The Cauldron (41 page)

Having delivered his warning he dived out of the restaurant into the courtyard. He heard footsteps running away but all his attention was concentrated on the turtle. Grasping it with both strong nimble hands, he prised its suckers off the glass, threw it into the pool, dropped flat.

The detonation was deafening. Large fragments of the pool's floor were hurled into the air. One slab crashed close to Alvarez's head, but he was unhurt. Gallons of water burst out, headed skywards, then fell like a huge waterfall. The windows of Anton & Michel were splashed with water which poured down the outside of the glass like heavy rain, but the glass stayed intact.

Inside the restaurant Paula had dived under the table with the others. Panic gripped the restaurant, which had been shaken by the blast. Women screamed, men pushed each other out of the way to find space under tables. Plates of food littered the floor, red wine like blood stained the tablecloths.

Outside, Alvarez had jumped to his feet. He was soaked to the skin, but a mild discomfort like that did not affect in the slightest his abundant energy, his endless determination. With his Walther concealed by his side, he ran like the wind after the strange figure which had appeared like an apparition outside the window.

Reaching the exit, he was just in time to see a Chrysler's rear end disappearing round a corner at speed. He swore. Then he ran back to the restaurant. Time to get Tweed & Co. out of the place before the police arrived.

Tweed had already foreseen the importance of a swift departure. The bill was on the table and he quickly dropped several one-hundred-dollar bills on the plate, which included a generous twenty per cent tip. No waste of time with a credit card, no risk of his being traced through its use.

The team had crawled out from under the table very quickly. The only injury was a bruised left elbow Marler had sustained as he dived for cover. Alvarez ushered them out as confusion still gripped the restaurant.

They hurried to the exit from the courtyard. Paula's last memory of the grim experience was seeing a damaged fountain still spurting water against the restaurant window, which masked their flight.

Reaching the parked cars, they piled inside. Overhead was a starry night and there were no pedestrians on the street. They were driven out of Carmel at normal speed and then on to Spanish Bay.

Tweed, in need of company, asked Paula to come with him to his apartment after thanking Alvarez for saving them. The ex-CIA man shrugged as though it was nothing, told Tweed his room number and left them.

29

The truth was Tweed had felt depressed even before the bomb detonated. He had been careful to conceal his feelings from the others. It was the job of the man at the top to maintain morale.

Now his mood was one of cold, controlled rage. He paced back and forth in the spacious living room while Paula lit the gas log fire. It ignited at once, creating warmth and a cheerful blaze. Then she opened the curtains the staff had dosed earlier, opened them a fraction to check the locks. Outside, walking slowly on the wide grass verge, illuminated briefly by a lamp, was Nield. She threw him a kiss, closed the curtain again. Presumably Butler would take over the night-watch later.

Next she went to the extensively stocked minibar, chose a bottle of Chardonnay, then a miniature of Grand Marnier. Without asking, she poured Tweed a glass of wine and, for herself, a small glass of the liqueur. She only spoke after settling down on a couch near the fire.

"The wine is for you,' she told him. 'I think it might help you think, relax.'

"Thank you.'

He was still pacing with slow, deliberate steps, a certain expression on his face. She sipped at her Grand Marnier.

'If I get tiddly you can help me back to my room,' she joked.

As she had hoped, the glass of wine persuaded Tweed to stop pacing. He sat down in an armchair opposite her, drank a little, put down the glass, stared at her.

"They think they've seen us off.' he growled.

'With the bomb, you mean?'

'No. I mean Moloch and his staff. I'm referring to the pressure Moloch put on Washington. As to the bomb, I'd be surprised if he knew about it.'

'What makes you say that?'

'My assessment of his character. The fact that the electronics plant blown up in the Thames Valley back home was carefully planned to avoid casualties. That was undoubtedly his work. It was an American competitor who was the target.'

'You said they think they've seen us off,' she reminded him.

'Yes. Moloch is wily and cunning. He's had to be to survive in this jungle of American business. We're going to also be wily. In the morning I want you to go to the reservation desk. Tell them to book six seats on a flight from San Francisco to London. Open tickets to be used at any time. In our names. Include Alvarez. Don't be discreet. Raise your voice a bit. Then ask them to hold our rooms here, explain you'll warn them if and when we have to depart.'

'We're leaving?'

'We're staying,' Tweed growled.

'It's a smokescreen.'

'Precisely. I'm sure Moloch has a watcher permanently in the hotel, a guest or guests to check our moves. He'll think we have decided to give up.'

'But we haven't.'

'No, not by a long chalk.' he said more quietly. 'We're now going on the offensive at every opportunity against Moloch and all his works. We're in hostile territory. No more help from Washington. So we'll play tough. Very tough.'

It was the bomb which had supercharged Tweed. The thought of it exploding next to Paula had enraged him. He was going to fight back - with gloves off. His mind was now filled with ice-cold ruthlessness. This was America. So he'd play it in the American way.

"That lunch with Vanity Richmond tomorrow could be a trap.' she reflected.

'It probably is. So we walk into it and wipe out the trappers.'

'You think Vanity knows that it is a trap?'

'Maybe, maybe not.'

He dismissed this possibility with a wave of his hand as being of no importance. Then he sipped more wine. She had never seen him more alert.

'I think Moloch has an innocent-seeming person, apparently outside his organization, as a spy. I can sniff him, but so far I can't identify him. It wouldn't surprise me if whoever it may be is also linked with Cornwall.'

'That narrows the field.'

'Not enough. From now on. There are several people now out here who were in Cornwall when we were.'

'Including Vanity Richmond, who is a she.'

'Including Vanity.' he agreed. 'So the watchword is trust no one, suspect everyone. I shall warn the others about this separately in the morning. A remarkable man, Vincent Bernard Moloch. A network in Cornwall, another here in California.'

'What about The Accountant?' she asked.

'That killer must be hunted down - located first -then he, or she, must be eliminated.'

Paula stared at him. She had never heard him speak like this before. But having escaped death by inches at the hands of the assassin she agreed with Tweed's attitude. The murder toll - including many women - had been too great, the method used too grisly.

'Another anxiety,' Tweed explained, 'is Ethan Benyon. You saw how he was behaving in Palo Eldorado.'

'Maybe he was on drugs,' she suggested.

'I don't think so. There's something wrong inside that clever head. And his finger is on the trigger.'

"The trigger of what?'

Tweed recalled for her his visit to see Moloch. He described how he had been shown the chamber below Black Ridge, how Ethan had described some of his work with great enthusiasm, his eyes glowing, until Moloch had veered him off the subject.

'Moloch said that steel door in the wall of the chamber was a safe,' Tweed continued. 'I'm sure it wasn't. In a bank vault a door that size swings open on hinges - this one had runners on the floor. The kind of door which leads to an elevator. I think the elevator leads to something under the earth's surface. If Dillon had agreed to our storming Black Ridge - or had done the job himself -we'd have found out what the secret of Black Ridge is. Because I'm convinced there is one - a very diabolical secret.'

'Well, that avenue is closed to us. Seems all avenues of approach are closed to us now Washington has shut down on us. I think...'

She never did say what she was thinking. The phone rang, she picked it up, answered, then handed it to Tweed, one hand over the mouthpiece.

'It's Hoarse Voice again.'

Tweed here.'

He listened without speaking, thanked the caller, put down the phone. He leaned back in his chair, picked up his glass, drank a little more wine. His eyes were gleaming.

'Don't forget to make those BA bookings on the plane home in the morning. Open bookings. Choose a time when the lobby is crowded.'

'You've already told me. I hadn't forgotten.' When he didn't speak for a short time she asked, 'Who is Hoarse Voice? Or shouldn't I ask?'

'You shouldn't ask. The caller gave me a message, a warning. "Don't go to McGee's Landing in the Ventana wilderness." Just that.'

'I've never heard of the place.'

'Neither have I. That is, the exact location. But when I was last here an American told me about the area. It's very wild and dangerous, I gather.'

'And if we get invited out there?'

'We'll go.' Tweed couldn't keep still. He stood up, began pacing again. 'We'll face whatever is waiting for us. From now on this is war c'

In the morning Paula was up early, despite only a few hours' sleep. After showering, taking only minutes to put on make-up, dressing, she went along to the spacious lobby and stopped at the reservations desk. They directed her to the concierge desk opposite. The lobby was crowded with people going to breakfast, sitting chatting on couches. An arm encircled her waist. She froze. Surely not another attempt on her life in such a public place? Her right hand dropped to her shoulder bag.

'Hope I didn't startle you, Paula.' a cheerful voice said. Grenville's. She turned round.

'As a matter of fact, you did.'

'Sorry, and all that. Thought we might have a bit of breakfast together. You're looking like the cat's whiskers. A dream come true.'

"Thank you. For the invitation. And the compliment. But I have to dash off somewhere.'

'Bad luck, for me. That chap Tweed keeps you on the go, I suspect. Really ought to relax now and again, you know. I won't detain you.'

Paula was staring at him. Grenville could be very charming. Since arriving in California he seemed to have developed a very likeable personality. If she hadn't had a job to do she'd almost have been tempted to accept his invitation - to find our more about what he was really like. She was heading for the concierge desk when Grenville returned, grinning.

'Our friend Maurice never learns. He's over there behind that plump lady drinking coffee.'

'Why shouldn't he?' Paula enquired.

'I just saw him emptying something from a hip flask into his coffee. Brandy would be my bet. Maurice starts early in the day. Sorry, I'm intruding on you again. I'll shove off.'

Paula went to the desk, asked in a clear voice for the air tickets to be booked. She made a great palaver about it, asking the girl behind the counter several questions. Then she turned to head back for her room to order breakfast from Room Service. Only way to avoid Grenville.

The first person she saw as she was crossing the lobby was Vanity. Dressed to kill, she greeted Paula warmly. Paula wondered how long she had been in the lobby.

'Isn't it the most wonderful day?' Vanity began with her warm smile. 'I went out onto the terrace. There isn't a cloud in the duck-egg blue sky. Sea's like the proverbial millpond. Still, I mustn't hold you up. You look as though you are in your usual rush.'

Paula smiled, turned to go, almost ran into Newman, who was looking very buoyant. Smartly clad, he wore beige trousers with a knife-edged crease and a blue-and-white check sports shirt. Smiling at Paula, he then took hold of Vanity with his hands on her shoulders, kissed her on both cheeks.

'Sorry if I've held you up for breakfast.' he said.

'Yes, you have. And you have a starving woman on your hands.'

'We'll soon attend to that. See you, Paula ...'

She watched them walking together to Roy's, the restaurant. Paula felt a twinge of uneasiness. Newman seemed enchanted by Vanity. Was he going overboard? Well, it's his affair, literally, she thought. I just hope he hasn't lost his normal detached judgement.