Previously Tweed had given O'Meara one brief glance on entering his office. The question was now addressed to him. Howard went purple at Tweed's reaction.
'By God, you're going to regret this…'
'No,' Tweed corrected him briskly, 'you are going to regret this if my question is not answered. I happened to notice when the photo was being taken.' He looked direct at O'Meara again. 'I need to know how you obtained this picture…'
'Delivered by messenger to Langley,' O'Meara said brusquely. 'I gather the messenger was held at the gate – normal procedure. He said he had been called by phone, told to go to the reception desk of a Washington hotel where an envelope would be waiting with my name on it. Another envelope contained the delivery fee and a fat tip.'
`You believe this?'
`We checked out his story, for Christ's sake,' the American snapped. 'Who took the picture we haven't a snowflake in hell's idea. It was obviously taken with…'
`A telephoto lens – then your technicians produced this remarkable blow-up. There was a message with the print and negative?'
'Yes,' said O'Meara, unconsciously confirming Tweed's query as to whether both print and negative had been delivered. 'It said that I might like to know an Englishman called Tweed had been aboard the Oasis before the unfortunate aftermath. All this stuff was flown to me top priority by Langley.'
`Manfred,' Tweed murmured.
`What was that?' Howard pounced.
`Manfred! He arranged it – the taking of the picture after he had had Loomis and myself followed from Dulles. He's playing his usual tactic – sowing confusion prior to launching Crocodile
Tweed then proceeded to play his own diversionary tactic before Howard could interrogate him about the Washington trip. Unlocking a desk drawer he lifted out three articles and placed them neatly on his desk top. A. 38 Smith amp; Wesson Special. A black beret. A pair of large tinted sun-goggles. He added to the collection a dark blue windcheater.
`The interesting question,' Tweed remarked, 'is who was in London last Friday morning when Manfred-Carlos was in Piccadilly?'
`We were in Paris for the security meeting. I caught the noon plane,' said O'Meara.
`I was on the to am. Flight…'
Like the American, Howard answered quickly, then stopped in mid-sentence. In a matter of seconds Tweed had reversed, the roles, had become the inquisitor instead of the accused. He followed up his advantage before Howard could explode.
'That doesn't exonerate either of you. The wearer of these garments, the owner of the gun was seen by a policeman in Piccadilly at nine o'clock in the morning. As you know, shortly afterwards this little collection was found on a chair in the man's shop, Austin Reed. My question really is who did this mysterious man who vanished so quickly come to London to meet…'
He broke off as the door opened and Howard's deputy, Mason, came into the room. He. was closing the door when Tweed spoke abruptly.
Not now, Mason. And next time, knock first. It is customary.' 'But I was invited to attend…'
'You are now invited to leave immediately.'
Mason stared at Howard who looked away towards the window. He wet his lips as though about to say more when he caught Tweed's gaze. It was bleak and intimidating and Mason suddenly realised no one was coming to his aid. With a mumbled apology he left the room.
'Did you invite him?' Tweed asked Howard sharply.
'Not really…' Howard seemed as relieved as anyone to see the back of Mason at this juncture. 'He is, of course, my deputy
'Who has yet to work his passage,' Tweed replied caustically. 'Returning to the subject of this strange incident in Piccadilly, Special Branch – at my request – handed these items to their Forensic boffins for urgent analysis. No manufacturer's labels, of, course. The beret is from Guyana, the windcheater and goggles from Venezuela next door. Origin of the gun untraceable. Does their report suggest anything?'
'South America,' O'Meara said grimly. 'Carlos again?'
'Except that it is rather obvious,' Tweed pointed out. 'And we are getting too many obvious signals. I'm looking for something not obvious…'
'What the devil do you mean?' demanded Howard who had recovered his normal balance. 'And what has this to do with our over-riding concern – the Summit Express?'
`It's a question of timing.' Tweed was still addressing O'Meara. 'You should read a little more history. In the early part of 1919, when Germany was falling apart, a Soviet republic was established in Bavaria – so there is a precedent for Operation Crocodile. Luckily the so-called people's government was destroyed by the remnants of the German Army and the Freikorps. Look at the map…'
Tweed opened The Times atlas and showed them Lake Konstanz and how its shape was like that of a crocodile with its jaws agape.
'That is the significance of Crocodile – it denotes the locale of the conspiracy. Bavaria is their immediate target. The plan is to set up a neutral government under this creature, Tofler who has Communist links. Bavaria has a narrow section of the Konstanz shore – and reports had reached me that a secret factory in Czechoslovakia is building motor torpedo boats…
`But Czechoslovakia has no coastline,' the American protested.
'So when Toiler takes over, the torpedo-boats are sent by road aboard giant trailers and launched into Lake Konstanz. Only a few would be needed to dominate the Rhine delta – even to help a campaign later to seize the Vorarlberg province from Austria…'
'I find this sinister,' O'Meara muttered.
'A typically audacious Manfred plan,' Tweed assured him. 'To detach Bavaria from the rest of the Federal Republic – and then one-third of the land mass of Western Germany is severed from the main bulwark against Soviet Russia. The stakes in Crocodile are enormous …'
'You could be dramatising the situation,' O'Meara suggested.
'No, he isn't,' Howard agreed, to Tweed's surprise. 'If by some twist of political events Bavaria were detached from the Federal Republic the Soviets have conquered western Europe. It is a scenario we have feared for years – not that I dreamt Bavaria would be the key the Kremlin would turn to unlock Western Europe…'
`This crap about a Soviet Republic in 1919…' O'Meara broke in aggressively.
'Is history,' Howard confirmed. 'It existed for a short time. Now I want to know the source of your information,' he told Tweed firmly.
'Werner Hagen, the recently deceased nephew of Reinhard Dietrich. What neither of you know,' he continued pokerfaced, 'is that he also revealed that the assassin is one of the four security chiefs attached to the train…'
Howard recovered from the shock first. His expression froze and he walked round the side of the desk to stare down at Tweed. His tone was clipped.
'For this I will have you thrown out of the Service.'
'If I'm wrong, you might manage it,' Tweed agreed. 'But if I am right you will have questions to answer at the highest level
'The guy's crazy!' O'Meara burst out. 'First he gets involved in the Clint Loomis killing. Now he comes across with this lunatic accusation…'
'Alain Flandres is taking it very seriously,' Tweed' bserved. 'I met him in Paris only yesterday
'You did what!'
Howard was almost apoplectic. He thrust both hands inside his jacket pockets to regain control. Tweed gazed back at Howard over the rims of his glasses as his chief spoke with great deliberation.
'You have no authority to involve yourself in any way in the security of the Summit Express. You have grossly exceeded your brief and will be held answerable for this dereliction of duty
'Washington will hear of this, buddy,' snapped O'Meara. 'They will be interested to hear a senior British agent has made this accusation about their security chief…'
'I said one of the four security chiefs,' Tweed reminded him.
