watch his smoke.'
At Tweed's suggestion, Diana spent a lot of time in her room at the Jensen, perfecting her shorthand and typing on a machine she'd hired locally. She never went anywhere near Travemunde.
Butler and Nield took it in turns to guard her. When she took a short walk in the town one of them was always close to her. Tweed had persuaded Kuhlmann to issue each man with a Walther automatic and a temporary licence to possess a firearm.
And Tweed's so-called passive phase was packed with activity. He phoned London and arranged for a Sea King helicopter to be flown to Lubeck. He also took a great interest in the local private airfield at Blankensee, a nowhere place out in the country sixteen kilometres east of Lubeck.
Butler, who held a licence to pilot a helicopter, drove Tweed to the airfield. Close to it they saw a sign pointing down a side road to the right. Lubeck-Blankensee. Turning down it they drove along the Blankensee- strasse, a long straight road bordered by trees and fields beyond.
The airfield was on their left, larger than Tweed had expected, stretching away towards the east. It was a lonely spot. The departure building was a single-storey modern edifice which carried a large sign above the entrance. FLUGHAFEN LUBECK.
`No one-about,' Newman commented as they walked inside. The entrance hall had a strange floor – paved with small pebbles. To their right was an empty restaurant which appeared closed. Tweed made for a noticeboard, glanced at it.
'Polizei – Raum 4,' he read out.
Inside Room 4 a policeman sat in shirt-sleeves drinking coffee with two men in flying gear. Tweed introduced himself and the policeman checked his identity and then said he'd leave them alone.
`You'll know these two gentlemen,' Tweed said to Newman. `They flew us last year from the Swedish island of Ornei into Arlanda Airport. Bill Casey, pilot, and Tom Wilson, his co-pilot and navigator, plus radio op.'
Casey, a good-humoured man of thirty-one with sandy hair shook hands with Newman. 'With Tweed involved,' he said, `my bet is this is a hairy one, too.' Wilson, dark-haired, about the same age, was more reserved, simply nodding as he briefly shook hands.
`Now,' Tweed said briskly, 'let's get down to it. You managed to borrow a Sea King?'
`She's out there now,' Casey confirmed. 'Getting her was a job. The papers I had to sign, but she's all yours. And the controller here has loaned me this chart.'
He spread it out over the table. Newman was surprised by the area it covered. The whole of the Baltic, continuing north to the Skagerrak – the vast body of water which entered the North Sea and the Atlantic – and Oslo.
`Exactly what we want.' Tweed was becoming very animated, Newman observed. Action was coming. Tweed produced several Polaroid prints, laid them alongside the chart. 'These were taken by a colleague in Travemunde a few days ago – pretending to be a tourist, snapping shots at random. This power cruiser is the Sudwind. Think you could recognize it from the air if it heads out into the Baltic?'
`If I can keep these prints, yes. Wilson will soon pick it up with a pair of high-powered glasses. From a distance.'
`Good. I wouldn't want the helmsman to know you were interested in him. There are two more very similar cruisers I want you to look out for. The Nordsee – and the Nocturne.'
`Half a mo' while I note those names down.' Casey scribbled in his notebook. 'How far do we follow them, bearing in mind we can only tail one if they take different courses?'
`Only one will head for the west, turning north through the Oresund between Denmark and Sweden, then on into the Kattegat and the Skagerrak. I need to know its ultimate destination when that happens.'
`It will happen?' Casey queried.
`I'm betting my whole career on it. Of course there'll be other cruisers poodling about along the coast. It's the one of the three mentioned which goes long distance I want tracked. Radio regular reports back to Lubeck-Sud police HQ. And on this bit of paper is the call sign, the waveband, etc. You address each signal to Kuhlmann – it's written down there. I understand you know German, Casey?'
`My second language..
`Transmit in German. That's important – in case of interception from the other side. You sign off as Walter Three.'
`We brought over night-sight equipment as requested. How do we go about covering night and day?'
`Take it in turns to fly the chopper.'
`I told you it would be hairy,' Casey said to Wilson. He looked at Tweed. 'You've marked where the Sudwind and the Nordsee are moored with crosses. What about the Nocturne?'
`She's disappeared. I think she may come back.'
`You do realize we're going to be pretty conspicuous?' Casey pointed out.
`I want you to be. More pressure on the target I'm after. The Sea King does have Danish markings?'
`Again, as requested.'
`So people – including those across the border – are going to think it's some kind of NATO exercise. The locals will soon get used to your patrols, hardly notice you. But for God's sake, don't stray over the border.'
`That thought had occurred to me,' Casey replied. 'And I think we'll get moving now…'
`Pressure?' Newman queried as they drove away from the airfield. 'On Dr Berlin?'
'As much as I can bring to bear. Head for Travemunde – I'm going to haunt that place, mingle with the boat people. The news will reach Priwall Island soon enough.'
`And I'm sticking with you. Butler and Nield have their hands full watching over Diana. You're after that five hundred-kilo consignment of heroin, aren't you? I thought so. But what makes you think it isn't already on its way to Britain now?'
'A remark Kuhlmann made the morning after Franck attacked me in my bedroom.'
`And, of course you wouldn't care to tell me the remark?' `Of course.'
Fifty-One
`I've changed my mind,' Tweed said as they approached the turn-off point to Travemunde. 'Drive us back to Lubeck-Sud, first. I want to reassure Kuhlmann – he got me authority for the Sea King to use that airfield, to use their radio system. Then we'll drive on to Travemunde…'
Kuhlmann took them to the same locked room with the scrambler phone. As they sat round the table Tweed pointed to the phone.
'If I need to use that in an emergency and you're not here, could you arrange it so I'll be permitted up here?'
'My pleasure.'
Tweed told him about the Sea King now operating from Flughafen Lubeck. Kuhlmann said he'd also arrange it so all signals from the chopper came straight through to him. The German lacked his normal aggressive bounce. Tweed sensed frustration but ignored it.
`There is one thing before we go,' he remarked. 'I'd have thought a fresh warning should be issued that our murderer is still out there…'
`Hell! That's what's getting me down. I've asked for just that action. It's been vetoed.'
`Who by?'
`The Land.' He looked at Newman. 'As you know, we have separate state governments who carry a lot of clout. I called Kiel. They called Lubeck. Kiel came back with nothing doing. I'm not even permitted to have new posters put up – Franck's have been removed, naturally. Schleswig-Holstein is one of the poorest states. Relies heavily on the tourists. They don't want another scare about a mass murderer on the loose. They say that pathologist's report isn't conclusive.'
`So we wait for the next killing?' Tweed said grimly. `I've run out of leads.'
`I haven't.' Tweed stood up. 'We'd better get going.'
`Funny thing,' Kuhlmann said as he accompanied them to the elevator. 'We'd have trapped Kurt Franck even
