`Why the hell should I?'
`Try to look like a member of my staff,' Wolf continued. 'I just heard on that phone call I took we have a visitor. A Karl Schneider, member of the Border Police. Just flown in to see me at my request.'
`So?'
`Your German is improving. Schneider reported to his superior he met two men in the forest close to the point where an agent from the West crossed the border.'
`That would be a long shot…'
`On the night the crossing was made? And Schneider met the two men close to one o'clock in the morning. The timing also is right. We will see what he has to say. I check every lead, however slim. Now, the chair…'
There was a timid rapping on the door. Lysenko jumped up, walked rapidly to the typist's chair and sat down. He opened a notebook on the desk and was glad he was wearing civilian clothes. Wolf called out, 'Come in.' He studied the visitor, wearing the uniform of the Border Police, peaked cap tucked under his arm.
`Please to sit down,' Wolf said amiably, gesturing towards the vacant chair.
He watched Schneider as the visitor walked nervously to the chair and seated himself. He put his cap in his lap and fiddled with it. Foxy eyes, Wolf noted. An ambitious man, he guessed. A cut above the average, but they selected personnel for the Border Police with care. Wolf nodded encouragingly and spoke softly.
`Tell me what happened. Please take your time. Any little detail may be important. I listen. You talk. You will find I am a good listener. Start at the very beginning and omit nothing. Relax, please. I am interested…'
Schneider sat silent for a short time, marshalling his thoughts. During the flight he had sweated over what lay before him. Now it was all so different. Wolf waited patiently. Lysenko was fascinated. This was a side of the German's character he had not seen. Wolf was treating the policeman like a good-humoured relative, a favourite uncle.
Schneider began to talk. Wolf listened without interrupting his flow of thought. A sturdily-built man, he was thinking, but the Border Police were subject to near-military discipline, a para-military force. He waited until Schneider had finished before asking a question.
`The other man who didn't speak. What was his name?' `He told me, Comrade, but I've forgotten…'
`It doesn't matter. This Albert Thorn.' Wolf took one of the printed posters being distributed throughout the DDR out of a drawer in his desk. 'Is this the man?'
Schneider studied the poster of Newman, frowned, puckered his thick lips. He knew that what he said next might affect the whole outcome of this strange interview, maybe of his career.
`I'm not sure,' he said eventually. 'It could be him.'
`What colour were his eyes?'
`Brown,' Schneider replied promptly.
Wolf opened the file on Newman which had been flown in from Moscow. Eyes: blue.
`Schneider, come and look at this map with me. Show me where you stopped these two men on cycles.'
The map of the DDR was spread out over a large table. Schneider bent over it, took the pencil Wolf offered and marked the place with a cross. The phone rang, Wolf excused himself, picked up the receiver and carried on a brief conversation before ending it. He turned round, ignored Lysenko, looking at Schneider.
`A report from the daytime teams searching the woods in that area. Three bicycles have been discovered hidden beneath some undergrowth. Close to where you stopped those two men…'
`There were only two of them.'
`No matter. I hear you were once a farmer. Is that so?' `For five years.'
`So you are an observant man. Farmers work the fields alone. They develop good powers of observation.' Wolf walked back to the map. 'Supposing I asked you to drive over this area – in civilian clothes – searching for these two men. Normally I'd send someone with you – but you will be less conspicuous without a guard. You would be willing to do that on your own?'
`Yes. But which area?'
`Here.' Wolf traced a route on the map with a pencil. 'From Wernigerode – where your barracks are – down to Aschersleben, on to Eisleben and to Halle…'
`I know the area. There is an elevated highway here.'
`We will supply a truck – equipped with a radio – and a suit of clothes, the kind worn by farmers. Also a gun. You patrol that route back and forth. See if you spot anything. Agreed?'
`Of course…'
`Go down to the next floor. Room 78. I will phone to tell them to expect you.' Wolf held out his hand. 'Good luck, Mr Schneider. This could mean promotion for you.'
`Oh, God, come quickly,' Gerda called out from the kitchen.
Falken jumped up, ran out of the room, followed by Newman. At the window Gerda pointed towards the elevated highway. An armoured car was slowly proceeding down the track leading to the cottage, just leaving the highway.
`Crew of two men, maybe three,' Falken said tersely. 'All armed. Plus the vehicle's machine-gun. We have a problem.'
Twenty-Six
`Did you get through to Peter Toll?' Tweed asked as he shut his office door. 'And I'm short of time. We've just got back from Masterson's place. I've left Diana at Newman's flat. We are going on to talk with Erich Lindemann.'
`I got through,' Monica said quietly. 'I think you'd better speak to him yourself. Shall I get him?'
`Do that. Please.'
He kept the folded Burberry over his arm as he wandered over to the wall map and again studied the border area. Monica's reply had an ominous ring.
`He's on the line,' she called out.
`Tweed here. Is that Peter Toll? At last. I've had a devil of a job reaching you. I want to know the whereabouts of the man who accompanied me to Germany. No names. Yes, I know we're on scrambler.'
`I have no idea…'
`Toll.' Tweed was at his most formal. 'Don't muck me about. I have Walther Prat under lock and key.'
`I wondered…'
`You wondered what had happened to him. Why he hadn't flown back to Munich. Now you know. And you know what I know. We could arrange an exchange possibly,' he went on sarcastically. 'My man for yours…'
`That's ridiculous. We cooperate…'
`Like you cooperated recently? You went ahead without saying a word to me. I want him back. Quickly.'
`Two weeks…'
`Like hell. Four days. Send out an alert. My next call is to your chief.'
`The situation is delicate. One week…'
`Four days,' Tweed repeated. 'No result by then, I call your chief.'
`There is no need to be hasty.. Toll sounded worried. `I've said my last word on the matter. If anything should go wrong I'll fly to Munich myself. You're on probation.' `That's not for you to say..
`I just said it. And, by God, I meant it. That's all.' `What about Walther Prohl?'
`He stays here until I get my man back.'
Tweed slammed down the phone, his expression grim. Again he glanced towards the wall map. Then he shook his head and folded the Burberry more tidily over his arm.
`You were pretty rough on him,' Monica observed. 'And I take it you were referring to Newman's disappearance.'
`Yes to both statements. I know now he has sent Bob into The Zone – without telling his chief. I'm worried stiff about it. Trouble is, Toll wants to do it all by himself, prove himself – because I happen to know he is on probation in his new post.'
`You do that yourself sometimes,' she reminded him gently. `Do things without letting Howard know. You
