l'Est at 11.35 at night and that it will still be dark when it crosses the frontier into Germany.'
`I understand it is the normal train with a section of coaches sealed off from the rest of the express for our illustrious passengers? Plus their own restaurant…'
`That is so. Which means there are six stops before the express reaches Munich. There Chancellor Langer boards the train…'
Flandres threw up both hands in a gesture of frustration. 'All because my own President will not get into a plane – so the others agree, seeing it as a chance to confer during the journey so they present a united front to the Soviet leadership in Vienna.'
Well, you can't alter that, so let's talk about something more congenial…'
For the rest of the meal Flandres was his normal ebullient self, a tribute to his exceptional self-control. But Tweed thought he could see in the Frenchman's eyes an unspoken question. Who was the Englishman's prime suspect?
The caller gave the code-name Franz to the operator at Stoller's Pullach headquarters and said he would ring off in twenty seconds if he was not put through without delay. It was late on Monday evening but the BND chief was waiting hopefully in his office.
'Erich Stoller here…'
'Franz speaking again. I have more information for you -the location of the largest arms dump yet. This time it will be protected by Delta men…'
`Let me get a notepad, I'll only be a moment…'
'Stop! I know that trick! Make your notes afterwards. Wait until the dump has been built up – organise your raid for tomorrow, the day before the election. The location of the dump is…'
Having provided Stoller with the information Reinhard Dietrich had given him earlier in the underground garage, Manfred replaced the receiver.
CHAPTER 22
Tuesday June 2
FREISTAAT BAYERN! TOFLER! TOFLER!! TOFLER!!! FREE STATE OF BAVARIA! TOFLER..
The banners and posters had appeared overnight and were everywhere. Small planes flew over the cities cascading thousands of leaflets bearing the same message. Two days before the election Bavaria seethed in a turmoil.
There were marches by Delta men wearing peaked caps, brown shirts and trousers tucked into jackboots. They sported armbands carrying the Delta symbol.
There were counter-marches by Toiler's supporters waving banners and dressed in civilian clothes – each cavalcade preceded by small groups of teen-age girls carrying flowers – which made it tricky for the police to intervene for fear of hurting the girls.
Miinich was like a cauldron with motorists shrieking their horns as planes above fluttered leaflets like confetti. Standing by a window in the office reserved for him at police headquarters Erich Stoller's expression was grim as he spoke to Martel who stood beside him.
'It's getting out of control. And the news tomorrow that we've seized the biggest Delta arms dump yet isn't going to help…'
'Your informant again?' enquired Claire who stood behind the two men. 'There has to be an informant for you to have traced so many weapon caches recently..
'Yes, Franz phoned me again
'Franz?'
'The code-name for my informant.' Stoller made a gesture of impotence. 'I really have no idea who he is – but every time we react to his brief messages we find a fresh dump…'
'The timing is interesting,' Martel commented. 'This business of the arms dumps has been rising to a crescendo – and the climax, oddly enough – will coincide with the Summit Express crossing the Bavarian sector. There is, incidentally, an item of news I should pass on to you. Just before Werner Hagen caused his own death at the water-mill he made an alarming statement.'
'What was that?' Stoller asked quietly as he went to the table and poured more coffee.
'He alleged -and both Claire and I believed him -that…' He swung round and stared at the German as he completed his sentence. '… the assassin who will kill one of the western leaders aboard the train is one of the four security chiefs assigned to protect those leaders…'
A hush descended on the large room. Claire remained quite still, sensing the rise in tension. Stoller paused in the act of pouring coffee. Four sparrows settled on the window-ledge outside, which struck Claire as very strange. Four. There were four security men involved.
`Did – you – say – Hagen?' asked Stoller, spacing his words. 'Yes.'
'He said that just before he died?'
'Yes.'
'Which means you withheld this information for three days?' 'Yes.'
The two men faced each other like fierce dogs squaring up for battle. Stoller had gone very pate, his long arms close to his body. Martel watched the German as he lit a fresh cigarette. He asked the question casually.
'What was it like – your two years under cover in what you still call The Zone? That length of time must be something of a record – to survive undetected…'
'And what does that mean?' Stoller asked very quietly.
'Simply that my main job is to identify the rotten apple in the barrel – O'Meara, Flandres, Howard – or yourself. And the train is leaving Paris tonight. You're going to find the atmosphere aboard rather electric. Think of it, Erich, all four of you looking over your shoulders…'
'Why take Hagen's word?'
'Because my job is to tell when a man is lying – and I believe Hagen was telling the truth.'
'Would you think me rude if I asked you to leave? And at least you won't be on board the train
'Why the hell did you do that to Stoller? God knows he's helped us,' Claire raged.
They had returned to the Hotel Clausen and Martel was sitting on her bed while she stormed round the room. The Swiss girl was in a furious temper. She sat down in- front of the dressing-table and began brushing her hair vigorously.
'We're letting them all know at the last moment. It's the plan Tweed and I cooked up when I met him at London Airport. It will throw the killer off balance, may cause him to make a slip
'They'll all know? Is that a good idea?'
'They'll be watching each other.'
'As you said, the atmosphere will be diabolical. One thing's for sure – you've made an enemy of Stoller…'
'Only if he's guilty…'
She swung round on her stool and glared. 'For God's sake remember what you said to him. We can't go near him again.' 'You think we're marooned?'
'Aren't we?' she challenged.
They were waiting for Tweed in his office after his return flight from Paris. Seated behind her desk, McNeil half-closed her eyes to warn her boss. Big Trouble.
'This is Tim O'Meara,' Howard began very stiffly, introducing the large American who remained by the window to avoid shaking hands with Tweed. 'Someone took this photograph while you were on board Clint Loomis' power cruiser on the Potomac…'
Tweed took the glossy print and examined it carefully. It was a blow-up which had been produced with great skill, doubtless in the CIA laboratories at Langley. The print provided a clear reproduction of Tweed who was squinting as though gazing into the sun.
'Well?' Howard demanded.
'How did you come by this photo? It is important that I know.'
