'In an interrogation always save the heavyweight punch for the end.' She stared at him, her eyes fixed on his. 'For your information, Mr Tweed, I've no idea who I'm working for. But the money is good. And I think it's in a worthwhile cause.'
'What does that mean?'
'I'm sure there are two powerful forces confronting each other. One good, one very bad. I'm on the side of the angels, as they say.'
Tweed lit one of his rare cigarettes. This was the first indication that his theory of two opposing forces had been confirmed. He looked at Lisa and she leaned well forward, much closer to him, arms folded, waiting.
'Ever heard of Rhinoceros?' he eventually asked.
'Overheard a reference to him, which I wasn't supposed to hear at the time. No idea who he is, where he lives.'
'How are you instructed? Paid?'
'A typed note is slipped under my door inside an envelope – it started like that in my flat off Ebury Street in London. At the time given I have to be standing inside a certain phone box. At Waterloo in London, when it was quiet. Here at the main railway station. He uses the name Olaf, speaks slowly, enunciating eve:, y word carefully. Sometimes in German, sometimes in English.'
'I wonder…' Tweed blew a smoke ring. '… how he came to know about you?'
'No idea. Oxford, Double First in two languages, air hostess, my stint with the security agency in New York. Thought I'd be highly suitable for the job.'
'And,' Tweed stood up, clapped his hands, 'I'm sure he was right. Thank you for being so patient.'
She stood up, plumped up the cushion she'd leant back against, walked to the door which he unlocked. She put a hand on his shoulder to make him pause.
'Now.' She smiled very warmly. 'You have the data to check up on me. I'm going out shopping now. Need some better shoes. You can let me out, sir…'
Tweed stood by the closed door when she had gone. He had almost a dazed look. You have the data to check up on me. Which was exactly what he was going to do.
Oskar Vernon stood in the ward of the out-of-the-way clinic where he paid the doctor a lot of money to keep his mouth shut. Delgado, clean-shaven, hair smartly trimmed, wearing a good business suit, half-listened as Vernon talked to the doctor.
Barton sat on the edge of the bed. Delgado had earlier dragged him out of it. He was tenderly feeling a bandage between his legs under his pyjamas. Another bandage swathed his forehead where it had been slammed against the Mercedes. Panko, fully dressed, was trudging slowly down the large ward they occupied. Round his neck was a collar where the karate chop had felled him.
'I want these men fit by tomorrow morning,' Vernon snapped. 'Fit for anything.'
^; That asks for a a miracle,' the doctor protested.
'That's why I pay you all the money I do. For miracles.'
They were speaking to each other in English. The doctor, a small fat man with greedy eyes, wore a white coat, had a stethoscope dangling over his ample chest. Delgado felt it was time to stir the pot. He went up to Barton.
'What are you moaning about? Kick in crotch? Nothing. I've had it – killed the man who did it.'
'My head…'
'Kissed the car. Headache? We all get headache. So start walking, damn you. Now!'
Barton heaved himself up, took a few steps, stooped, stopped. Delgado grabbed his arm, forced him to walk.
Panko grinned savagely. He straightened himself up, began pacing round the ward, adjusted his collar.
'Leave me with them,' Vernon ordered the doctor. 'They're leaving tomorrow. Fit as fiddles.'
The doctor nodded, took the sheaf of banknotes thrust into his hand, shoved them into a pocket, left the ward with a glum expression.
'Now!' Vernon said in a savage voice. 'You listen. Listen good. When we can lure Tweed and his team into the country we kill them all. I have ten tough men who came off the ferry from Newcastle.'
'They walk off?' Delgado asked incredulously. 'They walk off. No trouble? How that?'
'How you think?' Vernon's thick lips puckered. 'Come ashore as seamen. This time of year ferry full of passengers from Newcastle and a big crew.'
'Only refugee toughs?'
'You'll never do what I done.' Vernon lit a cigar despite the 'No Smoking' sign, blew out a cloud. 'They been trained in secret camps – Slovakia. When we come to kill them, you, Barton and Panko, lead. Attack force in three sections, each of you leading one section.'
'So how we get them into country?'
'I'm moving into Hotel Atlantic. You three stay Hotel Renaissance. I visit you. You no come to me.'
'So how we get Tweed team into country?' Delgado persisted.
'How?' Vernon's smile was sinister. 'We use Lisa's gambit.'
CHAPTER 21
Tweed was alone in his suite. About ten minutes earlier Lisa had left 'to go shopping'. He picked up the phone, rang Mark Wendover's room. No reply, even though he kept on the phone for several minutes – plenty of time for him to get out of a shower. He gave it up.
Settling himself in his chair, he lit another cigarette. So, Lisa was out 'shopping'. And Mark was not in his room.
'I wonder,' he said, half aloud.
He stood up again, took his doodle pad out of a drawer, went back to the phone, called Monica. He phrased his wording carefully, as though 'Trent' had applied for a job and he wanted Monica to check references.
'I'll get on it right away,' Monica responded. 'Call you back.-.'
Then he decided he'd go out for a stroll. Walking helped him to think. He had almost reached the landing stage when an Opel, with Pete Nield at the wheel, parked in a slot a woman had just left. Nield hustled after him, drew alongside Tweed.
'You shouldn't be out on your own. This city is dynamite.'
'You make me feel like royalty,' Tweed grumbled. 'What have you been up to?'
'Touring the city, keeping my eyes open for hostile forces. I know Hamburg backwards by now. Could be useful. What's the next move?'
Tweed was heading towards the Zurcher Kredit Bank. 'I have an appointment for drinks with the Brig at six this evening. At 1800 hours. On the dot.' He had imitated the Brig's manner. Nield grinned. Few people knew that Tweed was a first-rate mimic. 'Then at 8.30 p.m. Paula and Bob are coming with me for dinner with the mysterious Rondel – except we aren't having dinner with him. He's booked a table for us but he's dining at another one with his partner.'
'Curious idea.' Nield flicked a speck off his smart suit. 'I don't get it.'
'Neither do I. We'll just have to see.'
Tweed had paused, was staring up at the nearby Zurcher Kredit Bank. Behind a balustrade on the first floor was a very well concealed camera, covering the front entrance.
'Mark broke in to that bank at night,' he recalled. 'Opened every security box, may have found gold in one of them – a book of ciphers which may help Keith Kent, ensconced in a room at the Four Seasons – to crack the papers Dr Kefler handed me.'
'Harry told me about the Kefler murder down at tho docks. I'd have thought Mark took a big risk, breaking in there.'
'He killed the alarms, blotted out the internal cpmeras. His CIA training must have helped. I'm just hoping that he spotted that camera on the balustrade up there. In daytime it's not easy to spot, but at night…'
They had reached the entrance to a side street, the Grosse Bleichen. Glancing down it, since it led to the
