chief inspector what he wanted, how to handle it with finesse . As the conversation proceeded he detected a note of worry in Tripet's manner. He's unsure of his position, Beck judged.
`Between you and me, Tripet, this comes right from the top. And that's just between you and me. I just hope you can pick him up before he leaves town. You know where he's staying. Call him, send over a car right away if you'd sooner handle it that way. I leave it to you, but do it, Tripet...'
Beck replaced the receiver and picked up the paper, studying the photograph. He was going to need all the help he could muster — even unorthodox help. If it came to the crunch the press was one thing they couldn't muzzle. Yes, he needed allies. His face tightened. Christ! He wasn't going to let the bastards get away with it just because they had half the money in the western world.
Basle . Erika Stahel closed her apartment door and leaned her back against it for a moment, clutching the armful of newspapers. Seidler guessed she had been running as he looked up from the table. Her face was flushed an even higher colour than usual.
`We've time for another cup of coffee before I go to work,' she told him.
`That would be nice...'
She placed the papers in a neat pile on the table. She was such a tidy, orderly girl, he reflected. It would be marvellous to settle down with her for ever. She danced off into the kitchen, expressing her joy that he was back. He could hear her humming a small tune while she prepared the coffee. He opened the first paper.
`You cleared the table for me,' she called out. 'Thank you, Manfred. You're getting quite domesticated. Do you mind?'
`It could become a habit...'
`Why not?' she responded gaily.
The moment she returned to the living-room she sensed a major change in the atmosphere. Sitting in his shirt-sleeves, Seidler was staring at the front page of the Journal de Genêve . She placed his cup of black coffee within reach — he never took sugar or milk and drank litres of the stuff, another indication that he was living on his nerves. She stood close to his shoulder, peering over it.
`Something wrong?'
`My lifeline. Maybe...'
He took the gold, felt-tipped pen she had given him and used it to circle the box headed Sommaire . She was so generous — God knew how much of her month's salary she had squandered on the pen. He'd have liked to go out and buy her something. He had the money. But it meant going out ….'
`Robert Newman,' she read out and sipped coffee. 'The Kruger case. Newman was the reporter who tracked his bank account to Basle. We still don't know how he managed that. Why is he so important?'
`Because, Erika...' He wrapped an arm round her slim waist, 'he's such an independent bastard. No vested interest in the world can buy him once he gets his teeth into a story. No one can stop him.'
`You know this Newman?'
`Unfortunately, no. But I can reach him. You see it even says where he's staying. I'd better call him — but I'll use that public phone box just down the street...'
`You didn't want to be seen outside...'
`It's worth the risk. I have to do something. Newman might even be working on the Gold Club story. Terminal...'
`Manfred!' There was surprise, a hint of hurt in her voice. `When I told you about that you gave me the impression you'd never heard of either the Gold Club or Terminal.'
He looked uncomfortable. Taking the cup of coffee out of her hand he hauled her on to his lap. She really weighed nothing at all. He stared straight at her. He was about to break the habit of a lifetime — to trust another human being.
`It was for your own protection. That's God's truth. Don't ask me any more — knowledge can kill you when such ruthless and powerful forces are involved. Whatever happens, say nothing to Nagel, your boss...'
`I wouldn't dream of it. Can't you go to the police?' she asked for the third time, then desisted as she caught his look of fear, near-desperation. She saw the time by his
`Between you and me, Tripet, this comes right from the top. And that's just between you and me. I just hope you can pick him up before he leaves town. You know where he's staying. Call him, send over a car right away if you'd sooner handle it that way. I leave it to you, but do it, Tripet...'
Beck replaced the receiver and picked up the paper, studying the photograph. He was going to need all the help he could muster — even unorthodox help. If it came to the crunch the press was one thing they couldn't muzzle. Yes, he needed allies. His face tightened. Christ! He wasn't going to let the bastards get away with it just because they had half the money in the western world.
Basle . Erika Stahel closed her apartment door and leaned her back against it for a moment, clutching the armful of newspapers. Seidler guessed she had been running as he looked up from the table. Her face was flushed an even higher colour than usual.
`We've time for another cup of coffee before I go to work,' she told him.
`That would be nice...'
She placed the papers in a neat pile on the table. She was such a tidy, orderly girl, he reflected. It would be marvellous to settle down with her for ever. She danced off into the kitchen, expressing her joy that he was back. He could hear her humming a small tune while she prepared the coffee. He opened the first paper.
`You cleared the table for me,' she called out. 'Thank you, Manfred. You're getting quite domesticated. Do you mind?'
`It could become a habit...'
`Why not?' she responded gaily.
The moment she returned to the living-room she sensed a major change in the atmosphere. Sitting in his shirt-sleeves, Seidler was staring at the front page of the Journal de Genêve . She placed his cup of black coffee within reach — he never took sugar or milk and drank litres of the stuff, another indication that he was living on his nerves. She stood close to his shoulder, peering over it.
`Something wrong?'
`My lifeline. Maybe...'
He took the gold, felt-tipped pen she had given him and used it to circle the box headed Sommaire . She was so generous — God knew how much of her month's salary she had squandered on the pen. He'd have liked to go out and buy her something. He had the money. But it meant going out ….'
`Robert Newman,' she read out and sipped coffee. 'The Kruger case. Newman was the reporter who tracked his bank account to Basle. We still don't know how he managed that. Why is he so important?'
`Because, Erika...' He wrapped an arm round her slim waist, 'he's such an independent bastard. No vested interest in the world can buy him once he gets his teeth into a story. No one can stop him.'
`You know this Newman?'
`Unfortunately, no. But I can reach him. You see it even says where he's staying. I'd better call him — but I'll use that public phone box just down the street...'
`You didn't want to be seen outside...'
`It's worth the risk. I have to do something. Newman might even be working on the Gold Club story. Terminal...'
`Manfred!' There was surprise, a hint of hurt in her voice. `When I told you about that you gave me the impression you'd never heard of either the Gold Club or Terminal.'
He looked uncomfortable. Taking the cup of coffee out of her hand he hauled her on to his lap. She really weighed nothing at all. He stared straight at her. He was about to break the habit of a lifetime — to trust another human being.
`It was for your own protection. That's God's truth. Don't ask me any more — knowledge can kill you when such ruthless and powerful forces are involved. Whatever happens, say nothing to Nagel, your boss...'
`I wouldn't dream of it. Can't you go to the police?' she asked for the third time, then desisted as she caught his look of fear, near-desperation. She saw the time by his
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