'Thank you. Actually Paula can take care of herself,' Paula responded with a smile.
'I'm sure she can.'
'He really had a wasted journey,' Newman remarked when Beck had gone.
'I don't agree,' Tweed objected. 'He now has a hint of what is really going on. And if we need him he's close by. He's a powerful ally. I'm going out now to a public phone box to call Monica. I don't want the call going through a hotel switchboard. Plus the fact that occasionally lines get crossed and someone inside the hotel, one of the guests, might listen in.'
'You'll have company,' Newman told him. 'No argument.'
Marler returned at that moment, knocking on the door. Newman held his Smith amp; Wesson behind his back until he unlocked the door, saw their visitor.
'Tweed wants to make a phone call outside,' he told Marler.
'Feeling like a breath of fresh air myself. I've fixed those direction finders in your cars. The doorman showed me where they were after I'd described both of you, told him when you arrived. You can see them later.'
'We'll have a quiet walk, said Tweed, putting on his coat. 'Lucky they don't know we're here.'
'It's bitterly cold out,' the concierge warned them as they arrived in the lobby.
'We're used to it,' Tweed joked. 'We come from England.'
The lobby was otherwise deserted. Whatever guests were in the hotel would be in the dining room. Marler walked through the revolving door first, stopped in the street, his eyes scanning in all directions. As Tweed, Paula and Newman followed him out he raised a hand to hold them back.
'Thought I saw a shadow disappear behind that corner.'
'Probably your imagination,' said Paula. 'Lord, it's icy cold. And mind your footing – the pavement is slippery.'
One of Basel's small green trams came into view. They heard its rumble as it disappeared, crossing the bridge. Tweed led the way, his hands in his pockets. The air hit them like a blow in the face. Their exposed skin began to freeze as soon as they left the hotel.
'We'll walk up almost to Market-platz,' Tweed told them. recall a phone box in a side street. Lucky I thought to bring plenty of Swiss coins with me.'
Once the rumble of the tram had died away a heavy silence fell. It reminded Paula of the silence of Romney Marsh when she had paused before reaching the Bunker. There was no one about anywhere. The street they were walking up was lined on both sides with old stone buildings. Paula felt hemmed in. She stopped suddenly.
'I can hear footsteps.'
'It's your imagination,' Marler said, repeating what she had said to him a few minutes before.
'Are you sure?' asked Tweed, who respected her acute hearing.
They had all stopped, between the glow of street lamps. She looked back, saw nothing. Marler shrugged impatiently.
'Can you hear them now?'
'No. They've stopped now we have.'
'I want to get to that phone,' Tweed said.
With Newman ahead of them, Paula and Tweed walked beside each other. Marler brought up the rear on his own. They reached the beginning of the large open market square with the Town Hall, elaborately decorated with the symbols of Swiss cantons, behind the huge open space which was the Market-platz. Marler hitched up the strap of the canvas bag he was carrying higher up his shoulder. They walked a short distance and Marler glanced back again. But he was watching for shadows, not listening for footsteps.
'We turn up this side street,' Tweed told them. 'It's the start of a very ancient part of Basel. And there's my phone box.'
Going inside the glass box, he extracted coins from his pocket, then at the right moment pressed numbers to call Park Crescent.
'Monica, Tweed here. I'm calling from a public phone. More secure…'
'I'm so glad to hear from you. Happenings. The Bomb Squad checked a key telephone exchange, found two huge bombs, made them harmless. Same thing at Mount Pleasant sorting office. But another bomb had been placed inside a major Knightsbridge store. Blew the first and second floors to smithereens. At least fifty dead and many injured. The number of casualties is rising. That's it.'
'Thank you. I'll keep in touch.'
Outside the box he told the others what Monica had reported. Paula, particularly, was shocked. She stared at Tweed and had trouble getting the words out.
'When is this horror going to end?'
'When we've finished them off. Let's get back to the hotel. I am so cold I feel like a snowman.'
They had reached the end of the side street, had walked a few paces back the way they had come, when Marler held up a hand. He spoke very quickly.
'The Umbrella Men are back. Drop flat!'
Too close for comfort a cluster of four black umbrellas, held low so they concealed their owners, were advancing towards them. For a second Paula was hypnotized by the weird spectacle – the way the dark cones moved towards her, the rims just not touching each other, the umbrellas held quite still, not wavering an inch.
She dropped beside her three companions, who were already flat on the pavement. Fascinated, terrified, as though watching a macabre stage performance, she saw the four umbrellas elevate as one, with martial precision, exposing the four men beneath them. Each wore a dark overcoat, held their umbrellas with their left hands. Their right hands dipped inside canvas bags similar to Marler's, but larger. The hands emerged with astonishing speed, holding machine-pistols. The barrels of the deadly weapons elevated, again as one, again with military precision, aiming at their targets lying on the pavement. Paula was struggling to extract her Browning, knowing it would be too late. She saw all this as though her vision had quickened.
As he fell, Marler had dived a hand inside his holdall, the flap open. His hand came out holding a grenade. Newman hissed out the words.
That trick grenade won't work this time. It's probably the same lot we met before…'
Paula stiffened. She was waiting for the thud of bullets into her body when a fusillade hammered them. Marler lobbed his grenade over-arm. It sailed through the night air in an arc, landed amid the group of men under the umbrellas. There was a brief flash of light, a loud crack! as the grenade detonated.
Two of their attackers staggered backwards, hit the pavement with heavy thuds. Another one tried to stagger into the empty street, fell forward. The fourth man slumped against a wall, slid down it. Paula had felt vibrations from the detonation passing under her. She stared again. Three of the umbrellas had shattered into shards, chips of stone from the nearby building had been hurled across the street. The man who had slumped against the wall had fired a short burst as he collapsed sideways, but his weapon had been pointed upwards. The burst had shattered a street lamp, showering the body with fragments of glass. What remained of the Umbrella Men were four still bodies.
'We'd better get out of this,' Tweed snapped, jumping agilely to his feet, slipping on ice, recovering his balance. 'Police headquarters are in the next street. The buildings may have muffled the sound but we'll take no chances. We'll go back down the opposite side of the street.'
He was walking down the opposite pavement, Paula by his side, when Newman and Marler came up behind them. Marler glanced at his companion.
'That, as you'll now have gathered, was the real McCoy. Have faith in me.'
'You certainly saved our bacon,' Newman said with feeling.
Ahead of them, Paula grasped Tweed's arm. She nodded her head in the direction of the other side of the street. The thug who had collapsed over the pavement edge was almost invisible. His umbrella, the only one to remain intact, had fallen over his prone corpse. It looked as though he was taking a nap and had used the umbrella to shelter under.
'It's surreal,' Paula whispered.
Then she saw on a shop window they were passing a huge smear of blood. The temperature was so low it had congealed in the shape of a hand. She shuddered. Tweed hurried her back to the Three Kings. They paused outside to brush snow and dirt off their coats, then walked into the warmth of their hotel.