
Thirty
Saturday, 18 February. Newman himself used Room Service to order breakfast the complete works. He did this from sympathy with Nancy's ordeal the previous day; also because he wanted to talk in privacy. And this was Confrontation Day.
Nancy climbed out of bed and pulled back the curtains. She stared at the view, slipping on her dressing-gown. Standing there, she crossed her arms, deep in thought as he came up behind her and grasped her round the waist.