The Cauldron (2 page)

'Really? What's it called?'

'
Venetia V
...' Floorstone was slurring his words and he realized it. 'V ... e ... n ... e ... t... i... a ... Five.' he repeated carefully. 'Word is it's headed for Baja California in Mexico.' Taking another large gulp of his own drink, he leaned towards her. 'Moloch plays it close to the chest. My guess is it's headed for the Panama Canal, then through it into the Atlantic.'

'It's been here for a while?' she asked casually.

'Naah. Came in early morning, refuelled, now it's off again. You never know with Moloch. You're not drinking.'

'I'm a slow drinker.' Paula was suspicious about the ingredients of her glass, which tasted too potent. Ts this Moloch character on board the
Venetia V
?'

'Naah. His bully boy, Joel Brand, is the boss on this trip.'

Paula kept her face expressionless at the mention of the name. 'Bully boy?'

'Yeah. A Brit. An ugly customer. Does all Moloch's dirty work. Now about us going on the town?'

'This Joel Brand is just the skipper of the yacht?'

'Naah. He's Moloch's right arm. Was in the Navy. The Brit Navy. Now about...'

'What are you drinking?'

'Bourbon and soda. Need a freshener. Get you one. Back in a minute.' He waved a warning finger. 'Don't walk out on me.'

Paula watched him staggering back to the bar, slipped on her shoulder bag, quietly left the bar. She had already packed, paid her bill at Spanish Bay, hired a car to take her the two hour drive to San Francisco International and had reserved a first class seat.

As she rode back in a cab to the hotel she wished Bob Newman was with her. She could have found out more from Floorstone, but she had found out enough. Now for the endless eleven hour night flight back to Heathrow. Not a trip she relished, even though Tweed was generous in allowing her to travel first class.

On the drive north to San Francisco she was haunted by the image of the dead woman's face, the woman she had dragged out of the sea. Who was she?

Several weeks later she was in Cornwall with Bob Newman, sent there by Tweed with clear instructions.

Tweed had briefed them in his first-floor office at Park Crescent with its windows looking towards Regent's Park. A man of medium height and build, middle-aged, clean-shaven and wearing horn-rimmed glasses, he was someone you could pass in the street without noticing. This appearance had served him well as Deputy Director of the SIS.

Paula had sat at her desk in a corner of the large room, and close to the door Monica was ensconced behind her own desk, equipped with a press-button phone linked to the phone on Tweed's otherwise clear desk. She also had the latest fax machine and other sophisticated equipment.

Monica, a woman of uncertain age, with her grey hair tied in a bun, had been Tweed's assistant for years and was totally loyal and discreet. The fourth occupant of the room was Bob Newman, world-famous foreign correspondent who had long ago been vetted for security and intelligence work.

Newman was a well-built man in his forties, also clean-shaven, fair-haired, with a half-smile and a sense of humour which had appealed to many women. He sat with his arms folded, turned his head as someone tapped on the door and entered. Marler had arrived late as usual.

'Mornin', everyone. See the clan has gathered,' he drawled in his upper-crust voice. 'Something big brewing?'

He took up his normal position, leaning against a wall as he lit a king-size cigarette. Slimly built, in his late thirties, he was a snappy dresser - and the best marksman with a rifle in Western Europe. Tweed nodded to him and began speaking, leaning forward, his voice quiet but expressing great force of character.

'Paula returned from California several weeks ago after a three-week stay in the Monterey-Carmel area. She went to dig up any data she could on Vincent Bernard Moloch. She'll tell you in a minute about that trip so you, Marler, are up to date. Moloch has a large mansion out in the Cornish wilderness way behind Falmouth. I want you, Paula, to go down there with Bob and Marler to investigate Moloch. I've booked separate rooms for all of you at a very nice country hotel, Nansidwell, near a village called Mawnan Smith. I know the proprietor, a very likeable chap...'

'He doesn't know who you really are, I presume?' chimed in Paula.

'Of course not. I used our usual cover story - General & Cumbria Assurance. We investigate suspected insurance swindles on a large scale.'

'Isn't three people a large team even for that?' Marler enquired.

'I've told you that you'll occupy separate rooms. You'll eat at separate tables. You don't know each other. I got several friends at Special Branch to call the hotel to book in you and Bob. They phoned about the reservations on different days. I booked in Paula.' He switched his gaze to her. "The doctor has said you're suffering from a state of complete exhaustion. Convalescent leave.'

'Try to look exhausted.' Marler chaffed her. 'Make a real effort.'

'If I may continue.' Tweed said sharply. 'Moloch's mansion is called Mullion Towers. It's near a nowhere place called Stithians.'

'What I'd like to know.' Marler suggested, 'is why is this chap Moloch the target?'

'He may not be.' Tweed said cryptically. 'But his outfit AMBECO is so enormous - plus the fact he's in touch with certain Arabs - that it's worrying not only London but also Washington. He worries me - the amount of power he has set about accumulating.'

'And what is AMBECO?' Marler persisted. 'Heard of it but no idea what it does.'

'A,' began Tweed, 'is for Armaments. M is for Machine tools. B is for Banking. E is for Electronics. C is for Chemicals, could be biological. O is for Oil.'

Tricky combination.' Newman intervened. 'Armaments - and chemicals. Sounds like advanced weapon systems. Don't like the sound of Mr Moloch.'

'Actually.' Tweed went on, 'Moloch's main interest at present is in electronics. He wants to dominate the world systems in communications.'

'He'll get stiff competition from Bill Gates of Microsoft in Seattle.' Newman observed.

'Maybe. Now, Paula, tell everyone about your experiences in California.'

They listened intently as she gave a precise report. She concluded with an encounter she'd had while staying at Spanish Bay.

'A very attractive English redhead called Vanessa Richmond kept trying to make friends with me. I was suspicious and evaded her. Another woman, an American, told me she was nicknamed by the locals "Vanity" Richmond. I think it was a jealous remark.' She turned to Tweed. Tell me,' she said insistently, 'isn't there something more menacing about this Moloch? What you have told us doesn't seem to me to justify the major effort we're making to track him.'

'You have enough information for the moment.' Tweed replied abruptly. He smiled to soften the impact. 'Now off you all go and enjoy yourself in Cornwall.' He stood up, his tone serious. 'But regard this as a dangerous mission...'

They travelled fast to Cornwall. Each had had a case packed for instant departure from Park Crescent. Newman left first in his beloved Mercedes 280E. He was passing Stonehenge when he saw Marler coming up behind him in his Saab. Later Paula appeared in her Ford Fiesta.

She was in an impish mood. When they reached a deserted dual carriageway she rammed her foot down, overtook Marler, then Newman. Grinning to himself, Newman slowed down and she disappeared from sight.

Still on the dual carriageway, Paula frowned as she spotted a blue Volvo roaring up behind her. The driver, alone at the wheel, was a brunette wearing large sunglasses. Paula felt sure she had seen her shortly after leaving Park Crescent. And a very similar-looking girl had been aboard her flight back from San Francisco.

'Interested in me, honey?' she said to herself, reverting to American phraseology.

She kept moving, maintaining her speed. Sunglasses dropped back but stayed within sight as Paula by-passed Exeter, crossed Bodmin Moor. By the time she had reached Nansidwell Country Hotel Sunglasses had disappeared.

The proprietor himself greeted her warmly but respectfully. She was shown to her room on the first floor which overlooked the parklike gardens, descending in lawn plateaux, the grass perfectly mown, and with a semi-distant view of the sea looking like an azure lake under brilliant sunshine. A tanker and a large freighter were waiting for permission to berth outside Falmouth harbour.

After a long soaking bath she dressed for dinner, went down the impressively wide staircase, saw Bob Newman was standing near the entrance inside one of two comfortable lounges. He smiled as though greeting an attractive stranger.

'Good evening. This is a lovely hotel. Have you been here long? Oh, I'm Bob Newman.'

'Paula Grey. No, I just arrived today. I gather dinner is 7.30 p.m. onwards.'

'It's only 6.30. I was just going for a look round outside. If you'd care to join me in my first exploration? Or maybe you'd sooner be on your own?'

'No, let's explore together. You're a birdwatcher? Those binoculars looped round your neck.'

"They're only for viewing distant points.'

Their conversation had been for the benefit of a couple sitting on a couch with drinks who were obviously taking in every word. As they wandered out of the main entrance, heading for the terrace at the rear of the hotel, Marler's Saab appeared at the end of the rhododendron-lined drive, swung at speed in a sharp circle to occupy a vacant space close to Paula's car. He never gave as much as a glance in their direction.

Paula froze. Parked next to Newman's Mercedes was a blue Volvo. During the journey she had never been able to see the registration number of the car driven by Sunglasses. "There are a lot of Volvos in the world. Stop getting so jittery.' she told herself. She and Newman wandered on round a corner onto a pebble path in front of the topmost grassy terrace. Here they had the same sweeping panoramic view Paula had from her bedroom window.

'What do you do for a living - if it isn't too personal a question?' she asked.

'Oh, I'm a foreign correspondent.'

They were now talking for the benefit for another couple with drinks before dinner who sat perched on a banquette seat by an open window.

'Really?' Paula continued. 'I vaguely seem to have heard the name,' she teased him.

I'm surprised. I've written the odd piece for one or two newspapers.'

She glanced out to sea and froze again, this time with a real sense of shock. The tanker had vanished. In its place was anchored a very large luxury yacht, a complex of radar above the main control bridge - and a Comsat dish. She had now seen a similar vessel starboard-on -once off Octopus Cove and again leaving the harbour at Monterey.

She walked further along the path, then across the grass, and stood by a small wall decorated with various plants. Newman strolled after her.

'Bob,' she whispered, 'that looks exactly like the yacht I saw standing offshore when that woman's body floated in to Octopus Cove.'

"That seems pretty unlikely.' Newman raised his binoculars, focused them on the vessel. 'It would be an extraordinary coincidence if you were right. Don't believe in them - coincidences.'

'So it's a different ship.'

'There are a few people in the world who could afford a toy like that. Must be almost three hundred feet long. Mind you, Tweed has many ways of finding out things. And you could have been right when you suggested he was holding back information.'

'So what is the name of the damned thing?'

'Tweed did know what he was doing. The name of that floating gold vault is
Venetia V
.'

As ordered, they occupied separate tables in the spacious and comfortable dining room which overlooked the gardens. Marler, typically, had manoeuvred it so he sat by himself at a corner table at the rear of the room with his back to the wall.

The meal was excellent, served by three girls who, Paula gathered by talking to them, were all local. As she ate, never glancing at Newman, conscious of Marler's presence a couple of tables behind her, she thought about what a beautiful building Nansidwell was.

Built of grey stone, covered here and there with creeper, it had deep windows with mullioned panes. A house with great presence. The proprietor had told her it had once been a private residence. Paula looked out of the window as dusk fell, making the rolling hills sloping down towards it from the south look like velvet. Gazing out to sea, she saw the brilliant glow of lights aboard the
Venetia V
and felt a chill despite its appearance of a luxury cruise liner.