Terminal. Part 25

I've just told you. He explained that as I was a foreigner I ought to tread carefully...' She glanced at Newman. '... that I should stick close to you from now on...'

'And just how did the Berne Clinic subject crop up?'

'No need to get piqued. He's a claims investigator for a big insurance company. It's weird, Bob - last month another American woman, a Hannah Stuart, died under similar circ.u.mstances to Mrs Laird. Why always women?'

'I've wondered that myself. Too many unanswered questions. And here we are. Brace yourself...'

They had arrived at the gatehouse to the Berne Clinic. But this time their reception was in surprising contrast to their previous visit. A man they had never seen before came out of the gatehouse, checked their pa.s.sports, gestured towards the gatehouse and the automatic gates opened.

No sign of a guard, a Doberman, as they proceeded up the drive across the bleak plateau. It always seemed more overcast, more oppressive at Thun than in Berne. Newman thought it could have something to do with the big mountains holding the cloud bank.

'Novak told me to park the car in the lot at the side of the main building,' Nancy remarked. 'And I don't get the same feeling of being watched this time...'

'Maybe with both Grange and Kobler being away the hired help has gone slack. Or maybe they just want to give us that impression. Nancy, park the car in fresh snow...'

'Anything you say. I'm only the b.l.o.o.d.y chauffeur...'

'And when you get out disturb the snow as little as possible.'

'Christ! Any more instructions?'

'I'll let you know when I think of some...'

Waldo Novak, his fair hair blowing in the wind, came out of the gla.s.sed-in verandah entrance and down the six steps to meet them. Alone. No sign of the come-hither Astrid.

'I'll take you straight in to see him,' Novak told Nancy as he shook her hand. He stepped back alongside Newman to let her go first and dropped his voice to a whisper. 'Newman, on your way out, ask Mrs Kennedy to go to the powder room. That will give me the chance to tell you something.'

There was a male receptionist behind the counter, a man who took no interest in them. No nonsense about filling in visitors' forms. The same business with Novak's computer card keys to let them into the corridor and then inside the room where Jesse Kennedy sat propped up in bed against several pillows.

'Hold everything a minute,' Newman warned.

Taking off his coat he hung it from the hook, sealing off the mirror window. From his jacket pocket he extracted a compact transistor radio he had purchased for the purpose. He switched it on low power to some music, bent down and placed it next to the wall grille. That neutralized the hidden tape-recorder. He straightened up.

'Go ahead...'

'I have not followed my instructions,' Novak informed them. 'Mr Kennedy is not sedated - but to cover me I'd appreciate it if he'd take this capsule just before you leave...'

We do understand - and thank you,' replied Nancy before she pulled up a chair and sat close to her grandfather. 'How are they treating you, Jesse?' She hugged him warmly, kissed him on both cheeks. 'Now tell me, do you really have leukaemia?'

'So they keep telling me. Including Novak here. Jesus H. Christ! I don't believe a word of it. You know some other poor woman was killed the other night? The cellular rejuvenation treatment didn't work is the story. She'd have died anyway they say. Poppyc.o.c.k! But I'm going to get to the guts of what's going on here - just like I did with that spy in Arizona ten years ago.' He chuckled. 'That CIA operative sure cleaned up that mess of ...'

'You mean you want to stay here awhile longer?' Nancy asked.

'Sure do. Didn't want to come in the first place - but now I'm here I'm going to clean up this mess. Just see if I don't. No need to worry about Novak. He's feeding everyone information so fast he's practically running his own wire service. Ain't that the truth, Novak? See, he's shy - don't like talking in front of strangers...'

It went on for another fifteen minutes. Nancy trying to persuade him to leave the Clinic. Jesse insisting he had to stay on to clean up the mess. Novak, clad in his uniform of white coat with stethoscope dangling from one hand, and Newman, listening in silence.

Suddenly Jesse, tired out by his unaccustomed burst of conversation, said he'd like to get some sleep. He took his capsule of sodium amytal, swallowed, opened his hand to show it was empty, winked at Newman and fell fast asleep.

Novak stood outside the Clinic in the snow, alone with Newman. Nancy had agreed to Newman's suggestion without a word of protest, asking the receptionist to show her the way to the powder room.

'Now,' Newman said, 'what is it you wanted to tell me? We'd better be quick - we may not have much time...'

'w.i.l.l.y Schaub, the head porter I told you about back in Thun. He's agreed to talk with you. I gave you his address in the Matte district. He'll see you at three in the afternoon tomorrow. He's got the day off and he knows more about this place than anyone...'

'Why has he agreed?'

'Money. Two thousand francs should turn the trick. Maybe a little less. He'll want cash - cheques can be traced through a bank. It's up to you, Newman. I've done my best. And I am leaving when I can. What do I tell Schaub?'

'That I'll meet him. One more question before Nancy arrives. All the patients in this place - just how ill are they?'

'We've got leukaemia, multiple sclerosis. You name it, we've got it. All the patients are - terminal ...'

Twenty-Seven.

Basle. About the same time when Newman and Nancy ended their second visit to the Berne Clinic, Bruno Kobler was sitting in his bedroom at the Hotel Terminus which faces the Hauptbahnhof at Basle. Kobler had flown to Basle and this hotel had been chosen because of its strategic position.

Manfred Seidler had been seen purchasing a ticket to Le Pont, the tiny town close to the edge of Lac de Joux in the Jura Mountains. Since then they had lost track of Seidler, which was unfortunate, but Kobler possessed almost the calm patience of Lee Foley when it came to waiting. He spoke to the short, stocky Emil Graf who stood by the window, waiting for a signal from Hugo Munz who was in charge of the team inside the Hauptbahnhof.

'Seidler has to show,' Kobler observed. 'I'm sure he has a rendezvous with someone at Le Pont. And we have more men waiting at the Hotel de is Truite...'

'I don't know Le Pont,' Graf replied. 'From the map it looks a G.o.dforsaken place...'

'It is - just the remote spot where Seidler will feel safe to meet whoever he's going to sell the sample he stole from us. And the Hotel de la Truite is near the station...'

'He must have arrived! Munz has just signalled.

Kobler was already opening the bedroom door, slipping into his astrakhan coat. He gestured towards the holdall bag on the bed to remind Graf not to forget it. Kobler had no intention of carrying the holdall, considering what it contained. Hired lackeys were paid to take such risks. Kobler would only lay his hands on the weapon when the time came to use it. He might not even have to use it at all - not when he had hired backup.

'He's boarded the two o'clock train,' Munz informed them as they hurried inside the huge station. 'Here are your tickets - and you'd better move...'

'It's Lausanne first,' Kobler guessed as he settled himself in his first-cla.s.s seat alongside Munz. Graf had boarded the coach where Seidler was seated.

Kobler studied the rail timetable he had brought with him. He nodded his head as the train glided out of the station, turning the pages as he checked connections, then he glanced at Munz who sat in a rigid posture.

'Relax. We have to wait until we get him on his own. It may be hours yet. We're doing a simple job - like cleaning up some garbage...'

He looked out of the window as the train picked up speed, moving through the suburbs. He was not sorry to leave - the city of Basle was hostile territory, the home base of Dr Max Nagel, the main opponent of the Gold Club. Kobler need not have worried. At that moment Nagel was aboard another train - bound for Berne.

Five coaches ahead Manfred Seidler was a bundle of nerves. He broke open a fresh pack, lit his forty-first cigarette of the day as he thought of the scene back in the flat before he had left.

Erika had rushed back from the office to make him a meal during her lunchtime break. It was during the meal that he had told her he was leaving. She had looked appalled.

'Do you have to? I could take a long lunch hour. Nagel has gone to Berne...'

'What for?' Not that he was really interested.

'It's queer. I had to make him a reservation at the Bellevue Palace. He's attending some Medical Congress reception. He's not even a doctor. And I've never seen him look grimmer - he's up to something...'

'Probably to tie up some deal which will net him another million or two. Erika, I may not be back till tomorrow - so don't start worrying...'

'You know I will - until I see you safe and sound again. Where are you going? What is it all about? I'm ent.i.tled to know something, surely?'

'Where doesn't matter,' he had told her. 'I'm going to meet that British foreign correspondent, Robert Newman. He can give me protection - by blowing Terminal wide open. No, don't ask me any more. And thanks for the meal ...'

Seated in the train he wished he had said more. He looked up at the rack where he had stored his two suitcases. One contained some of the newspapers Erika had brought him, the other the sample. It would be difficult for anyone to s.n.a.t.c.h two suitcases off him when he was walking along a platform. And they wouldn't know which case contained the sample. You had to think of little things like that.

Seidler stirred restlessly and took a deep drag on the cigarette. They had turned up the heating and he would dearly have liked to take off his jacket. But that was impossible. He was too aware of the 9-mm. Luger inside the spring-loaded holster under his left armpit.

Berne. Beck sat behind his desk in his office and looked at Gisela who had just taken the call. She put down the receiver and turned to speak to her chief.

That was Leupin. Newman and Dr Kennedy are just leaving the Berne Clinic. He spotted them through his binoculars and radioed in the information...'

'Thank you. Gisela, I want you to make reservations at the Bellevue Palace for three of our men. I want them there during that Medical Congress reception tomorrow. Professor Grange will be there. I may put in an appearance myself.'

'Things are coming to a head, aren't they?'

'Your instincts are usually good, Gisela. The one piece still missing is Manfred Seidler. The fox has gone to cover, but he has to surface. When he does I want to be there - before the military get him. Send out a fresh alert. Seidler must be found at all costs ...'

Newman infuriated Nancy when they had left Novak and were approaching the parked Citroen. She just wanted to get away from the place - she was so depressed by Jesse's att.i.tude.

'Let me check the car,' Newman warned. 'Wait here... 'Why in G.o.d's name!'

'To make sure no one has tampered with it.'

He looked for fresh footprints, for any sign that someone had been clever, using their own footprints still sculpted in the hard snow. He checked the bonnet where he had pressed a small amount of snow on arrival, snow which had frozen immediately at the point where the bonnet lifted. The snow was undisturbed. He unlocked the car and waved to Nancy to get into the pa.s.senger seat.

'I'm driving this time,' he informed her as he got behind the wheel and she flopped beside him.

'You don't like my driving?' she flared.

'Remember last time - the snowplough?'

'Maybe you're right. Why all the fuss about someone tampering with it?'

'In case they'd placed a bomb,' he told her brutally as he continued his policy of unnerving her.

'Jesus! You want a nervous wreck on your hands?'

They said nothing more to each other during the drive back to Berne which was uneventful. At the Bellevue Palace they had a late lunch in the coffee shop which was quiet so it was safe to talk freely. Nancy brought ,up the subject over their coffee.

'The next thing is Seidler?'

'That's right. Don't forget to pack the two overnight cases. I have an idea we're going to need them.

'Which was the first thing I was going to do. At least this time I'm permitted to accompany you..

'Nancy, do shut up...'

They spent the whole of the rest of the afternoon inside the bedroom in case Seidler phoned early. Newman had purchased a road map the previous day and he studied this while Nancy kicked off her shoes, lay on the bed and tried to sleep. She was certain she'd stay awake and the ringing of the phone jerked her back into consciousness with a start. Newman grabbed for the instrument, the map spread out on the other bed.

'Newman speaking...'

'This is Manfred Seidler. I am only going to say this one time...'

'You'll repeat it if I don't get it. Go on...'

'Le Pont, in the Juras, near Lac de Joux. You know it?' 'Yes...'

'We rendezvous at exactly nineteen twenty-eight hours. At the station. I will be on the train which arrives at nineteen twenty-eight...'

Tor Christ's sake, I'll never make it. Don't you realize it's five o'clock now?'

'If you are interested in the information I can provide - no details over the phone - bring two thousand Swiss francs in cash. Park your car a very short distance from the station - but out of sight. I shall be carrying two suitcases.'

'I need more time. There's snow in the Juras. The roads will be h.e.l.l...'

'Nineteen twenty-eight hours. And I won't wait. Are you coming or not?'

'I'm coming...'

There was a click at the other end of the line. Seidler had broken the connection. Newman replaced the receiver and checked his watch again. He examined the map quickly while Nancy leaned over his shoulder.

'Can we make it?' she asked.

'If we go this way we just might. He's cutting it b.l.o.o.d.y fine...'

His finger traced a route from Berne along motorway N12 down to Lake Geneva. The finger turned on to motorway N9 - roughly running parallel westward to the lake until it joined the third motorway, N1. At a place called Rolle, between Lausanne and Geneva, on the sh.o.r.e of the lake, Newman traced a route along a road winding up over the Juras and stopped at Le Pont.

'That's a long way round,' Nancy objected. 'It's two sides of a triangle...'

'It's also the only way we'll get there in time - by using the motorways. And I've driven up the section from Rolle, so I know the road. It will be diabolical when we get above the snow line. Come on, girl. I'll take the cases. Thank G.o.d I had the tank refilled on the way back from Thun ...'

They were waiting for the lift when Nancy told Newman to go ahead to the car and she'd follow. 'I've forgotten my purse,' she explained as the lift arrived and Newman, swearing, stepped inside.

Lausanne Gare. Seidler lugged the two suitcases out of the phone booth back on to the platform. He felt a sense of relief: Newman was coming. He hurriedly made his way to the restaurant where there would be plenty of people while he waited for his next train.

He was deliberately taking a roundabout route - to make sure he was not being followed. Now he had to wait for the Cisalpin Cisalpin, the Paris express which travelled non-stop to the frontier station at Vallorbe. From there he would back-track on the small local leaving Vallorbe at 19.09 and reaching Le Pont at 19.28.

Berne. 'Leupin calling, Chief. Newman has just left the hotel carrying two cases. He's putting them in the back of his car, the Citroen. Hold on, his fiancee has dashed out to join him...'