The Power (12 page)

'What is this weird business?' she asked Tweed.

'Not reassuring,' Tweed replied quietly. 'They - who
ever they are - were looking for
us.
Again it confirms my
fear about the extent of the vast network we're up
against. To be able to organize something like that so
rapidly.' He smiled. 'Enough to put me off my breakfast -
but it won't.'

'It's like a noose closing round us,' Paula commented.

'Oh, we'll find a way of eluding them.' Tweed checked his watch. 'I must be at that phone box to call Cord Dillon
just after nine thirty.' He glanced across at a distant table
where Butler sat with Nield. 'Luckily you'll have some
reliable company while I'm away.'
'But I'm coming with you to the phone box,' she insisted.

'Certainly, Paula, I fancy a drive to Bodmin Moor myself,'
Newman told her. 'I'd like to get the atmosphere of where
this ghastly massacre took place. Odd there's nothing
about it in the paper. Meat and drink for the tabloids.'

They were standing outside the phone box while Tweed
held the door half open in case someone
else tried to use it.
Tweed swung round.

'That's something else I find sinister - the absence of any
report about the massacre at Tresillian
Manor. It looks as though someone has silenced Roy Buchanan - and he's a
man not easily silenced.' He looked back the way they had
come as Cardon loped towards them, smiling.

'Morning, everyone. What a beautiful day. Sorry to be
late but I slept in. I usually do if nothing's happening.'

'Too much is happening,' Tweed snapped.

'Bob is taking me for a drive to Bodmin Moor,' Paula reminded Cardon.

'Can I come too?' Cardon asked. 'Butler and Nield are ample guard for Tweed.' He grinned at Newman. 'Carry your bag, sir?'

'As I told you, we're going to interview one of the
servant girls who works at Tresillian Manor,' Paula said. 'I
think she might not say a word if too many people arrived.
But thank you, anyway, Philip.'

'I could stay with the car if you're keeping it out of sight,'
Cardon persisted.

'We'll be doing just that,' Paula agreed.

Take Philip with you,' Tweed ordered. 'I don't like this
idea of yours, but as you're being obstinate I'll only let you go if you have two men with you. Now, I must make that
phone call...'

* * *

At the London end the receiver was lifted swiftly when
Tweed had dialled the number. He instantly recognized
the distinctive American voice that answered.

'Who is this calling?' Dillon demanded.

'Tweed. Monica said you wanted to talk to me urgently.'

'Monica was dead right. Are you OK? I walked to Park
Crescent... Say, where are you calling from?'

'Public phone box
...'

'Like me. I said I walked to Park Crescent - saw your
building. A hole in the wall. Are you sure you're OK?'

'I wasn't inside when it happened,' Tweed assured him.
'Neither was anyone else. They were warned in the nick of
time. Why are you in London?'

'Tweed, I'm on the run. In Washington I'd have ended
up on a slab. This is a tough one. Certain people - a small
army of professionals - are out to liquidate all of us.
They're controlled from the very top. We haven't a hope.'

'Cord, I need to know what it's all about. Up to now I'm
in the dark. Shadow-boxing. Give me a lead, for God's
sake. Where are you staying?'

'At a crummy little London hotel which I've just left. I
can see the entrance from this box. Keep moving is the
name of the game. Survival. I called to warn you to do just
that - if you want to go on living.'

'Cord, I need data,' Tweed said grimly.

'It's about a guy called Joel Dyson - some film he took, a
tape recording he made. That's all I can tell you till we
meet some day. If we're both still standing up. Get out of
the country, Tweed. One thing I'll give you - the only other
American you can trust is a Barton Ives, Special Agent, FBI. He knows it all. I'm on my way. Jesus! I don't even
know where I might be safe.'

'Cord.' Tweed spoke with great emphasis. 'Head for
Switzerland. For Zurich. Stay at the Hotel
Gotthard -
same name as the pass south into Italy. It's a three-minute walk from the main railway station.'

'I'll think about
it...'

'Don't. Just do it. I'll meet you there when I'm able to
make the trip.'

'You could be right. Jesus!' Dillon repeated. 'They are
arriving at my hotel. I've left my bag inside a locker at one
of the main terminals. Got to go now.'

'Cord. . .'

'One more thing, Tweed, then I'm moving. You ever meet a man called Norton, shoot him before he kills you
.
..Norton.
Got it...?'

The connection was broken.

8

Ed, a small pock-marked American, dialled the new
number for Norton as he stood inside a phone hood in
Piccadilly Underground Station. Norton kept constantly
on the move, never stayed at the same place for more than
one night.

'Who is it?' Norton's abrasive voice demanded.

'It's Ed. I've been staring at wallpaper since we tracked
Joel to London Airport.'

'We?
Bill tracked him to the Swissair flight he boarded
for Zurich .. .'

'Well, we're a team

'You're a schmuck who takes orders from me. And we have more schmucks in Zurich. Guess what happens.'

'No idea,' Ed replied cautiously.

'You always were short of ideas. The people waiting at
Zurich Airport lost Joel. Can you believe it?'

'Yes, you just told me
...'

'Don't get smart-ass with me. I had another team grouped by the entrance to Amberg's Zurcher Kredit
Bank in Talstrasse. Guess again.'

'No ... You really had Zurich sewn up.'

'Wrong again. I
thought I
had Zurich sewn up. So, Joel walks into the Zurcher. Never comes out again. The staff
leave, the doors are locked. Still no Joel. You have one
guess.'

'Beats me...'

'Seems most things do. Joel must have been let out the
back entrance - which the schmucks who call themselves
operatives didn't know about. You know Zurich. You
know Joel. Get out there to Zurich pretty damned fast.
Find him. Got it now?'

'Sure. And when I do find him?'

'Goddamnit!' There was a pause and Ed would not have been surprised to hear a snarl. 'I'll tell you what you do... Norton's voice had gone deceptively soft. 'You break his fingers one by one. You break his arms, his legs, until he tells you where he's hidden what we must find fast. And then you snuff him out.'

'Got
it...'

'I do hope so, Ed,' the soft voice went on. 'For your
sake.'

'What about Tweed?' Ed ventured.

'He's still around. Not for long. He's a walking corpse.
And when you get to London Airport don't forget to buy
Swiss currency.'

'I had thought of that.'

'You amaze me ...'

The phone went silent.

Tweed was stunned when he left the Padstow phone box
and was joined by Butler. Nield waited on the far side of
the road. Tweed had never known Dillon be frightened of

anyone. So what group could have scared the tough
American, made him start running?

'Where is Paula?' he asked.

'She went off with Newman and Cardon towards the harbour. They're collecting the car ready for their drive to
Bodmin Moor.'

'I don't like it,' Tweed commented. 'Lord knows what
they will run into on that blood-soaked moor...'

Newman had led Paula and Cardon to the harbour to show
them the complex layout. Paula saw there was an inner
harbour full of water, which puzzled her since the tide was
out. She stopped to look at a large luxurious cabin cruiser
with an array of radar equipment.
Mayflower III.

'That's cost somebody a bomb,' she remarked.

A gnarled old fisherman sorting out his orange-coloured
fishing net near by looked up. Paula smiled at him and he walked over to her.

'Admirin' the Squire's boat? It could sail to Europe in
bad weather.'

'The Squire?' Paula queried.

'Yes. Squire Gaunt. Lives on the moor. Comes down 'ere quite often and takes her out for days.'

'To somewhere in Europe?' she asked casually.

'Ah! No one knows. Keeps a tight mouth on his doin's,
does the Squire. You'll excuse me, lady. This won't earn a
crust of bread. Enjoy yourselves.'

Newman led them back into the car park. He pointed to
a single-storey building.

'Harbour Master's office. I enquired there about the
tidal rise and fall. Seven point six metres, they told me.'

'That's fantastic.' She did a quick calculation. 'Over twenty feet.'

'I'd say you need to be skilled sailing round here,'
Newman commented, leading them along a quay.

They reached a narrow footbridge linking one side of
the harbour with the other. As they strolled over the
white metal bridge Paula stopped, looked down. She
realized they were walking over a large lock gate. To her
left was the inner harbour full of water, to her right a
drop like an abyss to a mudbank. Water trickled through
the gate. Only then did she see an outer harbour,
exposed to the sea.

It lay to her right and was a basin of mud. Small craft
moored to the walls were canted over at a drunken
angle. Beyond the closed lock gate on the seaward side a thin channel of water led out of sight towards the ocean.
Newman pointed across to the outer jetty enclosing the waterless harbour.

'That's what they call the Pier. When the tide starts coming in you catch the ferry to Rock from some steps
on the far side. Now you have to take that coastal path
to the cove further out where there is still water.'

Paula saw a flight of steps leading up to a steep path
which disappeared behind a new development of fiats,
directly overlooking the river.