In Munich Manfred switched off the desk light. Wherever he was staying in the West he always wore gloves – there would be no fingerprints to trace when he left the apartment. There was a thin smile on his face. Operation Crocodile was proceeding according to plan.
In the bedroom at the Hotel Metropol Claire Hofer was enduring a state of delayed shock after Martel told her of Lisbeth's murder. He omitted reference to the fact that she had been tortured. When she reacted she caught him off guard. .
And you let them take her? Bastard!' She hit him across the side of the face with the flat of her hand. When she raised her hand a second time he grabbed her wrist and pushed her down on the bed, his face inches from hers as she glared up at him. Their position reminded him of when he had pinned his would-be assassin, Gisela Zobel, down on the sofa in the Centralhof apartment and she had attempted to distract him with sexual games.
But this girl was different. Tough as whipcord, but vulnerable, a vulnerability she covered up with an outwardly controlled manner. The deep blue eyes seemed larger than ever in the light from the bedside lamp. He kissed her gently on the forehead and felt her whipcord muscles relax.
'There were at least a dozen armed Delta soldiers in the assault,' he told her softly, still gripping her wrist. 'They piled out of two cars. I shot three men. I saw them hauling Lisbeth inside a large Mercedes which drove straight off. I blew it…'
'A dozen armed men!' Her eyes gazed into his. 'But how could you have saved Lisbeth against such odds? And why did they do this thing-take her away?' Her body had gone limp. He relaxed his grip on her wrist.
'They thought they were taking you…'
`Me?- Why me?'
'Something big is coming up.' He perched on the edge of her bed and lit a cigarette. 'So Delta is eliminating every agent who might get in their way. First Warner, then the attempt on yourself. I'm their next target. Incidentally, why didn't Warner use the train to get from Lindau to Switzerland – why that business of the boat?'
'He was an ex-Navy man and mistrusted confined spaces – a train could be a trap he'd say. There was nowhere to run. Can't we hit back at these people?'
'We're going to. That's why I'm in St. Gallen. There's a rare embroidery museum here, isn't there? The receptionist at the Baur au Lac said so…'
'There is.' She was sitting up now, using a hand-mirror and a brush to tidy her dishevelled hair. 'And that's the place Charles used as a rendezvous to meet his contact inside Delta. How do you know about it?'
'We'll come back to that. Do you know how far Warner had gone with his attempt to infiltrate Delta?'
'He had, this contact I've just mentioned. I've no idea what he looks like. Charles went to great lengths to protect his identity, but his code-name is Stahl. Incidentally, you've seen the latest news about Delta?'
She reached for a newspaper and handed it to him. It was dated the previous day. The headline jumped out at him and beneath it was the main article.
New Cache of neo-Nazi Arms and Uniforms Found in Allgau.
The text was padded out but the message was simple. Acting on information received the Bavarian police had raided an isolated farmhouse just before dawn and found. the arms dump. The farmhouse had shown traces of recent occupation but was deserted at the time of the raid…
'That's the seventh Delta arms dump they've found in the past four weeks,' Claire remarked. 'They don't seem to be all that efficient …'
'Odd, isn't it?'
'What are you thinking about?' she asked. 'You've got that look again…'
He was staring at the wall, recalling his conversation with Tweed. Fragments of that conversation kept beavering away at the back of his mind.
The badge was found under Warner's body. The killer must have dropped it without realising… And they completed the job by carving their trademark on his naked back – the Delta symbol…
'I think there's something we're missing – it's just too damned obvious.' He checked his watch. 0430 hours. 'But we can trap the bastards. In the Embroidery Museum here in St. Gallen. In less than eight hours from now.'
CHAPTER 8
Thursday May 28
'This is what we're talking about – I hope…'
They were sitting at a secluded breakfast table in the hotel dining-room. Martel produced from his wallet an orange- coloured ticket and handed it to Claire. The ticket bore a number, several words printed in German and no indication of a town. Industrie and Gewerbemuseum Eintritt: Fr. 2.50.
'Warner had that in his own wallet when he was killed,' Martel continued. have my fingers crossed…'
'You can uncross them,' she said cheerfully. 'It is an entrance ticket to the St. Gallen Embroidery Museum. The building is in Vadianstrasse – near the Old Town. Not ten minutes' walk away…'
'Look at the back.'
Claire turned over the ticket and saw words written in a script she recognised. Charles Warner's. She was probably looking at the last words he wrote before he had embarked on his fatal boat trip from Lindau.
St. 11.50. May 28.
She looked at Martel and he detected a hint of excitement in her expression as he drank his eighth cup of coffee. He had already consumed seven croissants, three slices of ham and a large piece of cheese. He was beginning to feel better.
'May 28 – that's today,' she said and checked her watch. 'Nine o'clock. St. must stand for Stahl. In less than three hours we shall be talking to him…'
I shall be talking to him,' Martel corrected her.
'I thought I was part of the team…'
`You told me Warner never let you attend these meetings. And if whoever turns up sees you he may take fright…'
`He won't recognise you,' she persisted stubbornly.
Martel quietly blew up. 'Now listen to me, Claire Hofer. You're not going to like this but there's no nice way to get the message across. I work alone – because then the only person I have to worry about is me. And me is all I've got – so I worry about me quite a lot.'
`I don't have to come inside the museum…'
'I haven't finished yet, so kindly shut up! Ever since I landed in Zurich nothing has been what it seemed. At the Centralhof apartment Delta had put in a girl to take me out. I find another girl in a cupboard – sorry about this, but it's necessary – and I'm led to think she's Claire Hofer…'
'I told you why we arranged it like that, damn it!'
Her face flushed with rage and her eyes blazed. He admired her spirit- he might even be able to use it – but he had to get his point across.
`Next thing,' he went on patiently, 'is a holocaust in Bahnhofstrasse – and within one hour all signs of it disappear…' `Ferdy Arnold's wash-and-brush-up squad,' she said shortly. `Come again?'
'You said yourself earlier you thought they had cleaned up the carnage to keep it quiet-to avoid worrying tourists. Arnold has this special team of engineers, glaziers, builders – you name it – standing by in case of a riot or terrorist outrage. They seal off the area temporarily and their motto is 'as good as new within thirty minutes'. They even have experts who fob off the press with some phoney story if necessary…'
`That's what I mean,' Martel said as he buttered another croissant. 'Nothing is what it seems. Delta – for some reason I have yet to fathom – advertises its outrages. Arnold pretends nothing has happened. He even spreads some lying story which fools Nagel of Intelligence. You really expect my meeting with this Stahl will turn out to be straightforward? Damned if I do.'
`And yet you're walking headlong into it?'
`I'll arrive at exactly 11.45. After breakfast you show me the place…'
