'And then?' Tweed enquired.
'We all go and live in Nepal.'
Tweed had glanced down at the table below them. Rondel's partner had perched a pair of gold-rimmed spectacles on the bridge of his nose. He was checking the bill. Without looking up he made a gesture towards Tweed's table, signed, sat back while the waiter took the bill away.
'My partner would like to meet you tomorrow at his house on the way to Blankenese,' Rondel said suddenly, he took out a notebook, scribbled with a gold pen, tore out the sheet, handed it to Tweed.
'There is the address. It's on the right-hand side as you head for Blankenese. The timing is of your choice. At your convenience. But my partner is anxious to meet you.*
'Eleven o'clock tomorrow morning any good?'
'Agreed. Splendid. I'm sure my partner will be pleased. And Paula and Bob Newman would be most welcome to accompany you.'
Paula glanced down at the table below them. The chair previously occupied by the man equipped with gold- rimmed glasses was empty. He had gone, like a ghost at daybreak.
'Before I leave,' Rondel said as he stood up, 'I want to say how much I have enjoyed the company of everyone at this table.' He held out his hand, leaning across to Paula. 'Maybe we can find some activity we have in common. Like ping-pong.'
'I'll murder you,' Paula replied with a smile.
'There have been too many murders already,' Tweed said.
Rondel shook Tweed's hand, squeezed Newman's shoulder as he passed him, then he also was gone.
'Don't discuss anything while we're in this place,' warned Tweed.
They were outside the Fischereihafen, about to get into a waiting taxi, when Marler appeared, took Tweed aside, spoke softly.
'Damnit, he's done it again. Mark Wendover. Gone off on his own.'
'Did he say where he was off to?'
'Yes. Four Seasons. He'd got an idea in his head that Keith Kent needed guarding. I suppose he had a point – with Kent working on those papers. But he didn't ask me – he told me. Said he knew you'd agree, so I didn't argue.'
'How long ago since he pushed off?'
'Very soon after you entered the restaurant.'
I'll have a word with him. The last thing Keith will want while he studies what I gave him is a bodyguard hanging round his neck…'
During the journey back no one spoke, probably because Tweed had earlier warned them to keep quiet. At that hour Elbstrasse was deserted but there was a moon. By its illumination the towering cranes seemed to Paula even more menacing. She found her eyes drawn to look up at No. 23. The police tape still closed off the house and a uniformed officer stood in front of it. Much good that would do now.
They were very close to the hotel, proceeding up Neuer Jungfernstieg, when Tweed noticed that a section of the pavement on the hotel side was cordoned off with police tape. Patrol cars, their blue lights flashing, were parked opposite the hotel. He had an awful premonition.
'Wait for me,' he told the others while he paid the driver.
He sprinted up the steps, followed closely by Paula and Newman. Heading for the elevators, he saw a familiar figure seated in a chair at the back of the lounge. Otto Kuhlmann had a uniformed police sergeant by his side.
An elevator was waiting, its doors open. Kuhlmann jumped up. As they entered the elevator the German slipped in behind them, waited until the doors had closed. His tone of voice was as grim as his expression.
'Your suite. I'd like everyone to join me there.'
'What has happened?' Newman asked.
Kuhlmann didn't reply. Instead he stared up at the ceiling of the elevator. When they entered the suite Tweed waved the German towards a sofa but instead he sat in an upholstered chair, waited until everyone was seated.
'I fear this may come as a shock to you, but I always come straight out with it. I believe you know Mark Wendover, an American. He was shot dead outside the hotel. With a rifle. Explosive bullet.'
'Oh, no!'
Paula covered her face with her hands. Tweed poured a glass of water, held it for her while she drank, trembling. She looked up at him gratefully after a short time, took hold of his sleeve. He smiled down at her, refilled the empty glass she held out with her other hand. She drank more, then spoke.
'He was such a decent man,' she croaked throatily.
'One of the best,' said Newman, who had sat beside her on the couch.
She became aware that Kuhlmann, seated above them in his chair, was watching her closely. She stiffened, sat erect.
'I'm all right now,' she said in a firmer voice.
'I have to ask some questions,' Kuhlmann began. 'Paula, it might be better if you went to your room. Stay if you wish.'
'That's the last place I want to be now. On my bloody own.'
'Where was he shot from?' Tweed, asked, still standing.
'Across the street. The marksman probably hid behind one of the cars parked by the Alster. We've checked. Found nothing.'
Standing behind Kuhlmann, Tweed frowned at Paula. She understood his message immediately. Say nothing about the break-in at the Zurcher Kredit – that would lead to Kuhlmann demanding that they hand over the vital blue book Mark had brought them which was needed by Kent to crack the code.
'Any idea of the time he was shot?' Tweed went on.
'A couple of hours ago. The doorman called the police immediately. He claims he didn't see anything suspicious before the shooting. Tweed, I need to hear all you know about Wendover – who, incidentally, was carrying a CIA identity folder. So I'm anticipating all hell will break loose when the news reaches Washington.'
Tweed paced around, told Kuhlmann most of the story about how they'd come to know Mark Wendover. He emphasized he'd left the CIA some time ago, had set up his own detective agency in New York.
'That covers the whole story,' he concluded.
'So,' Kuhlmann began, 'you were having dinner in the Fischereihafen and your team was outside, keeping an eye on things. Why would Wendover come back here on his own?'
'As I've explained, Mark had maverick habits. I gather he decided to come back to see what was happening here. After all, it is our base for this operation in Hamburg.'
'And if you had to make a guess, who would you say was behind this murder?'
'Oskar Vernon and his gang spring to mind. Oskar's moved to the Atlantic. Maybe he didn't want to be anywhere near here if they got the chance to kill one of us off.'
Kuhlmann stood up. He looked at Tweed as though he didn't believe he had the whole story. Which he hadn't. Then he pursed his lips before speaking again.
'I need someone to go to the morgue to confirm the identity of Wendover. It's not a pretty sight.' 'I'll go,' Newman responded, jumping up. 'Thank you. Then please come downstairs with me and I'll introduce you to Sergeant Brand. He was sitting beside me in the lounge and will escort you. I want to check that pavement by the Alster. Never met a detective yet who was as thorough as I'd like.. .'
'Why do you think they shot Mark?' Paula asked when she was alone with Tweed.
'My guess is he missed blotting out one camera – the one up on the balustrade on the first floor outside the building. Difficult to see by daylight. Probably impossible to detect after dark. Also, I think Oskar's mood has changed. He has become more ruthless, more audacious. He's resorted to picking us off one by one. But someone may have given him a specific order to target Mark -because they're livid that the blue book has gone. Take your choice.'
'Strange that it occurred while we were at the fish restaurant. I wonder if the dinner was a lure to get us out of the way.'
'That thought had occurred to me, but I rejected it. They'd hardly foresee Mark would turn up here on his own.' Tweed decided to change the subject, to get her mind off what had happened. 'What was your reaction to our
