could pass for a German to infiltrate this Delta outfit in Bavaria – neo-Nazis, as you well know. They cleverly keep just inside the law so they can't be banned.'
The Bundesnachrichtendienst – the BND – was the German Federal Secret Service with discreet headquarters near Munich. There was a dull clink as Tweed-took something from his pocket and dropped it on the desk. A triangular-shaped silver badge like the Greek letter delta.
'That's their latest version of the swastika,' Tweed remarked. 'The badge was found under Warner's body. The killer must have dropped it without realising he'd lost it…'
'How was he killed?'
'Brutally.' Tweed took off his glasses and leaned back in his swivel chair, settling himself on his favourite cushion. 'The BND pathologist reports that Warner was struck with some kind of knife twenty-five times. Twenty- five! And they completed the job by carving their trademark on his naked back- the Delta symbol.'
'We're relying on that to identify it as a Delta killing?'
'We're relying on an impartial eye-witness – whose name Stoller won't reveal even to me. Some German tourist was sitting on an elevated terrace above the harbour at Lindau…'
'Sounds like the Romerschanze,' Martel interjected.
'Of course, I'd forgotten. You know Lindau. Rum-looking sort of place – I checked it up on the map. From the air it must look like a raft linked by a couple of planks to the mainland. As you know, it's an island linked to Bavaria by two bridges…'
'One road bridge and a separate rail embankment with a cycle and pedestrian track running alongside the railway.'
'Nice to have an eye for detail,' Tweed commented with a hint of sarcasm. Martel appeared not to notice: the reaction showed Tweed was concealing considerable anxiety.
'As I was saying,' Tweed continued, 'this German tourist using his binoculars watched Warner take his powerboat out on to the lake. He saw a crowd of windsurfers – six to be precise – get in Warner's way so he had to stop his boat. When they pushed off he saw Warner's boat was drifting – with Warner slumped over the wheel. He thought he must have been taken ill so he immediately contacted the Water Police who berth their launch just below that Romer-what-not terrace…' He consulted Stoller's report. 'Chap called Horner went out to have a look- see…'
`And the rest is history – past history, unfortunately.'
'Except that I want you to go out and replace Warner for me.' Tweed said quietly.
Frederick Anthony Howard came into the office without knocking. It would be more accurate to say he breezed in. It was the essence of Howard's personality that you dominated a room the moment you entered it.
He was accompanied by Mason, a new recruit. Mason had restless eyes and a lean and hungry look. He said nothing and stood behind his chief like a commissionaire.
'Tweed, I suppose you know we need all active personnel mustered for the protection of the PM during her trip to the summit conference in Vienna?'
He invested the word 'active' with a significance which included Martel and specifically excluded Tweed. Florid-faced and with a choleric temper, Howard was a well-built man of fifty who had an unruly shock of grey hair and a brisk manner. He had a reputation for being a devil with the women, a reputation he relished.
The fact that his wife, Cynthia, lived at their `small manor' in the country and he rented `a pied-a-terre' in Knightsbridge could not have been more convenient. Tweed's privately expressed comment had been rather devastating.
Tied-a-terre? I've been there once. When he has a girl with him it must be standing room only…'
`What's all this bumf?' Howard demanded, picking up the wallet from the desk. Martel had palmed the slips of paper he was perusing and slipped them into his pocket as Howard entered the room.
`That bumf,' Tweed said grimly, `happens to be the personal effects of the late Charles Warner. The BND kindly flew them straight to London from Munich so we can begin our investigation at the earliest moment.'
Having delivered his statement in a calm, cold voice Tweed put on his spectacles. Without them he felt naked, especially in the presence of people like Howard. And he was well aware that wearing the glasses made it impossible to judge his expression.
`Getting touchy in our old age, are we?' Howard enquired lightly, trying to bluff his way through what he now realised had been the height of bad taste.
`The man is dead,' Tweed replied, giving no quarter.
`I don't like it any more than you do.' Howard strolled over to the heavily net-curtained window and gazed through the armoured glass. He clasped both hands in a theatrical pose before making his pronouncement.
`I simply must insist that all active personnel are available to travel aboard the Summit Express from Paris to Vienna one week from today. Tuesday June 2
`I do have a calendar,' Tweed commented.
Howard looked pointedly away from Tweed and at Martel who said nothing, his cigarette holder in his mouth – which to Howard was insubordination. He had made it very clear he preferred no one to practise the filthy habit in his presence.
`Well?' he pressed.
Mattel stared back at Howard, puffing away, his expression hard and hostile. 'I'm otherwise engaged,' he said eventually, still clenching the holder. Howard turned to Tweed and erupted.
'This is too damned much. I'm taking Martel and attaching him to my protection group. He speaks good German…'
'Which is why he's going to Bavaria,' Tweed told him. 'We were suspicious something strange is going on in that part of the world. It looks as though we were right. Otherwise why was Warner killed?'
Howard glanced at Mason who still stood by the door like a commissionaire. Time to assert his authority. 'We?' he repeated in a supercilious tone. 'May I enquire the identity of 'we'?'
'Erich Stoller of the BND and myself,' Tweed said tersely. Time to get rid of Howard. 'I have a minute from the Minister authorising me to investigate the Bavarian enigma and full powers to use my staff in any way I see fit. May I also point out that the route of the Summit Express carrying the four top western leaders to Vienna to meet the Soviet First Secretary passes through Bavaria?'
They were alone again. Howard had stormed out of the office on hearing of the existence of the special ministerial minute. Mason had followed, closing the door carefully behind him.
'He was memorising my appearance,' Martel said.
`Do let's get on. Oh, all right, who was?'
`The new boy, Mason. Who brought him in off the street?'
'Ex-Special Branch, I gather,' Tweed replied. 'And it was Howard who recruited him – interviewed him personally, I heard. I think he'd been angling to join us for a while…'
'We don't take people who apply,' Martel snapped.
'We do now, apparently. How are you going to pick up Warner's trail? And since you've had your breakfast your – stomach should be strong enough to study these pictures taken by Stoller's man – two show clearly the triangular symbol of the Delta Party carved out of Warner's back…'
'Delta being the neo-Nazis,' Martel ruminated as he studied the glossy blow-ups. 'Delta is run by that millionaire electronics industrialist, Reinhard Dietrich. He's also running for office in the Bavarian state elections which take place…'
'On Thursday June 4 – the day after the Summit Express crosses Bavaria,' Tweed interjected. 'Which is something else Howard may have overlooked. You know, Keith, I have the oddest feeling the whole thing interlocks – the Bavarian crossing by the express, the state elections, and the murder of Warner before he could reach us.'
Martel dropped the glossy prints back on the desk and extracted from his pocket the pieces of paper he had secreted while Howard was in the room. He showed Tweed one particular piece of paper.
'I'll start in Zurich to try and find out what got Warner killed.'
'Why Zurich? I did notice a first-class ticket from Munich by train to Zurich -and another from Lindau to Munich, but…'
'This little scrap of paper. Go on, have a really good look at it.'
Tweed examined it under a magnifying glass. It was some kind of ticket which carried the printed legend VBZ
