The Power (80 page)

Mencken decided his opponents had made a mistake.
He'd wait until he could get Moustache on his own in a
less public place. Mencken had no doubt he could make
Moustache spill his guts.

'When you saw this American giving orders,' Tweed said to Butler as he continued walking slowly towards the
restaurant, 'did you get the impression he carried a lot of
authority?'

'One of Norton's top brass, would be my guess. I saw
where he's parked his Renault just outside,'
Butler
added.

'First, point him out to me from the entrance. Second,
you then take Ives, Paula, Eve, Amberg and Cardon to
the Espace. Third, you fix our American friend's
Renault.'

'What are you going to do?' asked Butler, alarmed.

'It's time Bob and I had a word with the opposition face
to face . ..'

Tweed had decided it was time to stop running. He'd
said in Colmar they were going on to the offensive. This
seemed like a good moment to start. Butler indicated
Mencken to Tweed from the door, although Tweed now recognized him instantly - the same man had walked into
the bar at the Baur-en-Ville in Zurich, had stared up at Paula and himself before retreating back into the hotel.
At that moment the American was watching Nield,

Hands deep inside his trench coat pockets, Tweed
headed straight for Mencken's table with Newman beside
him. He took out one hand, pulled back a chair at the
table for four, sat facing the skeletal-faced man, who stiffened. Newman sat alongside Mencken, used his left
hand to stop the American pushing his chair back from
the table. His right hand was slipped inside his wind
cheater, gripping his Smith & Wesson.

'Relax,' Newman advised him. 'Take it easy, as you
never stop saying in New York.'

'What's New York got to do with anything?' Mencken sneered.

He reached inside his own trench coat. Newman's right
hand closed over his wrist.

'Be careful what you take out,' he advised again.

'Your nerves all shot to hell?' Mencken sneered again.

He withdrew his hand slowly. It was holding a pack of
Marlboro and a lighter. Lighting a cigarette, he blew the
smoke in Tweed's direction. Tweed waved it away before he spoke.

'Maybe my friend should have said Washington,' he
remarked.

'Don't give
me
no smoke,' Mencken snapped, his manner nervy at the reference to Washington.

'I hope you don't mind our joining you,' Tweed went
on, 'but you've been keeping us company for a long time.
Maybe you would tell me why?'

'What the shit does that mean?'

'Manners,' Newman interjected. 'You ought to wash
out your mouth more often. It means you've been
stumbling over us all the way from Zurich. My friend
would like to know why. He just asked you.'

'I don't have to talk to you guys, whoever you are ...'

'I wouldn't think about leaving.' The suggestion had
come from Nield who was now sitting at the next table, his chair twisted round so he faced the American. 'Ever
felt the walls closing in on you?' he enquired.

This is a free country. We're in Switzerland.'

Mencken's aggressive manner was fading. Minutes ago
he had been confident he would get Nield on his own. Now he was the one on his own. He cursed the fact that
he'd sent all his men rushing down to Ouchy. He suddenly
realized that the blonde girl had left the restaurant, that it
was empty except for himself and his interrogators. Even
the staff seemed to have vanished. The time of the year - March - and the time of day.

'Is America such a free country these days?' Tweed asked him. 'Considering the people in power? Talking
about power, how is my old acquaintance, Mr Norton?'

'Look ...' Mencken was talking fast as though making
a desperate attempt to convince Tweed he didn't know
what he was talking about. 'Look, I'm an executive of a
company selling machine tools. Business is lousy...'

'You sell a lot of machine tools in the Vosges moun
tains?'Newman demanded.

'If you guys don't get off my back I'm going to want
some police
...'

The strain was showing in Mencken's shifting eyes, in
the way he smoked his cigarette, being very careful to
keep smoke away from Tweed, in the way his shoulders kept jerking under his trench coat. Marvin Mencken was
coming apart at the seams.

'You can have the police,' Newman assured him. 'Right
out of the top drawer. The Chief of Federal Police happens to be here in this station. Want me to go and fetch
him? Just say the word.'

'Look, you guys, I didn't expect this. I've had a long
day. Nothing but pressure.' He turned to Newman. 'You
know? That's what gets to you when you're away from
home. Pressure. What's all this stuff about, anyway?'

'Maybe we could start with your name?' Tweed suggested.

'Sure. Why not? I'm Marvin Mencken ...'

'What company do you work for?' Tweed pressed on.

'An outfit based in the Middle West. I guess you mixed
me with someone else. Right?'

'Not right.' Tweed shook his head, his attitude still
cool, almost offhand. 'You could spend Lord knows how
many years in a Swiss gaol. Not comfortable places, Swiss
gaols. Over here they believe in punishment for criminal
offences.'

'What criminal offence?' Mencken stubbed out his
cigarette, immediately lit a fresh one. 'Like I said, you're
all mixed up...'

'The bomb thrown in Bahnhofstrasse by the pseudo-cripple,' Tweed went on remorselessly. 'The Chief of
Police, Beck, is handling that case himself. A hard man.'

'Don't know nothin' about a bomb,' Mencken pro
tested.

He was sweating. Beads of moisture had formed on his low forehead. Newman passed him a handkerchief.

'Use this. Clean yourself up.'

Mencken took the handkerchief. Afraid to show fear,
to take out his own handkerchief, he mopped himself dry,
returned the handkerchief.

'See the state you guys have got me into? What is this?
The third degree? I don't have to take this ...'

'Then there was the mass murder down in Cornwall, England. Eight people just shot down in cold blood by a
masked gunman.'

'Mass murder? In England?' Mencken had jerked him
self upright. 'You guys
are
crazy. Cornwall, you said? So
where's that? I ain't never been to the place. This is
screwy. You
have
got the wrong guy.'

Tweed had been watching the American closely,
listening to him intently. For the first time there was
vehemence in his tone, the vehemence of a man telling the truth.

Nield had been keeping one eye on the entrance to the restaurant. Now he saw Butler appear briefly, giving a thumbs-up signal. He had dealt with Mencken's Renault.
Nield nodded twice to Tweed as Butler disappeared.
Tweed sighed, checked his watch, pushed back his chair,
stood up, both hands in his pockets as he addressed
Mencken.

'I advise you to catch a flight from the airport here in
the morning to Zurich. From there you can board a
non-stop flight to Washington. You might just get clear of
Norton.'

'Washington? I told you - I'm from the Middle West. Why this Washington thing? And Norton, Norton, Norton. Who the hell is he?'

Mencken was talking to himself. Tweed had walked away, leaving the restaurant. Newman followed, leaving Nield behind to watch the American. When they had disappeared Nield also stood up, leaned down, patted Mencken on the shoulder.

'I wouldn't leave for ten minutes. If you do there are
police outside who'll arrest you. They'll take a great interest in that gun you're packing under your armpit.
Do yourself a big favour. Start
counting now...'

'I think I achieved my aim,' Tweed said to Newman as
they walked towards the station exit.

'Which was?'

To shake Master Mencken to the core - to rattle his
cage. Above all, to persuade him to underestimate me.
He'll report the encounter to Norton sooner or later. I
want them off guard for the final confrontation ...'

Butler escorted them to the Espace. Barton Ives had
done exactly what Tweed had quietly suggested to him as
they earlier conversed briefly before leaving the train.
He'd escorted Amberg to the Espace, parked just outside the station. The two men were sitting near the rear while Ives, alert as ever, watched Tweed and his companions approaching.

Paula, assuming that Tweed would again be driving, sat
by herself in the front passenger seat. In a row further
back Eve sat on the other side of Amberg, flanking the
banker with Ives. Was she also suspecting that the Swiss
was going to try and run off if he got the opportunity?

Tweed climbed in behind the wheel while Newman
boarded the Espace at the rear. Closing the door, Tweed
suddenly stood up, made his way swiftly to where
Amberg sat in grim silence. He tapped the banker on the
knee.

'You said the key to the security box in Ouchy is kept at
your branch in Bankverein. I'm driving there now. You
will, accompanied by Newman, open the bank, go in,
collect the key, come straight back to the Espace. You understand me clearly?'

'At this time of night there are alarms ...' the banker
began.

'Which you know how to deactivate so they won't wake up half Basle. Don't play games with me, Amberg. I'm no
longer in the mood for them.' He looked at Newman.
'Where is Philip Cardon?'

'Just about to come aboard. He insisted on maintaining
a watch hidden in the entrance to that hotel over there.
He told me he'd wait outside just before we entered the
restaurant. Cardon is smart...'

As Tweed settled himself behind the wheel again,
started the engine, he glanced all round. In the depths of winter no one lingered outside the station. A tram, ochre-
coloured and smaller than its Zurich counterpart,
trundled in to a nearby stop. No one aboard except the
driver. No passengers waiting to board it. The empty tram
seemed to Paula to symbolize the deserted desolate
atmosphere of Basle in March after dark. She had purposely said nothing to Tweed, sensing his concentration
on his secret thoughts. He saw Butler and Nield hurrying
towards the parked station wagon, waited until they were inside the vehicle and moved off. To the Zurcher Kredit Bank.