knows. This changes everything, Nancy. It could be dangerous. I think I'd better leave you here for a few days. Go on to Berne alone. I'll call you daily...'
`Like hell you will! I've come to see Jesse and I won't be left behind. Why dangerous?'
`Sixth sense...'
He paused as a small man in a shabby coat and a Tyrolean hat walked past, glancing briefly inside the restaurant and away as he caught Newman looking at him. A titian-haired girl strolled past in the same direction. She wore a short fur coat, the collar pulled up at the neck, and clean blue jeans tucked inside her leather boots. Newman winked at her and she turned her head to stare ahead.
`You're starting early today,' Nancy observed. 'I saw that...'
Did you see the little man who was walking ahead of her?'
`No. Why?'
`Julius Nagy, a piece of Europe's drifting flotsam.' `Flotsam?' Nancy looked puzzled.
`One of the many losers who live on their wits, by their contacts, peddling information. He was at the airport last night. He followed us here in a cab. He could be responsible for that piece of dynamite...'
His finger tapped the Sommaire box and then he poured coffee and broke a hard roll, covering a piece with butter and marmalade. Nancy, her mind in a whirl, kept quiet for a few minutes, knowing he was always in a better mood when he'd had his breakfast.
`You're not going off on your own,' she told him eventually. 'So, what are we going to do together ?'
`Finish our breakfast. Then I'll decide...'
But by the time he'd swallowed his fourth cup of coffee, his orange juice and consumed two rolls, the decision was taken out of his hands.
Berne . Inside a large mansion in Elfenau, the district where the wealthy live, Bruno spread out the front page of the Journal de Genêve on an antique drum table. He studied the picture of Newman carefully.
`So they have arrived,' he said in French.
`We knew they were on the way, Bruno. The question is, will they pose a problem? If so, they will have to be dealt with — you will have to deal with them.'
The large man with tinted spectacles who stood in the shadows spoke with a soft, persuasive voice. The huge living-room was dark even in the morning. Partly due to the overcast sky — and partly because heavy net curtains killed what pallid illumination filtered from the outside world.
Bruno Kobler, a hard-looking man of forty, five feet ten tall, heavily built and in the peak of physical condition, glanced towards the massive silhouette. Light from the desk lamp glinted on the dark glasses. He was trying to gauge exactly what his employer had in mind. The man in the shadows continued speaking.
`I recall so well, Bruno, that when I was building up my chemical works it looked as though a rival might upset my calculations. I didn't wait to see what he would do. I acted first. We are on the eve of a total breakthrough with Terminal. I will allow nothing to stand in my way. Remember, we now have the support of the Gold Club.'
`So, I set up close surveillance on Newman and his woman?'
` You always come to the correct conclusion, Bruno. That is why I pay you so well …'
Arthur Beck of the Federal Police sat with the receiver to his ear, waiting while the operator at Geneva police headquarters put him on to Tripet. A copy of the Journal de Genêve lay in front of him. As he had anticipated, the momentum was accelerating. They were coming in. First Lee Foley, alleged detective with the CIDA, now Newman. Beck didn't believe in coincidences — not when events were moving towards a crisis. And this morning his chief had warned him.
`Beck, I'm not sure how much longer I'm going to be able to give you carte blanche . Very powerful interests are at work — trying to get me to take you off the case...'
`I'm getting to the bottom of this thing whatever happens,' Beck had replied.
`You can't fight the system...'
`You want to bet? Sir?'
Tripet came on the line and they exchanged brief courtesies. Beck then told the Geneva
`Like hell you will! I've come to see Jesse and I won't be left behind. Why dangerous?'
`Sixth sense...'
He paused as a small man in a shabby coat and a Tyrolean hat walked past, glancing briefly inside the restaurant and away as he caught Newman looking at him. A titian-haired girl strolled past in the same direction. She wore a short fur coat, the collar pulled up at the neck, and clean blue jeans tucked inside her leather boots. Newman winked at her and she turned her head to stare ahead.
`You're starting early today,' Nancy observed. 'I saw that...'
Did you see the little man who was walking ahead of her?'
`No. Why?'
`Julius Nagy, a piece of Europe's drifting flotsam.' `Flotsam?' Nancy looked puzzled.
`One of the many losers who live on their wits, by their contacts, peddling information. He was at the airport last night. He followed us here in a cab. He could be responsible for that piece of dynamite...'
His finger tapped the Sommaire box and then he poured coffee and broke a hard roll, covering a piece with butter and marmalade. Nancy, her mind in a whirl, kept quiet for a few minutes, knowing he was always in a better mood when he'd had his breakfast.
`You're not going off on your own,' she told him eventually. 'So, what are we going to do together ?'
`Finish our breakfast. Then I'll decide...'
But by the time he'd swallowed his fourth cup of coffee, his orange juice and consumed two rolls, the decision was taken out of his hands.
Berne . Inside a large mansion in Elfenau, the district where the wealthy live, Bruno spread out the front page of the Journal de Genêve on an antique drum table. He studied the picture of Newman carefully.
`So they have arrived,' he said in French.
`We knew they were on the way, Bruno. The question is, will they pose a problem? If so, they will have to be dealt with — you will have to deal with them.'
The large man with tinted spectacles who stood in the shadows spoke with a soft, persuasive voice. The huge living-room was dark even in the morning. Partly due to the overcast sky — and partly because heavy net curtains killed what pallid illumination filtered from the outside world.
Bruno Kobler, a hard-looking man of forty, five feet ten tall, heavily built and in the peak of physical condition, glanced towards the massive silhouette. Light from the desk lamp glinted on the dark glasses. He was trying to gauge exactly what his employer had in mind. The man in the shadows continued speaking.
`I recall so well, Bruno, that when I was building up my chemical works it looked as though a rival might upset my calculations. I didn't wait to see what he would do. I acted first. We are on the eve of a total breakthrough with Terminal. I will allow nothing to stand in my way. Remember, we now have the support of the Gold Club.'
`So, I set up close surveillance on Newman and his woman?'
` You always come to the correct conclusion, Bruno. That is why I pay you so well …'
Arthur Beck of the Federal Police sat with the receiver to his ear, waiting while the operator at Geneva police headquarters put him on to Tripet. A copy of the Journal de Genêve lay in front of him. As he had anticipated, the momentum was accelerating. They were coming in. First Lee Foley, alleged detective with the CIDA, now Newman. Beck didn't believe in coincidences — not when events were moving towards a crisis. And this morning his chief had warned him.
`Beck, I'm not sure how much longer I'm going to be able to give you carte blanche . Very powerful interests are at work — trying to get me to take you off the case...'
`I'm getting to the bottom of this thing whatever happens,' Beck had replied.
`You can't fight the system...'
`You want to bet? Sir?'
Tripet came on the line and they exchanged brief courtesies. Beck then told the Geneva
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