The Cauldron (32 page)

'Newman here. Emergency. Two juggernauts tried to smash us up. Well north of Bixby Bridge. One vehicle went over the cliff. The first one now heading south along Highway One. Juggernaut hauled by separate cab attached to it. We are waiting in lay-by on Highway One. Over...'

'Message received. Understood. I'm on my way. Stay in the lay-by. Out.'

The distinctive voice of Alvarez had come over very clearly. Tweed turned to look at Paula.

'How are you?'

'Just fine.' she managed. 'I knew Bob would get us out of it. He's great in a tight spot.'

'I agree.' Tweed replied. 'A brilliant manoeuvre, Bob.'

'Compliments will get you nowhere...'

He got out of the car to smoke a cigarette and Marler, carrying his Armalite, joined him. Paula, aware of tension in her legs, also left the car. They waited awhile and then a chopper circled overhead, landed on the highway, let out a passenger, took off and settled on a nearby hillside. Alvarez ran to the car.

'You guys all OK?'

'We're very OK.' Tweed assured him through the lowered window.

'I've got news. Due to your information we set up a roadblock south of here. The juggernaut tried to smash its way through. A policeman shot the driver dead. A Mexican. Name of Pancho Corona. We think he was an illegal and was heading for the Mexican border.'

Paula had walked across to greet Alvarez and thank him for his quick arrival. He smiled at her, said it was all in a day's work - another English phrase.

'What are those men doing?' she asked.

A police truck carrying men with ropes looped over their shoulders had just passed in the direction of their attack. Alvarez shrugged.

"They are specially trained. They will go down the cliff with the aid of the ropes to where the other juggernaut crashed into the sea. I saw the wreckage from the air. It is nothing.'

'You seem to be very well organized.' she commented.

'We do our best. Now, you have all had a bad time. I think you need lunch. I will show you the way to a scenic restaurant. It is dramatic.' He looked out to sea. 'Black clouds. The weather is changing. Rocky Point could be quite dramatic. Can this gentleman travel in the BMW, your escort car?'

"This gentleman can,' Marler told him.

"Then I will travel with you in the Mercedes and show you the way. To Rocky Point...'

At Black Ridge, staring out of the window, Brand had seen Pancho's juggernaut hurtling along the highway and past towards the south. He guessed that something had gone wrong. He hurried to the room which contained the staff records.

Pancho Corona was not an illegal, but he felt it wise to destroy all evidence that he had been employed at Black Ridge. Extracting the file containing Corona's details, he shredded the sheets inside and hurried back to his own office. From a safe he took a packet of cocaine. He was not a user of drugs but he kept a quantity to plant on enemies. Then a quick anonymous call to the police destroyed his target.

He had put on a pair of surgical gloves before picking up the packet from the safe. No fingerprints. Still hurrying - VB might return at any time - he ran down a staircase leading to the back of the mansion. Outside was a huge garage where the juggernauts had been parked. He casually threw the packet into a corner and strolled back to his office. Now he had a story ready to tell VB about the missing vehicles.

In the restaurant at Rocky Point, Alvarez led them to a table by a huge picture window. Paula looked round at the lavish and modernistic way the restaurant was furnished and decorated.

"This is very impressive.' she remarked.

Tweed insisted he joined them for at least a drink after he had refused lunch. Alvarez explained as he sat down next to Paula.

'You recall when I asked Newman to pause? Then I waved to my chopper perched on the hillside and it took off?'

'Yes, I did wonder what all that was about.'

'The chopper followed your cars and landed on the hill near here. After my drink I'll board it and fly to the roadblock. I prefer to see to everything myself. That way it goes good.' He lifted his glass. 'Cheers! Welcome to California - although I would have hoped it would have been a more peaceful visit.' He downed his drink. 'Now, if you will excuse me...'

He had just gone when a distinguished-looking man in a cream linen suit entered. Newman grinned, stood up, called out, 'Good to see you again, Brigadier Grenville.'

Grenville was badly shaken. Hard as he tried he couldn't disguise his discomfort. Newman went over to him, hand outheld.

'It's a small world, to coin a phrase.' He grinned. 'Come and join us.'

'Well...'

Newman, still grinning, took him by the arm, guided him over to Tweed's table. He made introductions as Grenville sat down and smiled at everyone. He had made a quick recovery, Tweed thought.

'And, of course, you know Paula.' Newman concluded, sitting down. 'You danced with her the other side of the pond.'

'You're a long way from Forth Navas, Colonel -excuse me - Brigadier.' Paula teased him.

"The locals started calling me Brigadier, so I just let it go.' Grenville explained with a hint of embarrassment.

'And who are the locals?' Paula asked.

'Oh, quite a few Brits have emigrated to the Monterey Peninsula. The climate and all that. Someone had to take the initiative. he went on with growing confidence, 'so I have founded the Anglo-Pacific Club. You're all welcome to join in. No membership fee. Just have to be British. We have get-togethers in the evening, dancing, too. You'd adorn the company.' he said, looking directly at Paula.

"Thank you.'

'What do the Americans think of your club?' Tweed enquired.

'You're Tweed.'

"That's what they call me, so I suppose I must be.' he replied with a twinkle in his eyes.

'What do the Yanks think? That we're a bunch of snobs. I don't mind. Keeps out some pretty unpleasant people.'

'What sort of people?'

'You're a direct chap. More like an American.'

'What sort of people?'

Paula had the impression Tweed had decided he wasn't putting up with any nonsense from fake brigadiers. Grenville flushed.

"There you go again. Well, the area is floating with aggressive millionaires and their even more aggressive bejewelled wives. Not the sort of people you'd invite

to your club back home.'

'How did they make their money?'

'Oh, in all sorts of industries. They're a rough lot when it comes to business. Maybe they have to be.' He stared at Tweed. 'Now, sir, it's my turn. What do you do?'

'I'm Chief Claims Investigator for an insurance company.'

'Really?' Grenville seemed impressed. 'You must see a lot of the seamy side of life.'

'And the crooked side,' Tweed responded, staring back at Grenville.

'Imagine you do.'

Grenville had paused before he made this response. On the surface it seemed to Newman Grenville couldn't quite make out Tweed, who had a steely look.

Another man walked rapidly into the restaurant, wearing a beige linen suit. Then he stopped as though he'd walked into a wall. Newman jumped up, went over to him as he was turning to leave the restaurant.

'Well, well, if it isn't Maurice. The clan is gathering. I insist you join us.'

He used the same tactic as he had with Grenville, taking Maurice Prendergast by the arm, guiding him to the table. Again Newman was grinning.

'Brigadier, you must remember Maurice - he escorted Paula to your dance in Cornwall. And, Maurice, you had a brief acquaintance with Paula?'

'Nice to see you again, Paula.' Maurice said in a cold voice.

'And to see you,' she replied with a brief smile.

'Hello, Maurice,' said Tweed. 'Do sit down and join the happy party.'

He studied Prendergast. He appeared to have changed since he had met Maurice at his house, The Ark, in Forth Navas. Though he was six feet tall, his strong, clean-shaven face looked haggard. His fair hair was a mess, hadn't been brushed. The humorous smile was gone. His movements, previously slow and deliberate, were jerky.

'Hello, Tweed.' he replied dully.

'Do sit down. How about a drink?' Tweed suggested cheerfully.

'A large brandy.'

He sagged into the chair Newman had hauled over for him. As he put his elbows on the table for support, Paula contrasted him with Grenville. The so-called brigadier was his normal confident self. He pulled at his neat grey moustache as he glanced at Maurice, who was downing the drink Newman had ordered for him.

'Like another.' Maurice said, slurring his words.

Newman ordered another large brandy. The service at Rocky Point was first-rate. The second drink was served instantly. Maurice drank half of it, stared at Paula.

'What are you doing in this bloody lair of runaways?'

'Now, Maurice.' Grenville chided him in a stiff voice. 'No bad language in front of a lady.'

'If you say so.'

'I think we'd better have lunch.' said Tweed, still cheerful as he closed the menu. 'I know what I want.'

The rest of them ordered. Except for Maurice. Marler, who had not said a word since he sat down, was watching Maurice. Paula was also studying Maurice without appearing to do so.

The waiter stood by Maurice, waiting for his order. Maurice glanced up at him.

'I'm not hungry.'

'Better eat something.' Marler suggested.

'Who asked you?' Maurice demanded.

'No one did. Just a thought. People usually eat at lunch.'

'I'm not people.'

Maurice stared at Marler, who gazed back at him. Maurice was the first one to drop his eyes. He spoke to the waiter, who was leaving.

'Come back a moment.' He glanced at Newman. 'I could do with another large brandy.'

Newman looked across the table at Tweed, who nodded his agreement. Maurice glanced at Newman.

'You have to check with the boss?' he sneered.

'Frequently.' Newman smiled and ordered another brandy. 'I have the odd brandy myself. After lunch with coffee.'

'Maurice,' Grenville said grimly, 'I wouldn't if I were you.'

'But you're not me, are you? You're the flaming brigadier.'

'I'm just that.' Grenville laughed. 'A pretty good description. I'm sure the Americans would agree.'

The tension at the table was beginning to get to Paula. She gazed down through the large picture window at the scene immediately below. The view was vertiginous -staring down at the ocean, which had become rough. Great waves exploded against huge jagged rocks, erupted into geysers of surf flung high into the air. Water surged into narrow rocky channels, then submerged the defiles round them. She could see why this was called Rocky Point. There's another cauldron, she thought, recalling Tweed's words. The sight disturbed her. Maurice drank his third brandy.

'Gotta go, folks.' he announced, imitating American speech.

He stood up, rested his hands on the table. Newman was by his side immediately. He took hold of Maurice round the waist, guided him up two large steps, was taking him towards the exit when Maurice protested.

Take your hands off me. I can make it.'

'Certainly you can.' Newman assured him, not letting

At that moment Butler and Nield, who had tactfully slipped into the bar for a sandwich lunch, appeared. Newman nodded his head for them to come forward.

'See this gentleman to his car. He's not feeling well. Harry, drive him home, wherever that may be.'

'Got a dog kennel of an apartment in Carmel.' Maurice mumbled. 'I can drive...'

'So can I.' said the sturdy Butler. He took hold of Maurice, relieving Newman of his burden. 'I'll see him home. There are patrol cars along Highway One.'

Butler easily manoeuvred Maurice out of the restaurant. As they disappeared Pete Nield wandered over to Newman and splayed his hands in a gesture of resignation.

"That same chap was in the bar before he came in here. He downed a couple of large brandies one after the other.'