The Janus Man tac-4

by Colin Forbes

  `It's your hide…'

  `It's my decision. And you have another job. That girl who came with me – Diana Chadwick is her name. Your other job is to protect her life. She could be a key witness. Don't ask me to what. I haven't worked it all out yet. I think it goes back years into the past. Just make sure nothing happens to Diana. And she doesn't know either you or Nield exist.'

  `You are playing this one close to the chest. Suggests to me you don't know who you can trust..

  `I can't trust any of them.' Tweed became businesslike. 'I need that notepad for a moment.'

  Tweed took a small sheet of plastic from his wallet, slipped it under the first sheet, began writing on it. He wrote only a few words, then handed the notepad back.

  `That's where we're staying in Lubeck. There's a room booked in your name. When we get off the train – we travel separately, of course – Nield leaves first. He's staying at a hotel called the Movenpick. Only a few hundred yards' walk from the station. You and I take separate cabs to the Jensen, register like strangers to each other. I'll be travelling with Diana. And I'll give you her room number at the Jensen at the first opportunity. Any questions? If not, I'll get room service to send us up some coffee. Wait in the bathroom when it arrives.'

  `No questions,' Butler said laconically.

  He was studying Tweed. He'd known him a long time. There always came a time like this. First there was the waiting – the period when Tweed sniffed the air, trod cautiously, merged into the background, feeling his way forward carefully. Then, without warning, came the big change.

  Tweed went over on to the offensive, using all his guile to smoke out the opposition, taking risks, even setting himself up as a target – which was exactly what he was doing now. Butler noticed another change. Tweed's tone of voice when he referred to Diana. He'd never heard him talk about another woman in this way – not since Tweed's wife (Roedean and all that) walked off with a Greek shipping tycoon, for God's sake. His musings were interrupted when Tweed gave him Diana's room number, then checked his watch. Tweed rubbed his hands in anticipation.

  `Only another few hours – then Lubeck…'

  Munzel made his second phone call to Vollmer from the station brief. Vollmer didn't like too many calls, had a short fuse.

  `I need someone here to watch the Hauptbahnhof – to report to me at the International when Tweed arrives. You got that? I'm now at the Hotel International..

  `You told me before.' Vollmer sounded impatient. 'I can't get anyone there before tomorrow. That will have to do.. `I'm registered as Claus Kramer.

  `Noted. Don't make more phone calls than you need to. I'm busy. Tomorrow…'

  There was a click. The bastard had rung off. Up yours. He pulled at his beard as he left the booth, fuming.

  Forty-Seven

  It was 6.17 p.m. as Tweed and Diana left the express at Lubeck. Tweed had suddenly changed his mind, decided to leave Hamburg by an earlier train. Butler watched them as they climbed the steps off the platform. Nield was already at the top of the flight, disappearing from view as he made his way on foot to the Movenpick.

  Following at a gentle pace – to give them time to get a cab – Butler had the impression Tweed couldn't wait to reach Lubeck. Everything had suddenly become hurry-hurry. Walking out of the concourse on the higher level, he saw them climbing into a taxi.

  He waited until their cab had pulled away before summoning his own. It was still broad daylight. Holidaymakers strolled back to their hotels for dinner. The atmosphere was warm and humid. Butler suspected Lubeck was at the end of a torrid day.

  `It's like coming home again,' Diana said to Tweed, snuggling up against him in the taxi. 'Ann Grayle is in for a surprise when she sees me. I'm looking forward to that.'

  `I thought you didn't like her.'

  `It's a kind of love-hate relationship.' She smiled impishly. 'I like her, she hates me.'

  The manager at the Jensen had welcomed them back, Tweed had registered, was just about to press the elevator button when Harry Butler appeared, carrying his case. Tweed ignored him but said to Diana in a loud voice, 'Your room number is 307, mine is 303 – so you can easily pop along to see me. Let's get down for dinner as soon as we can. I'm famished.'

  Fifteen minutes later Butler walked into the large oblong- shaped room which was the restaurant. The place was crowded, had the jolly atmosphere of people enjoying themselves. They gave him a table by the windows at the end of the room overlooking the street and the river beyond. Tweed and Diana were at a table against the wall, chattering like magpies. A few minutes later he idly noticed a tall, heavily-built man with a blond beard and long hair enter accompanied by an attractive brunette. They were given a table on the far side of the room, near the serving counter and bar.

  Newman slept for twelve hours aboard the sloop at Travemunde. Ann Grayle had sent Ben to fetch some dry clothes, insisted that Newman took a shower, and when, he came out wrapped in a bath-robe she sat him at a table already laid and presented him with a large bowl of steaming hot asparagus soup.

  `It's from a tin, but you do look as though you need some internal central heating quickly,' she drawled. 'And here's a glass of whisky. Neat. Does everything suit His Lordship?'

  Later, Newman had put on a pair of outsize pyjamas Ben had brought back. Grayle had asked no questions, typical of the discretion of an ex-diplomat's wife. After the meal he'd been taken to a bunk which he collapsed into, hardly able to keep his eyes open.

  Grayle, a glass in her hand, had perched for a moment on the edge of the bunk, a wicked look in her eyes.

  `Better if you sleep alone tonight, don't you agree? I'm not sure you'd be up to any sort of physical activity…'

  That was the last thing he'd heard anyone say until he woke. Strong light was pouring in through the porthole above his head. He looked at his watch, expecting it to have stopped. Someone had wound it for him while he slept. Christ! It was noon.

  He took Grayle out to a long lunch at a place on the waterfront. Again she asked no questions. As for Newman, he wallowed in the release from tension, the end of the need to look at everyone as a potential danger. Grayle talked about her past life in Kenya, mentioning Dr Berlin.

  `I didn't even like him then. These do-gooders always bore the hell out of me.'

  It was mid-afternoon when they wandered together along the waterfront. Newman pointed to the Sudwind. The cruiser had a deserted look. He asked whether she'd noticed any activity on board.

  `No, but I've been on a shopping trip to Hamburg. I spent several days there, so I don't know. The precocious Diana is noticeable by her absence. Must have found some new man to roll around with..

  It was after six in the evening when he left the sloop and called Park Crescent from a public phone booth. Monica came on the line and he heard the relief in her voice when they'd talked for only a minute.

  `Where are you, Bob? Are you all right?'

  `Lubeck. I'm OK. I desperately need to talk to Tweed.'

  `I don't know where he is.' She paused. 'Where are you calling from?'

  `Public call box. Chosen at random…'

  `He's over there. Flew to Hamburg. Today. He was going to stay at the Four Seasons, but when I tried to call him an hour ago he'd checked out. No forwarding address – and he didn't even sleep there one night.'

  `I'll call again, Monica. I have to go now

  `Take care.'

  `Thanks, but it doesn't matter any more.'

  Newman put down the receiver, took out a cigarette, lit it and thought. Hamburg today. An unscheduled departure. The second trip to Germany. Tweed would be geared up, moving fast. Was he on his own? That was what worried Newman. Then he had an idea. He checked the directory, found the number of the Jensen, dialled the number. He recognized the manager's voice.

  `Have you a Mr Tweed from London staying with you?'

  `Yes, he's just arrived. You wanted to speak to him? He's having dinner. I saw him go in a few minutes ago. You want to speak to him now? Could
you hold on a minute?'

  It seemed an age before Tweed came on the line. Actually it was thirty seconds. Newman had checked by his watch. `Who is it?' Tweed asked cautiously.

  `Newman…'

  `Thank God! Where are you calling from?'

  `Public phone booth in Travemunde. Can I come right over? I can be there in fifteen minutes by cab. Are you alone?'

  `No, Diana is with me…'

  `You know what I mean.'

  `The answer to your question is no.'

  `Well, thank God for that. Book me a room if you can. I am on my way…'

  `We're having dinner. Just started. Take your time. Are you in one piece?' The anxiety came clear down the line.

  `By a miracle – several – yes. See you.'

  On his way back to the sloop to tell Ann Grayle he had to go into Lubeck, Newman passed the local police station. An old building with a Dutch-style roof, it perched on the corner of the waterfront and a side street, St-Lorenz-strasse. Newman paused briefly, his eye caught by a poster. It was a reproduction of the Identikit picture of Kurt Franck. The poster was beginning to curl at the edges, taking a secondary place to other more recent posters of wanted villains. He stared at it for a moment before hurrying on.

  `If I ever meet you again I'll know you,' he said to himself.

  Munzel couldn't believe his luck. Sitting facing Lydia, he had glanced round the restaurant and there, on the far side of the room sat Tweed. With a blonde.

  His mind raced as Lydia studied the menu. He glanced round the room again. It was packed. Some of them were getting very merry. Waiters ran backwards and forwards. The perfect atmosphere for what he had in mind. Lydia looked up from her menu.

  `What are you thinking about?'

  `Look. I've just remembered an important customer I promised to call this evening for a decision. I've left my notebook with his phone number back at the International. Mind if I dash back there? I'll only be fifteen minutes. Help yourself to the Beaujolais. Order your first course. OK?'

  `Phoning a customer at his home? Will he like that?'

  `He won't like it if I don't. He's busy all day at his factory. Fifteen minutes. No more…'

  Munzel slipped out of the dining-room. He got lucky again outside the Jensen. A taxi was depositing more guests. He grabbed it. `Hauptbahnhof,' he instructed the driver. This way there'd be no connection between himself and the International – if the police made careful enquiries afterwards.

  `Mr Tweed?' The waiter seemed nervous. 'There's a gentleman outside who wants a word with you. He doesn't want to come into the restaurant.'

  Will you excuse me, Diana? I shouldn't be a minute.' `Don't worry.' She waved her cigarette holder. 'I'll hold the main course for you.'

  Tweed was puzzled. It was too early for Newman – and he'd have come straight into the restaurant. He walked out into the narrow lobby. A short stocky figure smoking a cigar stood near the exit. Kuhlmann. The man from Wiesbaden gestured towards the street.

  `Let's take a short walk. They say walls have ears – although I've never seen walls growing them.'

  `It had better be short. I'm in the middle of dinner.' Kuhlmann led the way in silence past the diners at the tables on the pavement. Inside Harry Butler stood up, told the waiter he'd be back in a minute, saw Diana sitting by herself, changed his mind and sat down again.

  'How did you know I was here?' Tweed asked.

  `The manager phoned me. Don't blame him. I guessed it would be the Jensen when you came back. I leaned on him. No sign of Kurt Franck. Vanished off the face of the earth for about two weeks. Now you're back I've put out a fresh general alert.'

  'Thank you. And Dr Berlin?'

  `Still gone missing. You're not saying now you're back he's going to reappear?' Kuhlmann suggested.

  'I'm saying just that. Not yet, perhaps. But soon, yes.'

  'You wouldn't care to enlarge on that?' Kuhlmann suggested. 'No, I wouldn't. Any more of those ghastly murders?'

  'No.' Kuhlmann stopped on a deserted section of the pavement to relight his cigar. 'You go absent. Franck goes absent. Dr Berlin goes absent. The murders stop.'

  'You wouldn't care to enlarge on that?' Tweed enquired.

  'Just a policeman's observation. If you need me, I'm at the local police station. Possehl-strasse 4. 'I'11 write it down for you.' He did so on a small notepad, tore off the sheet, gave it to Tweed. 'If I'm not there, try headquarters at Lubeck-Sud.'

  'I may need use of a safe phone again…'

  'Use Lubeck-Sud – as before. Always available.'

  'And now, if you don't mind, I'd like to get back to my meal.' 'Just thought I'd let you know I was around.' Kuhlmann paused as they turned back. 'I just made a bet with myself.' 'And what was that?'

  'Now you're back peace ends. I'm expecting everything to detonate any time. Enjoy your meal.'

  Munzel closed the door of his bedroom at the International, turned the bolt. Taking a bunch of keys from his pocket, he unlocked a small metal box which he extracted from his back-pack. The inside was lined with suede, divided up into small compartments holding various plastic containers. He took out a plastic tube holding yellow capsules.

  Holding the small tube in one hand he flicked off the top, tilted the tube, allowed one capsule to fall into the palm of his hand, recapped the tube. Child's play. He put the capsule back inside the tube. Mescaline. A hallucinogenic. One capsule and you were way out in space.

  Leaving the hotel, he caught a cab from outside the station back to the Jensen. He sat down opposite Lydia shortly after Tweed had returned to his own table.

  `This white wine is glorious,' Diana greeted him. `Won't you join me?'

  `I feel like something to pep me up. I wonder if I could get it here.' Tweed called over their waiter. `I'd like a drink, a Margharita.'

  `I've never heard of it, sir.'

  `It's a mixture of tequila and fruit juice. At least ask the barman. I'll write it down for you.' He wrote on a sheet in his notebook, tore it out, handed it to the waiter.

  `That will pep you up.' Diana gave him a certain look, her eyes half-closed. 'This could turn into an interesting evening.' She drank some more wine. 'And I'm getting tiddly. Darling,' she continued, 'you look a bit faraway.'

  `I didn't expect to meet that chap who called to see me – at least not so soon. Doesn't matter, he's gone now.'

  Tut look what's coming.'

  `Your Margharita, sir,' the waiter said. 'We have a new barman. From Italy. He knew the drink immediately. Enjoy yourselves. The main course will be a little longer..

  `Take your time,' said Tweed.

  `And it's a proper Margharita,' Diana said, peering at his drink. 'It has salt round the rim of your glass.'

  Tweed sipped, then took a larger gulp. He set down the glass and beamed, nodding his head with satisfaction. `You may have to help me up to bed.'

  `That I would enjoy.'

  Across the room Munzel talked to Lydia and watched Tweed's table. He had observed the arrival of the drink. People, their meal finished, were leaving. Other guests, waiting at the entrance, were filling up the tables again. There was a lot of movement. He leaned forward and whispered to Lydia.

  `See that chap the other side of the room, the one with a blonde?'

  `The one wearing glasses?'

  'Yes. I want to play a trick on him. He once beat me to a business deal. He boasts he's never been drunk.'

  'Sounds a stuffy type…'

  Lydia was merry but still in control of her faculties. She drank just a little more as Munzel went on explaining.

  'He is. This is what I want you to do. For a joke.' Under the table he took the plastic tube from his pocket, levered off the top, tipped one capsule into his hand, replaced the top. 'Don't let anyone see this. Hold out your hand when I tell you to. I'll drop a capsule into it. Pretend that we're clasping hands, but don't squeeze it.'

  'What's in this capsule?'

  'Something harmless – but he'll be rolling like a ship in a
storm. You leave the table, pretend you're going to the toilet. As you pass his table you'll have to create a diversion, then drop this in his drink..

  'No more instructions,' Lydia broke in. 'I've served behind a bar – as part of my hotel training. This will be fun. I'm ready.'

  She reached her hand across the table, turned her palm upwards and he grasped her fingers lightly. She withdrew her hand, holding the capsule, stood up and moved slowly among a crowd of new arrivals. Alongside Tweed's table, she stumbled, put out a hand to save herself and knocked over Diana's half-full glass of wine.

  'I'm terribly sorry,' she said in German. She swayed, put out her hand towards the toppled glass. Tweed looked up at Lydia. Her hand passed over his Margharita, dropped the capsule, picked up Diana's glass, mumbling apologies. The wine stained the cloth but missed spilling over on to her dress.

  Lydia straightened herself with difficulty, walked on slowly towards the exit, apparently unsteady on her feet. A waiter rushed forward with a napkin, mopping at the cloth.

  'Clumsy tart,' said Diana. 'She doesn't know when she's had enough.'

  'Nothing on your dress?' Tweed queried. 'Good. You do look absolutely stunning.'

  'Thank you, kind sir.'

  She glowed with pleasure as the waiter refilled her glass, as Tweed gazed at her. She wore a black velvet evening dress with narrow shoulder straps. In the soft light from the wall lamps her beautifully-shaped shoulders showed to full advantage. She was also wearing jet drop earrings, her lipstick was a pale red, her nail varnish a pale pink. Very nineteen-thirties. Tweed lifted his glass, took several deep sips of the Margharita.

  `And I've trimmed my nails,' she said, extending one hand.

  `Why?'

  `Because I'm learning to type, silly. You can't type with talons. I'm getting pretty good at it. And I've just about mastered shorthand – in English and German. That came easy. The typing's rather a bore. So mechanical…'