if he hadn't tried to kill you that night. An American girl, Sue Templeton – a blonde – who helped 'me a few weeks ago, got in touch with me the following morning. She'd seen him walk into the International. He had a room there, too. Nice girl, sharp as a tack and, like so many American girls, has lots of initiative.'
`On holiday?' Tweed remarked for something to say.
`Yes. She's still here. Spends most of her time out at Travemunde with her English boy friend.'
During the next few days Tweed reminded Newman of a spider which had woven its web, confident that sooner or later the fly would get caught up inside it. He wandered round the waterfront at Travemunde, spent time with Ann Grayle aboard her sloop.
They frequently saw Casey's Sea King, flying low over the area, once even crossing direct over Dr Berlin's mansion on Priwall Island. Grayle remarked on it,-then hardly noticed when it passed overhead again.
At Tweed's suggestion Newman waited his opportunity, then invited Ben Tolliver to have a drink with him in a bar. The old Kenya hand accepted at once and they chatted easily together.
`Diana Chadwick?' Ben mused, in answer to Newman's question. 'She used to run a bit wild in what we called Happy Valley, but promiscuous? I wouldn't call her that. The trouble was Ann was competing for the attentions of the same man. It was that kind of world. Diana won hands down. You can't do that to Ann Grayle…'
`I was a farmer,' he continued after sipping at his Scotch. `One of the few successful ones. Dr Berlin was a weird one even in those days. Kept to himself on that medical station he ran for the natives out in the bush. I always said he had grown that black beard to make himself look the part. Fancied himself as a second Dr Albert Schweitzer. Then he disappeared one night. We thought a wild animal had got him – they found bloodstained clothing. Next thing we hear, he's turned up in Leipzig. Not interested in women.'
`Diana knew him rather well, I gather.'
`Only one who could get near him. Helped him out with the nursing, fetching medical supplies from Nairobi. She has a way with men. I mean that in the nicest sense.'
`And now no contact? Between Dr Berlin and the rest of you?'
`Wasn't much back in Kenya. None at all here. Except for Diana. They go back over twenty years. Think I'd better get back, see if Ann's all right. She's Miss Bossy Boots – you must have noticed. But I rather like her.'
It happened as they were walking out of the bar which stood almost opposite where the Priwall Island ferry plied back and forth. Tweed kept a close eye on the ferry and now he stood quite still, a hundred yards or so from the landing point, his gaze fixed on the incoming vessel.
`Well, I'll be damned!' Tolliver exclaimed. 'That looks like Dr Berlin coming out of hibernation…'
At the prow of the ferry moving close in to the landing stage was a black Mercedes, its waxed body gleaming in the sunshine. A uniformed chauffeur sat behind the wheel; one passenger occupied the back seat. Tweed stood by himself at the edge of the road as the ramp was lowered, hands thrust inside his jacket pockets. The car bumped over the ramp, swung in his direction. Newman started running.
The Mercedes moved slowly at first. As Newman ran he saw the figure in the back behind the amber net curtains lean forward, as though giving an instruction. The car changed direction, suddenly accelerated, heading at high speed direct for Tweed.
`Look out!' Newman yelled.
Tweed remained motionless as a statue, staring straight at the dim silhouette of the man in the back of the car. People stopped, turned, gazed in horror. The Mercedes roared forward. Time seemed to stand still. Tweed himself stood still, hands still thrust inside jacket pockets, very erect, feet planted slightly apart. Oh God, no! Newman kept on running.
At the very last second the Mercedes swerved away. Tweed felt the force of its slipstream. His trousers whipped round his legs. The hush which had descended on the waterfront was broken. People began walking again, chattering, looking back at Tweed as Newman reached him.
`Are you bloody mad?' he gasped.
`He's cracking.' There was infinite satisfaction in Tweed's voice. 'At long last he's cracking.'
`What the hell does that mean?'
`I think – just in case anything happens to me – you'd better know more about this business.' He looked up as Casey's chopper passed overhead. 'That has probably helped. Now let us drive out into the country, have a walk where we can talk with no danger of eavesdroppers. Fortunately you've been thoroughly vetted, signed the Official Secrets Act. In fact, Bob,' he continued as they made their way to where Newman had parked the Audi, 'you are the only person I can confide in.'
They walked along the country road leading to the private airfield. The sun blazed down and Newman carried his jacket over his arm.
`You could talk to Butler and Nield,' he pointed out.
Tweed shook his head. 'I don't know how I'm going to solve this one – it's quite the grimmest problem I've ever faced. Let's take it step by step. Balkan is the codename for the master agent Lysenko is using to operate his network in West Germany.'
'I have grasped that..
`Janus is the name I've given to the man Lysenko has planted inside my own organization in London. One of four men – Grey, Dalby, Lindemann or Masterson. All right so far?'
`Clear enough.'
'Janus and Balkan are the same man. It's Lysenko's master stroke. He must have infiltrated Janus years ago – and six months back I promoted him – whoever he is – to be one of the four European sector chiefs. The blunder is my responsibility.'
'How could you have known?'
'Irrelevant.' Tweed's tone was curt. 'I did it. But it gets worse. I'm now convinced Janus-Balkan is Dr Berlin… 'Jesus. What put you on to that?'
`Two chance remarks – one by Diana, the other by Kuhlmann. When we attended Dr Berlin's party we stared at each other across a distance – while he sat on the terrace. Diana said maybe he – Berlin – had wanted me to see him.'
'Why would he want to do that?'
'Arrogance, supreme self-confidence, verging on madness.
He was confident I wouldn't penetrate his disguise.' `Disguise?' Newman queried, mopping his forehead. 'The beard, the dark glasses – above all the beard.' 'What about it?'
'We now come to Kuhlmann's chance remark after Franck went out of my bathroom window. He said he now understood why Kurt Franck had gone underground for about two weeks. He had to do that – waiting for his beard to grow.'
`So?'
`The same thing applies to the so-called Dr Berlin. Thanks to your hair-raising excursion behind the border we know he is a fake. And you told me Falken said he hoped someone would get Berlin because he'd betrayed a number of Falken's agents.'
'But the beard…'
'We know from Ann Grayle, from our own experience, that Dr Berlin stays under cover inside his study at the mansion on Priwall Island every time he appears – stays under cover for about two weeks. That's the time it takes him to grow that beard. That afternoon at the party I was staring at one of my own sector chiefs without knowing it – and I've still no idea which of the four it is.'
`If you're right you do have a problem. If you identify him and the world press gets on to it they'll crucify the Service.' `It's even worse than that, Bob.'
`I thought we'd plumbed the depths.'
`I told you earlier about my visit to that psychiatrist, Dr Generoso. He talked of the tremendous pressure a schizo – a man leading a double life – works under. Philby used alcohol. Generoso agreed one form of release in extreme cases could be sadistic murders – the killing of those blonde girls. You see what I'm up against now?'
`Yes. It's pretty deadly. If Berlin is the mass murderer as well as one of your sector chiefs – and if the killings are brought home to him – the scandal that would break in London would be without precedence in history. Let's turn back to the car. I'm sweating like a pig – and not just with the heat. This is why you've been so secretive with Kuhlmann? You don't want him to solve the case…'
