Rhinoceros tac-18

by Colin Forbes

  'Oh, I see.' Rondel chuckled. 'Yes, I am sure there is a lot of that about these days.' He looked across at Paula as the soup was arriving. 'You ride as well as you can handle a gun, Paula?'

  'What makes you think I can handle a gun, Victor?'

  Secretly, Newman gave her top marks for swift verbal reflexes. The question had been thrown at her without warning.

  'The answer to that is simple.' Rondel smiled very warmly. 'It is part of our business to know things about key people on this planet. Information is more valuable than diamonds.'

  'I didn't know I was a key person,' she fenced.

  'But you are the close and confidential assistant to Mr Tweed. Need I say more?'

  'You can if you wish to. I'm fascinated.'

  Top marks to you again, Paula, Newman thought to himself. He's clever but you're more than a match for him.

  Paula began to drink her soup. She looked across at Rondel, raised her eyebrows, inviting him to take the conversation further. He grinned, shook his head in a 'You win' gesture.

  'It's gone very quiet,' said Tweed, then sipped more soup.

  'I might be on firmer ground,' Rondel began, 'if we discussed the state of the world. We've heard rumours that far bigger riots are being planned in the near future to take place all over the West.'

  'Lots of rumours floating around all the time,' Tweed commented.

  'We have very good contacts,' Rondel insisted amiably.

  'Did these very good contacts warn you about the imminent murder of Jason Schulz in Washington, then of Jeremy Mordaunt down in Alfriston?'

  'No, they didn't. But you know what America is like -people are getting shot almost every day over there.'

  'And in Europe. So what's next on the agenda, to use an ugly word?'

  'Chaos, if much larger riots do take place.'

  'And then?' Tweed enquired.

  'We all go and live in Nepal.'

  Tweed had glanced down at the table below them. Rondel's partner had perched a pair of gold-rimmed spectacles on the bridge of his nose. He was checking the bill. Without looking up he made a gesture towards Tweed's table, signed, sat back while the waiter took the bill away.

  'My partner would like to meet you tomorrow at his house on the way to Blankenese,' Rondel said suddenly, he took out a notebook, scribbled with a gold pen, tore out the sheet, handed it to Tweed.

  'There is the address. It's on the right-hand side as you head for Blankenese. The timing is of your choice. At your convenience. But my partner is anxious to meet you.*

  'Eleven o'clock tomorrow morning any good?'

  'Agreed. Splendid. I'm sure my partner will be pleased. And Paula and Bob Newman would be most welcome to accompany you.'

  Paula glanced down at the table below them. The chair previously occupied by the man equipped with gold-rimmed glasses was empty. He had gone, like a ghost at daybreak.

  'Before I leave,' Rondel said as he stood up, 'I want to say how much I have enjoyed the company of everyone at this table.' He held out his hand, leaning across to Paula. 'Maybe we can find some activity we have in common. Like ping-pong.'

  'I'll murder you,' Paula replied with a smile.

  'There have been too many murders already,' Tweed said.

  Rondel shook Tweed's hand, squeezed Newman's shoulder as he passed him, then he also was gone.

  'Don't discuss anything while we're in this place,' warned Tweed.

  They were outside the Fischereihafen, about to get into a waiting taxi, when Marler appeared, took Tweed aside, spoke softly.

  'Damnit, he's done it again. Mark Wendover. Gone off on his own.'

  'Did he say where he was off to?'

  'Yes. Four Seasons. He'd got an idea in his head that Keith Kent needed guarding. I suppose he had a point – with Kent working on those papers. But he didn't ask me – he told me. Said he knew you'd agree, so I didn't argue.'

  'How long ago since he pushed off?'

  'Very soon after you entered the restaurant.'

  I'll have a word with him. The last thing Keith will want while he studies what I gave him is a bodyguard hanging round his neck…'

  During the journey back no one spoke, probably because Tweed had earlier warned them to keep quiet. At that hour Elbstrasse was deserted but there was a moon. By its illumination the towering cranes seemed to Paula even more menacing. She found her eyes drawn to look up at No. 23. The police tape still closed off the house and a uniformed officer stood in front of it. Much good that would do now.

  They were very close to the hotel, proceeding up Neuer Jungfernstieg, when Tweed noticed that a section of the pavement on the hotel side was cordoned off with police tape. Patrol cars, their blue lights flashing, were parked opposite the hotel. He had an awful premonition.

  'Wait for me,' he told the others while he paid the driver.

  He sprinted up the steps, followed closely by Paula and Newman. Heading for the elevators, he saw a familiar figure seated in a chair at the back of the lounge. Otto Kuhlmann had a uniformed police sergeant by his side.

  An elevator was waiting, its doors open. Kuhlmann jumped up. As they entered the elevator the German slipped in behind them, waited until the doors had closed. His tone of voice was as grim as his expression.

  'Your suite. I'd like everyone to join me there.'

  'What has happened?' Newman asked.

  Kuhlmann didn't reply. Instead he stared up at the ceiling of the elevator. When they entered the suite Tweed waved the German towards a sofa but instead he sat in an upholstered chair, waited until everyone was seated.

  'I fear this may come as a shock to you, but I always come straight out with it. I believe you know Mark Wendover, an American. He was shot dead outside the hotel. With a rifle. Explosive bullet.'

  'Oh, no!'

  Paula covered her face with her hands. Tweed poured a glass of water, held it for her while she drank, trembling. She looked up at him gratefully after a short time, took hold of his sleeve. He smiled down at her, refilled the empty glass she held out with her other hand. She drank more, then spoke.

  'He was such a decent man,' she croaked throatily.

  'One of the best,' said Newman, who had sat beside her on the couch.

  She became aware that Kuhlmann, seated above them in his chair, was watching her closely. She stiffened, sat erect.

  'I'm all right now,' she said in a firmer voice.

  'I have to ask some questions,' Kuhlmann began. 'Paula, it might be better if you went to your room. Stay if you wish.'

  'That's the last place I want to be now. On my bloody own.'

  'Where was he shot from?' Tweed, asked, still standing.

  'Across the street. The marksman probably hid behind one of the cars parked by the Alster. We've checked. Found nothing.'

  Standing behind Kuhlmann, Tweed frowned at Paula. She understood his message immediately. Say nothing about the break-in at the Zurcher Kredit – that would lead to Kuhlmann demanding that they hand over the vital blue book Mark had brought them which was needed by Kent to crack the code.

  'Any idea of the time he was shot?' Tweed went on.

  'A couple of hours ago. The doorman called the police immediately. He claims he didn't see anything suspicious before the shooting. Tweed, I need to hear all you know about Wendover – who, incidentally, was carrying a CIA identity folder. So I'm anticipating all hell will break loose when the news reaches Washington.'

  Tweed paced around, told Kuhlmann most of the story about how they'd come to know Mark Wendover. He emphasized he'd left the CIA some time ago, had set up his own detective agency in New York.

  'That covers the whole story,' he concluded.

  'So,' Kuhlmann began, 'you were having dinner in the Fischereihafen and your team was outside, keeping an eye on things. Why would Wendover come back here on his own?'

  'As I've explained, Mark had maverick habits. I gather he decided to come back to see what was happening here. After all, it is our base for this operation in Hambur
g.'

  'And if you had to make a guess, who would you say was behind this murder?'

  'Oskar Vernon and his gang spring to mind. Oskar's moved to the Atlantic. Maybe he didn't want to be anywhere near here if they got the chance to kill one of us off.'

  Kuhlmann stood up. He looked at Tweed as though he didn't believe he had the whole story. Which he hadn't. Then he pursed his lips before speaking again.

  'I need someone to go to the morgue to confirm the identity of Wendover. It's not a pretty sight.' 'I'll go,' Newman responded, jumping up. 'Thank you. Then please come downstairs with me and I'll introduce you to Sergeant Brand. He was sitting beside me in the lounge and will escort you. I want to check that pavement by the Alster. Never met a detective yet who was as thorough as I'd like.. .'

  'Why do you think they shot Mark?' Paula asked when she was alone with Tweed.

  'My guess is he missed blotting out one camera – the one up on the balustrade on the first floor outside the building. Difficult to see by daylight. Probably impossible to detect after dark. Also, I think Oskar's mood has changed. He has become more ruthless, more audacious. He's resorted to picking us off one by one. But someone may have given him a specific order to target Mark -because they're livid that the blue book has gone. Take your choice.'

  'Strange that it occurred while we were at the fish restaurant. I wonder if the dinner was a lure to get us out of the way.'

  'That thought had occurred to me, but I rejected it. They'd hardly foresee Mark would turn up here on his own.' Tweed decided to change the subject, to get her mind off what had happened. 'What was your reaction to our hosts tonight?'

  'I liked Victor Rondel. I think he's very intelligent and has a hypnotic personality. I thought he was fun.'

  'I noticed.'

  'Was I that obvious? Oh, Lord, I'll have to learn to control myself more. Do sit down.'

  He sat on the couch in the position Newman had occupied and she squeezed his hand, then released it. He drank more water, urged her to do the same.

  'You weren't obvious at all,' he assured her. 'It's just that I know you so well. Did you enjoy the meal?'

  'Best I've had in ages. Marvellous restaurant.'

  'And what did you think of Rondel's companion?'

  She hesitated, leant her head back against a cushion. She took her time to answer.

  'Weird the way Rondel kept referring to him as "my partner" and never gave us a name. Highly secretive.'

  'I noticed that. Maybe we'll learn more tomorrow when we visit his mansion on the way to Blankenese. He struck me as being exceptional, the sort of person you rarely come across. What about the relationship between them?'

  'Good question. Difficult to come up with a good answer.'

  'On the surface, I had the impression they are equal partners. But, thinking it over, the relationship could be different. I should be able to be more positive after we've seen them tomorrow. And now, I think it's time you went to bed.'

  'Frankly, I'm dropping. See you in the morning…'

  Newman returned a little later. He walked over to a cabinet, opened it up, took out a bottle of Scotch.

  'Excuse me, but I need a stiff drink.'

  'Like that was it?' Tweed said.

  'I can talk frankly, now Paula's gone.' He poured a strong neat drink, swallowed half of it, sat down. 'It wasn't a picnic.'

  'Tell me.'

  'Poor Mark. The left side of his face – and his head -had been blown away. Explosive bullet, Kuhlmann said. He was right. To identify him I had to look at the other side of his face and head. Not a pretty sight, as Kuhlmann pointed out.'

  Tweed had sat down at the small table near the sofa Newman had sunk into. He picked up the mobile phone Paula had left in her state of shock. He pressed the numbers of Pete Nield's mobile from memory.

  'Tweed here. Where are you?'

  'Parked no more than a score of yards from your hotel.'

  'Can you come up to my suite? Right away. See you…'

  'You're looking very grim suddenly,' Newman commented. 'I'd say you've just taken a major decision. Have you?'

  'Yes. Wait until Nield gets here.' Within five minutes Nield was tapping on the door, entering the suite. Tweed told him to sit down, asked him if he'd like a drink. Nield, cool and calm as always, sat down, crossed his legs and shook his head.

  'I'm driving. And I'm sorry about Mark. Very sorry.'

  'How did you know it was Mark they shot?'

  'I followed you into the hotel when you got back from the fish restaurant. You didn't see me. When Kuhlmann had disappeared in the lift with you I went over to the sergeant who had been with Kuhlmann, showed him my identity folder, asked him what had happened. I only knew it had been Mark when the sergeant described what he'd been wearing. Now, what do you want me to do?'

  'Go back to Butler. Tell him to be ready to bring over here the armoury Marler obtained. Stun grenades, tear gas, smoke grenades and all the weaponry – except what Harry needs for himself. What about guns? Tell me again."

  'Three Uzis, several automatic rifles, a whole array of handguns. Lord knows what else.'

  'We'll need all three Uzis here when the time comes, plus the rest. Where is Marler staying?'

  'He's moved into the Renaissance with us now Oskar has left.'

  'Consult Marler. He may want to make extra purchases. We shall be outnumbered, I suspect. So we make up for that in firepower. That's it.'

  'Right. On my way…'

  'You're planning all-out war,' Newman commented. 'Was it the killing of Mark that stimulated you to arrange all this?'

  'I suppose it was a factor.' Tweed stood up, started pacing. 'It underlined how vicious Oskar Vernon is. And I think I'm beginning to sort out the good side from the evil. I'll be more certain after our meeting with Rondel and his partner tomorrow.'

  Newman had opened the door to leave when he bowed, turned to Tweed, winked.

  'You have a visitor. Don't stay up all night.'

  Lisa walked into the suite as Newman left, closing the door carefully behind him. Tweed stared as he stood up. She was wearing a close-fitting strapless white evening dress. Round her waist was a green lizard belt with a lock ornament dangling from it. She carried a green evening bag no larger than a foolscap envelope.

  'Well,' she said, with a wicked smile. 'Do I pass inspection, sir?'

  He knew then that she was in a whimsical mood, which clashed with his own reaction to the recent tragedy. He managed a quirky smile.

  'Not bad. Would you like a drink?'

  She sat down on a couch against the wall, crossed her shapely legs and a slash in her dress exposed one leg almost to her thigh. Looking at him from under her eyelashes she spoke in a mock-indignant voice.

  'Not bad? Is that all? And I would like a drink.' Glancing at the table, she saw the bottle Newman had left. 'I'd like a terrific double Scotch. Please. Sir."

  He found a fresh glass on a lower shelf under the table and poured Scotch slowly.

  'Say when.'

  'Keep going.'

  He continued pouring. He looked at her and she was watching him quizzically, one bare arm stretched along the back of the couch. He used tongs to cram the glass with ice, hoping it would dilute the Scotch, then placed it on the table close to her.

  'Any more,' he remarked, 'and you might spill it down that glorious dress you're almost wearing.'

  'That's better. Much better. You are drinking with me? I hate drinking alone.'

  He found another fresh glass, poured himself a modest drink. She patted the space beside her, raised her eyebrows, patted the space again.

  'You are going to sit with me.'

  I don't think so, he thought. If I get any closer to her now, heaven knows where we'll end up. He sat in the upholstered chair, raised his glass.

  'Cheers!' He took a small drink. 'Now where the devil have you been for the past few hours?'

  'You missed me. I like that.'

  'Where?' he growled.

 
'I like you when you growl.'

  He began to realize she was going to be hard to handle. He decided not to mention Mark's death. He felt sure she had not heard.

  'What are all those policemen doing outside the hotel?' she asked.

  'Maybe there was a traffic accident. Lisa, where have you been?'

  'You went off to dinner without me this evening.' She pouted, then waved aside the reaction as childish. 'That's why I got all dressed up. I was hoping.'

  She'd had another mood change. Tweed, for the second time, decided she was going to be difficult to handle. He was damned if he was going to apologize. Then he went ahead and said the wrong thing.

  'It was a private dinner. A business dinner…'

  'About the coming crisis?' she said quickly. 'I had a weird idea I was involved. Or are you shutting me out now?' She was annoyed. 'Give me a cigarette.'

  He took out his packet, held it out. Then he leaned forward, lit the cigarette for her. She thanked him, sitting stiffly erect, taking several deep drags, then carefully tipping the ash into a crystal glass ashtray. He kept quiet until she had stubbed out the cigarette, leant back against the couch cushion, her chest heaving. She folded her arms.

  'What crisis?' he asked quietly.

  'The big one… the one that's going to blow up in our faces out of nowhere.' She was talking rapidly. 'The one you should be making preparations for… although, knowing you, I expect you've already made them.'

  He was having to concentrate to follow her. He wondered if she'd take off again if he, once more, asked her where she had been. He decided she would. She seemed to read his mind.

  'When I realized I wasn't included in the party I hit the town. Oh, you're probably wondering how I knew you'd gone out to dinner.' Which was exactly what Tweed had been wondering. 'I saw Newman further down the corridor when I was coming out of my room. He was standing in front of a wall mirror, brand new suit, fresh shirt, new hand-made shoes, fiddling with his Chanel tie to get it just right. Going out to dinner, I thought. Why didn't Tweed warn me, I thought. Because I'm not included on the menu.'

  'Well, you know why you weren't included now.' He spoke quietly. 'I agree we might be close to a major crisis, but what gave you that idea?'