Rhinoceros tac-18

by Colin Forbes

  'It is peace and quiet,' Paula said. 'There's hardly anyone about. Not even tourists.'

  'That's why,' Tweed told her.

  He pointed to a poster with a picture of a fair and the name of a place he'd never heard of.

  'They've all gone there,' he said. 'All the fun of the fair.'

  'They can keep it. Crowds and noise. I like it here. It must look lovely at night. Quite dreamy.'

  At intervals they passed a lamp standard with a large glass globe perched on top of it. There were little market stalls but hardly any customers for the wares displayed. Paula looked up as a helicopter droned low overhead. She stared at it. Inside the control cabin the man next to the pilot was peering down through binoculars. Then the machine vanished.

  'You know,' she said, 'I meant to mention it earlier, but I'm sure the second chopper that passed us on the way here was not the same machine as the one which tracked us to the maize field. Now I think the same chopper, that is the second one, which was smaller, has just flown over us.'

  'Lots of choppers about these days.'

  A distance behind them Marler strolled with Newman. He stopped abruptly, his hand grasping the Walther inside his jacket. He was sure he had just seen Barton. When the man turned round he saw he was wrong. He resumed his stroll.

  'False alarm,' Newman commented and grinned.

  A little way behind them Nield was walking with Lisa. He had too much in one of his pockets. His hand was trying to sort out one thing from another when he pulled out his Walther. It fell down on to the smooth paved area of the pedestrian street. Lisa wandered ahead as he scooped up the gun, slipped it into his hip holster, where it should have been anyway. He looked round to see if anyone had noticed his mistake. The few people who were about were staring into shop windows.

  Lisa came to an archway on her right. She walked under it into a small deserted square with an opening beyond. She passed the Tourist Office on her left, continued on and through the second exit. It was very quiet and there were narrow alleys leading off at intervals. She peered into one stone-paved alley, saw another at the end running at right angles, guessed it would lead her back into the Grosse Strasse.

  She passed an open door in one of the long terrace of old buildings. She heard a noise behind her, then a gloved hand covered her mouth. She kicked back but it was like kicking a tree trunk. She saw another hand holding a cloth appear, caught a whiff, sucked in a deep breath a second before the cloth was pressed over her nose. She'd detected the smell of chloroform. Then the cloth was pressed hard over her face.

  Her assailant used one hand to keep the cloth in place, his other to slam the wooden door shut, then to drop a lever which locked it. Both hands and arms were now free to hold her round the waist and she made her body go limp to fool him into believing she was unconscious. Even so, her mind was swimming and she felt she was living in a nightmare as he switched on a feeble light. Forty watts maximum. Then he gripped her under her knees and began climbing what she thought was a narrow staircase. She could hear the clump of his heavy boots on stone steps, which pounded through her head like the tolling of some dreadful bell.

  He stopped briefly, used his shoulder to push open another door. Everything seemed to be happening in slow motion. Moving inside a dark room until he switched on another light. She saw the room through a mist. She quietly let out the breath she had held, now he had removed the cloth from her face. Although she had only absorbed a whiff of the foul stuff she was feeling nauseous, addle-headed.

  She was vaguely aware that he had sat her down in a chair and she slumped forward more than she need have done. She was terrified and she was furious. He straightened her up so her back leant against the chair. Then he was doing something with her hands, her wrists. She felt the cold metal of handcuffs clamped over her wrists. When he released them she realized there was at least a foot of chain linking one wrist to the other.

  Now she felt him tying her ankles together with a length of rope. Then he stopped messing about with her. She heard his feet clumping away from her and took the risk. She began to take in long deep breaths.

  The next thing she knew he was pouring cold water over her face. It drove away the lingering nausea. She still remained limp. Without warning he slapped the right side of her face a hard blow, then the left side. She let her head swing with the blows. Her terror was giving way to a murderous fury. She opened her eyes and gazed at her captor. It was Delgado.

  She wanted to kill him. It was not a momentary emotion. If she ever got the chance she was going to kill him, using whatever method presented itself. She took the opportunity to study her prison. It was an old room built of wood, with two weird wooden doors alongside each other in the wall she was facing. She could see daylight filtering between the joins. What the hell was this place? Doors on the first or second floor? She had been carried up a lot of steps.

  Lisa glanced round the room. The only furniture was a large old wooden table which Delgado was standing in front of a few feet away from her. In corners of the room were short lengths of heavy chain, rusted, looking as though it had lain there for years. Another corner was stacked with old canvas sacks. One sack had fallen over, tipping some of its contents on the planked floor. It was caulk.

  She recognized the blocks of caulk like these she had once seen in a maritime museum. They had been used years ago to seal up seams in bulwarks with oakum and melted pitch. The door he had carried her through into the room was closed with a wooden bar dropped into place. The room smelled musty and she felt trapped.

  Very carefully, she worked her toes inside her shoes to keep and strengthen, the agility in her legs. She stared at Delgado as though he were a filthy creature, which was the way she saw him. He had a dirty black beard and greasy hair. He was wearing a shirt which had once been white, the short sleeves cut off below his wide shoulders, exposing his hairy chest, with denims that carried the traces of spilt food and maybe beer.

  'Ready to talk, lady?' he sneered.

  'What did you say? I didn't hear,' she lied.

  Anything to give her more time to work out how she was going to kill him. He came forward, slapped her face on both sides again. She twisted her head to minimize the force of the blows. Her face was stinging. Then, for the first time, she thought of her companions. They would never find her. She wanted to blow her nose. Just before he had grabbed her she had been going to do that, had her handkerchief in her hand. She sniffled and he mistook her action for fear. He grinned, exposing bad teeth.

  'You got plenty worry. I play rough, lady.'

  He gave her his dirty grin. Then he came forward, stooped, took out a knife, cut the rope binding her ankles together. He looked up at her.

  'No good with legs tied together. Get in way later. After you talk.'

  She could have spat in his hideous face. She didn't, since that would be bad tactics, might trigger him off. He stood up, stepped back close to the table. She was careful not to move her freed feet. She wanted him to think she was terrorized, limp as a doll, still not fully recovered from the drug. The chain between the cuffs was wide enough for her to clasp her hands over her knees, working her fingers, making sure they had strength,

  'Talk, lady. How many men Tweed have?'

  'Most were shot. By your men.'

  'Good.' Then suspicion came into his yellowish eyes. He came forward, raised his hairy hand as though to strike her yet again. 'You lie.'

  'Why should I? What difference, now you've got me?'

  He liked that. He grinned. He rubbed his hands together like a man contemplating some great pleasure to come. She read his mind, kept her expression blank. Keep him talking. Buy time.

  'I got you,' he said and grinned again. 'Nice for me.'

  'All right. What else do you want to know?'

  'How many men come with you here Franzburg?'

  The ignorant swine couldn't even pronounce 'Flensburg', she thought. How many should she say? Too many might worry him, cause him to attack her and then
get away from this strange room.

  'Only one. He went to have a long lunch. He was hungry.'

  'Only one?' He clenched his right hand into a claw. 'Break his neck. OK?'

  'He has a gun.'

  'Gun!' Delgado exploded into raucous laughter. He produced a long-bladed knife. 'I cut him. Small pieces. OK?'

  'Whatever.'

  'Now you talk. Not lie. Nice face.' He gazed at it. 'Not nice if burned. Then you tell truth.'

  From a jacket thrown across the end of the large table he extracted a crumpled pack of cigarettes, a match-book. For a moment she was flooded with fear. Then the urge to kill him submerged the fear. She watched as he fumbled with the matches, a cigarette hanging loosely from his cruel lips. He lit the cigarette, puffed at it. The cigarette went out. He wasn't a smoker. And he had made one mistake. Perhaps two.

  He lit another cigarette, grinning at her. It went out. He dropped the match-book, bent down, picked it up, stood up. Her legs were already stiffened. She stood up, leapt at him, threw him off balance, toppled him across the table. She hoisted her handcuffed wrists high, brought them down behind his neck, jerked her hands forward, then twisted one wrist over the other. The chain was round his neck, pressing savagely into his throat. She pulled her wrists closer together, digging the chain into his air passage.

  She was on top of him, his head pressed down on the table. She held on as he struggled, lifted an arm to reach the knife he had dropped on the table. His fingers touched it, pushed it over the edge. She held on, staring down at him as he choked, his eyes bulging out of his head.

  'Bastard!' she shouted. 'Bastard! Bastard!'

  The arm that had reached for the knife slumped on the table with a heavy thump. His movements were becoming feeble, pointless. Gritting her teeth, she pulled the chain even tighter. He opened his mouth to scream and no sound emerged. She held on, watching him closely. Spittle appeared on his lips. He made one final effort to heave her off him, but it was a faint muscular movement. His eyes closed and he lay still. She continued to hold the chain tight against his bruised throat where streaks of blood had appeared. Only when she was quite sure he was dead did she lift herself off, standing on the floor. She was breathing heavily with the supreme effort she had made. Then her breathing returned to normal.

  'God! What I wouldn't give to have a shower, a complete change of clothes.'

  CHAPTER 30

  'Lisa has gone. She just vanished. I should have kept a closer eye on her. We've got to find her.'

  Pete Nield was in the Grosse Strasse. Tweed had never seen him look so panic-stricken. He was staring everywhere, his face distraught.

  'Calm down,' said Tweed as they were joined by Paula and Newman. Marler and Harry arrived a moment later. 'Now where was she when you last saw her, Pete?'

  'I dropped my Walther out of my pocket. I stooped to get hold of it and out of sight before anyone saw it. When I looked for her again she'd gone. I seem to remember she walked on ahead of me.'

  'Harry, Marler, you come with me,' Tweed ordered. 'I want the rest of you to stroll up and down this section. She could have gone into a shop.'

  'No, she wouldn't do that,' Nield protested. 'Not without telling me.'

  'She walked ahead of you.' Tweed repeated what Nield had recalled. 'So we'll go that way slowly…'

  He led the way while Harry and Marler followed close behind him. Tweed was walking slowly, trying to reconstruct what could have happened. It did occur to him that Delgado, Barton and Panko could be within the area. He stopped by an archway, looked through it, saw the small square beyond.

  'This looks nice. Could have attracted her attention.'

  He continued plodding along, frequently looking down at the ground. He passed the Tourist Office, went on through another archway. His old instincts from the days when he had been a detective were coming back. His eyes missed nothing. He'd glanced into the Tourist Office but hadn't expected to see her there.

  'She'd be entranced by the beauty of this square,' he said aloud. 'Then she'd arrive here. What's that?'

  Just beyond an entrance to an alley he'd seen a spot of colour at the foot of a closed wooden door. He picked up a handkerchief with lace edging and a bluebell in one corner. From his own pocket he took out a replica, complete with a bluebell in a corner. He showed it to Harry.

  'In the car I wanted to blow my nose, found I hadn't got a handkerchief. Lisa gave me one. She's in here.' He pushed at the closed door but it was as solid as a rock. 'We've got to get in there and quickly.'

  'Leave it to me,' said Harry.

  He moved the short distance to the other side of the alley, took a deep breath, then threw his bulk against the wooden door. It gave way, came off the hinges, the whole door falling inwards, exposing a long stone staircase. Tweed walked in over the door, his Walther in his hand, listened. He heard nothing. Harry shone the powerful beam of the torch he'd taken out of his satchel. It illuminated a closed door at the top of the long flight of steps. Tweed ran up them, followed by Harry and Marler.

  They made a lot of noise hurrying up the old stone steps. Standing by the door Tweed heard a faint knocking, then an equally faint voice.

  'Help me. I can't get out. Help me…'

  'Stand well back from the door,' Harry shouted. 'As far back as you can…'

  He had no space to manoeuvre and Tweed was now holding his torch. Harry put his shoulder to the door on the opposite side to the hinges. He leaned into it with all his strength. The hinges held fast but the door split on the other side, flew open. Tweed walked in and Lisa was standing at the far end. She pointed to what lay on the table.

  'It's Delgado. I killed him. He was going to torture me. I strangled him with the handcuffs he'd put on my wrists. I found the key in his pocket and freed myself.' she said calmly, too calmly for Tweed's liking.

  'Marler,' he said quickly, 'take her back to Paula, then… get back here fast…'

  'This is a problem,' he said to Harry when Marler had escorted Lisa out of the building. He felt Delgado's neck pulse and there wasn't one. 'The problem is someone could notice the smashed door downstairs, come up and find the body. We want to be well clear of Flensburg before that happens.'

  'We'd better get rid of the body, then.'

  'How?'

  Harry was examining the thick canvas sack that had fallen over, spilling caulk. Then he went over to the strange double doors on the far side of the table. He fiddled with a rusty metal catch, carefully opened both doors, looked down.

  'This is one of those ancient warehouses,' he told Tweed. 'They used to – ages ago – bring cargo in on horse-drawn wagons and haul it up here for storage.'

  Tweed went over, looked down the drop into a deserted street. Then, without hope, he cranked a wheel attached to the wall. It was stiff, but it turned. Rust fell on the floor and outside a hook at the end of a chain began to descend. He stopped turning the wheel.

  'Newman brings the car round into this street,' Harry suggested. 'Parks it below here. I can put the body into that sack, attach the hook to it, lower the sack into the boot of the car.'

  'It's risky…'

  'It's more risky leaving the body here…'

  Three-quarters of an hour later Newman had found his way through the labyrinth of old streets and parked the car below the hoist. In the meantime, Tweed had held open the large sack while Harry thrust the body inside. He then added sections of old chains he'd picked up off the floor.

  'Why the chains?' Tweed asked.

  'There's a river or a harbour nearby. The chains are to add weight so when we dump the sack in the water it will sink immediately.'

  'That won't be easy…"

  'None of this is easy but we've got to do it…'

  Marler had explained the situation to Newman, who had co-opted Nield to stand as watchdog in the street with a whistle Harry had produced from his satchel. He would sound the alarm if anyone was approaching. Harry had tied up the top of the sack firmly with lengths of rope lying on the
floor. They were now coming to the really nerve-racking part – lowering the sack attached to the hoist's hook down into the open boot of the car below. Tweed had dropped the handcuffs which had imprisoned Lisa into the sack.

  Harry kept looking down as he motioned Tweed to operate the hoist. The sack swung out of the open doorway and Tweed cranked the handle. Would the hoist work properly? Would it stick half way, leaving the sack suspended in mid-air? Tweed secretly wished, as he started to crank the handle, that he hadn't agreed to this mad idea. The sack swung out into space. It stayed there. Tweed grabbed the crank handle with both hands, gave it a mighty twist.

  Without warning, the handle started turning at high speed and Tweed had to let it go. The sack plunged down, landed just above the boot of the car with a heavy jerk. The sack and contents had ripped free from the now suspended hook. Newman closed the boot quietly, his hands dripping with sweat. Tweed had peered down the long drop, hardly able to believe they had managed it.

  Then he started to reverse the handle to haul the chain back up. The handle wouldn't move. Harry, wearing the gloves he'd put on to deal with the body, grabbed hold of the handle, tried to force it to rewind the chain. It wouldn't move an inch.

  'We can't leave the chain dangling over the street,' said Tweed.

  'We can't do anything else,' Harry told him. 'We just want to get the hell out of here so Newman can drive us to the river, wherever it is. You go down now and get into the car. I'll close the doors.'

  'Where are Lisa and Paula?' Tweed asked Marler who had just re-entered the room.

  'In a restaurant in the pedestrian street. Lisa's OK now. I'll go and fetch them.'

  'Don't say anything about what's in the boot,' Tweed warned.

  'And you get out of this damned room,' Harry growled.

  When they had gone, he was very careful closing the double doors. He didn't want them giving way and collapsing down into the street. He gave a sigh of relief when he'd closed them. Leaving the room, he stood outside on the top step and pulled open gently the door he'd broken. It was still held by the hinges and swung shut without any trouble. It might be splintered but he couldn't do anything about that. He used his torch to see his way down. The last thing he needed now was a sprained ankle.