The Cauldron (11 page)

'Yes. Got a headache. Good idea.'

Moloch sat at his desk for several minutes, tapping his pen, then doodling on a pad. The opposition was getting on his nerves. What was Tweed up to? He hated unknown factors and Tweed was certainly the greatest unknown one he'd ever come across in a ruthless career.

Tearing off a sheet from the pad, he wrote a long message to Brand. The gist of it was to give Prendergast's details and address, and the order to intimidate him. He then added a fresh order that Penkastle was unreliable and he must be dealt a lesson.

The wording was obscure but he knew Brand would understand it. He took it to the communications room, handed it to the radio op. on duty.

'Send that to Joel Brand - aboard the
Venetia
. Immediately.'

By this time Brand had boarded the
Venetia
. He had decided the most interesting part of the mission to locate Paula Grey was to join the powerboat fleet exploring the many creeks. Climbing down a ladder over the side, he paused as one of the crew called out.

'Urgent message for you, Mr Brand, from the Chief.' Brand read it, grinned to himself. This assignment should be fun. The idea of eliminating Penkastle and this Maurice Prendergast, whoever he might be, appealed to him. He screwed up the message, jammed it inside the pocket of his well-worn denims, pulled down his oilskin jacket - rather warm considering the blazing sun but waterproof - and adjusted his nautical cap. The way he was clad made him look like one of the boaty types who, at this time of the year, pottered about in the creeks.

Three tough-looking men were already aboard the powerboat, two with automatic rifles, one at the wheel. Brand pulled him away, taking command as he prepared to start the engine.

'Well, my hearties,' his voice boomed, 'we're heading for the Helford River. On a hunting expedition. You may have to use your knife, Gene.' he went on, addressing the bony-faced man whose hand Newman had burned with his cigarette.

'It will be a pleasure,' Gene replied as the powerboat took off.

Inside his cottage at Forth Navas Prendergast was telling Tweed and Paula what he knew about Moloch.

'I've just had news that one of the leading electronics plants in the Thames Valley was destroyed totally by a bomb during the night. A lot of talk about the IRA but I don't believe a word of it.'

'You think it was Moloch's work?' enquired Tweed.

'Darned sure it was. He's recently bought one of the best electronics companies in that area. The firm which has gone up in smoke would have been one of his main competitors. He didn't get to the summit in the States by playing Tiddlywinks.'

'He does have an armaments company, which could well include manufacture of explosives.'

'Exactly my thinking. Back where I work - worked -it's known his main expansion at the moment is in electronics.'

'Freudian slip.' Tweed observed, quoting his own words back at him.' "Work" - and then "worked". You're not retired at all, are you, Maurice? Coming down here is just cover, isn't it? It puts you within driving distance of his HQ at Mullion Towers.'

Prendergast paused, no particular expression on his face. Paula smiled, prodded him verbally.

'Come on, Maurice. We don't swallow a story like that so easily. Give.'

'Let's just say,' Prendergast told her slowly, 'that I personally think it would have been better if our two outfits combined on certain operations. That does not necessarily mean my bosses would agree with me.'

'A positive answer to my question,' Paula commented and smiled at him.

'Any more data on VB?' Tweed asked.

'His chief of staff is a real villain called Joel Brand. So big and tough-looking you might think he hasn't a lot going on in the upper storey in the way of brains. That would be to seriously underestimate him. Moloch hasn't chosen him for his role without knowing what he's doing. And a clever woman called Vanity Richmond -of all names - is on his payroll. Pretty close to him, I gather.'

'Really?' said Tweed.

'I met her in Monterey,' Paula broke in with more enthusiasm than Tweed had shown. 'She tried to get next to me but I fended her off. I was suspicious.'

'With good reason,' Prendergast told her. 'It took us months to spot her when she was over here some time ago, staying at Mullion Towers.'

'She's here now, I'm sure,' Paula continued. 'A woman just like her is staying at our hotel, the Nansidwell. The trouble is she was a flaming redhead

'Good description,' Prendergast agreed. 'And attractive, I thought, when I watched her wandering in the grounds.'

'But now this woman at Nansidwell, who ignores me, is a brunette.'

'So she's wearing a dark wig.' Prendergast said laconically. 'You're not often wrong, Paula. What's she up to at your hotel?'

'For one thing she's trying to hook Bob Newman, but he isn't playing. At least so far.' she added. 'But Bob does take his time before he moves.'

Talking about moving,' Prendergast stood up, 'since you were spotted by that Penkastle idiot, the news has probably been passed to Moloch by now that you're here. I suggest you give me the keys to your car. I'll drive it back to Nansidwell after dark.'

'And how do you suggest we get all the way back?' Paula demanded. 'Hoof it? It's miles - most of the way uphill.'

'I've got a better plan. You can be away from here in no time - and not a soul will know you've even left.'

'How?' asked Tweed bluntly.

'We'll travel in my large dinghy - it has a powerful outboard motor. We go down the creek, heading for Durgan where a friend of mine has a car. He'll loan it to me and I'll drive you to Nansidwell - no distance at all. I leave the dinghy at Durgan, drive back there, then take the dinghy to get back here. Simple.'

'Where exactly is Durgan?' Tweed enquired.

'Further down the Helford River c'

While Prendergast locked up the place Paula noticed the uneasy look on Tweed's face. He was a very bad sailor and hated any kind of floating craft. She dived into her capacious shoulder bag containing the two smoke bombs Marler had handed to her when they returned to the hotel from Mullion Towers.

She brought out the strip of Dramamine she always carried, handed one of the anti-seasickness pills to Tweed. He hastily swallowed it, washing it down with the rest of his orange juice as Prendergast returned.

'Tally ho!' he called out cheerfully. 'Here we go -sailing the Spanish Main...'

Outside, wearing gumboots, he climbed down a small flight of steps, hauled in a large dinghy. Waiting until Paula and Tweed were seated, he started the engine. The sun had dropped behind the forested hills on the far side of the creek and it was cool and fresh on the water.

'Lovely day for a trip.' Prendergast called out, full of zest.

'Isn't it.' replied Tweed in a dull voice.

They cruised down the creek and entered the much wider Helford River, and soon Paula saw the open sea at its mouth. Woods came down to the water's edge and Prendergast was moving into the centre of the river when Paula saw a large powerboat speeding up the river towards them. At the wheel reared up a large man with black hair. She tensed as he raised a pair of glasses with one hand, focused towards them. She immediately recognized Joel Brand. Lowering the field glasses, he gripped the wheel with both hands and the powerboat's prow lifted out of the water as he roared towards them.

'Brand is in that powerboat!' she shouted to Prendergast. 'He's going to run us down!'

'He's got more speed than we have.' Prendergast warned. Paula took out a smoke bomb from her shoulder bag, sat tensely as the powerboat, looking like a mechanical shark, tore down on them. Prendergast was desperately trying to reach the shore but she knew he would never make it. Tweed leaned close to Paula.

'Have you another of those things? If so, I'd like one.' She gazed at him dubiously. She felt sure he couldn't hit a barn door from six feet away. Reluctantly, she took out the second smoke bomb, handed it to him. He sat calmly, watching the approaching craft which would cut the dinghy to shreds.

'I'll manoeuvre out of his way when he's very close -if I can,' Prendergast shouted back.

The roar of the powerboat's engine became deafening. It seemed to loom above them as at the last minute Prendergast steered his dinghy with great skill in a different direction. The powerboat was within yards of them when Tweed hoisted his arm, hurled his smoke bomb. It landed inside the powerboat.

Paula, who had been good at rounders while at school, threw her smoke bomb a second later. It landed in the water. Tweed's bomb had detonated. A cloud of dense acrid smoke enveloped the craft, which suddenly went crazy. At the wheel Brand was blinded, coughing his guts out, his right hand still on the wheel, his left rubbing his eyes. The powerboat zigzagged madly across the river, following no logical course, heading for a steep bank where rocks protruded. Some instinct made Brand slow the engine, then cut it out. The powerboat stopped just before it smashed into the rocks, drifted, the smoke still rising from it.

'Durgan, here we come!' Prendergast shouted, making no attempt to conceal the relief in his voice.

'Where did you learn to throw like that?' Paula asked Tweed.

'Long ago I played cricket.' he told her. 'Actually I was a bit of a bowler.'

7

Tweed entered the lounge at Nansidwell while Paula stayed outside to chat to Prendergast whom she'd taken a liking to. In the right-hand lounge he saw Vanity Richmond, who sat down next to Newman, perched on a banquette in front of the windows overlooking the garden.

She's decided to forget about her black wig to see if her real appearance will get Newman going, he thought.

Which was exactly what had happened. She crossed her shapely legs, wore a very short skirt so he could admire them. Tweed had disappeared to his room as she opened the conversation.

'I hope you don't mind my joining you,' she began, 'but I gather we're both alone. You're Robert Newman. Am I right?'

'You are.'

'The famous international foreign correspondent. But I haven't seen any of your pungent articles in the top papers or magazines for a long time. You always had your photo at the top, which is how I recognize you.'

'I haven't written any recently...'

He looked up as the pleasant waiter came up to them and smiled.

'Would you like an aperitif?'

'Might go down rather well.' He turned to his new companion with a guarded smile. 'What would you like to drink?'

'A large dry Martini, please.'

'I'll have Scotch and water,' said Newman.

'I'm Vanity Richmond.' the very attractive redhead said.

'And I thought you were a brunette.'

'No wonder.' She laughed. 'I was in a dark mood so I wore a black wig. Now I'm beginning to enjoy myself in this lovely hotel I decided to be myself.'

'And who is myself?' Newman probed.

'Oh, I'm a PA to an industrialist. I travel a lot with him, see the world. He needs a lot of personal attention but I don't mind. The pay is good, the travel free.'

'Which industrialist?' Newman persisted.

'Oh, you'd never have heard of him. He maintains a modest profile ...'

'Where do you travel to?' Newman went on, gazing at her greenish eyes.

'My,' she chided him with a smile on her full red lips, 'is this an interrogation? Oh, of course, you're a top journalist. It must be second nature for you to question people.'

'I'm interested in you.'

'That's a nice compliment.'

She inched closer to him along the banquette until their thighs were touching. Waiting until the drinks had been served, she lifted her glass, clinked it against Newman's.

'Here's to an interesting friendship.'

'I'll drink to that,' replied Newman, thinking she was coming on pretty strong.

'Why haven't you written for quite a while?' she asked, turning his own guns on him. 'I remember you wrote a great international bestseller,
Kruger: The Computer Which Failed
. I suppose that set you up for life financially?'

'Which comes under the heading of a very personal question.' he rapped back.

'Sorry, I'm notorious for not being very diplomatic.'

'I have noticed that failing.'