The Cauldron (59 page)

'It's good to be home again. California may be a scenic marvel but there's nothing to beat Britain for the change of seasons.'

'California was a scenic marvel,' Tweed corrected her. 'Now it's a shattered coast.' He held up the newspaper he had been glancing at. 'Look at these pictures of Carmel.'

"They're more like photos I've seen of the devastation during the Second World War bombing. Isn't that the street where you made calls from a public booth?'

'Yes, it is. Half the buildings - art galleries, restaurants, shops - are rubble. Monterey escaped any damage. The San Moreno fault zigzagged inland after levelling Carmel. "The greatest earthquake in history" is how the papers are describing it. Moloch has a lot to answer for.'

He looked up. Newman was driving along a dual carriageway and a car was overtaking them like the wind. Behind the wheel Vanity waved saucily to them and roared on ahead.

'She's pushing it a bit,' Paula remarked.

'She has to get there first,' Newman said and again lapsed into silence.

'Where are we staying, by the way?' Paula asked Tweed.

'At Nansidwell again. It provides a good view of the waters off Falmouth. I got Monica to book us all rooms while I was in Jim Corcoran's office.'

'Literally back to where it all started. Well, at least we saw Mrs Benyon safely off to Cheltenham in that car waiting for her. I think she was so relieved to be back on British soil. I wonder who arranged to have the car waiting for her?'

'I did.' Tweed replied. 'During the night aboard the plane when you dropped off to sleep I sent a message to Monica. The least I could do for her.'

'What happened to Alvarez? I never had time to thank him for all his help.'

'I did that. He asked me to give you his affectionate regards. He was in a hurry to catch the next flight back to the States.'

'I still don't understand the role he played.'

'Tell you about that later. We have two major tasks aheadRIGHT SQUARE BRACKET' He broke off to call out to Newman. 'Don't forget we're calling in at Truro on the way. We have to hire cars for Butler and Nield. I want everybody mobile for what lies ahead of us.'

'What exactly does lie ahead of us?' Paula asked.

'First, to locate Moloch's spy. Second, and far more important, to prevent Moloch from ever leaving Britain, no matter what means have to be used. I'm really worried about what he could do. His conglomerate has invented the Xenobium bomb - with more than ten times the power of a hydrogen bomb. Cord Dillon said. Supposing he is in a position to sell the details of its make-up and construction to certain hostile Arab countries? They could destroy the Western world.'

'What a terrifying thought.'

'The only alternative is to destroy Moloch.'

* * * *

At Newquay airport, an airfield in the middle of nowhere, VB and his new assistant, Heather Lang, transferred themselves and their luggage to a waiting chauffeur-driven Rolls-Royce.

Before settling back beside her, Moloch closed the glass partition between them and the chauffeur to provide privacy. As the car drove off sedately for Mullion Towers Moloch rested on his lap the briefcase attached to one wrist by a locked handcuff. Heather glanced at it.

'I suppose I shouldn't ask, but you keep that close to you as though it contains a fortune.'

'A great fortune,' he replied with a bleak smile, 'but not in banknotes or jewels. Rather in sheafs of stuffy papers.'

She didn't press him any further. She had already realized her boss would tell her only what he wanted her to know so she could do her job properly. One of Heather's many talents was to keep her nose out of matters which did not concern her.

Yes, a great fortune, Moloch was thinking as the Rolls drove on through arid countryside. Like travelling through a stony desert. Inside the briefcase were the formulae, the details of the constructions of the Xenobium bomb. He had no doubt that the leaders of certain Arab countries would pay millions for the information.

Always meticulous in planning, Moloch had phoned Heather before she had left the Des Moines plant. He had ordered her to shred a whole batch of documents in a certain file labelled Project Eclipse. Now all details of how to construct a Xenobium bomb had been destroyed - nothing was left to give the Americans a clue as to how to set about building such a bomb. The only data in the world was inside the briefcase on his lap.

'Not my idea of Cornwall,' Heather remarked, staring out of the window.

'Oh, the tourist attraction is the beaches and the coves enclosed inside magnificent cliffs on the coast. That's where holidaymakers flock. This is the real Cornwall. When we get to Mullion Towers I want you to transmit this message via the radio operator on duty to the skipper of the
Venetia
.'

As he was speaking Moloch scribbled a cryptic message on a pad. The meaning would be clear to the skipper but to no one else. He handed her the message, then closed his eyes and fell asleep. It was by taking brief catnaps that he could work through the nights.

I wonder what it could contain? Heather thought as she folded the message, slipped it inside her wallet.

She was looking at the briefcase nestling in her boss's lap. From what he had said, little though it had been, she had the impression that its contents were worth millions. It never crossed her mind that the data could herald the end of the world.

46

It was evening when Newman drove his Merc, down the sloping entrance to Nansidwell and parked in front of the country hotel in exactly the same place he had parked when they were last there. It seemed a decade ago to Paula.

"The place looks just the same.' she said, then stared at another vehicle. 'Isn't that Vanity's car?'

'It is,' Newman said without enthusiasm. 'And don't blame me. I didn't know we were staying here until you told us on the way down, Tweed.'

'I don't see why anyone should be surprised,' Tweed replied.

Other cars came down the drive, parked. Marler was behind the wheel of one, Butler another and Nield a third. They had successfully hired extra transport in Truro. One of the staff came out, told them the proprietor was away on business, but greeted them with equal warmth. Everyone found they had been allotted the same rooms as on their previous visit.

Later, walking down the staircase behind Newman for dinner, Paula saw Vanity, wearing a snug gold dress with a high collar, sitting on the banquette opposite the compact bar. Jumping up, Vanity grasped Newman's right arm, her full red lips smiling.

'I waited for you, Bob. They have the same table for us.'

'Isn't that just dandy,' Newman replied.

'I love the warmth with which a man greets an old friend,' said Vanity, addressing her remark to Paula.

'Maybe he's jet-lagged.' Paula responded without a smile.

'A bottle of good wine should oil the works. It will most certainly oil mine,' the irrepressible -Vanity shot back, still smiling. 'Come on, you old curmudgeon,' she said to Newman.

They were entering the dining room when Newman saw Tweed outside on the terrace. He had a pair of field glasses glued to his eyes and was gazing fixedly out to sea. Newman escorted Vanity to their table, excused himself, then joined Tweed.

There was an autumn chill in the evening air which reminded Newman of California. For a long minute Tweed said nothing, then handed him the glasses.

'I've been studying the
Venetia
. Lit up like a cruise ship again. I'm trying to identify those large objects on the fore and aft decks covered with canvas.'

'Could be anything,' Newman replied as he scanned the vessel. 'No sign yet that it's on the verge of departure.'

'You've seen the helicopter on the helipad?'

'Yes. A Sikorsky. Big job. But the Venetia is a big ship. Must have cost a few million.'

'I think it's waiting for a VIP to board it. Oh, look. A chopper has arrived, is circling over the vessel. I suspect the PM has at long last pressed a few buttons.'

'It will be from Culdrose near the Lizard. As you probably know the RAF has a big training airfield there for chopper pilots.'

As he watched the helicopter, lights winking to port and starboard, continued to circle high above the
Venetia
. Newman grunted.

'I think it's photographing the
Venetia
from all angles. Maybe it is also trying to identify those mysterious objects on deck.'

As he spoke the chopper flew away inland. Newman lowered the glasses, handed them to Tweed. They wandered back into the entrance hall on their way to the dining room.

'I'd better get back to Vanity before she starts kicking up.' Newman mused.

'You appear to have a firecracker on your hands,' Tweed observed with amusement.

Earlier he had told everyone in Truro they no longer needed to keep up the pretence they didn't know each other. When he entered the dining room Newman saw two guests seated at separate tables. He clapped a hand on Grenville's shoulder.

'It's a small world, to coin a phrase, Brigadier.'

'Colonel.' Grenville snapped, startled. 'And as a journalist I'd expect more original language.'

'Waiting for someone? Or something to happen, Colonel?'

Newman moved on before Grenville could reply. The ex-officer looked rattled, disturbed by Newman's unexpected intervention, Tweed noticed.

'Well, if it isn't Maurice.' said Newman with a broad grin. 'A long way from the Standish murder apartment, aren't we?'

'Do you have to bring that up? And do keep your voice down. Half the dining room is listening.'

'Yes, it has gone quiet, hasn't it? Enjoy your trip down in Vincent Bernard Moloch's jet? I expect you did -having the Brigadier ... beg his pardon, the Colonel -with you.'

'Why don't you just shove off - and enjoy your dinner with your licentious girl friend.'

'Maurice.' Newman bent down, put an arm round Maurice's shoulder. 'If you don't wash out your mouth with soap and water I'll close it for you with my fist. Now get on with your meal and I hope it chokes you.'

He removed his arm, still smiling. A silence you could hear gripped the dining room. Grenville, who had heard every word, was paying undue attention to the pattern on his plate. Newman strolled over to his table, sat down facing Vanity, still smiling.

Time a bottle was opened. Ah, here is the wine list.'

'I've never seen you like that before.' she whispered.

'Stick around. The show has just started.' Newman said in a loud voice.

Tweed sat down at Paula's table, facing her. In another corner Marler sat by himself, an amused expression on his face as he lit a king-size. Muted conversation began again but people kept casting glances at Newman. Grenville and Maurice were also aware they had become centres of interest. Both men looked uncomfortable and were careful not to look round the dining room.

'What was all that about?' Paula asked in a low voice.

'Newman doing his own thing, improvising brilliantly on the spur of the moment. He's shaken the nerve of two of my suspects.'

'And he's dining with the third one.' "That's right,' Tweed said cheerfully.

Most of the thirty or so guests were drinking coffee in one of the two lounges when Tweed strolled out of the exit into the courtyard with Marler. He then led him round to the terrace to a point where they could stand with the now empty dining room behind them.

He gave Marler special and very detailed instructions, then handed him the field glasses. Marler focused them on the
Venetia
, nodded, handed back the glasses.

'I think you're right,' he said.

'Pity you hadn't got the Armalite.'

'But I have,' Marler assured him 'When we parked our cars in Long Stay at Heathrow I chose a quiet slot. Then I dismantled the Armalite, crawled under the car and attached it to the underside of the chassis with medical tape. At this moment it's resting snugly in the boot of my car parked not thirty feet from where we're standing.'

'It's too late tonight to make arrangements.'

'Dear boy, it's never too late. I have a wad of fifty-pound notes in my back pocket. I'll try the Marina Club down by the harbour first. May be a trifle late to bed. A red pennant at the stern of the craft will enable you to identify me.'