The Cauldron (28 page)

'Your name.' a rough voice demanded.

'You don't need that. This is a tip off...'

'Give me your name...'

'I have info from London. Right BA 287 coming in this afternoon. Two guys called Tweed and Newman. They're carrying a big dope haul. Heroin...'

He rang off before anything more could be said. Then he lit a large cigar, feeling very pleased with himself. Moloch wasn't tough enough to run this outfit. He finished his cigar while he thought out his next move.

He next called the AMBECO building in San Francisco. He told the operator who he was, told her to put him through to Gary Kaplan.

'Gary, this is Joel. Get together a tough team of seven men. Dress them in business suits so they don't look conspicuous. Hold them at the building till I arrive. I'm flying there. Got it? You better had ...'

Stubbing out his cigar, he left the mansion after calling to the pilot to be ready to fly him to the AMBECO building. The rotors were whirling as he climbed aboard the chopper sitting on the helipad behind the mansion.

California hit Tweed soon after the plane had landed. He had arrived at Customs to be confronted by an American built like a quarterback. The big man spread his huge hands on the counter and stared without speaking for awhile. Then he spoke, his manner aggressive.

'I've been waiting for you, Mr Tweed - and for you, Newman. Unlock your bags.'

"They are unlocked.'

'OK. So first I'll go through your bags, then you'll be strip-searched. Behind screens, of course,' he rasped unpleasantly. 'Maybe you've brought something nasty into the US of A.'

'I'd like to speak to the Chief Customs Officer.'

'You're looking at him, buddy.'

Newman noticed a small, heavily built man with black hair brushed over his high forehead and an olive skin who was pushing his way past the passengers leaving Customs. The small man had twinkling dark eyes. He reached the counter where Tweed was standing. Producing a small folder, he thrust it forward. It looked to Newman like a familiar identity card.

'David Alvarez.' he said, looking at the Customs man. 'I'm from Washington. Leave the next seven passengers alone - including the lady.'

'What the hellRIGHT SQUARE BRACKET' the Customs man began.

'Look at my folder, you big ape. Want me to report your insulting behaviour to distinguished visitors? Report it to Washington?'

The Customs man looked at the folder. His whole manner changed. He became apologetic, almost fawning. Alvarez dismissed his words with a glare, then turned to Tweed.

'Please follow me with your bags. And your friends should also come with me. I am sorry you were treated in such a manner. Someone obviously gave Customs a fake tip off that you were carrying drugs or something. Who knows?'

In the concourse he showed his folder to Tweed and Newman. It gave his name, photograph and other information.

'CIA,' Newman said quietly.

'Yes, but documents can be faked. There's a phone over there where you can call Cord Dillon.'

'I don't think that will be necessary,' Tweed decided.

'We have the cooperation of the San Francisco Police Department.' said Alvarez. 'Police cars are waiting outside to take you to your hotel. I hope you won't mind the screaming sirens, the flashing lights. They will avoid your being tailed to your hotel - the cars will take a roundabout route.'

'You seem to have everything well organized. How do you know which hotel we're staying at?' Tweed asked.

'A lady from your London office spoke to Mr Dillon, who asked her...'

Tweed had already realized that, although he spoke perfect English, Alvarez was Spanish - which was obvious from his name and the olive-coloured skin. He liked the man immediately.

They were being escorted to the exit when Tweed noticed several men in business suits grappling with uniformed police. The businessmen were being handcuffed, taken sway.' and handled none too gently. He nodded his head towards the commotion.

'What's going on over there?'

'We've had the AMBECO building under surveillance. Several known tough characters came out of it, got into cars, drove here. We think they had hostile intentions where you were concerned. We've had them arrested.' He smiled in an engaging way. 'We'll think up some charges to hold them on. They have bad records...'

The journey from the airport, a thirty-minute drive to the city, was a nightmare for Paula, who was suffering from jet lag. The police car she was travelling in with Tweed kept its hideous siren screaming nonstop and the flashing lights on the roof bothered her eyes. The driving was pretty hectic, the car swinging round bends at top speed, jerking to a halt suddenly as they reached an intersection where a truck was crossing.

'This isn't Spanish Bay,' she said to herself, recalling the hotel outside Monterey where she had stayed on her previous trip. 'If this is the real America it's hell...'

Alvarez sat in front of Tweed, next to the police driver. Behind them in another police car, siren also screaming, lights flashing, Newman, Marler, Butler and Nield were crammed. Their luggage followed in a third police car.

The momentum was maintained as they entered the city, zigzagging across it so far as Tweed could tell. Alvarez glanced back at Paula and smiled.

'Impressed?'

'Very impressed,' she managed to shout.

Eventually they climbed one of the many steep streets, stopped at the summit outside their hotel. Alvarez hustled them inside, saying he'd take care of their bags. They registered, he escorted them to their rooms, told Tweed he would be staying too and gave his room number.

'Alone at last,' Paula said and sank on to the edge of the bed.

'At least it's a pretty luxurious room,' Tweed remarked as he poured her a glass of water. 'Don't drink it all at once. Half a glass, then the rest later.'

"Thank you.' She did as she was told. 'Welcome to the USA. That business at the airport with that brute of a Customs man. Who do you think was responsible? Moloch?'

'Perhaps.'

'What do you mean?'

'Didn't seem like his style. I'm beginning to get to know that man.'

'Isn't this the hotel where there's a fantastic view from the roof?'

'It is. Drink some more water. Then I'll refill your glass.'

After two glasses of water Paula began to feel better. Her cases had already been brought to the large room before their arrival. At least American staff were efficient. A large bottle of champagne poked its top out of a silver ice bucket. Intrigued, she went across, read the card.
From David A. Have a great time
.

'It's from Alvarez.' she said. 'I do like him.'

'He's a nice chap - and a real professional.' Tweed agreed.

'I'd like to go up to the roof to see the view. Give me ten minutes to clean up. Don't leave the room.'

An unusual request for Paula to make, Tweed reflected when she had closed the bathroom door, carrying new clothes she had swiftly extracted from one of her cases. Jet lag - plus the scene at the airport and the mad drive - had shaken her.

Tweed could have done with a bath himself, but he had freshened himself up during the long eleven-hour flight.

Paula came out of the bathroom in less than ten minutes. She had a new outfit on, had applied fresh make-up and looked a whole lot better. Most women would have taken half an hour, Tweed thought. He had heard the shower running.

'Ready for duty, sir. For the roof view.'

She gave a little curtsey. Her powers of recuperation were remarkable. There was a tapping on the door and Tweed opened it cautiously. Newman, in a new suit, stood outside with Marler behind him.

'Come in.' Tweed invited.

'How are you, Paula, now?' Marler enquired.

'We're going up to the roof to see this famous view. See if it's as good as it's cracked up to be.'

'We'll come with you.' Newman said.

The rooftop area was empty and they had the place to themselves, which surprised Tweed. A moment later Alvarez appeared beside him, as if by magic. He was holding a small pair of field glasses.

'We get the best view from over here.' the American said. 'Really knocks you out.'

'Your English is very English, if you see what I mean.' Tweed told him. 'You even have the phrases.'

'Should have. I worked for two years at the London station. Had a ball in Britain. Everyone is so polite. There it is, the fabulous AMBECO building.'

Paula almost gasped. The view was panoramic. She gazed at the world-famous Golden Gate Bridge, spanning the entrance from the sea into the bay. She pointed it out to Alvarez.

He focused his high-power glasses, handed them to Paula and said, 'Look at the AMBECO building. There's an office near the summit. The window's open. A man is working at a desk. Can you see him?'

She found the window quickly. It seemed to come up and hit her. Inside she saw the man in his rolled-up shirtsleeves, his large head bent over papers. He seemed to be studying them with great concentration. She avoided letting out a gasp of surprise.

"That's Joel Brand.' she said.

'The lady wins the jackpot.'

Paula's mind had flashed back to the firefight at Mullion Towers in faraway Cornwall. The man she was looking at had led the team they had tangled with after scrambling over the wall surrounding Moloch's mansion.

She handed the glasses to Tweed. He studied the man behind the desk, memorizing his appearance. It was the first time he had seen this man who sat at Moloch's right hand. He passed on the glasses to Newman.

'Works hard.' was Tweed's only comment.

'You have to if you're employed by Moloch. Rumour has it that Moloch himself gets by on four hours' sleep a night - he works like a man obsessed.'

'Obsessed people are dangerous. I understand he has a stepmother, a Mrs Benyon. You may not know anything about her.'

'I know everything about VB that it's possible to know.' Alvarez replied. 'Mrs Benyon moved recently to a house called The Apex. I can show you where it is on a map if you wish to visit her. The place is near Big Sur -and near Black Ridge, VB's headquarters outside the city. You can't miss Black Ridge...'

Alvarez took a map of northern California from his pocket, marked clearly the positions of the two houses with a cross, handed it to Tweed, who thanked him.

'Strange we have the roof to ourselves.' Tweed remarked.

"There is a big convention in town - many guests will be there.'

'If that's Joel Brand.' Newman said grimly, peering through the glasses, 'I'd like to meet him some time.'

'Have a care.' said Alvarez, using one of the quaint English phrases he had picked up. 'He's tough.' He looked at Newman. 'But then you look pretty tough -you have to be to survive some of the outlandish places you've been to. I was an avid reader of your articles when you were writing them.'

The phone on the table rang. Alvarez picked it up, spoke a few words, turned to Tweed.

'It's for you. Someone called Monica.'

Tweed here.'

'I know you're at a hotel.' Monica paused and Tweed knew she was going to code whatever she had to tell him.

'That ship is still standing off the coast over here. I phoned my friend and he said it had reported that in due course it was bound for a cruise in the eastern Mediterranean. I'd like to be on it. It may even cruise off the Lebanon. Who knows? I'd better book my ticket.'

'Do that.' Tweed replied. "The weather over here is like it is there. Very hot.'

'Not like here any more. The heatwave broke a few hours after you left. It's raining. Enjoy your holiday...'

Tweed immediately translated what Monica had reported to him - that the
Venetia
was standing by for a trip to the Lebanon.

"The Arab connection.' Alvarez said quietly. "That is what Washington fears most. Moloch has a palatial house up in the mountains behind Beirut.'

"The escape route after the event.' Tweed replied.

'What event?'

'I hope to Heaven I'm wrong, so I won't talk about it now. What I think everyone would like is dinner.'