by Colin Forbes
'I'm just here on business.' He stood up. 'Must go now . . .'
Newman had been studying their guest. He waited until he had left the Condi.
'That was very odd. The way he spoke it was almost as though he was giving us orders. I didn't like it.'
'I didn't like him,' Lisa said. 'Back at Barford Hall down in Sussex he was the soul of courtesy. He's like Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde. Today Mr Hyde was in control. I'd been in the lounge when I saw you coming in and joined you for lunch. It's sweltering. I'm going up to my room for a shower. Thank you for the lunch - and your company . . .'
'Changing the subject,' Paula began, 'at least Rondel's partner didn't urge us to leave town. Just the opposite, he suggested you must meet again, didn't he, Tweed?'
'Yes, he did. I'm wondering why Mrs France wants to see me. Milo told me she was his chief accountant.'
'Milo?' Paula queried. 'That's the second time you've used that weird name.'
'It's what Rondel's partner suggested I call him.'
'Sounds Balkan,' Newman commented.
'He did say he was from Slovenia. Remote country.'
'And difficult to check someone out coming from there. You think he could be Rhinoceros?'
'My best bet for Rhinoceros is the Brig,' Paula suggested.
* * *
Gavin Thunder had arrived inside his suite at the Atlantic. Earlier, after disembarking from the flight, he had slipped into a lavatory, locked himself in a cubicle, and removed the skullcap and eyepatch. He had then walked through Passport Control, had stuffed the skullcap and the eyepatch in a rubbish bin. He had never appeared on German TV, nor had his picture been printed in the newspapers, so recognition was unlikely.
He took a taxi to the Atlantic Hotel, registered as A. Charles, was escorted to his suite. Once alone, he checked the time. His visitor should arrive soon. He poured himself a stiff Scotch from the drinks cabinet, looked round, decided that he would dominate the discussion best if he sat in a high-backed chair behind an antique escritoire.
He then decided he would dress in a more formal lightweight suit to emphasize who was in control. He moved quickly, remembered to attach the reverse letter 'E' symbol to the inside of the jacket's lapel. He had just sat down again when there was a heavy hammering on the door. He called out.
'Come.'
Oskar Vernon entered, wearing an orange shirt and a fawn suit. The fact that he wore his jacket unbuttoned at the front emphasized his weight. Thunder stared at his outfit as his visitor closed the door, then surveyed the suite.
'You're pretty conspicuous in that wild shirt,' Thunder observed critically.
'Ah! It is a double bluff. Staying in a hotel, people see me at first. But soon they get used to the sight and I am hardly noticed. A matter of psychology.'
'Sit down, then. We haven't got all day.'
'We have indeed got all the rest of the day if we needed it.'
Oskar was not a man easily intimidated. He had already noticed how Thunder had positioned himself. He was invited to sit in a low chair placed in front of the desk. He selected another high-backed chair from against the wall, carted it over, shoving the lower chair aside. Sitting down he crossed his long fat legs, gave a beaming smile.
'The problem.' Oskar announced, 'is Tweed. He is here and has based himself in the Four Seasons Hotel, roughly a mile closer in to the city . . .'
'I know that,' Thunder interrupted. 'Delgado phoned me at my home. We have to deal with him - permanently and immediately. We must make preparations . . .'
'They are already in the process of being made.' Oskar's tone was lofty. 'To eliminate him and his team.'
'How many in the team?' Thunder snapped, feeling he was losing control.
'That we don't know, have no idea. But Delgado has twenty men, which should be more than enough to do the job.'
'I would certainly hope so.'
'It will be simple and easy,' Oskar assured him.
'You think so?' Thunder leaned across his desk, lost control. 'Now listen to me, you complacent buffoon. Tweed is very clever, very experienced, very dangerous.' He raised his voice. 'So you make damned sure he doesn't come back alive.'
'You are tense,' Oskar replied calmly. He folded his arms over his ample chest. 'Tension causes a man - or a woman - to make bad mistakes. You must remain calm. Incidentally, they may never find the bodies.'
'That would be the best solution.'
'I thought you would like that.' Oskar gave his beaming smile again. 'And you will never again insult me by using that word "buffoon". Never! You have understood that?'
'I heard you.' Inwardly Thunder was struggling for control. He had to remember he was not back home now. 'So now can we talk about the arrangements?'
289'I was just about to explain them. You stay in this hotel at all times. You do not go outside. You will travel to your destination, the island of Sylt, by helicopter ..."
'I never travel in them.'
'You will this time. Or you will not go. It is a large machine which will fly from a remote part of the airport. A taxi will call for you. The driver's name is Thomas. The other four members . . .'
Oskar paused and Thunder was appalled. Surely Oskar wouldn't know about the Elite Club, about who belonged to it?
'Members?' Thunder croaked.
"The other four members of the party will arrive in separate taxis close to the machine. It will fly you to a secret airfield close to Sylt. From there you will board a train which will take you across the embankment to your rendezvous. It could be tomorrow or the day after.'
Oskar stood up, straightened his jacket. Then he replaced his high-backed chair by the wall and put the small chair in front of the desk.
'Is that all?' asked Thunder.
'Isn't it enough?' Oskar enquired and left the suite.
CHAPTER 26
Tweed had just returned to his suite with Paula and Newman when someone hammered on the door non-stop. Newman waved the other two back, approached the door with the Smith & Wesson by his side. He opened the door a few inches, then wide.
Pete Nield walked in. He was his normal cool self but Tweed noticed he was fingering his small moustache. That, added to the urgent hammering, told him Nield was excited.
'Take a seat, Pete,' Tweed suggested. 'Relax.'
'Like a glass of nice cold water?' Paula asked him.
'Thanks. Yes, I would. I'm dry as the Sahara.'
He drank the whole glass in two swallows, accepted a refill. He leant back against the couch and grinned.
'I have a little news to report.'
'Now why did I get that idea?' Tweed chaffed him.
'Gavin Thunder has arrived in Hamburg. He's staying at the Atlantic.'
There was a short silence. Newman folded his arms, standing up. Paula sat on a couch, curled her legs underneath her, whistled.
'In a double-length stretch limo,' she said. 'With a flare of trumpets and a band playing.'
'Don't you believe it,' Nield told her. 'He sneaked in like a thief in the night. Comes in an ordinary taxi. Must have paid the driver as the cab was nearing the hotel. Leaves the porter to get his bag, hustles up the steps and he's out of sight.'
'Sure it was him?' queried Newman.
'Bet my pension on it. I was parked in the Opel not far from the hotel entrance. But far enough back to use binoculars. It was him. I've seen him often enough blasting away at an interviewer on TV. Now I'd better get back there — see who else turns up.'
'You've done well,' Tweed said. 'Yes, go back, keep checking.'
'Well, that's some development,' Paula commented.
'The eagles gather,' Tweed said, half to himself, standing on the balcony, gazing into space.
Less than a minute later there was a gentle tapping on the door. When Newman opened it Lisa walked in very quickly. She was holding a folded sheet of paper in her hand.
'You'll never guess what I found slipped under my door. It could have been there a little while. I spent ages in the
shower. Here it is.'
She handed Tweed the piece of paper. He unfolded it, took his time studying it. Nothing in his face showed what his reaction was to the contents. They were typed.
Drive to Flensburg tomorrow. You will find important information waiting for you there. Very urgent. Lisa.
He handed it to Paula. While she was reading it Lisa was walking back and forth, couldn't keep still.
'The only thing wrong with that message,' she said, 'is I didn't write it. So why has someone put my name on it?'
'Maybe because the sender doesn't like you,' Tweed suggested. 'But the interesting point is it was typed on the same machine as the earlier message inviting us to assemble at the Turm. The letter "i" jumps on both typed messages.'
'It's a trap,' said Paula, who had handed the paper to Newman.
'Oh, it's a trap all right.' agreed Tweed as he took a map from a drawer. 'If I remember from a trip I made quite a few years ago, the direct route up through Schleswig-Holstein is along autobahn No. 7. Yes, I'm right, it is. And, I have a good memory for routes I've driven along in the past. I can see a lot of it in my mind. The A7 to Flensburg is a very lonely route. Mile upon mile of farmland and nothing else except for the odd dwelling all on its own.'
'Ideal country for an ambush,' Newman observed.
'It is that. But that could be turned to our advantage.'
'You do believe,' Lisa began nervously, 'that message is nothing to do with me?'
'Of course we do,' Tweed said with a smile.
'Then I think I'll go back to my room. I threw on clothes to bring that to you. I need to get dressed properly.' She hesitated. 'I can have dinner with you tonight?'
'Let's make sure nothing else develops. Keep in touch. . .'
Paula, again on a couch with her legs curled under her, was trying to make up her mind. I can't keep this back any longer., she decided.
'Now Lisa's gone I have something you ought to know . . .'
They listened in silence as she described her visit to Lisa's room, how she had answered the phone. The voice which had said 'Oskar' before she had broken the connection.
'And,' she concluded, 'while she was here we let slip the idea that maybe we could plan an ambush.'
Tuts a different complexion on a lot of things,' Newman commented grimly. 'We have a spy who knows too much about us.'
The huge underground room, beneath an unoccupied warehouse and alongside the river Elbe, had twenty men of varying nationalities assembled. It was a bleak chamber with an ancient roof constructed of giant beams. The floor was paved with old stones, the sound of seeping water added to the unsettling atmosphere. The water was trickling in between gaps in a massive stone wall which looked as though it had stood there for a hundred years. An uneasy feeling was apparent among the villainous occupants. Perched on a heavy wooden crate Delgado watched them, keeping them in suspense deliberately. Barton broke the eerie silence.
'Don't like this place. Supposing that wall breaks?'
'We drown.'
Delgado grinned wolfishly as he saw Barton's expression. As a method of controlling his brutal gang he was enjoying it. Despite their weird appearance - Slovaks, Croats and men from other parts of the world most Westerners had never heard of - they had all been well trained in the use of weapons. All had been given large sums of money and promised more when they had accomplished the massacre.
'Tomorrow,' Delgado said, 'we do it. Here.'
He pointed with a long thick finger to the map of Schleswig-Holstein pinned to a blackboard beside him. He was pointing to the autobahn which eventually led to Flensburg. Then he glared at Barton and Panko.
'You have the trucks?'
He was referring to four Discovery Land Rovers, vehicles capable of traversing almost any kind of territory.
'They're in the garage you hired,' Barton said sullenly.
'How we know they go up autobahn?' demanded the frisky Panko.
'Is quickest way. They will go.'
'What do we do to them?' Barton asked. 'Like the Turm?'
He was being sarcastic, recalling the fiasco. Delgado could have smashed his face in. He breathed heavily and then told them.
'We kill all Tweed men. Kill. Kill. Kill. OK?'
There was a growl of approval from the men assembled below him, a growl like that of predatory animals. Several raised their hands in a clawlike gesture.
'What wrong with you. Barton?' Delgado demanded, glaring at his target.
'People outside may hear us.'
'You think this?' Delgado gave his wolfish grin again. 'I ask you, clever Barton. You hear ships' sirens?'
'No.'
'Beyond that wall river Elbe. Ships moving all time. Using sirens. You do not hear? They do not hear us. Idiot!'
Delgado paused. 'Now, tomorrow, this we do . . .'
It was evening when Tweed summoned Marler, Butler and Nield to his suite where they joined Paula and Newman. In his shirt sleeves with the windows wide open, Tweed had the map of Schleswig-Holstein spread out on a large table.
'We've had a mysterious invitation to visit Flensburg tomorrow,' he explained. 'It is a trap. We will walk into their trap. Marler, you will be in charge of the operation to destroy our attackers once and for all. To use a certain phrase, we take no prisoners.'
Paula was startled. She had never heard Tweed issue such an order before. She looked at him as he stood, crouched over the map, arms wide spread. His mood was one of deadly and controlled determination.
'We drive up,' Tweed continued, 'in the cream Mercedes which the enemy has now become accustomed to seeing us use. All except you, Harry. You will leave half an hour later, after we have gone, driving after us up the A7. In the blue Mercedes. You will carry one of the advanced mobile phones - so you can contact Marler if you see something he should know about. You are our distant rearguard.'
'We drive up this direct route, then?' Marler queried. His finger traced the autobahn from the northern outskirts of Hamburg all the way to Flensburg in the far north.
'That's the route.'
'So the distance from here to Flensburg is . . .'
'One hundred and eighty kilometres,' Tweed replied. 'Driving at normal speed, not like a bat out of hell, it takes about two hours to reach Flensburg.'
'Traffic. How much of it?' Marler wanted to know.
'Hardly any - even at this time of year - once we've left Hamburg and its suburbs behind. It's lonely and pretty much deserted.'
'We'll hope they follow us in some kind of convoy. They'll then overtake Harry in his blue Merc and he can warn us they're coming. But they may not do that. They may instead set up an ambush ahead of us.'
I'll be driving,' Newman remarked.
'If you run into an ambush,' Marler ordered, 'you reverse like mad. If there's a wood close by you back into that. We all then abandon the car toute-de-suite.'
'Weapons?' queried Newman.
'Everyone will carry grenades, the more deadly type, tear-gas canisters, automatic rifles, handguns and then there are the three Uzis. One for you, Newman, another for Nield and I'll take the third.'
'I'd like an Uzi,' Harry piped up. 'I'll be coming up behind you, may get there in time to take them in the rear.'
'Agreed. You can have mine. Now, tactics . . .'
It was almost dark when everyone had left the room except for Tweed and Paula. Butler and Nield were going to fetch the rest of the armament to conceal it in the blue Mercedes. Paula checked her watch.
'Doesn't look as though Mrs France is coming. She was due hours ago.'
'She may have been delayed — or not be coming at all. If she does turn up I've warned Keith about her. I shall bring her in at a certain stage - to make sure she isn't fooling us.'
'It struck me Marler has a good grasp of strategy. When he wanted to know the geography of the land on the way to Flensburg and you said flat as a billiard table. He seemed to be happy about that.'
'Because he realizes we shall be fighting a peasant ar
my - even though well-trained. But trained in the mountains of the Balkans or the Tatra Mountains in Slovakia. They are accustomed to having rocks to shoot from behind, very rough country. Exposed out in the open, their training may well be useless.' He paused. 'How do you feel about it?'
'Excited. Now don't worry. I'll be as cold as ice when it really starts. We could have done with Mark Wendover,' she added sorrowfully.
'I talked to Cord Dillon in America when I was alone. He was appalled. But the grim arrangements have to be made. I've also spoken to Kuhlmann. Now the autopsy has taken place, Kuhlmann is arranging for the body to be flown back to the States. Dillon will meet the flight at Dulles Airport.'
The phone rang. Paula answered, then called out to Tweed.
'It's Mrs France. She's downstairs in the lobby. So I've asked her to come up. I'll go and fetch her . . .'
Mrs France entered in her usual fuddle, grasping a folder under her arm. She was waving her hands about and wore a floral dress.
'Oh, Mr Tweed! How can I apologize enough? I am so very sorry to be so late. Quite dreadful behaviour. But I had no choice. Rondel gave me some work which he insisted I should deal with at once. I told him I was going shopping but he said I could go to a late-opening store. Will you ever forgive me?'