by Colin Forbes
As they strolled into a spacious sitting area a curious incident occurred. One of the elevators reached the ground floor. The doors opened. Inside stood a late-middle-aged man of medium height, well-built and wearing gold-rimmed glasses. His eyes met Tweed's briefly, then he stayed inside, pressed a button and the elevator climbed to the second floor.
'That was odd,' Paula remarked.
'Probably forgotten something in his room.'
He showed her a gallery with portraits in gilt frames hung from the walls. Luxuriously covered chairs were placed close to the walls so people could sit and take their ease. He then took her through another spacious room, where men and women sat drinking, and into the Grill Room.
'This is magnificent,' said Paula. 'I wouldn't mind eating up there.'
She pointed to a balcony on the first floor overlooking the main restaurant. On their way back to the elevators Tweed peered into a smaller room with tables laid. 'The Cafe Condi,' he explained. 'More than a cafe -you can get lunch here. The service is excellent and the food very good. I think we should go up to our suites now. I want to phone Dr Kefler, the financial genius as Keith Kent called him. The sooner we see him the better . . .'
They were passing reception when they saw Marler registering. He had come from the airport on his own by taxi. He looked up, saw them, looked away as though he didn't know them.
'Did you say I'm in Room . . . ?' he called out in a loud voice to the receptionist.
He had now told them where they could find him. Tweed was shown into his suite while another porter took charge of Paula. Alone, he walked to the balcony and stood there a moment. The trees which lined the far side of the road were in full leaf but, on the third floor, he could see over the tops and had a clear view of the Binnenalster. Peace.
Going back inside he sat down, checked the number Kent had given him, pressed the number for an outside line and then the German's number.
'Who is this?' a gruff voice demanded in German.
'My name is Tweed. We have a mutual acquaintance . . .'
'Ah! You have arrived quickly. Keith phoned me that you were coming, gave me your description. A necessary precaution. I am Kefler.'
The German was speaking in English now. A necessary precaution? It had an almost sinister sound.
'I'm at the Four Seasons, Dr Kefler.' He gave him his suite number. 'I would like to see you as urgently as possible. Also, I would like to bring my assistant, Paula Grey - and Robert Newman, the foreign correspondent.'
'All will be welcome. But you must come well after dark. Take a taxi, tell the driver to drop you just before he reaches the Fish Market. Then walk along Grosse Elbstrasse. Soon, on your right you come to a high grassy bank. There is a footpath up to a terrace of old houses. Climb up the footpath. I am number 23. Keep in the shadows as you walk. I suggest we meet at eleven o'clock.'
'Tonight?' Tweed asked.
'Yes, tonight. Who can guarantee there will be a tomorrow? Thank you for calling . . .'
Someone tapped on his door. When he opened it, Paula walked in. She looked round the suite, walked out on to the balcony, took a deep breath of air, although it was still hot. She turned round.
'I should have asked if this is a convenient moment.'
'Very. Sit down. Listen.'
He relayed to her every word of his conversation with Dr Kefler. She frowned, gazing at him as he spoke from an armchair. He waved a hand.
'That's it,' he concluded.
'We're going, then?'
'Yes.'
'It all sounds rather menacing, downbeat. "Come well after dark. Keep in die shadows. If there's a tomorrow",' Paula commented.
'On the contrary, Kefler sounded very jovial, very warm.'
'Well, Keith Kent did say Kefler reminded him of a teddy bear. But don't you think there was a grim element?'
'Yes, I do. We shall therefore take heavy protection.
Later we'll walk to the Hotel Renaissance where Harry Butler and Pete Nield are staying. I want Harry to guard our rear,' Tweed decided.
'And Mark?'
'Would be one too many.'
He went to the door. Someone had rapped hard on it. Opening it, he looked at the tall figure standing outside.
'Mr Tweed. I am Victor Rondel.'
Paula looked with curiosity as their visitor entered, was introduced to her. He held on to her hand only briefly and his grip was firm. She was rather struck by him.
Six feet tall, slim, athletically built, he was clean-shaven and had blond hair neatly brushed back from his forehead. His brown eyes had a humorous hint and his smile was attractive. In his late thirties or early forties, he was clad in a pale blue polo-neck sweater, fawn slacks with a razor-edged crease and white trainers. He accepted Tweed's invitation to sit down, paused when Tweed gestured to the champagne in an ice bucket the management had provided.
'It's not been opened. You might like to keep it for later.'
'The ice in the bucket is almost water now,' Tweed commented. 'I think you'd do us a favour if I opened it now.'
'Then I will be happy to do you that favour.'
He smiled again as Tweed took the bottle into the bathroom to open. He was smiling at Paula, who had perched herself on the arm of another chair.
'Would this be your first trip to Hamburg, Miss Grey?'
'Paula, please. No, it isn't. I was here quite a few years ago when the old family was running it. In this hotel, I mean.'
'Ah. The end of a dynasty. I fear a lot of that is happening these days. Thank heavens the new owners - a chain - have preserved its original character. I understand you are Mr Tweed's close assistant.'
She didn't reply because Tweed had returned with the bottle opened. He poured champagne into three of the six glasses laid out on a table, raised his glass.
'To peace and prosperity.'
'I will certainly drink to that,' Rondel agreed.
'How did you know I was here?' Tweed asked suddenly, still standing.
'I saw you and Miss Grey . . .'
'Paula, please,' she said again, smiling.
'I saw you and Paula come in when I was having coffee in the lounge downstairs. The gentry in Hamburg patronize that room.'
'But how did you know it was me?' Tweed persisted.
'Information is one essential element in my job. Sometimes more valuable than gold. You are the Deputy Director of the SIS.'
'And may I ask you what your job is?'
'You just did.' Rondel laughed pleasantly. 'I am one of the two partners who control the Zurcher Kredit Bank.'
'With a reputation of being the most trustworthy bank in the world.'
'I would hope so. I would most certainly hope so.' Rondel emptied his glass. 'Thank you for the drink. That champagne is a most superior brand. Now, I have taken up enough of your time. This was in the way of a first introduction. We would be most happy if you could be our guests at one of the best restaurants in town.' He extracted from his chamois wallet a long off-white card, handed it to Paula. 'We have reserved a good table for you for tomorrow night. I hope that is acceptable. The table number is on the back.'
'Very kind of you,' replied Tweed. 'Would I be out of order if I brought someone else as well as Paula? A man called Robert Newman.'
'Ah! The world-famous foreign correspondent. He would be most welcome.'
'I will, of course, pay for him . . .'
'You won't be able to.' Rondel laughed again. 'The manager will have been instructed to put three guests on my account. No argument, please. Oh, I hope you will not think it unfriendly, but you will be dining by yourselves. I shall be at another table with my partner — by tomorrow evening an urgent cable will have arrived and we must make a decision.'
'That is quite all right. You refer to "we", and mention your partner.'
'That, as I think I mentioned, is who I shall be dining with.' Rondel stood up. 'Soon we may well wish you to visit us at our headquarters.'
'Which are where?'
'Information never disclosed in advance.' Rondel smiled again, shook hands with both of them. 'We will keep in touch . . .'
Alone with Paula, Tweed looked at her. Taking off his glasses, he polished them with a clean handkerchief, perched them back on his nose.
'What did you think of him?'
'Bit of a whirlwind. I liked him. Never met anyone like him before. I've heard of this restaurant.' She handed him the card. 'It is supposed to be super.'
'Fischereihafen Restaurant,' Tweed read aloud. 'Grosse Elbstrasse 143. That means it's not so far from where Dr Kefler lives. Hafen, you know, means harbour.'
'What did you think of him?' Paula asked.
'Very secretive. Rondel cleverly evaded giving us the name of his partner - and where their headquarters are situated. I wonder how he found out who I was, that we'd be coming here? Paula, on this journey into a mirage we can trust no one except our own team. No one.'
'You found Rondel suspect?'
'I didn't say that.' Someone knocked on the door. 'Maybe that's Newman. He's staying here, of course, as is Mark.'
Tweed opened the door, was taken aback. Standing there with a half-smile on her face was Lisa Trent.
CHAPTER 16
'Welcome to Hamburg,' said Lisa as she walked in, went over to hug Paula. 'Amazing,' she said, turning to Tweed. 'Truly amazing. You worked out my message, you clever man,' she ended cheekily.
'Interested in a glass of champagne?' Tweed suggested.
'Buckets of it,' Lisa rapped back after checking the bottle. 'Can I sit down? It's bloody hot,' she remarked, sitting down.
She wore a white blouse, khaki shorts. Her feet were clad in sandals. No jewellery — not even one ring on her fingers. Tweed gave her a glass of champagne. She drank half of it straight off.
'How did you know we were here?' Tweed asked casually.
'I make it my business to know what's going on. Thought you'd have caught on to that when I made it my business to come to London - to warn you where the imminent riots were going to take place. Wake up, Tweed,' she rapped out, again saucy.
'Why have you come to see us now — glad as we are of your restrained presence?'
'Touche! My guess is you're hunting Rhinoceros.'
'Is it?' Tweed sat down facing her so as not to miss any nuance of expression. 'And supposing that was one of the reasons we are here?'
'Then you're in the right place. Germany.'
'Rhinoceros is in Germany? Whereabouts?'
'No damned idea.' Lisa refilled her glass, knocked back half of her fresh drink. 'You really will have to do some of the work yourself.'
'I have been known to exert a little energy. What about a hint?'
'I haven't a clue.' She suddenly dropped her flippant attitude, stared at Paula. 'But I can tell you that all of you are in grave danger.'
'From who?'
'This interrogation has gone far enough.' She flared up, her face flushed with anger. She turned on Tweed. 'I do not know. Don't you bloody well think I'd tell you if I did?' Standing up, she confronted him. 'There's a quality called trust. Ever heard of it? Trust]' she shouted at him. 'As you obviously don't trust me we have no more to talk about.' She reached for the champagne glass, saw it was empty, threw it onto the table where it shattered. 'When I think of what I went through in London to help you and you treat me like this!'
'I remember that well, Lisa . . .' Tweed began.
'Don't "Lisa" me. The name is Trent. Got it? T-r-e-n-t. So forget about me,' she shouted, heading for the door. 'Paula, I pity you, working for this man . . .'
Then she was gone.
'I blew it,' said Tweed.
'She didn't have to rave at you like that.'
'I blew it,' Tweed repeated. He went on to the balcony and Paula followed. 'She is just out of the clinic and probably needed a few more days, but she's gutsy. In her place I'd have walked out of that clinic. We've lost one important key.'
'I could go and try and find her . . .'
'Don't. She has to simmer, then quieten down. Her sister Helga was murdered. She probably realizes the bullet was meant for herself.' He took a deep breath. 'At least we still have Dr Kefler tonight.'
'And maybe Rondel.'
'Funny idea. His inviting us to dinner and then not sitting with us. Something odd there.'
'We'll find out tomorrow night,' Paula said quietly.
'Meantime, I think we should go now to the Hotel Renaissance and contact Harry for tonight. We just don't know what may be waiting for us down in the docks area.'
As if on cue, Marler arrived, carrying a large hold-all. He grinned, refused a glass of champagne.
'Just back from the Reeperbahn. I've seen Newman, given him his favourite, a .38 Smith & Wesson with holster and spare ammo. Said he felt better now.'
'Why? Was he nervous?' Tweed asked, not believing it.
'This is a nervous city. Also visited Mark. His bedtime companion is a 7.65mm Walther.'
'How did you know which rooms to go to?'
'Followed them discreetly when they arrived separately. They didn't know I was there.'
'Must be losing their grip,' Paula joked.
'You said,' Tweed recalled, 'this is a nervous city. What prompted that remark?'
'My contact off the Reeperbahn who supplied the weaponry. He said they had enough of their own thugs, but on the grapevine he'd heard more were coming from Britain -some by ferry, some flying in. I bought enough weaponry to deal with a small army. Now, Paula.'
He handed her out of the hold-all what he knew she wanted. A .32 Browning automatic with ammo. She checked the empty weapon, checked its mechanism, pushed a magazine inside the butt, slipped the gun into the special pocket inside her shoulder bag.
'Now I feel fully dressed,' she announced.
'You're as bad as Newman,' Marler commented. 'How about a couple of grenades, two compact containers of concentrated tear gas?'
'Give,' she said, holding out her hand.
'And then there's yourself, Tweed. A Walther, if I remember rightly.'
'You know I rarely carry a weapon,' Tweed objected, staring with distaste at the automatic held out to him.
'Take it,' snapped Paula. 'I sense we are in for a very rough ride on this one. Don't you want to save my life when the time comes?'
'You are diabolically persuasive. You should be kept locked up.'
But he accepted the Walther, hip holster and ammo from Marler. Then he checked his watch.
'Paula and I were just going out to make contact with Harry and Pete, staying at the Hotel Renaissance.'
'Then, since I was going there next, I'll give you a thirty seconds start, then stroll after you to guard your rear . . .'
It was still daylight as Tweed and Paula walked out of the hotel, turned right and strolled like a couple of holidaymakers. The sun, which had glared in at the windows of Tweed's suite, still roasted them even though it was mid-evening.
They had reached the end of the street, crossed over. Paula paused, staring across the street at the wide pedestrian platform of Jungfernstieg. The ferries, far fewer in number than earlier, were still plying their way from the landing stage over the Alster.
'In the early morning and at the end of the day,' Tweed told her, 'commuters who live in houses or apartments near the Alster commute by ferry. Saves them worrying about parking cars.'
'It's heaven,' sighed Paula, looking at the beautiful big buildings on the opposite shore.
'We must keep moving,' Tweed decided. He glanced back the way they had come. Marler was overtaking them. He had just called Harry's mobile on his own. His lips hardly moved as he spoke when passing them.
'I've got Harry's phone number, so now I know his room. Just follow me a bit behind when we reach the Renaissance . . .'
They were passing department stores in tall massive buildings which looked as though they had stood there for ever. Marler turned right down Grosse Bleichen, a narrower street. Very few people about. They followed Marler, entering t
he Hotel Renaissance, a quiet comfortable place. Paula glanced into the entrance to the restaurant, turned away quickly.
'What's the matter?' Tweed whispered.
'In the restaurant. You're not going to believe this. Remember Pink Shirt, fat-faced with a large head - on the pavement opposite The Hangman's Noose during the riots?'
'Yes.'
'He's sitting in the restaurant we've just passed. And I think he spotted me . . .'
'Hurry, Marler is waiting . . .'
Harry Butler opened the door of his room after Marler tapped in a certain way. He hustled them inside, closed, locked the door.
'What's the rush?' Tweed asked.
'Bad news,' Harry announced. 'Pink Shirt, big man, ugly. Directing the thugs at Reefers Wharf. Staying here.'
'We saw him,' Paula said.
'The news gets worse,' Harry went on. 'Delgado is staying here. Well disguised, hair trimmed short, stoops, carries a rubber-tipped stick. I saw his eyes. Always tell a man by his eyes.'
'How on earth did they get here so quickly?' Paula wondered.
'Easy. Caught a later flight.'
