Vorpal Blade (37 page)

The police car which had been parked further down
Bahnhofstrasse cruised slowly towards Parade-platz, then parked by the kerb again, much closer. Luigi swore. They could not have spotted him.

Once he had broken into a police station in Berne when all the police had rushed off to answer an emergency call.
It had taken him no time to find Records, to extract his
file. He had been given the codename
Bull.
Presumably
short for Bullet. Which amused him. No name for him
in the file, no description of him, no data about his
nationality. Merely a list of assassinations credited to
Bull.
Three correct, the other five nothing to do with him.

He began wheeling his motorbike back down Bahnhofstrasse in the direction Paula was taking. It was quiet now
in the area.

The extremely low temperature had kept even the
winter-hardened Swiss off the streets. The elegant lady
shoppers had stayed at home. The workers were inside
their offices. An ideal situation for Luigi. Then it went
wrong.

Paula, who always reacted to her instinct, had the feeling
she was being followed. She had seen nothing suspicious,
but the instinct was strong. Her original destination had
been ACTIL headquarters. She hoped to find Roman
working there.

Now she paused on the kerb, looked to her right, then
her left. Wrong way round, idiot. You're on the Continent. She crossed the empty street, began walking back the way
she had come. Luigi just had time to change direction, to
start wheeling his machine back to Parade-platz. So she
didn't notice him.

Harry Butler, who had been more cautious, remained
where he was. Seated on his motorcycle he was out of sight
amid the muddle of trams converging on Parapade-platz,
most of them empty. Patiently he waited to see where Paula
had decided to go next.

Pete Nield had been alerted by her standing on the
kerb, looking the wrong way. He'd pull her leg about that mistake later. He had dodged into the large entrance to a shop, was studying the goods on display when she walked past.

Paula had her right hand inside her shoulder bag now,
gripping the Browning. She couldn't see anything to dis
turb her. Opposite Parade-platz she turned right, as though
returning to the bar. Walking past it, she continued down a
side street where a strange triangular-shaped church stood
to one side. Passing it, she knew she was entering the
Altstadt with its maze of streets.

Luigi grinned to himself. The perfect killing ground. No one would be about down
there in this weather. He wheeled his machine across the street. Too early to rev
up. Walking quickly, revelling in the stimulus of the biting
cold, Paula reached an open space. Behind she heard a
motorcycle's engine starting up. She looked back swiftly.
Something about the rider worried her. Luigi had already
grabbed the Glock pistol out of the pannier, shoved it down
the inside of his belt. A large truck, driving slowly from a
street to the right, was about to close off her exit.

The truck driver stopped, doffed his cap to the attract
ive lady, waved her on. She gave him a warm smile, a
brief wave, started to cross the wide open space. The
truck driver began moving forward, completely blocking
the exit.

Luigi swore. This would have been the perfect place.
Across the bridge over the river beyond the open space
was his flat. He waited impatiently, hoping he'd see which
route his target had taken. He was so absorbed he hardly
heard the motorcyclist approaching behind him. Harry
was suspicious. When Pete Nield appeared on the narrow
pavement beside him he fingered the machine ahead.

As the truck turned across the open space to cross the bridge Luigi saw Paula disappearing up the Schlussel-
Gasse, a narrow cobbled street leading into the heart of
the Altstadt. Perfect! He knew the area so well. She was
walking into a death-trap.

Paula knew the Schlussel-Gasse, had explored this area
on an earlier trip to Zurich. From here on the surface was
cobbled. She was glad she'd worn her rubber-soled boots. She was well inside the narrow alley when she heard the
machine coming at speed. Ahead of her the alley became
a steep slope fit for goats. At the top on the right she saw the Vetliner Keller, one of the best restaurants in the city
and where Tweed had said they would eat tonight. She
looked back, saw the rider crazily holding the handlebars
with one hand, something in the other. A gun. She dived
inside the entrance to a small shop. A bullet whistled past.
She had her Browning in both hands.

The assassin on the motorbike roared past. He'd heard
Harry coming behind him like a thunderbolt. Paula had
no chance to use the Browning. The machine had flashed past like a rocket. Now Luigi's motorcycle was wobbling
madly as he increased speed, ascending the cobbled slope.
At the top he entered a large square. He tried to turn with
the Glock aimed at his pursuer. Couldn't do it and keep
control of his machine. Harry was too close, gaining on
him every second.

He began racing round the square, enclosed by ancient
houses, one dated 1673, and a church on the far side. It
became a gladiatorial contest, both machines circling the
cobbled square, swaying, bumping up and down. Harry
was very close when Luigi changed direction. Near a wall,
he paused and turned his machine broadside on to use the
Glock. Mistake. Harry's machine hammered into Luigi's,
the front wheel slammed into it. The assassin's machine
was hurled back against the wall. Luigi, very nimble,
jumped off, ran just in time to avoid being killed by his
own machine. He scrambled over the wall, dropped out
of sight.

Paula appeared. Browning in her hand. Harry had come off his machine, was lying on the cobbles. She knew who it was - she'd recognized his crouched figure as he'd flashed by the shop where she had sheltered. Breathless from rushing up the slope, Paula forced herself to run to the prone Harry as Pete Nield arrived.

Harry had streaks of blood running down his face from a cut on his forehead. She bent over him, hauling out the
small first aid kit she always carried. Harry opened his
eyes, spoke.

'He . . . went over that wall . . . Get him . . .'

Paula handed the first-aid kit to Pete, knowing he was
without a weapon. She darted over to the wall, was careful
not to poke her head over. He might be waiting for that down below. When she peeked over she was surprised at the extent of the drop. She was more surprised to see no
body. Only an empty alley. She ran back to Harry.

'I think he's just dazed,' Pete told her.

He had already applied a plaster to the cut and was
wiping the last of the blood off Harry's face. Harry was
blinking regularly. Paula was worried that he was seriously
injured. She bent over him, spoke softly.

'How are you feeling, Harry? Pretty bruised?'

'Help me up.'

'I don't think that's a good idea,' she warned. 'Not until
a doctor's seen you.'

'Hate doctors . . .'

He pressed both hands on the ground, began to lift
himself up. Paula grabbed one arm, Pete the other as Harry
continued to heave himself up until he was standing. He
took one step forward, then another, pulling himself away
from them. He walked normally, swinging his arms, bend
ing his elbows, taking off his motoring gloves, stretching
his fingers.

'I'm OK. Would you recognize him again, Paula? See
him at the bottom of the wall?'

'No. He'd gone. And I wouldn't recognize him again.'

'Neither would I.'

He hauled his machine upright, sat in the saddle, pressed
the button. The engine ticked over normally. He shut it
down, turned round and grinned. The colour was coming
back into his round full face. He walked to the assassin's
machine, grinned again.

'The swine won't be riding this any more. Shot at you,
didn't he, Paula. Bastard.'

He looked down with satisfaction at the machine lying
against the wall. The handlebars were twisted at an
unnatural angle. The front wheel was torn loose, the saddle lay on the ground. Before they could stop him
he'd lifted his own machine off its strut, was wheeling it
towards the slope.

'Funny that no one has come out to see what had
happened,' Paula commented, staring round the deserted
square. 'I did see a net curtain twitch.'

'The Swiss believe in keeping out of harm's way,' Pete
replied. 'Sensible people.'

T could do with a drink,' Harry remarked.

'Water first,' Pete said firmly. 'Then maybe^a beer. We
can go to that bar where Snyder was first spotted.'

'Beer first,' Harry retorted, 'then water - for you to
drink.'

Both Paula and Pete were ready to grab Harry's arms
but he wheeled his machine down the bumpy slope con
fidently. At the bottom, in the open space, she gave them
the slip, walking down another street. She had deliberately
not asked what they had been doing so close to her. She
was off to interview her next 'client'. Roman Arbogast.

24

One contract Luigi had carried out had involved leaving the apartment of his target by a rope attached to a fifth-
floor window. Knowing this, he had practised in advance
over and again. He had first dropped from a height of
fifteen feet from the ground, letting go of the rope. After
several successful trials he had next dropped from twenty
feet, then thirty feet. He had immensely strong and supple
legs. They had served him well when he had gone over the
wall in the Altstadt in Zurich.

Now, by a devious route, he had returned to his apart
ment overlooking the Limmat. He was confident that when
he made his final attempt to kill Paula Grey he wouldn't
be recognized. During his first attempt he had worn his
crash helmet. Now he was making a radical change to his
appearance.

With coloured lotion he changed his red hair to black.
He was very thorough. Then he unlocked a wardrobe, the
contents of which would have surprised the very few people
who knew him in Italy.

He changed his underclothes, which no one would see,
but it made him feel more the part, wearing silk. He
put on an expensive starched white shirt, a black suit,
black socks, black shoes. A modest but expensive grey tie
looked right.

Picking up a pair of gold-rimmed spectacles - the lenses
of plain glass - he stood back and studied the impression
in a cheval glass. He was now Aldo Moldano, a Swiss
banker. He could walk into the Baur au Lac and no one would think him out of place.