The Cauldron (36 page)

'In his note Alvarez says his experts estimate it is six feet in diameter. Beyond that they're stuck. Get Newman in here. I want to talk to Cord Dillon...'

Fifteen minutes later he had told Dillon he needed to send the photos to an address in London as fast as possible, that the photos could be the key to the whole mystery. Dillon asked him to hold on. Tweed sat in the Merc, with the aerial elevated. Newman had posted his team at strategic positions round the car. Tweed noticed that Butler and Nield wore new business suits, and called over Newman.

'Why are Harry and Pete dressed to go out on the town?'

'Because they're coming with us to the party. No argument, please. A crowd is just the place to shoot down a target.'

He left the car as Dillon came back on the line. His answer startled Tweed.

'We can't wire these photos. The detail is too important. Give the photos to Alvarez, who is driving to where you are. Should arrive in ten minutes. Give him the package with the address on it. A very new, fast aircraft will be waiting at Monterey airport to fly them to London. A car will be waiting at Heathrow to rush them to the Holland Park address. Will be in touch. Oh, ETA about seven hours from now...'

He was off the line before Tweed could thank him. Calling over to Paula, Tweed told her what was happening, to pack the photos and address them to Professor Weatherby. As she dashed off he beckoned to Newman.

'Drive me to that public phone box again. I have to call Weatherby.'

Marler slid into the back seat just before the car took off. Tweed ran to the phone box the moment the car stopped and Marler ran after him, then waited in the shadows. Above them was a star-studded night. Newman wondered why the constellations looked so much dearer in California. Lack of smog in this area, he assumed.

'Weatherby? Tweed here ...' He explained the new development. The seismologist listened without saying anything until Tweed had finished.

'Very interesting,' he responded. 'Of course, I know a bit about this technique of sinking a special rotating tube to extract a core from the earth deep down, or from the seabed. But I'm not an expert. Luckily I happened to have a John Palister on the line a few minutes ago. He's an old friend, an insomniac, and is coming over for a drink with me in the wee small hours. He's a world expert on drilling cores. When will the photos reach me?'

"They'll shortly be leaving Monterey airport. I calculate they will reach you in about seven hours' time.'

'Seven hours? How are they coming? By rocket?' 'I've got government cooperation. They must be using one of their incredible new supersonic aircraft.'

'Right. I'll get John to stay until they arrive. He'll know what those photos mean. I'll give you a call. But where are you?'

'Spanish Bay. A hotel outside Carmel...' Tweed gave him the number, warned him to wrap up what he had to say since the call would be coming via a hotel operator. Emerging from the phone box, he took a deep breath of chill night air. They drove back to Spanish Bay, picked up Paula, who was wearing a short coat and drove the short distance to where the party was being held. Butler and Nield followed them on foot.

'Now I wonder what this is really all about?' Tweed mused.

The party was in full swing by the time they arrived. Grenville met them at the door, in an evening suit with a scarlet cummerbund. He greeted them warmly, kissing Paula on the cheek.

'More of you than I expected,' he commented, looking at Marler with Butler and Nield behind him.

'We've come to help with serving the guests,' Marler drawled.

Tweed made brief introductions, scanning the large roomful of guests over Grenville's shoulder. At a corner table sat a small neat man, his dark hair brushed back over his high forehead. With him sat Vanity Richmond. Newman, catching Tweed's gaze, whispered to him as Grenville ushered his guests to a large table at the edge of the dance floor.

"That's Moloch. I took a picture of him once, had my camera snatched out of my hands by his bodyguards.'

Tweed followed Paula, who was being escorted to the table by a buoyant Grenville. He noticed Maurice at a table by himself, emptying a glass with a morose look. Sitting down between Paula and Newman with Marler opposite while Butler and Nield occupied each end, Tweed surveyed the room. It seemed to him Moloch was doing the same thing.

The company was made up of mostly elderly and middle-aged men and women. He sensed an atmosphere of forced gaiety. There was a lot of drinking going on. Younger couples were dancing on the floor in the middle looking bored. A hand fell on his shoulder. Turning, he looked up into the lined face of a white-haired man.

'You're new,' the man said. 'Not come to live out here, I hope?'

'Why?'

'Look around you.' He had a perfect upper-crust English accent. 'They're all miserable, like me. They've come out here for the climate, left their friends at home behind, left their lives behind.'

'Then why don't they go back?' Tweed asked.

'Too late. They've lost touch with their friends, have sold up their homes in Britain. It's cheaper to live out here and they couldn't afford to return. They hanker after old things - the pubs, the villages, even London. It's not the same out here. Don't do it.'

'Thank you for your advice,' said Tweed.

'Sounds tragic,' Paula whispered.

'Probably is. Vanity appears to be coming this way.'

Smiling cheerfully, she addressed Tweed, who simply nodded.

'Mr Moloch would be honoured if you would join him for a few minutes. He's at the table I've just left, the one in the corner.'

"Then why doesn't he come over here?' demanded Paula.

'He would like a few quiet words.' She smiled again at Paula, not losing her poise. "The music is rather loud over here.'

Tweed glanced at the four youngsters perched on a platform, hammering out rock-and-roll. He nodded again, stood up and edged his way between the tables. Vanity sat down next to Paula in the chair Tweed had vacated. Grenville came up, a smoking cigar in his hand.

'Everyone having the time of their lives?' he asked, his voice hoarse. He waved the cigar. 'Smoke too many of these things. Still, you can't give up everything. Start with cigars and you find you've gone off drink ...'

Moloch stood up courteously as Tweed arrived, invited him to sit down in Vanity's chair. He resumed his own seat after swinging it round so he could look straight at Tweed, who gazed back into the pale clever eyes.

'I've wanted to meet you, Tweed.'

'Why?'

'Vanity described you as formidable.'

'Depends on the circumstances.'

'I suppose it would. Do you expect to be staying at Spanish Bay for long?'

'As long as it takes.'

Moloch paused. He lifted his glass. He was drinking orange juice so far as Tweed could make out. He put the glass down.

'Can I offer you a drink?'

"Thank you, but I have one at my own table.'

'Are you enjoying the party?' Moloch enquired.

'Not much.'

'Neither am I. I'm going to leave in a minute. Grenville would insist I came. Mr Tweed, we could talk more frankly if you'd be kind enough to visit me at Black Ridge, my home over here near Big Sur. I find the noise distracting.'

'I'll be glad to come and see you.'

'Good. What about eleven o'clock tomorrow morning?

There are gates at the entrance. I'll have them open so you can drive straight in.'

'Thank you. Eleven tomorrow morning. Please excuse me -I have friends waiting for me ...'

Tweed noticed that Butler was standing against the wall a few yards away, looking at the dancers. Not a man to take any chances, Harry Butler. Tweed returned to his table in time to hear Vanity saying something to Paula.

'We could go into Carmel together. I know the best shops. A lot of them are selling junk. I'll give you a ring.'

"That would be nice,' Paula said without enthusiasm.

'Sorry I pinched your chair, Mr Tweed.' Vanity said, standing up and giving him a beaming smile.

"That's all right.'

Vanity hurried back to Moloch who was standing up prior to going. They left together and Moloch moved quickly to avoid Grenville who was heading his way. Then they were gone.

Tweed left soon afterwards, glancing again at Maurice, who was downing another glass of wine. He looked more morose than ever. Am I wrong, Tweed thought -he had noticed earlier that Moloch was staring straight at Maurice.

On the way back the short distance in the car Tweed told Newman about his appointment with Moloch. Newman's reaction was swift.

'Are you mad? Once inside Black Ridge you may never leave the place alive.'

'I'm going,' Tweed replied. 'I must get inside that man's mind. Time is running out...'

25

It was almost dawn when Tweed was woken by the phone ringing. Instantly alert, he sat up, grabbed the phone.

'Hello?'

Tweed? Weatherby here. I have John Palister here with me. I'll do the talking - because of what you said. Palister has examined the photos. There's something peculiar going on. He has never seen a hole six feet in diameter. It doesn't go with the sort of operation you described.'

'Why not?'

'Because he has never come across so large an instrument of the sort which you said had been used. This is not the sort of cavity you could excavate with existing equipment as he knows it.'

'Has he a theory to explain it?'

'Only a bizarre one. That a special new instrument was used to make the hole and bury something huge. Sounds crazy.'

'Yes, it does.' Tweed agreed, for the benefit of anyone who might be listening to the call. 'We can dismiss that out of hand, I'm sure. Please thank Palister for his help. And thank you.'

'What's going on out there?' a worried Weatherby asked.

'I've no idea. Thank you so much for calling...'

Tweed got out of bed, stripped off his pyjamas and went to the shower stall. Towelling himself, shaving, then dressing he replayed the conversation in his mind.

Dismiss that out of hand?
It was the last thing he was going to do. Clearly a massive drill of unprecedented proportions had been invented. He recalled AMBECO -M standing for machine tools. They would have all the facilities to create a giant drill which was undoubtedly aboard the Baja. Another piece of the jigsaw had slotted into place - he recalled his recent conversation with Cord Dillon. A catastrophe was imminent.

Tweed slid open one of the large glass doors he had unlocked. He wandered out from the living room onto the terrace and across the grass. He wanted to see dawn rise over the mountains, to get his thoughts in order. He was now thinking of a conversation he'd had with Weatherby earlier about tectonic plates.

'Early bird.' a voice behind him said. 'Up to see the dawn.' Paula went on.

He swung round, saw she was dressed in a turtle-necked sweater and a dark trouser suit. She tucked her arm in his, smiling. As they walked towards the main terrace overlooking the links and the sea he asked her the question.

'Did you use the precaution I asked Alvarez to supply you with when he called after we'd got back from the party?'

In reply she glanced around. Then she rolled down the turtleneck below her neck, waited while Tweed looked at her, then rolled it up again.

'Good.' said Tweed. 'Did you notice Joel Brand last night at the bar which served the party?'

'Yes. Looking very smart, wearing a duck suit.'

'Quack, quack.' said Tweed. 'That poor sister of Linda Standish's washed ashore in Cornwall knew what she was talking about.'

'I don't. You last said those words when we saw Byron Landis had a duck-waddle.'

'So I did. Look at the view. Magnificent.'

A new day was dawning, the sun, still invisible, rising behind them. It coloured the ocean with weird light, a mix of rainbowlike tints. They stood watching it as the colours changed and the ocean glowed.

'I can understand why people come to live here.' Paula said. 'Pity they don't just visit it instead of settling down here. Then they're trapped. An evil paradise.'