`The codeword I cooked up with Monica for the rotten apple sitting in my own barrel. Janus, like the January god. The man who looks both ways – to the East and the West.'
Tweed checked his watch. 3 a.m. He stood up, felt his legs were normal, walked into Newman's bathroom and quietly opened the window, gazing down into the well. Men in plain clothes were moving about. Kriminalpolizei. The body was covered with a tarpaulin. Through the open door beneath his own window he saw more men arriving, two carrying a stretcher. He shivered, closed the window silently.
`They're about to take Franck away,' he said, sitting down again. 'In the middle of the night. No one in the hotel will be any the wiser. Kuhlmann has been very cooperative – covering up the whole business, which is what I want.'
`So they won't know in Leipzig? They'll go on thinking Franck is still after you?'
`Exactly that. Also Pete Nield came over with me. Someone – as I expected – followed me from the airport. Butler followed them to an apartment in Altona. I have the address in my wallet. I'm giving it to Kuhlmann in the morning. He may find a way of neutralizing this character. He could just be the main link in the communications system Lysenko must have between here and East Germany.'
`And I caught sight of Harry Butler in the restaurant when I first arrived. You've brought over the big battalions.'
`I think we may need them. I sense we're close to the climax of this business…'
`Which I still don't understand,' Newman remarked. 'Janus is the traitor in the Park Crescent setup. Balkan is the controller of Markus Wolf's spy network in West Germany..
`Lysenko has deliberately made it complex. I'm convinced their set-up is diabolically simple. I think Janus and Balkan are the same man. A stroke of genius on the part of our Russian friend.'
`But that would mean the same man – Janus in London, Balkan over here – is controlling both our network and theirs. Theoretically, he'd be fighting himself…'
`But only theoretically,' Tweed pointed out. 'He'd be in a unique position to manipulate my agents the way he wanted to. Lysenko had pulled off an unprecedented coup.'
`Had?'
'I'm going to locate Janus and destroy him – and bring down Lysenko with him.'
Tweed's expression was grim as he stood up again and went to the bathroom. He came back after peering out of the window.
`I can go back to my own room, get a bit of shut-eye. They have gone, taken away the body. We'll talk about how we'll go about it in the morning.'
Tweed was finishing his breakfast in the room at the back of the Jensen when Newman reappeared and sat down, looking at Diana who was inserting a cigarette in her holder.
`You should have seen the meal he's had,' she said. 'Five rolls, lashings of butter, tons of marmalade. Nothing much wrong with his stomach today.'
`I was ravenous,' admitted Tweed. 'But I'm a new man now. Time to get cracking. And where have you been?' he asked Newman.
`To hire a car. An Audi. I foresaw something like this. We ride everywhere today. No walking.'
`Is Tweed all right?' Diana asked.
`Last night Bob insisted on getting a doctor in,' Tweed said quickly. 'He diagnosed a mild bout of food poisoning. Silly quack said I shouldn't walk more than two hundred metres for the next two days. The trouble is, Bob has taken him seriously.'
`I should think so, too,' Diana agreed forcefully. 'When you eventually came back to the restaurant last night you looked really out of sorts. And you couldn't eat anything. By the way, you said you had an appointment this morning. I think I'll go shopping, spend some of my ill-gotten gains…'
Tweed looked up sharply at the remark, then cursed himself for his mistake when she replied.
'I was only joking. You looked quite severe…'
Tut it down to lack of sleep. Yes, you go shopping, enjoy yourself. This afternoon we're going to Travemunde.
`Can I come too?' she asked eagerly. 'I left some things I need on the Sudwind- and I'm simply dying to see Ann Grayle's face when I tell her we've been to London. I can tell her?'
`Why not?'
Tweed stood up with Newman, glanced across to where Butler was lingering over his coffee. This morning he wore an open-necked blue shirt, cinnamon-coloured slacks and wrapround tinted glasses. Even Tweed found him difficult to recognize; Diana certainly wouldn't spot him when he followed her.
`Where are we going?' Newman asked as he settled himself behind the wheel of the hired Audi.
`Lubeck-Sud police headquarters. Kuhlmann phoned before I came down to breakfast. He has news. But first we'll call in at the Movenpick. You drive past the Hoistentor and I'll guide you. I want a word with Pete Nield, send him over to help Butler keep an eye on Diana.'
`Dr Berlin is back. I told you I had news,' Kuhlmann announced with satisfaction. 'That's only for openers.'
At Lubeck-Sud Kuhlmann had taken them up in the elevator to the locked room where Tweed had used the scrambler phone on his previous visit. Newman and Tweed sat at the table, drinking coffee from the canteen. Kuhlmann remained on his feet, waving his cigar, about to continue, when Tweed spoke.
`Where is Dr Berlin now? What time did he get back?'
`In his mansion on Priwall Island. Gates closed. Guards posted. Dogs patrolling the grounds. He arrived back at precisely 11.30 p.m. last night, travelling inside his black Mercedes. They brought the ferryman back to take him over – he has that kind of clout.'
`Any chance of a second raid on that mansion – if I wanted it?' Tweed asked.
`No chance. I got my backside paddled about that. Berlin has clout in Bonn. He's a friend of Oskar Graf von Krull, the banker. I can't even put close surveillance on that mansion any more. Unless, of course…' He puffed at his cigar. 'I was provided with iron-clad evidence of a crime. Iron-clad.'
`Not to worry. You've managed to keep the Franck episode quiet?'
`That I've managed. He's from the East. All his identity documents checked out – except the driving licence. The computer showed its owner died six months ago in a crash. And Peter Toll of the BND is on his way here – flying in from Munich.
`I'd like to see him. As soon as he arrives,' Tweed said tersely.
The phone rang. Kuhlmann listened, spoke briefly, put the receiver down. He turned to Newman.
`They're ready to take your statement about Franck. Room 10. Ground floor. You can find your own way?'
`I can…'
`The statement should be as we agreed last night. Not one word more.'
He waited until he was alone with Tweed. 'I don't know where Newman has been…' He paused, but Tweed remained silent… but he's a changed man. Something has happened to him.'
`He's grown harder,' Tweed agreed. 'At one time he'd have punched it out with Franck. He didn't hesitate to jerk him out of that window…'
`Knowing he'd end up spread over the floor of that well like a mess of goulash. But Franck did pull a knife – and that's something else I wanted to tell you. In confidence.'
`Of course.'
`Franck murdered those blonde girls. That knife fits the murder weapon. We've got our psycho…'
`Are you sure?' Tweed frowned, startled.
`I'm always sure. The pathologist is checking it now. Is something wrong?'
`A major theory I had just went out of the window – the way Franck did.'
`What's your next move?'
`I think I'll go back to Travemunde – ask a few more questions. Those boat people who commute between the Med and the Baltic fascinate me…'
The phone rang again. Kuhlmann listened, told them to send him up. 'Peter Toll has arrived,' he told Tweed. 'I'll leave you alone with him.'
