As he sat down Tweed noticed an almost empty glass on the table. This wasn't the first drink the Brig had enjoyed. His complexion was a brilliant red, the veins in his nose prominent.
'I phoned your room during the day but you were out,' Tweed remarked.
'Went to Bremen, didn't I? Shipping. They showed me a new destroyer. Lots of gimmicks. Played the buffoon. So they boasted about their new toy. Took more in than they realized.'
'But you're not Admiralty.'
Tweed thought his companion was explaining far more than he usually did.
'They knew that. Which was why they talked. Got a naval chum back home. Do my bit when I can. Cheers!'
Tweed sipped while the Brig swallowed half the contents of his glass. Not drunk, he decided, but not sober, either.
'Been to Berlin?' Tweed enquired.
'Berlin?'
'Yes. The new capital of Germany.'
'I know that. Made the odd trip there. State-of-the-art architecture. Horrible new jargon. It's chaos over there. Never stop building. Crazy tubes and cubes going up to the sky. Get vertigo. Looking up.'
'It's a comparatively short flight from here to Berlin.'
'Is it? Sort of thing you'd know, I suppose.'
The Brig seemed nervous. He kept looking at the entrance to the bar, as though he expected the Devil to walk in.
'How's your investigation going?' the Brig asked when he'd ordered another couple of double Scotches.
'Not for me,' Tweed said firmly. 'And this one is mine.'
'You'll accept when I say so,' Barford said in the manner of addressing an awkward subaltern in the officers' mess. 'And I did ask how your investigation is progressing.'
'What investigation?'
'Oh, come on,' the Brig said roughly. 'You're always up to your clever neck in an investigation.'
'What do you think about the riots we endured?' Tweed asked suddenly.
'Riots.' He took a long drink – while he thought out how to react, Tweed said to himself. 'Shoot the lot of them, I would – and not with rubber bullets. We've gone soft. What we need is strong government. We
…'
He faded out. Tweed felt he had pressed a button. Someone came into the bar. The Brig jerked his head to see who it was. Just a relief barman coming to take over. Visibly, the Brig relaxed. Tweed stood up.
'I must go now. Thanks for the drink.'
'Do it again. Do it again. Soon…'
For the first time since he had sat down, Tweed suspected the Brig was nothing like as drunk as he'd pretended to be. At the exit he turned round, just in time to see Barfbrd getting up, striding across to the bar to demand more service. No sign of a stagger. He'd moved as erect as the soldier he had once been.
In his suite Tweed had just taken another shower and dressed for dinner when there was a tapping at the door. Paula and Newman walked in, ready for departure. Paula was clad in a stunning blue, form-fitting belted dress, slashed on one side up to the knee and with a high collar.
'You look terrific,' Tweed told her.
'Everyone says that.' Her tone was self-mocking. 'Which means Bob said something similar. What about transport?'
'We're taking a cab,' Newman announced.
'What?' exclaimed Paula. 'To the dock area?'
'Cool it.' Newman put a hand on her shoulder. 'Behind us will be two four-wheel drives. One with Harry at the wheel and Marler beside him. The second with Nield at the wheel and, I hope, Mark beside him.'
'But what the devil has happened to Mark?' growled Tweed. 'I will only take so much more of his mavericking.'
As if on cue there was a knock on the door and when Newman opened it Mark walked in, smiling broadly.
'Hello, folks,' he greeted them. 'Bet you've been cursing me,' he went on, looking at Tweed.
'I have. Where have you been? From now on you tell me or you go home.'
'Fair enough. Not going home. I'm wondering whether you're all feeling your age, going soft…'
'What does that mean?' Newman bristled.
'In case you've forgotten we knocked hell out of the thugs during that little escapade at the Turm. I was there, so maybe I'm losing it.'
'What are you talking about?' Newman demanded.
'I've been spending time keeping an eye on the Renaissance. Who should turn up late this afternoon? Two gentlemen you may recall. Barton and Panko. They have a drink at the bar and then leave again on foot. I follow. Still with me?' he asked, grinning at Newman.
'Yes,' Newman said shortly, his tone rather subdued.
'Like I said, I follow. They go to a nearby gym. I pay the fee, hide myself up in a balcony. Then I watch Barton beating hell out of a punchball. Did some fancy footwork, too. While he's doing that, Panko is on his back, lifting weights. In other words, our friends are back in business.'
'I can't believe it,' Newman said.
'You'd better believe it, buddy,' Mark told him.
'Vernon's men are tough,' Tweed said quietly. 'So we'll have to be tougher.' He quickly explained to Mark who Oskar Vernon was, that he'd moved to the Atlantic. Then he asked Newman to put Mark in the picture about the trip to the Fischereihafen.
'I imagine,' Mark speculated when Tweed had explained, 'that when we get to this place you're dining at, the rest of us stay outside, scatter, take up positions watching the entrance. I've been down to the docks. At night they won't be the most fun place to be.'
'They're not,' Paula said, with feeling.
'One more thing I have to tell you before we go,' Tweed began.
He told them about the call from Kuhlmann, the murder of Kurt Kruger, confidential aide to the Deputy Chancellor. Then he looked at Paula and Newman.
'You realize what that tells us?'
'No,' said Paula as Newman shook his head. 'Well, work it out,' Tweed snapped as he moved towards the door. 'You have the same data I have…'
Paula did not enjoy the journey to the docks. She glanced back several times and felt better when she saw the two four-wheel drives following them as the cab entered Elbstrasse.
Again, she had the illogical fear that the enormous cranes would topple down on them. She made a point of not looking at No. 23, the late Dr Kefler's residence. Tweed did look, saw there was still police tape cordoning off the property.
The moon was hidden by a heavy overcast and the humidity was trying. They reached yet another large warehouse located on the river bank and the taxi stopped. The driver pointed to a side entrance with light streaming out. Tweed led the way inside and an arrow pointed up a long staircase. Tweed leapt up it. At the entrance Paula had glanced back, had seen Marler directing his troops to their positions. The vehicles had disappeared.
'Have you worked it out?' she asked Newman. 'Tweed said we had all the data. Was he talking about Rhinoceros?'
'No idea.' Newman replied in his easy manner.
'Or maybe he was referring to the Elite Club?'
'Still no idea.'
'You're not trying,' she accused him.
Tweed was waiting in the reception area just beyond the top of the stairs. A dinner-jacketed manager had welcomed him.
'Mr Tweed? A friend of Herr Rondel. You are most welcome. May I lead the way…'
