immediately.
'Now I will take you safely home,' Tweed said.
'It is not needed,' Irina protested. 'I know the way.'
'There may be more bad men outside. I will take you home,' insisted Tweed.
'The stove!' Irina turned, walked to it, bent down and turned something. 'Now it goes cool, then out.'
'We'll deal with that,' said Marler.
'Get out of here as soon as you can,' Tweed whispered to Newman. 'If the police arrive that dead body would take some explaining.'
'Will do…'
Irina had picked up her coat which lay in a heap behind the chair she had sat in. Marler presumed the thug had torn that off her, thrown it down before he began his foul work. He waited until Tweed had escorted Irina halfway across the square and then slipped outside. It was his job to shadow them, then keep out of view while he followed Irina to her home – to make sure she arrived there safely.
'You said at one moment your name was Helga Irina,' Tweed began. He was steering her mind into another direction, hoping it would help her to forget the dreadful ordeal she had suffered. 'Irina is Russian,' Tweed went on as they continued walking. 'Helga is German. I do not understand.'
'You are the boss? The Englishman's boss?'
'Yes, I am.'
'Thank you for what you save me from. I did not thank that nice young man who save me. Please give him my love.'
'I will do that.'
'You were asking me about Helga.' She had slipped her arm inside Tweed's, so he knew he had at last established her confidence in, him. 'My mother was Russian,' she explained. 'She met a German prisoner-of-war who escaped from Stalin's gulag. They fell in love and were married secretly by a priest who had an underground church. So I am Irina for my mother, Helga for my father. They worked for the anti-Communist opposition. I was told by a friend they were trapped trying to escape from the meeting in a cellar. Both were shot dead. I was ten years old.'
What hellish lives some people have led, Tweed was thinking. They had crossed another deserted silent square and eventually walked into the Rheinsprung, high up and close to the Minster. Irina slipped her arm free of Tweed's and stopped. As she did so he pushed the folded banknotes into the pocket of her coat. She frowned, slid her hand inside the pocket, feeling what he had put there.
'This is a lot of money. Too much. The black book was a gift from Kurt. I leave you here, but I give back the money.'
Tweed moved away from her so she couldn't hand him anything. He spoke briefly before he began to make his way back down the Rheinsprung, knowing it would lead him to the hotel.
'Kurt earned a big fee. He gave us very valuable information. You cannot give back what Kurt earned. Take care…'
Then he was walking carefully down the steep cobbled slope, wary of its icy surface. He knew that Marler would be somewhere close by, the Invisible Man making sure Irina reached her home safely. Arriving at the bottom, passing the Alley of the Eleven Thousand Virgins, he stopped as Newman appeared out of nowhere.
'She's on her way home,' Tweed told him. 'Marler is secretly following her to make certain she gets there.'
They were crossing the empty street, stepping over the tramlines, when Nield and Butler appeared, also out of nowhere. Tweed spoke rapidly before they entered the hotel.
'Pete, you did a great job, saving that poor lady from hell. Now, all of you, we must keep away from that area.' He took a notebook from his pocket, opened it at a certain page, handed it to Nield. 'Pete, that's the phone number of Beck's temporary headquarters. Could you call him, disguise your voice, give him the address? Tell him he'll find a corpse there. Be brief – so he can't trace where you're calling from.'
Entering the hotel, he met Paula who had just emerged from the lift. She lowered her voice.
'Keith Kent has arrived. He's in your room. He told me the Americans are going berserk.'
22
Paula unlocked the room door with the key Tweed had left with her. He had asked her to stay behind in case Kent arrived during his absence. They all followed her inside, with the exception of Nield, who said he was going to his room to make a phone call.
Keith Kent was sitting in an armchair. In his hand he nursed a glass of brandy. Introductions were not necessary. They all knew the visitor. Kent lifted his glass.
'With the compliments of Paula. Central heating to warm me up. At least, that's my excuse.'
'I hear you have news,' Tweed said, taking off his coat while the others did the same. Paula took them to hang them up. 'I'd like to hear it,' he said, occupying an armchair close to Kent.
'And I expect you'd all like some hot coffee,' said Paula as she picked up the phone without waiting for a reaction.
Keith Kent was the soul of relaxation. No matter how tense a situation might be, he never showed any sign of nerves. As usual, he was smartly dressed, clad in a dark blue suit, pale blue shirt and a Chanel tie with a motif of peacocks.
'I expect Paula has told you,' he began, 'that the Americans are in an uproar. Behaving as though they don't know what to do next. And don't like it.'
'How do you know all this, Keith?'
'This morning I called in at the Zurcher Kredit Bank again – to check that my transaction with the fortune in dollars had been completed. Turned out I didn't even have to speak to the teller. She was occupied – in a big way. A couple of Americans, one of them banging his ugly fist on the counter and shouting at her.'.
'Could you describe him?'
'Not very tall. He has a very big head, clean-shaven, with a boxer's face – slit mouth, tough jaw. Very wide across the chest, tapers down to small feet. Hair brown. He glanced at me once – eyes hard as diamonds.'
'Jake Ronstadt,' Paula said to herself.
'Would he recognize you?' Tweed asked.
'Doubtful. I wore a scarf pulled up over my chin, a hat with the brim pulled down. Normal wear, considering the weather.'
'Go on.'
'As I said, he was shouting at the girl. 'There was a fortune in this account and now you show me a balance sheet with zero funds.' Then he lowered his voice but I have acute hearing, as you know. He went on raving. 'I want to see a friggin' director. I want to see him now. Got it?' That was when he started crashing his fist down on the counter. What the girl said next didn't help.'
'What did she say?'
'That there wasn't a director on the premises. They were away, holding an executive meeting. He really blew his top at that. 'Get on that friggin' phone and tell a director to get back here before I bust this place to pieces. Millions and millions of dollars can't vanish, you stupid twit.' That was when I quietly left the bank.'
'You said there were a couple of Americans. Can you describe the other one?'
'A tall thin man with a hard thin bony face. I heard the short one call him Vernon.'
'Sounds like that could be Vernon Kolkowski,' Newman interjected. 'I was shown photos of various thugs when I was in New York. The police captain said he was called the Thin Man, a notorious killer. They could never get him. If there were witnesses willing to testify they ended up floating down the Hudson River.'
'Sounds like a suitable candidate for the people we are up against,' Tweed commented.
'After I left the bank,' Kent went on, 'I sat in my parked car to see if anything else happened. It did. About five minutes later the short man with the big chest stormed out of the bank. He walked straight across the street. A car had to come to an emergency stop to avoid running him down. The American crashed his fist down on the car's
