Vorpal Blade (23 page)

'You all stay where you are. This FBI man is on his own?'
he asked Monica. She nodded. 'Most unusual. They nearly
always travel in pairs. Ask him to come up.'

Paula stared at the door. She knew what to expect. A dour-faced man in a grey suit. The uniform. Instead a tall
man wearing a sand-coloured suit which matched his thick
tidy hair, walked in. Thirty-something, Paula thought he was good-looking. A good forehead, grey eyes beneath
sandy eyebrows, a strong nose and mouth, his smooth
face was creased in a gentle smile.

'Please sit down, Mr Danvers,' Tweed invited him, his
tone neutral.

'Hi, everyone.' The smile took in everyone. He had a
raincoat folded over his arm and Monica relieved him of
it. He sat down in an armchair, his movements lithe, gazed
across the desk.

'Mr Tweed, I assume?'

'You assume correctly. Just over from the the States?'

'No, sirree. I'm with the FBI detachment permanently
stationed at our Embassy. Been here six months so far.'

'I thought you were probably attached to the Vice-
President's staff.'

'I have shown him round your unique city, but not
any more.'

'Why not?'

'Mr Straub flew to Europe two days ago.'

'Whereabouts in Europe?' Tweed asked swiftly.

'No idea. He didn't say. So I didn't ask.'

'Of course not,' Tweed said cynically.

'I really have no idea where he flew to.' Danvers leant
forward to say this emphatically. He had caught the scep
ticism in Tweed's voice. 'He is his own man.'

'You know nothing about Europe, then?' Tweed continued brusquely.

'Actually, sir, I've travelled a lot in Europe. A great
continent.'

Tn that case he should have taken you with him. I doubt
he's ever been there before.'

'He hasn't.'

'Most curious. Why have you come to see me?'

'It's rather confidential.' He looked round at the crowded
room.

'Every single person in my office has worked with me
for a long time. They are trusted - highly trusted -
professionals. If you have anything to say you say it now
or I shall be obliged to ask you to leave.'

'They said you were tough . . .'

'Who did?'

'Folks at the Embassy. Only one man knows I've come
here to see you.'

'And that is?'

'The Ambassador.' He continued when Tweed just
stared at him. 'Could we relax, sir?' Danvers leaned for
ward again. 'The Ambassador is very concerned about
your sneak trip to Maine.'

'Sneak?
What the devil do you mean? If I have visited Maine it would have been under my own name. The word
verges on insulting.'

'I'm sorry, sir. I really am. The word was the Ambassa
dor's. I personally would never
have used the word. I am
truly sorry.'

Because she liked the look of Danvers Paula was feeling
sympathetic towards him. Tweed was being relentless,
firing questions like bullets. But it had been stupid to
use the word 'sneak'.

'Now we've sorted that out,' Tweed resumed in a genial
mood, 'what is it the Ambassador hoped you'd be able to tell him?'

'That you weren't involved in investigating the mur
der of Hank Foley, the caretaker brutally murdered in
Pinedale.'

'How could I be involved?' Tweed smiled. 'Pinedale
is in Maine? So how does this Ambassador think I can
investigate something which happened over two thousand
miles away when I'm sitting in London?'

'It does stretch the imagination.' Danvers glanced across
at Paula and he was smiling. 'And it's not like the Ambassa
dor to pry into British organizations,' he remarked, staring across the desk.

'Russell Straub has taken bodyguards with him on his
trip to the Continent?' Tweed enquired casually.

'No.' Danvers paused. 'Well, you've brought the subject up. He's travelled alone. Despite the protests of our secur
ity people. He's trawling the Continent to get acquainted
with the key people over there.'

'The beginning of his campaign to be the next Presi
dent?'

'Some people might say that. Thank you for your time,
sir. I think it's time I took my departure.'

'Paula,' Tweed called out, 'maybe you'd escort our guest
to the front door . . .'

Marler winked at Newman who was grinning, then
laughing so much he had to take out his handkerchief.

'Do share the joke,' Tweed suggested.

'You spotted Paula likes our American visitor - and Mr
Danvers was not averse to her charms. You manipulated
that, in the hope Danvers will sooner or later provide her
with valuable information about the inner workings of the
American Embassy.'

Paula returned before Tweed could reply. She closed
the door, stood in front of his desk, her arms folded. Her
expression was not friendly.

'Ed - Danvers - asked me to go out and have a drink
with him sometime.'

'Well . . .' Tweed was looking down at a file on his desk. 'He is well-mannered, has a pleasant personality,
is likeable.'

'I'm the bait,' she snapped. 'You hope I'll extract infor
mation from him about what goes on inside their Embassy.'
She was furious. 'You're a cunning old fox.'

'I object to the word old,' Tweed said mildly.

'I'm right. Damn it! Tell me to my face. Am I right?'

He looked up, stared straight at her. 'You hit the bull's-
eye.' His voice was serious. 'You don't ever have to meet
Danvers for drinks if you don't want to. But his visit
told us a lot. The Ambassador doesn't normally pry into a British organization. So he was asked to. By whom?
I've no doubt the instigator of Danvers's visit came from the Vice-President pressuring the Ambassador before he
flew to Europe. And why has Russell Straub flown to the Continent alone? Not just to show the flag. If that
was the reason he could have taken a dozen bodyguards
with him.'

'Pm sorry I blew my top,' Paula replied, then went to her
desk. 'But I'm feeling sort of jittery from two days ago. It's
silly, but I wish I could pinpoint what triggered it off.'

'Don't worry about it,' Tweed told her gently. 'We did
have a lot of people and incidents of an unpleasant nature
crammed into those two days.'

He sighed as the phone rang again. Monica answered
it, then called across urgently to Tweed.

'Chief Inspector Arthur Beck of the Swiss Federal Police wants to talk to you. He sounded very serious and in a great
rush. I think something has happened.'

14

'A third headless body has been found, at Montreux.'

Tweed had spent several minutes on the phone with
his old friend Arthur Beck. He had asked the occasional
question, which Paula had attempted without success to fit into a conversation. Now she was stunned by what Tweed
had announced. Everyone in the office was silent. Paula
was the first to break the heavy silence.

'In Switzerland now. First in Maine, then out at Bray.
And now Switzerland. The geographical span is enormous.
Whose body is it?'

'No identification yet. Beck was talking quickly so I only
got a fragmented picture. I gather the body was found at
the edge of the lake. Something about a pick-boat.'

'Could it have been
pic-bot?
'
suggested Paula, who was
fluent in French.

'Yes, it did sound like that.'

'Then I saw it once when I was in Montreux. It's like a
large barge without a deck. It has sloping sides descending
to the base. Two men were using it to claw out of the lake debris which had floated in. Branches of trees, leaves, all
kinds of rubbish. They had
tools like huge rakes to haul
it aboard.'

'So the serial murderer is operating on different conti
nents,' Newman commented.

'I'm sure,' Tweed said grimly, 'this is not the work of a
random serial killer. There is a link between the victims.

And until the corpse is identified it may have nothing to
do with Maine and Bray. Beck keeps up with worldwide
crime, mentioned both Maine and Bray. He wants us to
fly out today.' He looked at Monica. 'Could we catch a
flight to Geneva this evening? Beck said he'd have a limo
meet us, drive us to Montreux.'

'Yes you could.' Monica carried timetables in her head.
'But I'd have to get cracking now. So would you - packing.
How many people?'

'Everyone in this room. The complete team. Travelling
under their real names.' He looked round his office. 'It
may be cold so pack warm clothes.'

'It's freezing,' Paula said. 'Winter has started early out
there. Snow has fallen on the peaks. Very early indeed.'

'My case is packed, the one for emergencies such as this.'
He gestured towards a large corner cupboard. 'What about
yours, Paula?'

'Ready. In the same cupboard. So is yours, isn't it,
Bob?'

'My skiing clothes are in my case, also in that cupboard,
so I'll be OK.'

'I won't,' interjected Marler. 'I'll have to dash home. I
wonder how long we've got?'

He waited while Monica continued to talk like a machine-
gun to the girl at Heathrow. When she had completed
her long conversation she held up one thumb, looked at
Tweed.

'You're booked on an evening flight. All of you. Hadn't
I better phone Beck to give him flight data if he's sending
transport to meet you at Geneva?'

'That's the next thing to do.' He walked to her desk,
gave her a slip of paper with Beck's number. 'How long
have we?'

'Three hours to be back here and ready to go. I'll book cabs. Taking cars and parking at Heathrow in Long Stay
will hold you up.'

'Three hours?' Marler repeated. 'I'm off.'