There was a click and she heaved the massive door open.
'Drop the knife,' Newman ordered. 'There are four of us.'
'Stand back or I'll cut her throat,' the slim man screeched.
Newman smiled, walked forward, placed the muzzle of his Smith amp; Wesson carefully against the side of the man's head. He pressed the metal close to the skull.
'You won't cut anything,' Newman said in a quiet voice. 'Because if you did in the next second half your head would be plastered over that wall. So stop playing silly games. Drop it! ' he roared. 'Or you're dead.'
The knife clattered to the floor. Cardon noticed that the hand which had held the knife was trembling like a leaf in the wind. The woman's assailant stared at Newman as though seeing a ghost.
'Who the heck is this creep?' Cardon asked impatiently.
'Meet Mr Joel Dyson, notorious member of the paparazzi mob. Someone outside wants to meet you badly, Joel.'
PART THREE
50
In Washington it was late afternoon, the lights were on, blurred in a steady snowfall. President Bradford March was pacing the Oval Office restlessly when Sara came in.
'What is it now?' he snapped. 'More trouble? And when do I get a report on the treachery of the Holy Trinity?'
'It may be good news,' she replied in a soothing tone. 'Norton is on the line.'
'Leave me while I talk to the bastard…'
March took a deep breath as he sank into his chair and picked up the phone. He was in a foul mood.
'Norton here. I've reached Neuchatel…'
'Have you? Great. Where is the friggin' place?'
'In Switzerland. French-speaking Switzerland…'
'Cohabiting with the Frogs now, are we? You haven't got a woman with you, have you? Because if you have I'll hear about it from Mencken and…'
'I'm alone and in a hurry. Are you going to listen for a change or shall I put down the receiver?'
'Norton…' March's tone became dangerously soft. 'If you ever threaten me again Mencken takes over instanter. Get to it.'
'I'm close to Ouchy – where the exchange will take place. The money for the two items you need. The place is ringed with my troops. I may clean up the whole job before the night is out…'
'You'd better. You're running out of time. Remember? I gave you a deadline. Of course, if you obtain what I'm after without paying over the big bucks there'd be a nice fat bonus waiting for you.'
'Any point in asking how much?' Norton enquired.
Thought you were in a hurry to get to this Owchy. OK. You asked. Fifty big ones,' March said, clutching a figure out of the air. .'I'll be in touch. My new number at the Hotel Chateau d'Ouchy is. ..'
'Got it. Get on your horse…'
In the Neuchatel hotel where he'd paid for a room for the night so he could use the phone, Norton put down the receiver. At least this time he'd beaten March to the punch in contacting him and giving him his new phone number.
He went downstairs, pulling on his coat, told the receptionist he'd be back for dinner later, went out into the arctic night to drive on to Ouchy.
In Washington March was pulling at his stubby nose with his thumb and forefinger. A bonus? The only bonus Norton would get when he returned would be a bullet in the back of the neck.
March never took a chance he didn't have to. He was working on the assumption that – despite orders – Norton would take a peek at the film, would listen to the tape when he laid his hands on them. That risk could only be eliminated by eliminating Norton. Maybe things were now looking good. He opened a bottle of beer, drank from it and wondered about the Holy Trinity.
Senator Wingfield was alone in his study with the curtains closed against the night. He was also drinking but his beverage was Brazilian coffee from a Royal Doulton service arranged on a silver tray. He was studying a typed message which had come special delivery from Europe. No indication on the sheet of paper of the whereabouts of the sender – except the stamps were Swiss.
'That's right, Galloway,' he said to himself, referring to the Vice President. 'When the bullets start to fly keep your head down.'
The experienced Senator was cynically amused that this communication had come direct to him. He could imagine the brief phone conversation Jeb Galloway had had with his FBI contact.
'Barton, from now on I guess it would be best if any further communication was sent direct to Wingfield…'
The message was very direct – and highly dangerous if it got into the wrong hands. The Oval Office, for example. Events appeared to be moving to a climax and the Senator knew he was going to have to devote thought as to how to handle a potentially explosive situation. The ball was now in his court.
Have positive evidence as to identity of six-serial murderer in the South. Expect soon to have conclusive data. Will then communicate with you again – in person if at all possible. Barton Ives.
'Meet Joel Dyson,' Newman said, introducing his captive to Tweed, who had climbed down from the Espace. 'At long last,' he added.
Garden, who always seemed equipped with everything, had produced a pair of handcuffs inside the Zurcher Kredit Bank. Dyson's hands were now pinioned behind his back and Butler, who was holding him by one arm, had shown him his Walther. The slim little man, his hair dishevelled, stared at Tweed.
'I'm going to complain to the British consul. I'm still a British citizen.'
'I have a better idea,' Tweed suggested. 'We can hand you over to the American Embassy in Berne. I'm sure there's a man very high up in Washington who would be happy to meet you.'
'Blimey, guv, for Gawd's sake don't do that. Like handing a Christian to the lions,' he pleaded in his best cockney mimickry.
'Some Christian,' Newman commented. His voice hardened. 'Don't play silly games with my chief. He means what he says.'
'God, no! I'm begging you…'
Dyson's nerve had broken suddenly. Tweed looked down at the man who had sunk to his knees, his body shaking with terror. He pursed his lips with distaste, nodded to Butler.
Take him to the station wagon. Keep him quiet while we drive to Ouchy. I'll question him later.'
Dyson opened his mouth to scream. Newman clamped a gloved hand over the mouth before it could utter a sound. Nield twisted his handkerchief into a gag, inserted it inside Dyson's mouth, tied it at the back of his neck. Butler and Nield carried him away to the station wagon. Tweed and Paula listened as Newman gave a brief account of what had happened inside the bank.
'Karin, Amberg's kidnapped assistant, is in better shape than you'd expect,' Newman reported. 'She insisted on staying back to make coffee for herself and the guard Dyson coshed when he first arrived with Karin. You're looking impatient,' he ended.
'I think we ought to get out of Basle like bats out of hell,' Tweed ordered. 'The sooner we reach Ouchy the happier I'll be.'
'Who was that funny little man your people carted away?'
The voice called out from the back of the Espace – Eve Amberg's.
'A minor member of the opposition,' Tweed called back quickly.
'Eve does like to know what's going on,' Paula commented. 'Unlike Amberg, who seems to have thrown in his hand.'
A door slammed. Newman and Cardon were aboard. Cardon took up his old position next to the Swiss banker while Newman sat behind Paula. Tweed replied as he started the Espace moving, heading out of Basle, 'Amberg is sitting there with a grim expression. Typical that he hasn't enquired if Karin is all right. But he always was the cold fish of the two brothers as I recall. Let me concentrate on driving,' Tweed said brusquely.