by Colin Forbes
`Please pass on to Comrade Gorbachev my warmest regards.'
`That will make him the happiest man in the Soviet Union. I think we may have to substitute someone more effective for Munzel…'
Wolf removed his horn-rimmed glasses and stared at Lysenko. He seemed quite unruffled by the news, by Lysenko's outburst. He chewed on a corner of one of the handles of his spectacles.
`Munzel is the best – as the General Secretary well knows. I shall go ahead with the next stage in the operation while you are away…'
'I shan't be away long,' Lysenko said savagely. 'So what do you expect to achieve? And something else worries me greatly. I told you Munzel is a sadist. Who do you think might be responsible for the ferocious killings of those two blonde girls in Travemunde?'
'I cannot accept scandalous implications about a member of my staff…'
`Implications be damned! If it were Munzel, if Tweed turned the tables and proved it – and unmasked his identity. God! Can you imagine the propaganda he could make of that?'
'It won't happen…'
'I find that statement immensely reassuring.' Lysenko's tone dripped with sarcasm. 'I am not prepared to leave it at that.' `What do you mean?'
Wolf rose from his chair, replaced his glasses and glared at the Russian. They were on the verge of a major confrontation. Lysenko rumbled on, refusing to give an inch. He hammered his clenched fist on the desk.
`Balkan is in the area. Contact him. Ask him to investigate these killings with all energy. Any development, report to me in Moscow. Understood?'
'If you insist…'
'I don't insist. It is an order.'
`And am I permitted to tell you my next move?'
`Hurry up.' Lysenko checked his watch. 'I shall be late for my flight to Moscow.'
`I have already sent the instruction to Munzel, who has, for a short while, gone underground…'
`What instruction? I said. I was in a hurry.'
`He is to kill Newman, Tweed's protector. Then kill Tweed. Both at the same time if possible. Both will appear to have been accidents. A mutual accident…'
`Get Balkan to check those blonde murders,' Lysenko said and left the room.
The taxi transporting Tweed and Newman pulled up outside Lubeck-Sud police HQ. Tweed had phoned Kuhlmann before they left the Jensen and the man from Wiesbaden was waiting in the entrance hall.
The scrambler phone is ready for your use,' Kuhlmann said as they ascended in the elevator. 'Newman and I will wait in the canteen as before.'
Tweed entered the same bleak room, locked the door and sat at the desk. He thought for a moment, then lifted the receiver and dialled Monica's number at Park Crescent. She answered almost immediately.
`Hadrian here, Monica. Any developments? This is a safe phone – as far as any instrument is these days.'
`Nothing to report. Except an absence of calls from anyone. I find that strange, a bit nerve-wracking. It's good to hear your voice.'
`I agree it's abnormal. But it might fit in with a theory I'm developing – so don't worry,' he reassured her.
`Any instructions?'
`Yes. I'm coming back – but no one must know. And this is priority one – contact all four sector chiefs. Order them to return to London base. They must be available by nine in the morning the day after tomorrow.'
`All four? There could be problems…'
`I said priority one. They must be found, they must arrive.' `They will be. Take care…'
He replaced the receiver. Before leaving the room he took a deep breath, aware that his expression could be grim. He strolled into the canteen, sat down at the table where Newman and Kuhlmann were talking over coffee.
`Satisfactory?' Kuhlmann enquired.
'Up to a point. We'd better get going. And thank you for the use of the phone…'
`Kuhlmann has something to tell you,' Newman interjected. `Oh, yes?'
`Dr Berlin returned to his mansion as soon as the search had been completed. That was after all of us had left. I heard on the phone from the local Travemunde police station.'
`Are you going to interview him?'
`No authority. I can't go back. The warrant was to search the premises and grounds, note down all the guests' names. We did find one interesting item. High-powered transceiver hidden behind a bookcase in the library. Range would permit messages to and from Kaliningrad. That happens. to be a major Soviet communications centre.'
`Illegal? You said it was hidden,' Tweed commented.
`Not at all. And Danny Warning, that toad of a security chief, said it was expensive equipment – so it had to be concealed from burglars.' He lit a cigar. 'I don't like that Warning. I can't do anything more.'
`Can you do anything about Kurt Franck?' Tweed asked.
`If I could find him – which I can't – negative. Neither of you made a positive identification. He checked out of the Movenpick, drove off in his hired BMW. Vanishing trick. See you.'
Waiting outside in the night, which was warm and humid, for their cab, Tweed stared into the darkness. He spoke suddenly.
`Guard Diana well, Bob. She could be the key to this mysterious business – the murders of Fergusson and Palewska in Hamburg, the enigma of Dr Berlin. And something much bigger.'
`Since you keep on about my guarding her you wouldn't care to tell me why?'
`She could be a witness,' Tweed said. 'The witness…'
The following morning, his bag packed, Tweed phoned Kuhlmann at police HQ. The German came on the line and sounded impatient.
`I'm throwing out a dragnet across North Germany – looking for Franck. What is it?'
`I just wondered whether there were any developments on the Dr Berlin front.'
`You psychic? He's disappeared again. Early this morning. I had him tracked to Lubeck airfield – that's close to the border. He was flown off in a light aircraft. The flight plan filed was for Hamburg and Hanover…'
`Thank you. I won't hold you up any longer.'
Tweed replaced the receiver, looked at Newman sitting in one of his bedroom chairs and clapped his hands together.
`You look pleased with yourself,' Newman commented.
`Not really. Kuhlmann tells me Dr Berlin has flown off from Lubeck – from that airfield I spotted on the map. We must visit it when I get back. What are you going to do today?'
`Diana is restless, edgy. She wants us to go out to Travemunde. Which suits me. I want to have a word with that chap, Ben – Ann Grayle's friend – on his own…'
`Don't forget. No one must know I've left Germany.'
`You're pretty conspicuous in that safari jacket. I'll come with you to the station. Diana will wait till I get back. So stop fussing.'
At the Hauptbahnhof Tweed joined a small queue for tickets. A plump individual walked up behind him and also stood waiting. Newman, pretending to look at a paperback, tried to recall where he had seen the man before.
Tweed bought a one-way first class ticket to Bonn and hurried to his platform, carrying his white suitcase. Newman continued watching as the plump man bought his own ticket, then made for a phone booth.
Inside the booth he dialled the number of Martin Vollmer's apartment in Altona. Vollmer came on the line at once.
`Gustav here,' the plump man said in a throaty voice. 'Tweed is leaving Lubeck by train. Bought a one-way ticket for Bonn.' He described how Tweed was dressed.
`I'll report to Balkan. I'll also check at Hamburg. Just to make sure…'
Newman followed the plump man who shoved his ticket inside a pocket. He walked outside the Hauptbahnhof, climbed behind the wheel of a parked BMW and drove off. He remembered now where he had seen him. He was one of Danny Warning's guards who had patrolled the grounds at the party.
The wires began humming again.
`Tweed is coming to Bonn… to Bonn… Bonn.
Aboard the Hamburg Express, Tweed found an empty compartment on the train which was very quiet. He took his large white case, bought the previous day in Lubeck, with him to the lavator
y and locked the door. Unfastening the white case he took out the smaller blue one and opened that. He performed the athletic process of changing into a dark blue business suit.
Then he put the safari jacket and the tropical drill slacks inside the white case and closed it.
Opening the door, he glanced along the deserted corridor, opened the window of the exit door and waited. The train reached a point where it travelled along an embankment. At the bottom a tangle of high weeds grew; beyond the empty fields stretched away. Perching the case on the edge of the window, he gave a great heave. The case shot out, landed amid the weeds. He closed the window, went back to the lavatory for his blue case and returned to his compartment.
Hamburg Hauptbahnhof. Martin Vollmer stood on the same bridge overlooking the platforms where he had weeks earlier watched as Tweed and Newman boarded the Copenhagen Express. His lips moved in tune with his thoughts.
`Safari jacket, TD trousers, white case…'
He was watching the platform as the train came in from Lubeck. A handful of passengers trailed off the coaches and wandered to the staircase. Vollmer shook his head as the express moved off again, then walked to the nearest phone booth and dialled a number.
`Martin here. Tweed still aboard express for Bonn…'
Tweed was the first passenger to leave the train at Hamburg. He walked faster than his usual pace, and he had taken off his glasses. Climbing the staircase, he headed for the taxi rank.
`The airport,' he informed the driver and settled back in his seat. He glanced back twice through the rear window as the cab proceeded along the boulevard-like highway leading to the airport. No sign of anyone following.
Tweed sensed there was a dragnet out searching for him. They were probably using Markus Wolf's favourite technique – the leapfrog method. Station watchers at intervals along the target's known route. A technique almost impossible to spot – provided the target obliged by travelling the route they expected.
At the airport he bought a single first-class ticket to Heathrow for Lufthansa Flight 042, departing 13.40, arriving 14.05, local times. He was arriving in London twenty-four hours ahead of when he was expected. There was plenty to do before the meeting of the sector chiefs scheduled for nine the following morning. One appointment he hoped to make was crucial.
Seventeen
`Good God, man, where have you sprung from? You're not supposed to be here until tomorrow.'
He had to bump into Howard as soon as he entered Park Crescent. Tweed swore inwardly as Howard followed him up the stone steps and into his office. Monica looked up from her desk and stared. Tweed hung his Burberry on a hanger and sat behind his desk as Howard closed the door and perched his right buttock on the edge of the desk. He folded his arms and glowered at Tweed.
`And what, may I ask, is all this nonsense about summoning all four sector chiefs from Europe to a conference?'
`An essential part of my strategy to find the odd man out…'
`Which is so enlightening. And, of course,' Howard continued in his most upper crust tone, 'you yourself chose what you deem to call the odd man out…'
`Which increases my responsibility for tracking him down…'
`Masterly understatement,' Howard commented. 'To put it into the vernacular, your head is on the chopping block…'
`That's enough.' Tweed stood up behind the desk, his manner cold. 'I repeat, I take full responsibility, but I'm damned if I'm taking lectures from you. In case you've forgotten, you also checked the vetting reports.'
Did you make any progress in Germany?' Howard had slid his bottom off the desk and stood stiffly. 'And may I remind you we have junior staff present?' he snapped, referring to Monica.
`Senior staff. She's been here longer than you have. As to progress, a little. The game is at an early stage. I move at my own pace. I'm also short of time.'
Howard dabbed his Roman nose with a silk handkerchief, tucked it back in his cuff, and became more conciliatory, regretting his outburst.
`Are you all right? No damage, I trust? I heard you were involved in a scuffle in Lubeck.'
How the devil did he know that? Then Tweed remembered Liibeck was in Hugh Grey's sector. Of course. Grey would report back every titbit to curry favour with Howard.
`That was a minor incident. Probably of no significance. I would like to get on now. If you don't mind..
`On my way. My desk is piled up like Everest. Doubt if I'll get to the club this evening…'
Monica waited until the door closed. 'The bastard!' she burst out. 'Your head on the chopping block, indeed. What does he think we're running? The Tower of London?'
`I do need every minute,' Tweed told her. `If possible, I'd like an appointment with that psychiatrist we once used. And I don't mean the nut case Howard sends people to. That sensible chap in Harley Street. Foreign-sounding name.'
`Dr Roger Generoso…'
`That's the chap. No, don't phone him for a second. I also want to drive out to Norfolk. That will have to be this evening. I want a chat with Hugh Grey's wife, Paula. I got on rather well with her when we last met. Fix up Generoso first, then Paula. She stays at the farmhouse most of the time if I remember rightly.'
`Had an appointment cancelled. You were lucky, Tweed. Trouble again for the General and Cumbria Assurance?'
Dr Roger Generoso was of medium height, well-built, middle-aged, had a rounded head and thinning hair. His manner was matter-of-fact. He listened to Tweed for ten minutes, making notes on his pad.
`That's about it,' Tweed said. 'What do you think?'
`A man leading a double life,' Generoso mused. 'One life here, the other on the continent. Keeps them both in separate compartments. Now under great pressure – and you propose to increase that pressure to expose his villainy as head of a kidnap gang. I think you're treading on thin ice.'
'Why?'
`Depends on whether you crack him. Put in simple language, we have a man with two sides to his head. That represents the two sides of his life. The danger is schizophrenia…'
`A schizo?'
`In common parlance, yes. It's as though he has a dam erected inside his brain. On one side, one life, on the other his secret existence. The danger is if the dam breaks, if one side floods into the other. Then anything could happen.'
`I read a book on Kim Philby once,' Tweed remarked. 'He drank like a fish, but still never gave himself away.'
`A good example. The alcohol saved him. Release from all the tremendous tension he laboured under.'
`So heavy drinking could be a sign?'
`Quite definitely.'
`This could be a very serious case,' Tweed said cautiously. `If the pressure was exceptional might he resort to murdering women at random – in a rather bestial way?'
Generoso swivelled in his chair and studied Tweed. 'I didn't realize you were talking about an extreme case. There have been instances such as you describe. Very difficult to detect.
The murderer might well appear perfectly normal most of the time – which is why some of my less perceptive colleagues have been known to let out of prison inmates who should be kept there for life.'
`Supposing he had a consistent tendency to kill and mutilate blonde girls?'
`You are in trouble, aren't you? Yes, to use your own word, a schizo. Surely the police should be informed?'
`They have one of the ablest men on the continent assigned to the case. It just so happens that his investigations and my own overlap. At least, they may. I'm simply not sure of anything. Are there any indications – habits – whereby such a schizo might be pinpointed? Might give himself away?'
`Oh dear, what a question.' Generoso leant back in his chair and stroked his head with one hand as though seeking to locate a clue. 'He's likely to be obsessive in some direction.'
`What kind of direction?'
`Maybe excessively neat. Fussy about small things. Can you describe the man you suspect?'
`There's more than one of them.'
`Doesn't help. I'm
working in the dark.'
`So am I,' admitted Tweed. 'What about manifestations of character?'
'We might be on firmer ground there. Schizophrenics sometimes display an overweening self-confidence, verging on arrogance. We come back to Philby. I'm sure he only started out as a crusader. Later it was the game which hypnotized him – the delight in fooling people.'
`And if he thought the net was closing round him – that he was in danger of being exposed, identified? Would he panic?'
`Unlikely. These people can be devilish cunning. He'd feel sure he could always outwit his adversaries – because he was so much cleverer than them. That might cause him to step up the challenge…'
`Kill more girls?'
`I fear so.'
And would he,' Tweed persisted, 'keep away from women?'
`Not necessarily. He might do the opposite – to divert suspicion. It's difficult for the layman to appreciate just how fiendishly clever a split personality can be. He's very like an actor – playing two roles. Another characteristic I'd count on would be insufferable conceit, a feeling of great superiority to all other human beings. That might not show,' he warned.
`Getting back to putting pressure on him – to crack him?'
`There you are on very dangerous ground. Supposing we are talking about an extreme case – someone who is going round killing these blonde girls at intervals in time. Step up the pressure, you could step up the killings. His method of release from tension, his way of countering the pressure. And that, Tweed, I fear, is all I can say…'
`When you send your fee to General and Cumbria please address it to me personally.'
Generoso accompanied him to the door of his consulting room. He made the remark as he opened the door.
`Take care. If you are right, you could be in great peril…'
`Paula Grey is available,' Monica announced as Tweed closed the door of his office. 'She sounded oddly pleased that you were coming to see her.'
`I don't understand that. On the few occasions we've met we have got on well, but you make it sound as though she were relieved…'
`I think she is. She runs her own business, as you know. She has a pottery works in Wisbech with a small staff of girls. She does well, I gather…'