another drink. He had a premonition. Something was going to upset the whole apple cart. Something called Tweed.
CHAPTER 39
They had reached Travemunde, parking the car near the rail station. There were signs warning 'No parking', but Tweed had extracted from his wallet an old notice Kuhlmann had once given him. In German was printed the word 'Doctor'. It was used for undercover detectives who wanted to make sure their transport wouldn't be hauled away. He stuck it on the inside of the windscreen. Harry left his motorcycle chained to the rear bumper.
It was very quiet as they walked down a footpath and then they were in the riverside town. They passed an old and small red-brick police station which looked as though it had stood there since the Flood. The whole atmosphere of loneliness they had experienced driving along country roads changed as they reached the river front.
It was early holiday time. The rich people came at this time of the year, Tweed explained, before the masses swarmed in.
'Mustn't mix with the proles,' Newman said impishly.
Paula revelled in the animated activity as she walked with Tweed and Lisa. The river Trave was about half the width of the Thames at Westminster. Powerboats and larger luxury craft were moored beyond landing stages, ships costing a fortune. Tweed paused and divided up his team.
'Too many of us together would be conspicuous,' he explained. 'Harry and Pete, you check upriver until you come to where the fishing boats are moored. We'll be in the cafe-restaurant I described to you in the car. Newman, you just float around, keeping your eyes open. I'll take Paula and Lisa to find the rendezvous, if we ever do.'
'I'm coming with you,' Marler said firmly. 'Hanging back a bit.. .'
The town wasn't packed but there were plenty of Germans wandering along in summer attire or sitting with drinks at tables. There was an air of jollification, of people enjoying themselves. The main street running parallel to the river was narrow and lined on both sides with shops and cafes and restaurants.
The buildings were small and mostly ancient, three or four storeys high. Several had white-painted picket fences and canopies over the area behind them where people sat drinking at tables. Tweed pointed across the river to a forested shore where two ferries carrying cars hustled back and forth.
'That's Priwall Island. I read once how during the end of the Second World War a British tank unit landed there and halfway across the island met a Soviet tank force coming from the opposite direction. The Russians tried to claim the whole island but the British tank commander was firm with his opposite Soviet commander. Ended in a compromise – we held this half of the island, the Russians the other. It's been developed a lot, as you can see – with those white blocks of flats.'
'I loved Tender,' said Paula, 'but this is a lovely contrast. So much bustle and fun.'
'I think this is the place Mrs France described,' Tweed said. 'Where we should wait.'
There was an upmarket restaurant under cover and outside a wide spacious area with umbrellas over tables. It overlooked the river. Marler had caught them up, had heard what Tweed had said.
'Don't like you sitting here,' he said. 'Too exposed. I suggest you sit across the road at those tables in the open.'
They crossed the road and sat outside the cafe he had suggested. They ordered large glasses of orange juice and plenty of water. Marler drank his quickly, stood up and looked at the open entrance next door where a staircase of stone steps led upward. He was still carrying his long tennis-like hold-all which contained his Armalite.
'Think I'll explore a bit. Back soon.'
'Look at that thing gliding past,' Paula called out.
An immense white wall, six decks high, was sliding past on their side of the river. Lifeboats were slung over the side high up. The white wall continued sailing past up-river as though it would never end. It loomed over the town, dwarfing it.
'Probably a car ferry coming in from Sweden,' said Tweed. 'It docks further up the Trave at a place called Scandinavienkai. The train going back to Lubeck stops at a long platform so passengers can go on to Hamburg or Rostock.'
Newman had appeared and he had heard what Tweed had just said. He pulled a sour face.
'Don't mention Rostock. Remember the Cold War days when you sent me in behind the Iron Curtain?'
'Yes. That wasn't pleasant for you…'
Marler, still carrying his hold-all, was quietly mounting the stone steps which were dusty, clearly little used. He came to the landing, listened, heard nothing, turned the handle of an ancient wooden door. It creaked open and he was inside a wooden-floored room with several wooden chairs and no other furniture. He walked across to the window, heaved it up. It groaned but the sound was muffled by the giant ferry's siren sounding non-stop.
He pulled up one of the chairs to the window, sat slowly on it, testing its strength. Then he opened his hold- all and extracted his Armalite. Looking down, he could see the three others perched under their umbrella. He also had a clear view across to the river.
'I think I'm going in search of a loo,' Lisa said, getting up from the table. 'Shouldn't be long.'
'I made use of the facilities behind the quarry just before we left,' remarked Paula. 'I'd just stood up, made myself decent, when Newman appears. I told him 'There's no privacy round here'. The devil grinned, said 'No, but there is a makeshift privy'. I could have killed him. Now he's gone off again – and so has Lisa. Isn't it nice to be able to relax here? I wonder when someone's coming to meet us?'
The light aircraft had landed at Lubeck airport, south of the town and port. Barton completed the formalities for both the plane and the hired Audi waiting for them. Once they left the airport he moved like the wind.
Ignoring all speed limits, he raced to Travemunde. He was lucky not to meet any patrol cars. Parking the car in a slot which had just become vacant on the front, he looked round and almost jerked away in the opposite direction. But the pro who had taught him years before had constantly warned.
'When stalking a target you have in view, never move quickly. People notice sudden movements faster than they hear unexpected sounds.'
'What is it?' asked Panko.
He was about to look where Barton had gazed but his partner grabbed his arm, holding it hard. His grip was so firm Panko was about to protest when Barton spoke.
'Keep still. We've hit pay dirt. Tweed and his dolly are sitting under an umbrella on the pavement. We walk normally back the way we've come.'
'Why we do that?'
'Because I bloody well say so…'
Barton himself had to stop himself hurrying. By the time they came back in the unusual way that had occurred to him, Tweed might have gone. Driving into Travemunde he had seen further back along the front a powerboat with a sign on it in German. He knew enough of the language to read the sign which had said 'For Hire'.
He smiled as they walked up to the lone seaman perched on the gunwale of his boat. The seaman didn't return the smile. He didn't like the look of either of them, despite the fact that they had bought summer clothes while in Flensburg.
'How much?' Barton asked, hoping the seaman spoke English.
'For what?' asked the seaman, looking at the river.
'Hire of your boat for two or three hours.' The seaman named a sum which nearly made Barton fall over. If it was a question of haggling, the seaman was starting at an amazing price. Barton looked again at the boat and his mouth watered. The control cabin was elevated near the prow, all the windows open. Barton again recalled what he had been told by Thunder.
'That's the price of buying this boat, not hiring it,' he said mildly. 'Could we look it over?'
'You're thinking of buying?'
The seaman's attitude was changing. He was less aggressive, a greedy look had come into his eyes.
'Welcome aboard. Is that not what you say in Britain?'
