Vorpal Blade (29 page)

'Of course not,' Paula piped up. 'There's space for
you next to me. The waiter overheard and he's bringing
a chair.'

Danvers sat down between Paula and Tweed. Dressed in
an American sports jacket and jeans, he smiled briefly. He looked healthy and athletic but then his expression became
one of acute exasperation. He accepted coffee, drank some.

'You're the last person on earth I expected to see here,'
remarked Paula.

'It happened quickly. I was ordered to accompany the
Vice-President everywhere he
went,' he explained, speak
ing very quietly. 'Two days ago we fly to Geneva, travel
in the waiting limo to this place. Straub goes up to his
suite, tells me to enjoy myself. I protest and he shuts
the door in my face. I haven't seen him since until he
rolls back here early this morning. I've spent two days
patrolling Montreux, looking for him. He's nowhere to
be seen. When I check with the concierge his key is on the hook, which means he's no longer here. Until he gets back
this morning. Why am I telling you this? Because your pal
Cord Dillon, Mr Tweed, is my pal. He gave you both a
glowing testimonial. So I trust you when I need someone
to groan to.'

'Why does Straub behave like this?' Tweed asked
softly.

'Damned if I know. Says he's on a confidential diplomatic mission. Let slip - or pretended to - that he visited Paris. So why didn't we fly there first? Don't ask me. I'm just the messenger boy. With no messages.'

'We're going up to Rochers de Naye after breakfast,'
Paula told him.

'So is Straub. Maybe Roman Arbogast asked him. I wouldn't know. I wish I were back at Grosvenor Square.'

'Roman is waving to us,' Tweed reported. 'I think the
trip is about to start.'

'Well, nothing can happen on top of a mountain,'
Danvers said.

Limos, organized by Roman, took the large party to the
station, although they could have walked there. The station for Rochers de Naye was across from the main-line station and separate from it. The train was a surprise. Streamlined, it was like a toy version of France's TGV, very modern and
like a bullet. Locals, carrying shopping, piled into the front
coach, leaving the rear coach empty for Arbogast's party.

There was plenty of room. Tweed and Newman occupied a seat at the rear while Paula sat by herself opposite and across the aisle. Newman nudged Tweed, nodded
towards the front seat some distance away. Russell Straub
had appeared out of nowhere and had parked a bag next to him. This had compelled Danvers to sit behind him.

The Arbogast party was scattered in different seats. As
the doors closed automatically and the train glided forward
Paula whispered to Tweed.

'Black Jack must have run himself into the ground last
night. He's already fallen asleep.'

'Trawling the bars.' Tweed paused. 'Or something.'

'I wonder how Dr Scale found his way to Montreux.'

'We may never know.'

'Why is the Arbogast family tree so important? You were
very intense when talking to Monica.'

'Just a hunch.'

They were starting to climb. Montreux faded behind
them. Paula, who had come across to converse with Tweed,
went back to her seat. The view out of the window was
more interesting. Small Swiss villages stood just beyond
platforms where the train stopped. From the front coach
women carrying shopping alighted. Newman realized they
used the train to commute down into Montreux to buy
necessities. Paula admired the neatness of the houses, the creepers trained over white walls. They stopped at many
villages, then the incline of the track began to go up steeply.
The villages, the frequent stops were left behind. Rocky, less fertile ground appeared as the slowing train climbed and climbed at an ever steeper angle. Ahead through the
windows Paula could see the line swinging round an
endless succession of hairpin bends, like two metal snakes.
She felt they were heading for the roof of the world.

Tweed leaned close to Newman, spoke clearly even though his voice was little more than a whisper.

'This is a direct order. When we alight at the top you
will stay with Paula every second. Whatever happens.'

'Understood.'

'Bob,' Paula called across the aisle, 'do you mind changing places with me? I'm being selfish but the view now on
your side is much more dramatic.'

'Be my guest . . .'

Tweed gave her his window seat. As they swung round
another sharp bend, still climbing, an immense peak
appeared higher up. A huge menacing knob of rock.
Tweed pointed to it.

'That is the ultimate summit of Rochers de Naye. You can't get on top of that. Only an expert mountain climber
would attempt it.'

'It's another world,' she said.

'And I'm wondering why Roman Arbogast organized
this trip. It's out of character.'

He said nothing more and Paula watched as dense
clouds of mist shrouded the peak. It simply disappeared.
Near the front of the coach Black Jack had woken up,
rubbed his hands through his thick dark hair, stretched his
arms as though limbering up for some difficult physical
task. Behind him Roman Arbogast, sitting by himself, sat
up straighter. The last station was close.

'With that mist it will be cold,' Tweed remarked. Taking
off his light waterproof topcoat, he wrapped it round
Paula's shoulders like a long cloak. 'That will keep you
warm.'

He stood up before she could protest. As she stood up
as well Arbogast glanced round, his right eye twitching.
Tweed was now convinced the twitching indicated he was
under tension. Why? What was bothering him now? Or
was he steeling himself for something?

The train glided into the final station, the doors opened
automatically, the passengers
were piling out onto the
small platform. Tweed tried to see who was going where
but it was hopeless. Paula had tucked her long hair under
a peaked baseball cap. Newman took her arm as she
alighted.

'I need company,' he said. 'Don't like heights. Let's stick
together.'

'I never knew you suffered from vertigo.'

'It's six thousand feet up here. That's a lot of feet.'

Tweed walked by himself up the rocky slope leading
towards the edge. In places he could see clearly several
yards ahead. Then the mist would roll in and he sensed
the right direction by instinct. The rest of the party had
vanished as he plodded on and upwards. He was moving
slowly through the dense mist, then speeding up when
a clear patch appeared. He stopped once or twice to
listen. The silence was complete, almost ominous. He
was confident he knew the way to the edge. Years before
he had been here on a clear sunlit day, had stood at the
edge. He was determined to repeat the experience. He took off the heavy coat which was hampering him, threw it over
his shoulders like a cloak.

He was moving more slowly now, not sure of where he
was. The mist ahead of him cleared suddenly. He had
paused and through the wide 'window' provided by the
sunlight he saw he was a dozen yards or so from the
edge. Beyond the sun glittered on the lake far below, on a fantastic panorama of the Vallee, way down, as seen from
a plane. He walked to within a few feet of the brink and
stared down the immense abyss, as he had done once
before long ago. The abyss was dropping vertically, sheer,
falling, falling, falling.

Suddenly the mist rolled round him, blotting out the
view. He was encircled by cloud, could see nothing of
the view, the drop. He was beginning to get confused
about direction. Stand perfectly still until the mist clears again, he told himself. Then he felt the knuckled hand in his back, perfectly positioned in the centre of his spine. Perfectly positioned to give one shove and he'd go over,
down and down the abyss. He had only a millisecond to
react. He spun round to his left, backing away from the
precipice. His left hand clenched in a fist and he struck
out with all his force. The thrust sailed into mist, hit
nothing solid. He backed slowly down the slope, away
from eternity. The mist cleared and a corridor of clarity
revealed the station well down the slope. His hands were
clammy, and not from the mist.

19

The mist continued to disperse. As he trudged down the
slope Tweed observed where everyone was. Over to his
right Roman Arbogast was padding down slowly. To
his left, a long way down, Black Jack was jogging at a
deliberate pace. Nearer, also to his left, Marienetta was
strolling down alongside Sophie. He saw her clasp Sophie's
hand. Sophie snatched her hand free, walked briskly, her head raised, her brown hair tied back in a ponytail. Her
attitude expressed both frustration and anger.

Lower down still Newman walked next to Paula, carry
ing out Tweed's command.
Tweed sucked in his breath,
glanced down at the overcoat thrown over his shoulders
like a cape. Its colour was very similar to the raincoat
he had given Paula and which she still wore over her shoulders. Like a cape.

Oh, my God, he thought. I wasn't the target at the brink
of the precipice. Seen as a blurred shape in the mist my
back view would look like Paula's.
She
was the target. Shall I tell her? She's gone through so much. The horror at Bray,
the second horror in Maine, her experience down on the
quai
when she recognized Abraham Scale. Her nightmares.
I'll talk it over with Newman first.

Then he saw someone he could hardly believe he was
seeing. Sam Snyder striding down the slope. He hadn't
seen him on the train, but the coach had been crammed.
And Snyder could have been hunched down in his seat.

Coming closer to the platform he saw Pete Nield standing
at one end of the train, Harry Butler at the other end. They had stayed behind to make sure the train wasn't sabotaged.
They rarely missed a trick.

'Didn't know you were with the party, Sam,' he said,
catching up with Snyder.

'I'm everywhere.' The hawk-like faced creased into its peculiar grin. 'That's my job. I've got some good shots
looking down that fearsome drop.' He patted the compact camera slung by his side. 'And one earlier which is worth
a packet if syndicated.'

'Which one is that?'

'A perfect shot of Professor Seale, headless in the body
bag. Just before a policeman shot out that TV light. It
really is a beaut.'

'Charming.'

'We're occupying the front coach going down,' Arbogast
called out in his throaty voice. 'It's cost enough to get up
here. Any shopping women who come aboard can use the
rear coach.'