`I just don't know how to handle it. Yet,' Tweed admitted. `And then we have a further complication. Lysenko is, I'm certain, in his most audacious mood. He's using Berlin to transport that appalling drug consignment to Britain as soon as he can. We have to stop him delivering that load of poison somehow. And a Drug Squad man in London warned me they're expecting it in the near future.'
`Hence the Sea King? To track Berlin's cruiser when he sets out for England?'
`Yes, partly. And to put more pressure on. It all hinges on pressure. That's why I said back in Travemunde I believed he was cracking when the Mercedes came at me I think he told the driver to run me down, then changed his mind. The schizo side took over briefly.'
`Why change his mind?'
`I'd have thought that was obvious. He'd have been arrested, exposed to grilling by Kuhlmann, brought up on a manslaughter charge – at the least. His identity would have been blown.'
`So, we go on waiting, putting on the pressure?'
Not for much longer I think – after what happened today. And I think the unloading point for that huge drug haul may well be East Anglia. Even King's Lynn. Significant your Polish captain, Anders, mentioned those places. He may have been trying to tell you something.'
`East Anglia? That makes Janus Hugh Grey, surely? Doesn't he live near King's Lynn?'
`Place called Hawkswood Farm. And that's not like you, Bob. To accuse a man on such flimsy evidence.'
`Flimsy?'
`Yes! They all know that area. They all pay periodic visits to Wisbech nearby – on the river Nene. The interrogation centre is there. You know that. And all four attended a party at Hawkswood Farm two years ago on July 14. That same night – early in the morning shortly after the guests had left to drive home – a girl called Carole Langley was brutally carved up and raped. A blonde.'
`That does rather tie it up,' Newman commented grimly. 'I take it the case was never solved.'
`You take it aright.'
`Then why don't you check with Monica on the whereabouts of all four men now?'
`Which is exactly why we're driving back to Lubeck-Sud.'
`One thing puzzles me,' Newman said as he climbed in behind the wheel. 'Who was that man with the bandaged face who asked Ann Grayle about Dr Berlin?'
I have no idea. Let's hurry. I sense things are about to detonate.'
`Can I have a cigarette, Bob?' Tweed asked.
Newman concealed his surprise, offered his pack, lit the cigarette for Tweed, who'd given up smoking years ago. It was an indication of the pressure Tweed himself was enduring as they sat in the locked room at Lubeck- Sud.
Tweed had spoken to Monica and told her he would wait for a reply, giving her the number. He took short puffs in the way a man or woman unaccustomed to smoking does. The room was airless, the temperature high in mid-afternoon, all adding to the tension as the two men sat in silence.
The ringing of the phone made Newman jump. Tweed stubbed out his half-smoked cigarette, lifted the receiver.
`Yes, Monica, it's Tweed. You were lucky? You got through everywhere quickly. What results?' He listened for maybe a minute. 'I see,' he said. `No, don't bother. Yes, Bob is OK. 'Bye.'
`No news,' he announced.
`I don't understand. Surely their deputies know where they are.'
`They don't. Not with Lindemann, Grey, Dalby or Masterson.' Tweed leaned back in his chair, clasped his hands. 'It's my own fault – I instituted the new system six months ago. Prior to that, every sector chief had to be available when London called. I thought that system made them desk-bound, sapped all initiative. Now they can go off without letting their deputies know where they are. They call back to their own HQ to check on developments – but don't have to reveal where they are. All four have gone missing.'
`So any one of them could be sitting in Dr Berlin's mansion on Priwall Island at this moment – having grown a beard?' `That's about the order of it.'
Tweed looked up as the door opened and Kuhlmann came in, closing the door behind him. The German sat down with them at the table.
`No sleep for two nights. It's getting to me. I checked out that address you gave me in Altona, Tweed. Apartment is in the name of a Martin Vollmer. We're tapping his line.'
`Any results?'
`Yes. He phones a Flensburg number. I called Flensburg, got another tap put on there. Heidi Dreyer – the girl at the Hens- burg number – calls someone in Kiel. It's a complex route. I've caused interference in the Flensburg apartment block. That way Heidi won't be suspicious. All the phones are out of action. I've broken their communication system. As you requested, Tweed. I can hold it no more than another three days.'
`That might be long enough. Thanks.'
`Expecting something?' Kuhlmann asked.
`Imminent,' Tweed said.
10.30 p.m. Travemunde Strand. Balkan was walking.
On the beach the air was still balmy. Sue Templeton checked her watch. Ted should be back soon with the wine. She stretched out her long legs, dug her bare feet into the sand. The American girl was making the most of her last week in Europe. She wore a simple cotton dress decorated with a polka dot design. The beach was deserted at that hour. She loved the peaceful atmosphere, the sound of the sea gurgling.
She heard the slushing tread of feet moving across the sand, tensed, reached for her handbag and tucked it half under herself. Whoever it was, was approaching from behind her. She swung round, knowing it wasn't Ted. He ran everywhere.
She jumped to her feet, holding her handbag. The figure was silhouetted against the glow of light from the Maritim Hotel, the lamps along the promenade. Difficult to see. She shaded her eyes with her left hand. Her eyes narrowed. She drew back her right bare foot, dug it deep into the sand and kicked upwards, sending a sand spray into the newcomer's eyes.
She nearly escaped, but a hand grasped her arm, a leg looped round her ankles and she fell over backwards. Sprawled, she stared up and opened her mouth to bellow at the top of her voice. One hand closed her mouth, the other hoisted a broad-bladed knife as a body hit her prone form heavily. She fought back, clawed at his face, tried to knee him in the groin. Her raised knee flopped, lifeless. He had slit her throat from ear to ear. He hoisted the knife again, plunged it between her breasts, jerked it downwards savagely. Blood seeped into the sand.
Ten minutes later Ted Smith, her English boy friend, came running down the beach, holding a bottle of wine. He skidded to a halt, stared down.
`Oh, my God! No! No…!'
Part 3 The Janus Man
Fifty-Two
Newman and Tweed enjoyed a late and leisurely dinner with Diana at the Jensen. The restaurant was full and Harry Butler sat at the window table by himself. It must be his turn for night duty, Tweed thought. Nield would be over at the Movenpick, catching up on sleep.
He let Newman and Diana do the talking. They'd finished the dessert when Diana placed a hand over Tweed's. She winked at Newman.
`He's gone into a trance. He does that, you know…'
`Leave him alone,' Newman chaffed her. 'He's thinking. It doesn't come easy.'
The waiter came to the table a few moments later. He told Tweed a Mr Kuhlmann was on the phone. Tweed excused himself, went out into the lobby and said he'd take the call in his room. On the way up in the elevator he checked the time. It was midnight.
`That you, Tweed? Imminent you said. You were too bloody right. Blessed with second sight?'
