by Colin Forbes
'I'd like something to eat,' Marler told the receptionist.. 'Any chance that the restaurant is still open?'
'Of course. You go through there. I can take your case to your room.'
'Thank you. I'll keep my holdall.'
The restaurant was large and inviting. It was constructed almost entirely of pinewood. It had panelled walls of pine, here and there were square pillars of pine, the woodblock floor was pine. They have an awful lot of timber in the Black Forest, Marler thought. On one side of the restaurant were banquette booths, each large enough to seat six people. He checked the menu, ordered one substantial dish when the waiter came.
He was alone in the spacious restaurant, but not for long. He was drinking a glass of wine, eating bread, when twelve tough-looking men trooped in. After looking round, a tall thin man ushered them into the booths. Several carried black anoraks and most wore thick woollen sweaters and heavy dark trousers.
Without appearing to do so, he kept an eye on them as he hurried through his meal. Next to the tall thin man sat a smaller man who was also not carrying much weight. Marler caught the small man staring at him. As soon as he looked up the man looked away, started talking to the thug who seemed to be the boss.
'Vernon,' he said quietly. 'That guy over in the corner with the smart clothes. I've seen him before.'
'And where would that be, Bernie?'
'Once when Jake put me on watch duty, checking out the Three Kings Hotel. Jake had given me a description of the girl with Tweed. Seem to recall her name was Paula Grey.'
'So what? Get to it.'
'I saw the Grey girl comin' out with another guy — and with the guy over there. My bet is he's here to spy on us.'
'You're sure?'
Bernie looked across at Marler again. He looked away quickly. Marler had glanced at him again. Bernie was hungry. He stuffed bread in his mouth.'
'Don't do that,' Vernon snapped. 'I asked were you sure.'
'I'm certain.'
When he had finished his meal Marler called out to the waiter. He raised his voice so it carried.
'Is it much colder outside? I feel like a breath of fresh air before I go to bed.'
'It is very cold,' the waiter replied.
'I still feel like a short walk.' He scribbled on the bill given to him by the waiter. 'Put the meal on my room number.'
With the holdall slung over his shoulder, he walked out of the restaurant into the lobby. Climbing a curving staircase he soon located his room. He looked round for a hiding place. Then he explored the bathroom. He put the holdall inside a linen bin, roughed up some towels, shoved them on top, replaced the lid. He left his coat in a cupboard. Marler could stand a lot of cold weather and a coat restricted his movements.
Returning downstairs, he walked through the restaurant. He had earlier spotted another door which led to the outside world. He closed the door after stepping into a narrow street, little more than an alley. In the restaurant he had left, Vernon put his face close to his subordinate's.
'Bernie, go after him. Waste him. Not too close to the hotel.'
'Not my job, Vernon. I'm a printer.'
Bernie, listen. Listen good. When you joined this outfit I remember Jake sent you to Philadelphia to eliminate a certain guy. It was a test. Jake likes all his people to handle a gun when it comes to it. You killed the guy in Philadelphia. You got a gun on you now.'
'I know. Do I get more bucks for doin' this?'
'That we can discuss later. Get after him.'
When he had closed the restaurant door behind him Marler looked up at a street sign, which was illuminated. Munzgasse. The alley was cobbled — and deserted. He started walking along it to get an idea of his surroundings. Knowledge which might come in useful later. It was very cold, very silent.
Near the end of the long alley he paused. To his left there was a café, Wirschaft. It was closed, as everywhere else would be now. He had heard footsteps behind him. Slow, cautious footsteps. Whoever he was, the damned fool had metal studs in the soles of his shoes. When he paused he no longer heard the footsteps. He was careful not to look back.
He walked out of the alley and stared ahead in surprise. Ahead was the last thing he had expected to see in the Old City. A weird complex of very modern concrete houses were stepped steeply up the side of a hill. They appeared to be detached residences and were the sort of structures he'd have expected to find in America.
The complex - with houses on either side - was divided into two sections by a long flight of wide concrete steps. Apart from those at street level, you had to climb the steps to reach the houses, which were on different levels. Behind them, higher still, loomed dense tree-clad slopes. He imagined this was the verge of the Black Forest. He could hear the footsteps behind him again, moving more rapidly.
He began climbing the steps quickly. The footsteps hurried now. Suddenly turning round, he looked down. It was the small thin man, wearing an anorak. Marler was almost at the top level. In his right hand his tail carried a gun. Marler smiled.
'What's all this about?'
'We kinda don't like spies.'
'What makes you think I am a spy?'
'Saw you leavin' the Three Kings in Basel. With your friend, Paula Grey.'
'You're not threatening me?' said Marler, still smiling. 'I'm kinda goin' to kill you.'
Marler stared down behind the gunman. It was the oldest trick in the world. He smiled again as though he hadn't a care in the universe.
'I like to know who's pointing a gun at me. You got a name?:
'Bernie Warner. Guess you might as well know the name of the last guy you'll ever see in this world.'
Marler was still staring fixedly behind Bernie. The thug was beginning to notice this. Also the fact that Marler kept smiling bothered him. You don't keep smiling when you're expecting a bullet in the chest. Marler nodded his head.
'Take him, Mike,' he called out.
Bernie swung round, saw there was no one behind him, turned back to shoot. In the two seconds it had taken him to check his rear Marler jumped on to the top step, dived sideways behind a concrete pillar. Crouched down, he found himself hemmed in by a collection of large, filled rubbish sacks with a sheaf of folded spares under his knees. Obviously when it became daylight the dustcart was due.
Jumping up the last few steps, Bernie stopped, swivelled the muzzle of his gun to where Marler crouched. A shot rang out. A red spot like an Eastern caste mark appeared on his forehead. Still gripping the Walther automatic in his hand, Marler watched Bernie collapse backwards, sprawling down the top steps.
Standing tip, he walked down a couple of steps, checked the neck pulse. Nothing. Marler then became very active. He took one of the large spare sacks, walked down the two steps to where Bernie's head rested. He eased the head inside the sack first, then manoeuvred the shoulders inside. He had trouble getting the arms in but he managed it. Then he lifted the sack carefully and the rest of the corpse slithered in, leaving space at the top.
'Lucky he was a small man,' Marler said to himself.
He used a handkerchief to pick up Bernie's Beretta pistol, which still had his fingerprints on it, then dropped it into the sack. He next went back to the piled sacks, opened one, took out rubbish, stuffed it inside Bernie's sack. Fastening it, he heaved it over his shoulders, dumped it with the other sacks awaiting collection. His last precaution was to use his handkerchief to remove the few spots of blood on the steps.
For the third time he glanced quickly round the concrete villas No sign of lights, of life. It would be daylight soon. If anyone had heard the shot they'd probably thought it was a car backfiring.
He hurried down the steps. At the bottom he turned left and soon saw a main highway. He guessed that would to the route they'd take when they left Freiburg. Then he saw what he was looking for -- a street drain.
Screwing up the blood-stained handkerchief, he pushed it down into the drain. He had once bought it while in Berlin, as one of a set. There was no way it cou
ld be traced back to him.
Turning back, he walked down Munzgasse to the hotel. He entered by the door leading into the restaurant.
Five of the thugs were still seated in their booth — with the thin man Marler had picked out as the boss. Then he , recalled Keith Kent's description of the man with Ronstadt in the Zürcher Kredit Bank. A tall thin man with a hard, thin bony face. The description fitted. And Newman had identified him as Vernon Kolkowski. Vernon had two empty steins in front of him and was halfway through a third. He was glowering when Marler walked in. His expression changed to one of disbelief when he saw Marler.
'Goodnight,' said Marler as he passed close to their table. 'Or, rather, good morning.'
Vernon's glower returned. He said nothing as Marler walked on, went up the curving staircase to his room. As soon as he was inside, the door relocked, Marler sat on his bed. He took from his pocket the small mobile, pressed numbers without consulting the piece of paper Tweed had provided with the number of the Colombi. When the night operator came on he asked to be put through to Tweed.
`Marler here. There were twelve little black men. Now there are eleven. And I'm coming to the Colombi — to attach another tracking gizmo to Ronstadt's Audi. Earlier in Basel he had a Citroen.'
'Thank you for keeping me informed...'
Tweed, still up, making notes on a pad, knew what Marler had meant. The twelve men in black Audis had now been reduced to eleven.
34
The repercussions of Marler's encounter with Bernie Warner were far more widespread than he could ever have anticipated. Jake Ronstadt, unable to sleep in his luxurious bedroom at the Colombi, was still up long after a grey and gloomy dawn light had spread over Freiburg. He sat in a chair, wearing an oriental dressing gown with dragons rampant. He was trying to make up his mind whether to move on to Höllental that day, or whether to wait for twenty-four hours.
On the one hand he was very short of time. On the other he knew his troops were fatigued, and by no means at their fighting best. The short, barrel-chested figure wedged in the armchair was also not in good shape. The fact that he had been drinking generous slugs of the precious bourbon he kept in a hip flask had not helped.
He'd had a shock earlier when, hidden in the bar, he'd seen Tweed, Newman and Paula Grey sitting with Sharon and Sir Guy. Where were Tweed's other men? He'd expected they would all head for the Schwarzwälder Hof. They appeared to have split into two forces, which worried him.
He was helping himself to another slug of bourbon when his phone rang. He clambered out of his chair, picked up the instrument.
'Yeah?'
'It's Vernon, Chief. We have a problem.'
'That I could do without. What problem? Spit it out.'
'Bernie has gone missin' — we've looked everywhere and he's just gone...'
'I don't believe you!' Ronstadt yelled down the phone.
'He has to be with you. Goddamn it, he's the printer. I need him as a double-check.'
'I don't get that.'
'You're not supposed to. What the hell are you talkie' about?' he raved. 'Maybe you'll get around to tellin' me what's goin' on.'
'Give me a chance, Chief. We're eatin' in the restaurant here. Bernie recognized one of Tweed's men. Saw him comin' out of the Three Kings place. I thought it was a good moment to cut down the opposition. This guy goes for a walk in the night, I send Bernie after him. The guy comes back! About half an hour later. Bernie never comes back.'
'You shouldn't have sent Bernie, you friggin' idiot.' 'He was the one who recognized him.'
'You said you'd looked everywhere. What in hell does that mean?' Ronstadt snarled.
'Six of us went out. I went myself. Brad nearly got knocked down by a dustcart collectin' rubbish.'
'Pity you weren't knocked down.' Ronstadt took a deep breath to get himself under control. 'Here's what you all do for today. Nothin' at all. Get it? You stay in your rooms and wait there for me to call.'
'OK, Chief. We need the rest.'
'Stick your rest. Why you had to send the printer on a job like that I don't know. Bernie was important. A damn sight more important than you!' he shouted, then slammed down the phone.
He went back to his armchair, slumped into it. He had a lot to think about. Should he try and contact Charlie? No! Charlie would crucify him. He had a deadline to keep and, in his fury, he had thrown away twenty-four hours. Unusually for Ronstadt, he wasn't sure what to do. His mind whirled. Should he ask Charlie to find a substitute for Bernie? No! Even if he risked Charlie's wrath there wasn't time. He reached for his hip flask, then left it in his hip pocket.
He'd have a bath, get dressed, then go down for breakfast. He might get an inkling of what Tweed was up to. Then he had a bright idea. They'd leave for Höllental in the middle of the night. The decision taken, he felt. better. He decided a shower might help to clear his brain. He had the mother of all headaches.
Paula woke, felt her normal alert self. She checked the time. It was only 9.30 am. Maybe they would still be serving breakfast in the dining room. She disliked room service. An American habit. Showering and dressing quickly, she went down and paused at the entrance. They were still serving breakfast.
Ed Osborne, big in a thick white polo-necked sweater and grey slacks, sat at a table by himself from where he could survey the whole room. At a remote corner table Sharon also sat by herself, eating buttered toast with one hand, marking up a file with the other. That woman never stops working, Paula thought. Osborne saw her, looked at her with a forbidding expression, then bent his head over a newspaper.
At another table for four Tweed sat with Newman. He caught her eye, gestured for her to join them. She sat down so she was facing the distant Sharon.
'When I came in,' Tweed said, 'I went over to her and suggested she'd probably sooner be on her own at breakfast. She thanked me for my intuition and consideration.'
'She's a slave-driver,' said Newman, 'the slave being herself. We didn't expect you down so early. You got some sleep?'
'I crashed out. It may not have been for long but I feel I've had the best sleep for days.' She looked up as a waiter stood by her. 'I'll have coffee, a glass of orange juice, and also croissants. Nothing else, thank you.' She looked at Tweed. 'Any idea of what we're doing today?'
'None at all. I'm waiting for Marler to press the button. Look who's just arrived.'
She stared at the entrance. Jake Ronstadt was standing there as she had, scanning the restaurant. She was staring because of the way he was dressed. Granted it was breakfast time, so she wouldn't have expected guests to dress up. But Ronstadt was wearing a brown leather jacket, heavy brown leather trousers and thick-soled shoes. Over his arm he carried a black overcoat and his left hand clutched a baseball cap.
'Looks as though he could be leaving,' Paula whispered. 'Oh, Lord, I think he's coming over to us.'
Before he started moving towards their table Sharon had glanced up, then immediately looked down at her file. Osborne, also, had seen his arrival. He gave the newcomer one bleak stare, then resumed reading his newspaper.
'Hi, folks,' Ronstadt greeted them. 'What a big surprise. You're a long way from Goodfellows back in London,' he said addressing Paula. He held out his large hand and she felt compelled to shake it. 'Say, you've got quite a grip there.'
'It comes in useful on occasion,' she replied, staring straight into his hard eyes.
'I guess it does.' He chuckled, a deep rumble which seemed to originate deep down in his chest. 'Fending off unwanted admirers. I guess there must be quite a few of 'em.' He turned his attention to Tweed. 'You sure get around.'
'So do you,' Tweed replied bluntly. 'Where exactly have you come from to get here?'
'I was in Basel. Nice peaceful city. Nothin' ever happens there.' He paused, as though expecting a reaction. 'Now I'm tourin' Germany. Kinda restin' up. Got a big job in London when I get back there.'
'What kind of a job is that?' Newman rapped out.
'Settlin' in new staff. We'
re enlarging the Embassy. London is becomin' the key city in the Western world.'
'London could do without the bombs,' Paula said, lifting her voice. 'And the hideous casualties caused by mindless terrorists.'
Out of the corner of her eye she saw both Sharon and Osborne look up, startled by her vehemence.
'You're sure right there,' Ronstadt agreed equably. 'Think I've disturbed you folks enough. Have a nice day.'
He walked off to an isolated table. On the way he called out in a rough manner.
'Waiter! Over here! I'm hungry.'
'Aggressive, callous bastard,' Paula hissed quietly, her hand gripping the napkin in her lap to regain self- control.
'Oh, he was deliberately being provocative,' Tweed said calmly. 'I liked your reference to bombs and terrorists, Paula. He didn't linger after that. I don't think he was very happy about the whole restaurant hearing you.'
'Did he hurt your hand when he shook it?' Newman enquired. 'I saw he exerted all his strength.'
'No, he didn't My grip is as strong as his. My aerobics. And I wanted to test his strength. I might come up against him later on my own.'
'Don't,' Newman warned, keeping his voice down. 'He's probably packing a gun at this moment.'
'And I'm packing my Browning,' Paula retorted. 'It does look as though he's leaving after breakfast, doesn't it?'
'No,' said Tweed.
'What makes you say that?' she demanded.
'The fact that he was putting on a demonstration for our benefit.'
'What kind of a demonstration?'
'Rather an obvious ploy. To give us the impression that he is leaving shortly. Hence his clothes, his overcoat and baseball cap. If he was on his way he'd attempt to conceal it. I think he's had enough of us. And something Marler phoned me about will, I'm sure, have upset Mr Jake Ronstadt. Thrown him off balance. Tell you later.'
'So we're here a bit longer?'
'At least for the rest of the day would be my guess: I see Sharon is leaving. She's gone now.' He drank more coffee. A short while later he stared. 'Well, look who's arrived.' -
