Rhinoceros tac-18

by Colin Forbes

  'You have?'

  She was taken aback. She sat down in a chair facing him, bewildered.

  'I don't understand,' she said.

  'You must have noticed the extraordinary change in Mrs France's personality. And in her appearance and manner. How would you describe it?'

  'Well, when we saw her twice in Hamburg she was a nice but fuddled lady, almost like a flower-seller behind a market stall. I felt it difficult to believe she was chief accountant at Zurcher Kredit. Do you think I'm barmy?'

  'No. Your impression of her then is not far off mine. But what about her now?'

  'I was staggered. Hardly seemed like the same woman. She struck me as incredibly competent with an amazing range of talents. I can now see she'd be a top accountant. But she's also a flier and I think she does have an incredible grasp of the Internet. Her manner was so businesslike, so forceful. She even seemed slimmer in her flying kit.'

  'So what are you worrying about?'

  'The fact that you provided her with so much information, were so frank and open with her.'

  'That was because I decided she was on the side of the positive forces. I'm not bad at deciding who is trustworthy. She is trustworthy. That was why I asked her about Danzer. What she said was further confirmation for me that she was telling the truth. That and other things.'

  'Sorry I blew my top. I got it all wrong.'

  'We all do at times,' Tweed told her. 'I know I do. But now we are in great danger. If I were in the enemy's shoes I'd make a supreme effort to get rid of us permanently, quickly.'

  'Any particular reason for fearing that?'

  'Yes.' Tweed finished his cup of coffee. 'The fact that they have Brig, Lord Barford on their side. I think he planned the attack on us off the autobahn. While it was going on I had the feeling a military mind was behind it. That encircling movement by five men aiming at taking us in the rear. They could have got us if Harry hadn't turned up with his Uzi at the last moment, seen what they were up to.'

  'So you think we'll face another attack?'

  'I'm certain of it. And it may be more difficult to defeat.'

  Inselende was a large remote house located on the western coast of the island of Sylt. It had two sections with thatched roofs linked together by a circular section in the centre. In English the name meant 'island's end'. Surrounded by a moorland, it was close to where sandy cliffs dropped sheer into the North Sea – an ideal location for a top secret meeting.

  It was well guarded. At strategic points FBI men with automatic weapons crouched out of sight in the heather. Uniformed troops patrolled the outside of the house and at the beginning of the only road leading to it roadblocks had been set up.

  Further precautions had been taken. Although it would have taken climbers like flies to ascend the cliffs offshore, American patrol boats equipped with machine-guns cruised a short distance from the cliffs.

  In addition, helicopter gunships with searchlights flew over the house and the surrounding areas. The beams of the searchlights swivelled constantly in search of any intruders. The President himself could have stayed there safely.

  Inside Inselende a long meeting of the four participants -without aides – had just broken up for dinner. One man did not join them. Gavin Thunder had ushered Lord Barford into a small soundproofed room where they could consult on their own.

  'I have very bad news,' Barford began. 'Despite all our efforts Tweed and his team are still on the loose.'

  'I thought you'd planned to wipe them out,' snapped the disturbed Thunder. 'I know Tweed's reputation, his many successes in the past. He is the one man who could throw a very big spanner in our works.'

  'I agree,' said Barford. 'I also know him well. We have to make a supreme effort to destroy him – before he destroys us. And time is short.'

  'And I suppose you have no idea where he is,' Thunder commented sarcastically.

  'He is at this moment in Tonder.'

  'Where the hell is that?'

  'Not so far from where we are sitting. On the mainland. A small town just across the border in Denmark.'

  'Are you sure?' Thunder pressed. 'How do you know?'

  'Because I am well organized. An hour or so ago I had a call from Barton. He informed me Tweed and his team are in Tonder. I even know the name of the hotel where they are spending the night. Hostrups Hotel.'

  'Why was it Barton who phoned you and not Oskar?'

  'Because Oskar likes to play it close to his chest, to take the credit. Mind you, I have no doubt Oskar has prepared a fresh attack.'

  'I thought it was Oskar who planned the attack on the autobahn to Flensburg, which was a total fiasco.'

  Barford thought it wiser not to reveal that he had drawn up the plan for that assault. Thunder was not a man who easily forgave mistakes.

  'No, it was Delgado who planned the tactics. I met Delgado in Flensburg and he told me Tweed was in the city. Then he vanished with his whole team.'

  'I don't like this.' Thunder had stood up to go to the drinks cabinet. He brought back two glasses of brandy, sat down again.

  'I don't like it at all,' he rasped. 'Tweed flying all over North Germany. Appearing first in Hamburg, then in Flensburg and now just across the Danish border. He's up to something. The Americans do have the Secret Reserve here but they aren't really needed. We have more guards than we need.'

  Barford took another gulp of his double brandy. He was worried. The Secret Reserve was a small group of highly trained men nominally attached to the Secret Service which guarded the President. But they had a lot of independence. He'd heard they were used to liquidate awkward men – or women – whose activities were inconvenient to the US government. He'd even heard they had been responsible for a fatal 'accident' which had ended in the death of a Senator. And they would not be under his control.

  'A bit drastic,' he suggested. 'I've heard about the methods they use. They don't even waste time getting rid of the bodies.'

  'I have decided.' Thunder stood up again after draining his glass. 'I'll have a quiet word with the Secretary of State. I'm sure he'll agree to loan them to us.'

  'If you're sure this is a good idea.'

  'Damnit!' Thunder smashed his glass on the table. 'Tweed has to be eliminated. The Secret Reserve – seven of them – will do the job. They are utterly ruthless. They can travel in jeeps from the motor pool on the mainland. Tweed will be no match for men like that.'

  CHAPTER 34

  Tweed was still up, studying the complex route from Tender to distant Travemiinde. Some instinct was making him look for alternative routes in case they ran into something. Someone tapped on his door and when he opened it Paula, fully dressed, walked in.

  'Am I a nuisance?' she asked.

  'You're never a nuisance. Sit down. Like some coffee?'

  'No, thank you. I'll never sleep. It looks from the pot as though you've been drinking it by the litre.'

  'Helps me to concentrate. What brought you here?' Tweed asked.

  'I've been thinking about this journey to Travemiinde. Could it be a trap?'

  'Yes, it could. But to clean up this business we have to take the risk.'

  'It isn't that I mistrust Gina,' Paula commented. 'I've come to the conclusion that you're right.'

  'It's my old cocoon theory.'

  'Cocoon?' she asked, puzzled.

  'Well, everyone lives inside a cocoon. Their daily life, the way they think, react. Many live in a small cocoon. They go to work by the same train each day, sit at the same desk, their only thoughts concerned with their job -and their family, if they have one. They're not interested in what goes on in the wider world. Fair enough, if that rather enclosed life – cocoon – satisfies them. Others live inside a larger cocoon – men or women running big businesses, generals who command large forces, who need to know many parts of the world because they may find themselves sent anywhere there is a crisis. When I'm talking to somebody – like Mrs France – I'm trying to gauge the size of their cocoon.'

  'And
Mrs France's is?'

  'A very large cocoon indeed. The world is her oyster. She has a wide outlook – searching for huge missing sums of money in the biggest bank in the world, tracking and recording secret coded instructions being sent via the Internet, dealing with two remarkable men. And she has ethics, is trustworthy. If our trip to Travemunde is a trap it is so because someone else has set the trap.'

  'That's a thought.'

  'Incidentally, I've decided everyone must be up and ready to leave by 6.30 a.m. Don't ask me why – I could only say sixth sense. I've called everyone else and luckily didn't wake anyone up. I think it could be quite a day.'

  'I'd better go…' Paula yawned. 'I need the shut-eye. Is Lisa coming with us?'

  'Yes. We can hardly leave her here.'

  She told him about the incident when Lisa had mentioned a man with gold-rimmed glasses as one of the partners.

  'How could she know that?' she concluded.

  'That fits in too with the picture I am forming of the two massive forces ranged against each other. I won't explain now. You get off to bed.'

  Paula turned at the door before opening it, waved her finger at him. 'You need sleep too, so I expect you to get to bed as soon as I've left.'

  She threw him a kiss and was gone. Tweed took off his glasses, rubbed his eyes. She had a point, he decided.

  ***

  At Inseknde Barford had eaten dinner with the FBI section guarding the house. He had sat next to the head man whom he had found intelligent and interesting. They were alone now, drinking coffee. Cordell, the FBI chief, seemed in no hurry to leave.

  'I find it a strain,' he admitted, 'protecting the Secretary of State and the other three VTPs. I wish the meeting had taken place back home in familiar surroundings.'

  Cordell was a man of medium height, well built and very fit. He had a tough face but a warm smile which appeared occasionally. He seemed to have taken to the Brig. He showed no sign of being in a hurry to leave the table.

  'It will soon be over,' Barford told him. 'How many more days?'

  'They're vague about that. For security reasons. Three or four more days is the official version. My bet is we'll be out of here in one or two days.' He paused, lit a cigarette. 'I hear they're using the Special Reserve to go after some poor bastards.'

  'They are. You don't sound enthusiastic.'

  'I'm not. That bunch of thugs. They do things we'd never dream of doing. I heard of one case where their target was a banker who wasn't cooperating. Two men did the job. They had checked his routine and he never varied from it. Came out to lunch at exactly the same time. So one thug goes into the bank wearing dark glasses – they always wear dark glasses. He hung around for a few minutes. His pal waited outside. The banker appears, starts to walk out of the bank, reaches the door. The Special Reserve man inside shoots him in the back. At the same moment the thug outside shoots him in the head. They go down to the sidewalk, step into the waiting getaway car and they're gone. We would never use methods like that. It's cold-blooded murder.' Cordell paused. 'I'm sure you won't pass on to anyone what I've just said – for obvious reasons.'

  'Not to a soul on earth. I promise you.'

  'I'd better go outside now and check the situation…'

  The Brig lingered for a few minutes, then walked out of the dining room. Outside in the corridor he almost collided with Gavin Thunder.

  'Dinner's over. We talked a lot. Everyone in agreement. Very satisfactory.'

  'Could we have another private word?'

  'Why not? We'll go back to the room where we talked before.'

  Once inside the room Thunder headed for the drinks cabinet, came back with two glasses and a bottle of brandy. Barfbrd thanked him but refused a further drink. Thunder poured himself a large tot, was in a jubilant mood.

  'Here's to the success of our great enterprise.' He raised his glass, then noticed the Brig's expression. 'You don't look too happy.'

  'I'm not happy at all about using the Special Reserve. I don't approve of it.'

  'Don't approve of it!' Thunder had raised his voice. 'You know something? I wasn't aware that your approval was a factor we have to consider. The decision is taken. I want you to accompany them in the boat which will take them to the mainland tomorrow, to see them off in the three jeeps they will travel in, wish them luck, for God's sake.'

  'I will accompany them in the boat. But I stress that I do not approve. I'm asking you to cancel the operation.'

  'Cancel it! You know something, Bernard,' Thunder rapped out nastily, 'you're not yet Supreme Governor of the military areas Britain will be divided into.'

  'I am aware of that.'

  'My dear Bernard…'Thunder's mood changed abruptly, became very friendly. '… No one blames you for not wiping out Tweed. He's a cunning devil. You have been labouring under a lot of strain and stress. This I understand. Two of the Special Reserve, incidentally, are British – they were in the SAS. They came to the States, adopted American nationality, were recruited into the Special Reserve. That ought to make you feel better about the whole operation.'

  'I'm exhausted. I think I'll go to bed.' 'Do that. You'll feel so much better in the morning.' When Barford had left, Thunder sipped at his brandy. He had always had a flair for talking people round to his point of view.

  Tweed was still up, sitting at a desk with his doodle pad, long after Mrs France had come and gone, followed later by Paula's visit. He had added Mrs France to his pad, with a circle round her. He had drawn a line linking Lisa with Mrs France. The vast mosaic was becoming clearer to him. His mobile phone started buzzing. He swore, picked it up.

  'Yes?'

  'Mr Tweed?'

  'Yes. Who it it?'

  'You will be in mortal danger tomorrow. Lucky to survive.'

  The voice sounded like that of a woman, or of someone talking with a sweet in their mouth and speaking with a silk handkerchief over the phone.

  'Thanks a lot,' Tweed said.

  'This is serious. Seven professional killers in three jeeps will follow your car. At the right tactical moment they will kill all of you. They are trained assassins.'

  'Where are they based?'

  Tweed had decided this had betterbe taken seriously. The phone clicked, went dead. Who the devil eould that have been, he asked himself, relaxing back in his chair. Too many people had his mobile phone number. But there had been something disturbing about the warning. He wished he could call Harry, but had no intention of waking him up at this hour, despite the fact Harry hardly ever seemed to sleep.

  As though in answer to his wish there was a tapping at his door. When he opened it, his Walther in his hand, Harry, fully dressed, walked in.

  'Thought you'd still be up. Wanted to discuss tactics for today's expedition.'

  'You should be getting some sleep.'

  'Sleep dulls the brain.'

  Tweed offered him coffee or an alcoholic drink. Harry refused both. He just wanted to get on with it, to work out tactics. Tweed decided to tell him about the strange warning call he'd received. Harry, silting forward in a chair, listened.

  'You take it seriously?' he asked when Tweed had concluded.

  'At first I thought it was a bit of psychological warfare, to rattle me. Then I recalled how specific the caller had been. Seven men, three jeeps. I am taking it seriously. On the way we have to look for somewhere we can use as a fortress-like position. Somewhere they have to come in and attack us while we're entrenched.'

  'Got myself a motorbike,' Harry said tersely.

  'How on earth did you get that in Tonder at the dead of night?'

  'I was prowling round, looking for trouble – any sign of the enemy. Came across this chap oiling his machine in front of a garage. Asked him how much. Thought I was joking, so he names a price. Double what it's worth. I said yes. A Dane, I think, but spoke good English. I hauled put a wad of marks, did a quick calculation, gave him the money and rode off on it.'

  'You never cease to amaze me.'

  'Sometim
es I amaze myself,' Harry replied, making a rare joke. 'Point is, I could follow the car – then at other times overtake and ride ahead of you. Call me your scout.'

  'That improves our situation enormously. I was worried that again we'd all be crammed in one car.'

  'Like to go now. Want to soup up the engine a bit. Six in the morning.' He turned at the door. 'Oh, I'll have the Uzi with me…'

  Tweed decided it was time to take a shower, then get into bed. As he switched out the light and rested his head on the pillow, his brain was still hurtling over various questions to which he didn't know the answers.

  Who was Number Five – the man referred to in the exchange between the FBI agent at the windmill and the man who had run out of the wood? Was the dire warning he'd received on his mobile to frighten or in deadly earnest? Who could have called him, using his mobile number? It all went back to Monica, who had insisted once that it should be given to key people. She'd shown him the list and reluctantly he'd let her go ahead. But he was so tired he couldn't recall all the names on that list. Who was Rhinoceros?

  His brain suddenly switched off and he fell into a deep sleep.

  In the middle of the night Oskar was woken by the buzzing of his mobile phone. Swearing, he switched on his bedside light, picked up the phone.

  'Yes? Who the hell is it at this hour?'

  'Gavin Thunder. And when you are addressing me I like some polite acknowledgement of who I am.'

  'You're Gavin Thunder.'

  Oskar was in no mood to be conciliatory, to kowtow. Not if it had been the President in the Oval Office.

  'I'm emphasizing the importance of not losing Tweed. I'm sure he will leave Tonder in the morning. You must tail him. Now do you understand my order?'

  'Already dealt with. Barton and Panko will follow him from the air

  …'

  Oskar switched off the mobile. Thunder was a man given to issuing the same order three times. He'd better damn well take a sleeping pill, Oskar thought, switched out the light and fell fast asleep.

  Early in the morning he knocked on Barton's door. No reply. He tried the handle, walked in. No one there. Bed left like a rubbish dump. Nothing in the bathroom. Then he noticed the absence of a case. He went downstairs to enquire at reception about his two friends.