'Yes.' Tweed paused. 'Dr Kefler, the man we went to consult. Who is he?'
'No idea.' Butler extended his hands, showed they were covered with latex gloves. 'I've searched him as best I could. Traces of identity? None.'
'Probably a Croat,' Newman commented.
'That would be my best guess,' Butler agreed. 'Shall I chuck him into the Elbe? His rifle's over there.'
'Certainly not,' Tweed ordered. 'Leave everything as it is. The police will have to come into this – because of Kefler. Their ballistics people will prove the Croat shot Dr Kefler, which is why we must leave the weapon over there. But I don't want you mixed up in their investigation, Harry. Not if we can help it. So chuck your own rifle well out into the river. Or is that the only one you've got?'
'Another's back at the Renaissance.'
'Good. You do what you have to do quickly, then go back to your hotel. Where's your motorcycle?'
'Well hidden twenty minutes' walk from here. Lights have come on in the house next but one to Kefler's. Upstairs and downstairs.'
'Time for us to get moving. I'll call a cab when we get to the point where the cab dropped us earlier. You look queasy.'
'Yes, he does,' Paula agreed. 'Harry, I've got some stomach-upset pills which work fast.'
'Don't need them. It's the oil stink from empty drums. I'm off to dump my rifle…'
It was unfortunate, but when Tweed later checked the card he'd been given and called the taxi firm on Newman's mobile who should arrive but Eugen, their original driver.
'Are you all right?' he called out in German when Tweed told him to take them back to Jungfernstieg.
'Why shouldn't we be?' snapped Tweed. 'We're shipping agents. We wanted to check the Hamburg docking facilities.'
'Pretty good, eh?'
'I think we prefer Europort…'
It was Paula who spotted him as Tweed paid the driver near the Jungfernstieg landing stage. No point in advertising where they were staying.
'Now what is it?' he asked as the taxi drove off. 'Mark Wendover. Mavericking again. At this hour.'
The American was coming towards them – from the direction of the Zurcher Kredit Bank. He was carrying his video camera. He began walking back with them.
'I see you've been shopping,' he said, pointing to the briefcase Tweed was carrying.
'In a manner of speaking. What have you been up to?'
'Raiding safety deposit boxes – lock-boxes, as we call them in the States.'
Tweed almost stopped dead. He stared at him, then at a dark woolly cap protruding from a pocket. In fact, Mark was clad in black from head to foot.
'You are joking, I hope?'
'No joke. Their security is good, but not that good. And I did pick up a few tricks of the trade while I was with the CIA.'
'What the devil did you think you were doing? I do like to know what's going on.'
'Well, you do know now I've told you,' Mark rapped back. 'I opened almost every box. You wouldn't believe the amount of 1,000 DM bills they have stashed away there. To say nothing of jewellery worth a king's ransom.'
'And you helped yourself?'
'I did not. I was looking for records. Found something in almost the last box I prised open. Can't understand it. A blue leather-bound book full of coded stuff. I'll give it to you when we get back. Well, here we are…'
As they approached the elevators a woman sitting in the room beyond the hall, smoking a cigarette, stood up, walked over to them. Lisa Trent.
CHAPTER 18
Lisa was dressed to kill, Newman thought. She was wearing a close-fitting green dress which went perfectly with her flaming red hair. She was smiling as she approached Tweed, who paused briefly on his way to the elevator.
'Mr Tweed, I have important information for you…'
'Not now. I have an urgent phone call to make.'
The elevator door was open. He walked inside, followed by Paula and Newman, who smiled back at Lisa. Just before the doors closed Lisa slipped into the elevator with them. No one spoke. As the elevator doors opened at the third floor Tweed marched out, holding his room key which he had taken with him. He opened the door of his suite without a glance back. Paula followed him. Newman hesitated and Lisa walked past him into the suite. Tweed, still in his coat, stared at her.
'I can't see you tonight.'
'Not very nice of you,' she said softly. 'I have been paid to spy on you…'
'Tell me about it in the morning. I must ask you to leave now.'
'All right, be bloody-minded.' She was flaring up again. Tweed had returned to the door, was waiting to open it for her to go. 'I was asked to phone a number from the main station.' As she spoke she was delving in her handbag. She dropped a sheet of paper on a couch. 'That ruddy note, you oaf. While that suggestion was being made to me over the phone – by a voice I didn't recognize – a scruffy type pushed this envelope into my hand. My fee for spying on you.' She threw a bulky envelope on the couch. 'One hundred thousand deutschmarks. Give it to your favourite charity – probably yourself…'
She smiled at Newman, glared at Paula, walked out through the door Tweed opened for her. Pursing his lips, Tweed locked the door, rushed over to the phone after checking the directory on the desk for the number he needed. Police. Paula had opened the unsealed envelope, quickly counted the banknotes inside. She called out to Tweed.
'Lisa was right. There is a hundred thousand deutschmarks in the envelope. It's a fortune…'
'She's clever, damnit,' he responded as he began pressing numbers. 'A confidence-building tactic…'
'For heaven's sake,' Paula protested.
She was going to say more but Tweed held up a hand. She kept quiet.
'Polizei?' Tweed began.
'Who is calling? And why?' a gruff but faintly familiar voice demanded in German.
'My name is Tweed…'
'Hell! I thought it was you,' the voice of Otto Kuhlmann, chief of Federal Police, answered in English. 'I was about to phone you – just tracked you to the Four Seasons.'
'What on earth are you doing in Hamburg, Otto? I'm calling to report a murder…'
'I'm in Hamburg on another matter. Who has been murdered?'
'A Dr Kefler. At No. 23…'
'I've just come back from there. Were you there at roughly 2300 hours?'
'Yes, which is why I'm phoning…'
'Anyone with you?'
'Paula and Bob Newman…'
'Fits the description I have here, I'm coming to see you immediately.'
'It might be better if we came to see you,' Tweed suggested. 'If it's not too far away.'
'Five-minute walk. I'm speaking from the 12th District – Polizeirevier 12 is on the sign outside, under a white star. It's in a section of the Rathaus. From where you'll come it's on the far side, an entrance you can easily miss.'
'We're on our way…'
It was a little cooler but still humid. They were walking past the Jungfernstieg landing stage when Paula made her comment.
'You were pretty rough on Lisa.'
