policeman. He didn't want Peter Toll turning up while he was talking with Kuhlmann. He had also hidden his dark glasses and the Tyrolean hat.
`Why move to this place from the Jensen?' Kuhlmann asked as he sat down.
`I thought I was being followed. It's also more complicated. Diana Chadwick is no longer in Lubeck. She's in a safe place.'
`Don't tell me where.' Kuhlmann held up a warning hand. 'I am glad to hear of your action. I wish to God I could move all young attractive blonde girls out of the area…'
`And Kurt Franck?'
`I brought a team of men. They are searching the hotel. Do you think he recognized you? He must have done, I imagine.'
`I'm not sure,' Newman replied candidly, without referring to his disguise. 'He was looking in a different direction.'
`Well, we will soon know.' Kuhlmann put a cigar between his thick lips without lighting it. He chewed on it for a moment. `Where is Tweed? In another room here?'
`No. He has left Lubeck temporarily to check something.. `If he is still in Germany I must know. I have strict orders from Bonn to keep an eye on him.'
`He is outside the Federal Republic, but I am certain he will be returning…'
He broke off as the phone rang, Kuhlmann said that would be for him and he stood listening, saying `Ja', and 'Nein', several times. When he put down the phone he spread his hands.
`The bird has flown again. He checked out of his room about ten minutes ago. He must have recognized you. He left on a motor-bike. Road-blocks are being set up, but this is a complex area. I think we've lost him again.'
`At least he's on the run.'
Newman was appalled at the news. Unless Kuhlmann caught Kurt Franck he was pretty sure the blond German would report sighting him to the East. That was if, as he suspected, Franck was from The Zone.
`You say,' Kuhlmann remarked as he stood up to go, 'Tweed will be back. I predict that on his second coming all hell will break loose.'
`Why do you think that?'
`I know Tweed. On the surface mild and cautious. This time I sensed something different in him. A thrust of steel…'
`You cross the border tonight,' Toll announced when Newman had let him inside 104. 'Why hang out the Do Not Disturb notice? I came back twice before you'd removed the sign.'
`Kuhlmann was here…'
`Jesus! How did he find you?'
`I called him…'
Newman explained the sequence of events since his arrival at the Movenpick. Toll listened in silence, pushed his glasses up to the bridge of his nose and clasped his hands.
`Describe this Kurt Franck,' he said at last.
He listened again while Newman gave him a concise description. He showed no reaction when Newman finished. Then he shook his head after a brief pause.
`Doesn't ring any bells.'
`In that case, cancel the border crossing.'
Newman's tone was hard and tough. He stood up, lit a cigarette and walked to stare out of the window. Behind him Toll flexed his long fingers and frowned before speaking.
`What's gone wrong, Bob?'
`You have.' Newman swung round to face the BND man. `There's no polite way to put this. I'm a reporter by profession. Lord knows how many people I've interviewed, but one thing I've learned – to spot when someone is lying. You're lying in your teeth when you say my description of Franck means nothing.'
`I can't be sure…'
`Be unsure then – or walk out of that door and don't come back.'
`Could be Erwin Munzel.'
`Who is?'
`Markus Wolf's top professional assassin. Specializes in making murder look like an accident.'
`Charming. How very encouraging.'
`I said I can't be sure,' Toll protested. 'How many blond Germans over six feet tall do you think there are?'
`Weight, height, age – I gave you them all, plus appearance – and manner. Manner identifies a man. His arrogant insolence with women. Does it sound like Munzel?'
`Yes, it does,' Toll admitted. `Do you think he recognized you down in the lobby?'
`Looks like it. Otherwise, why run? How long do you think it will be before he reports my miraculous reappearance here to Wolf?'
`Quite several hours.' Toll was very positive. 'They've stopped using hidden radio transmitters for the moment. We have too many detector units flooding the area. We're pretty sure they communicate with the East by routing the message through several phone numbers over here. Then someone calls their contact inside West Berlin. The contact walks through one of the checkpoints and reports the signal verbally. That way it's untraceable. We just haven't found that West Berlin contact. Yet.'
`Several hours?'
The fact gave Newman an idea. He said he'd have to think over whether he'd go ahead with the crossing. Would Toll kindly push off and leave him alone while he did think? The German agreed reluctantly, gave a deadline of nine that night for a decision.
`I'll come back here and see you then,' he said and left.
Newman opened the door to make sure Toll had gone. The corridor was deserted. He closed and locked the door. Sitting down, he called Lubeck-Sud. Again he was lucky – Kuhlmann was at the police HQ.
`Otto, can you do me a favour? Without asking questions?' `Name it.'
`Is it possible to put such pressure on our mutual associate, Franck, that he won't be able to make a call from a public phone box?'
`I will try.' Kuhlmann paused. 'Don't let your work take too great a toll on your energy.'
Breaking the connection, at Lubeck-Sud Kuhlmann dialled a number. His instructions were simple and given with vehemence. 'Karl, I want that manhunt stepped up. Call back everyone off duty. Flood Lubeck and Travemunde with men on foot and inside patrol cars. Show a very active presence. Check the identity of all blond men whether they conform to the description or not. Special target, public phone boxes. Don't overlook the railway stations. The whole district must know there's a big dragnet out. What? So, it upsets the tourists. Who gives a sod for them?'
After leaving the Movenpick Kurt Franck headed towards Travemunde on his motor-cycle. Outwardly he was a typical holidaymaker enjoying himself. But inwardly he was churning with anxiety.
He had three specific worries. The police could be looking for him again. After the abortive attempt to kill Tweed on the Kolk below the church, he had gone to earth. Normal procedure.
Catching a train from Lubeck for Copenhagen, he had left the train at Puttgarden. From there he caught the local bus to the tiny town of Burg on the remote island of Fehmarn. He had stayed for several weeks inside a small cottage on the outskirts of the town, a cottage owned by a Martin Vollmer of Altona.
Returning to Lubeck, he had again taken a room at the Movenpick, reasoning that this was the last place the police would look for him now. Again, routine procedure. Once the dogs have inspected a foxhole, they rarely revisit it.
He raced along the open road, keeping just inside the speed limit. The suburbs of Lubeck were now fading behind him and he was in open country. His second worry was Robert Newman Had he really seen him entering the lobby of the Movenpick? Franck simply couldn't make up his mind.
He concentrated on the road ahead, staring through his goggles for the turn-off point, the track leading to the river. His third worry was reporting his possible sighting of Newman to Leipzig. He had to find a public call box so he could phone Vollmer.
He slowed down, glanced again in his wing mirror, saw the road behind was deserted and swung down the
