by Colin Forbes
`They had an appointment,' Tweed said, edging his way into the flood of words which went on.
`Well, we can have just a man-to-man conversation. I love the ladies, God bless 'em, but sometimes it makes a change to have a nice chat on our own. Champers, of course!'
Tweed reluctantly agreed. They were already inside the empty bar under Wilie's enthusiastic impetus. He ordered two glasses from the barman and they sat down on the banquette furthest from the door.
`What's happened to Brigadier Burgoyne?' Tweed asked casually as he raised his glass, took a sip., put down the glass.
`Oh, the Brig.'s off haggling over some little deal, I'm sure. He loves it. Always on parade, is his motto. What he doesn't love is the present state of England.'
`Indeed? What's wrong with it?'
`Everything…' Willie became emphatic. 'According to the Brig. No self-discipline any more. Morale has collapsed. The welfare state has undermined the strong fibre we were once noted for. Everyone's holding their hands out for a freebie. They have a slight headache and rush to the doctor because it's supposed to be something for nothing. According to the Brig., that is. Half the country wants to be nannied. The young, instead of struggling to make a career on their own, want it all handed to them on a plate. And now the cranks want to break up the old UK into separate bits. A good dose of iron government is what is needed – so the Brig. thinks. Shock treatment is the only answer, he keeps saying.'
`I suppose it's his military background,' Tweed suggested.
`That's another thing! Conscription should be introduced again. That would instil some discipline into these louts who bang old ladies over the head to grab a few pounds. And often for what? To finance their beastly drug habit. Very hot on that, is the Brig.'
`And what do you think?' Tweed enquired.
Willie beamed. 'Have another glass. I'm going to…'
`I haven't finished my present drink, thank you.'
Tweed felt sure this was Willie's second visit to the Sambri bar this morning. His face was even more flushed than usual as he ordered a fresh glass for himself.
'My view?' Willie pursed his wide mouth. 'The Brig. does rather go over the top. Up Guards and at 'em. But he was a brilliant soldier, so I just listen. Not much choice once he gets going. A real martinet. But there's never a dull moment when he's around.'
`He's staying on in Hamburg for a while?'
`Never can tell with him. He's like the proverbial grasshopper. We could be off to Vienna at the drop of a hat. The Brig.'s hat.' Willie chuckled, drank some more champagne. 'What about you?'
'My programme is vague. Depends on how events unfold. I hope you'll excuse me. I also have an appointment…'
It was a very thoughtful Tweed who went up to his room.
`There's your chance, Bob,' Paula said after they had left Tweed and wandered into the lobby. 'Tweed said get next to Helen – and there she is. Looking this way and practically sending out a siren call to you. I'm going to get a bath. Have fun…'
Helen Claybourne, seated on a couch, was writing in a notebook with her large elegant fountain-pen. She tucked the cap over the nib and gave Newman her cool smile as he sat beside her.
'Unless you're busy,' he suggested.
'Very glad not to be.' She'd closed her notebook with a snap. 'Willie has the wildest schemes for making money. I spend half my time persuading him not to invest in some hare-brained scheme. He's a sucker for con-men – unlike Maurice. You wouldn't get a penny out of the Brigadier until he'd interrogated you into the ground.'
Helen looked smart as paint, as always. She wore a grey pleated skirt which ended just above her shapely knees. A well-cut grey jacket hugged her figure and underneath she was clad in a white blouse with a high- necked collar.
Perched in a corner of the couch, she tucked her legs under her like a cat and turned to face Newman. She flicked a speck of cigarette ash off his lapel and stared straight at him with appraising eyes as she asked the question.
`Just what are you up to, Mr Newman? You seem to be on the go most of the time. I saw you leave earlier about nine with Paula and Tweed. Are you after a juicy story? Or shouldn't I ask?' she teased him.
`We've been exploring Hamburg, taking in one business call. You're staying on here?'
`God knows. Maurice is talking of moving on to Copenhagen. Do you know a decent hotel there?'
`The d'Angleterre,' Newman said promptly.
`Maybe we could have lunch?' she suggested, her eyes still holding his. 'I suppose you do know nowadays it's not thought too forward for the woman to chase the man?'
`We might do that – have lunch. If we can avoid Willie and the Brigadier.'
`Talk of the devil, here comes Maurice. Save me from a fate worse than death.'
Burgoyne, spruce in a check sports jacket, navy blue trousers, hand-made brogues, and with a crimson cravat at his neck, pulled up a chair. Sitting in it very erect he tugged at his moustache and gazed at both of them.
`Hope I'm not intruding – or are you beginning to start an affair?'
`I live in hope,' Newman replied in a neutral tone.
Helen's reaction was savage. She straightened up, leaned forward. Her grey eyes blazed and her tone was venomous.
`That's an outrageous suggestion. You'd do well to watch your tongue. You're not in the Army now. Bad manners in the officers' mess don't go down well in these surroundings.'
Did I drop a great big boulder in the pond?' Burgoyne asked ironically. 'It was a joke. You do know the word, Helen? Spelt j-o-k-e.'
'In the worst possible taste,' Helen fumed.
'Anyone for coffee?' Burgoyne enquired, quite unperturbed.
'I thought you were going to say anyone for tennis,' Helen continued her onslaught. 'You do realize that half the time you talk like old China hands back in Hong Kong – language thirty years out of date?'
Newman noticed a flash of fury in Burgoyne's eyes at the phrase 'old China hands'. It lasted only for a second. Burgoyne continued to be anything but conciliatory.
`I suspect I touched a raw nerve with my use of the word affair. You really must learn to conduct these things more circumspectly.'
`And you,' Helen told him, 'might learn not to butt in where you're not wanted. Half the time, back in the New Forest, you're dragging Willie and I off somewhere we don't want to go. Or hadn't you caught on?'
`Willie,' Burgoyne observed, 'will tag on to go anywhere – provided someone else is paying for the drinks, food, and accommodation.'
`For a pseudo-Brigadier you have a crude way of expressing yourself,' Helen rapped back. She looked at Newman. 'I'm feeling peckish, Bob.'
`Then let's try the Grill Room.'
As they stood up Helen threw one more verbal javelin, glaring at Burgoyne.
`If you're having lunch here too, I can recommend the Haerlin restaurant…'
Tweed and Paula stepped out of the elevator and immediately Paula spotted Burgoyne, who was still sitting with a cup of coffee in front of him. She nudged Tweed.
`I've seen him. Let's go and have a little chat with our eminent soldier.'
To her surprise the Brigadier smiled as though he welcomed their company. She was even more surprised when he jumped up, offered her a chair.
`Miss Grey, you are looking positively radiant. I like your suit. Very chic.'
`Thank you.' She sat down slightly dazed at the absence of Burgoyne's normal brusque manner. Tweed chose a seat placing him between them. 'They've left you on your own?' Paula suggested.
`I'm afraid so,' he replied, sitting down next to her. 'I don't appear to be very popular. Would you do me the honour of joining me in an aperitif?'
Paula stared, taken aback by the politeness. 'A glass of dry French white would go down nicely.' Burgoyne glanced at Tweed, who chose mineral water.
Burgoyne raised a hand, beckoned with his index finger to a waiter. Oh dear, Paula thought, reverting to type – dealing with the peasants. She had a further surprise.
; `Could you be good enough to fetch us a glass of French wine, mineral water, and I'd be grateful for a double Scotch?'
`I hope we're not spoiling a few minutes on your own while you ruminated on a business problem,' Tweed remarked.
`On the contrary, it's a change to enjoy pleasant company. I've just had a vicious duel of words with Helen Claybourne. She's gone to lunch with your Robert Newman. She banned me from taking my own lunch in the Grill Room.'
`Doesn't sound like the Helen I've met,' Paula commented. 'I wonder what was wrong?'
`Ah! You don't know the real Helen. That outward coolness fools everybody. Underneath she's a ruthless tigress.'
`That's interesting,' Tweed interjected. 'It sounds very much as though she's taken a dislike to you. If so, why on earth does she travel with you?'
`Willie…' He paid the waiter, added a generous tip, and sighed. 'Willie,' he repeated. 'She appears to feel her job involves looking after him. Which is amusing. Master Willie is only too capable of looking after Number One.'
`He seems so indecisive,' Paula said.
`That is the impression he creates, I agree. In business, as well as earlier in the Army…' He paused and looked at Tweed. 'I learned never to take people at face value. You can come badly unstuck if you do. But I'm sure the insurance game has taught you that…'
They chatted for a while and then Tweed said he was taking Paula out for a breath of fresh air. They put on their coats they had propped over chairs, thanked Burgoyne for his hospitality. Again it was a thoughtful Tweed who left the hotel with Paula at his side.
`He seemed to be making a show of pointing the finger at Willie,' Paula observed as they crossed the road towards the lakeside walk.
And very adroitly done,' Tweed agreed.
The white Volvo pulled up behind them with a screech of burning rubber. Tweed grabbed Paula round the waist, ready to shove her ahead of him and tell her to run.
`No need to call the police,' a familiar voice growled.
They swung round and Kuhlmann was stepping out of the front passenger seat, leaving his driver behind the wheel. He removed the unlit cigar from his mouth and jiggled it up and down like a conductor's baton to emphasize what he was saying.
`A fresh development. Didn't think it wise to talk over the phone when you're so close to Berliner Tor.'
`What's happened?' Tweed asked.
`Thirty minutes ago Dr Wand took off in his Lear jet from Hamburg bound for Kastrup Airport, Copenhagen.'
`That's very satisfactory. Thank you, Otto. Things seem to be working out as I foresaw. By the way, did Wand take Jules Starmberg with him?'
`No, definitely not. I dug out old photos of that villainous Luxemburger from the time when his wife was murdered. Gave them to the men watching the Lear.'
No alarm bells rang for Tweed at this information. He was too absorbed in racing over in his mind the precautions he had taken.
`And your present plan?' Kuhlmann asked.
`We are flying to Copenhagen ourselves this evening, and your co-operation has been invaluable. I've had two intriguing conversations recently.'
`Which you won't tell me about. Play it your own way. You always do.'
`Something's just struck me – I must contact Nielsen at Copenhagen police headquarters…'
`I've already done it.' Kuhlmann grinned. 'By now he will have plain-clothes men waiting at Kastrup for the Lear to land. They'll follow Wand, find out where he holes up. I'd say that wraps it up for now.'
`You think of everything. Thank you again…'
Tweed and Paula resumed their walk along the footpath by the Binnen Alster lake. They were walking through a parkland of green grassy slopes and trees. The sound of the traffic was muffled. For Paula it was dreamlike after her experience at Blankenese harbour. No one else was about as they wandered on in the chill air and the sunlight.
`It's a beautiful city,' Paula enthused. 'I love the green roofs of those magnificent old buildings across the lake. I suppose the roofs were once copper and have turned that colour with exposure to the elements.'
`I imagine so,' agreed Tweed.
`It's such a green city. And I love those mansard rooftops – they're so elegant. We hardly ever see them back home.'
The path curved, following the lake, and they walked under a small bridge arch. Ahead of them was a marina and an even vaster stretch of water. As Paula slipped her arm in his Tweed nodded towards the new lake.
`This is the Aussen Alster, the larger of the two lakes. You can walk for miles but I think we'd better turn back.'
`Lord, I'm revelling in the peace,' she said as they returned along the silent footpath while a breeze trawled shoals of water towards the bank.
Newman, Tweed, and Paula had an incredibly early one- course dinner in the Grill Room. Newman was always insistent on allowing plenty of time to catch a flight. Tweed would have left it to the last minute – to avoid hanging about Hamburg Airport waiting for the Copenhagen flight.
Even at that early hour they had company at a nearby table. Burgoyne and Lee, Willie and Helen, were eating a leisurely meal. Burgoyne sent over a bottle of Laurent Perrier with his compliments.
`Nice of him,' Paula commented. 'Can't think what's got into him – he's become so human.'
`Camouflage,' Newman decided. 'Incidentally, I had a chat with Helen in the lounge area before I took her here to lunch…'
He described the scene between Helen and Burgoyne. Tweed, drinking mineral water, listened with interest. Newman and Paula demolished the bottle of champagne together. It was near the end of their meal when Lee, wearing another of her off-the-shoulder dresses, wandered towards them, holding a glass of red wine.
`I'd say physically Lee was very strong,' Paula remarked.
`And she's as high as a kite,' Newman added.
`Dear Mr Tweed' – Lee leant over him, her bare arm round his shoulders – 'I need some stimulating company. Take me out for a drink later? Please!'
`I'm sorry, but we're-' Tweed began.
That was when Lee tilted her glass and a cascade of red wine poured over his suit jacket. Lee was appalled. She grabbed a napkin and began dabbing at the cloth as she babbled on.
`I'm so dreadfully sorry. Red wine is the worst…'
`It's all right,' Tweed said standing up, 'but I'd better go to my room and change.' He looked at Newman. 'If you could handle paying all our bills? Good. And we do have loads of time…'
Newman called for the bill as Paula stood up. She felt a little woozy. Too much champagne after a long day. `I'll go up and pack my sponge bag,' she told him. She walked out of the Grill Room into the lobby.
PART THREE
By Stealth
41
Paula paused at the hotel exit. Something seemed to be going on outside. A uniformed doorman she hadn't seen before came up to her, all excited.
`They are making a film outside, using the hotel as a background. I don't know who the star is.'
I might as well get a breath of fresh air, clear my head, Paula thought. She vaguely noticed the doorman's uniform didn't fit him too well. She walked down the steps carefully and the doorman ran ahead of her to open the doors.
`Does this often happen?' she asked.
`First time I have ever known it to happen. It will be good publicity for the Four Seasons.'
The night air was cold, welcome and refreshing. Raising a hand, she shielded her eyes from the glare of the arc lights. Several white vans were parked alongside the kerb. Each carried the legend
INTER-VISION TV UND RADIO GMBH.
Two cameras on tripods were aimed at a point at the edge of the parkland opposite. A couple, a man and woman, were embracing each other. Paula counted about a dozen men in white coats and wearing white gloves. A man she presumed was the director carried a bullhorn.
A generator thumped away on a pavement near the open doors of one of the vans. Beyond the open doors of the nearest van she could see a small amount of equipment and another stockily b
uilt man in the shadows inside who also wore a white coat.
She wandered a few feet along the pavement to get a closer view. The activity was frenetic. Was it really necessary or did TV crews think that was the way they were supposed to act? She paused by the open doors of the nearest van.
The next moment she felt two pairs of hands grasp her, lifting her off her feet and propelling her inside the van. She opened her mouth to scream her head off. A hand clamped over her mouth. She bit the fingers almost to the bone. A snarling voice yelled 'Bitch!' and she was hurled towards the shadowy figure deep inside. She broke the momentum by forcing herself sideways, crashing into the wall of the vehicle. The glare of an arc-light was projected into the interior.
`This is crazy! Bastards!' she shouted.
One of the two assailants who had grabbed her from behind came at her, hands clawed to grasp her throat. She whipped out the canister of hair spray from her shoulder bag, aimed it at his eyes, pressed the button as she half- shut her own eyes. Her attacker squealed, clapped both hands hard over his eyes. She moved closer, kneed him between the legs. He squealed again, bent over double, his hands still covering his eyes. Pressing her back against the side of the van, she kicked his head, and he staggered back against the opposite side of the van.
The second assailant reached her. Too close to use the spray again. She dug her fingers deep into his greasy hair, took a firm grip, pulled him towards her. As she'd expected, he tried to jerk his head away. She suddenly pushed with all her strength, still holding on, driving him across the van. She heard his skull crack against the van's wall. Dazed, his legs sagged, he slumped to the floor.
Glancing towards her escape route, the open doors at the rear, she was astonished to see a camera apparently recording the scene while the arc-light continued to glare into the interior. Then she slipped on a spool of film tape and tumbled on top of both her attackers.
She made herself jump to her feet. That was when Starmberg came up behind her, pressed a soft pad over her nose and mouth. She smelt the deadly aroma of ether and rammed her clenched fist behind her, aiming for the kidneys. She heard an agonized grunt, the world blurred, and she sank into a pit of endless depth and darkness.