by Colin Forbes
'Why?'
'Remember that letter from the dead, as Marler called it – from Kurt Schwarz? The wording was brief. Be very careful of the barges. At Park Crescent I thought he was referring to Thames barges. When we arrived here and I saw barges on the Rhine I began to think they were what Kurt had referred to. We now know it was. We'll never know how he suspected what might happen.'
'But he was right. So what about the banknotes?'
'The second sentence in Kurt's letter said: You must locate the printing presses. So what prints banknotes? Printing presses. I think Washington has devised a diabolical plan to destabilize Britain. There may not be much time to stop them. And I think the secret lies at their base in the Black Forest.'
29
Tweed received the invitation soon after Paula had left him. When he picked up the phone it was Sharon Mandeville. He remarked he hadn't seen much of her since arriving in Basel.
'Well, some people would say that's your fault,' she chided him gently in her soft voice. 'You stood me up for drinks.'
'I was about to apologize for that. Something I couldn't ignore turned up. And I had to rush out.'
'You're forgiven. I'm calling you because I thought it might be nice if you and Bob Newman had dinner with me this evening. Here at the hotel, if that suits you.'
'Suits me down to the ground. What time?'
'Would eight o'clock be all right? Maybe afterwards we could all adjourn to the bar.'
'Sounds like a great programme. I could phone Bob Newman to save you the time.'
'Would you? I'm about to dash out to see my Swiss couple again. They're getting wearing, but I agreed to go. See you tonight…'
Instead of phoning Newman, Tweed called him to ask him to come to his room. He was staring out of the window when Newman arrived. Then he told him about the invitation.
'I hope you don't mind,' he said, 'but I accepted on your behalf.'
'I'm glad you did. I'm just wondering what she's up to.'
'She sounded a bit fed up. I got the impression she's in need of some company. I'm hoping to lever information out of her.'
'What could she possibly tell us?'
'Maybe something she's observed while at the Embassy in London. Now, I'm popping down to the reception desk. There's something I want to ask whichever girl is on duty.'
'I'll continue with my packing, then.'
'Hurry. As I told you, Beck phoned to say there's been a heavy fall of snow in the Black Forest, with more to come.'
'In that case we're going to need cars with snow tyres. I'll call in on Marler to give him the good news. He won't find a car hire place open now, but he can organize things in the morning. We'll just have to hope Ronstadt and Co. don't leave tonight. Oh, what time is the dinner?'
'I should have told you. Eight o'clock in the main restaurant downstairs. Don't forget to put on your best suit for Sharon…'
Tweed walked down the wide flight of stairs instead of taking the lift. The lobby was empty. No one was sitting at any of the tables overlooking the Rhine. He smiled at the receptionist, kept his voice quiet.
'I expect you've heard about the barge disaster near the harbour?'
'Yes, sir. Everyone is talking about it. Apparently it exploded but I heard no one was hurt.'
'That's right. No one was. And the trouble was one of- the boilers blew up.'
'Oh, that is what caused it.' Tweed guessed that at the earliest opportunity she would pass his fictitious explanation down the grapevine. Which would soften rumours. 'Anyone sitting by the windows over there must have seen it pass,' he suggested.
'Two guests did. One was Ms Mandeville. She was sitting by herself at the corner table when the barge passed us. Then there was Mr Osborne, sitting in a chair near the restaurant. Both of them had binoculars. We all heard the sound of the explosion – of the boiler blowing up. It's never happened before. Someone's coming,' she ended in a whisper.
'Hi, there, Tweed!' Osborne's very American voice boomed behind him. 'Been lookin' for you, feller.' A strong hand grasped his arm. 'Time we had a drink together. Mebbe more than one. Nobody over by those windows.'
'I haven't a lot of time,' Tweed warned.
'Always time for a drink – or two.'
Osborne guided Tweed to the corner table he had sat at before. He boomed across to the receptionist.
'Send a waiter, would you? Toot sweet, as the French say.'
'They do speak excellent English,' Tweed remarked as they sat at a table next to a window.
'Guess I like to try out my foreign languages. When in Rome…'
'I'll have a glass of French white wine, medium dry,' Tweed ordered as a waiter appeared swiftly.
'You ain't got Bourbon. Don't know why,' Osborne complained. 'I guess I'll settle for a double Scotch on the rocks.'
'You know about the barge which blew up?' Tweed enquired.
'Sure. No body bags needed, so I heard.'
'Ed, why are you here in Basel?'
'Ed. That's better, much better. Why am I in this weird town? Embassy sent me to check on a Swiss PR firm. See if they know their stuff. I guess they're OK. We might pick up their key people. Take them to New York. Boy, here are the drinks. Your good health, Tweed.'
'Yours too.'
'Now the job's done, guess I may soon move on. To Freiburg – near the Black Forest. They tell me there's a nice place there. Hotel Schwarzwalder Hof. Some street called Konvikstrasse. I like that. Convict Street.' Osborne gave a belly laugh. 'Just the place for me.'
'When are you thinking of going there?'
'Haven't decided:' He paused. 'Could be in the next few days.'
Osborne shifted his large bulk. His chair creaked under the weight imposed on it. He was wearing a cream jacket with orange stripes, pale yellow slacks and a white shirt with a flashy tie. His outfit struck Tweed as loud, the kind he'd seen in California.
'What made you choose this hotel?' Tweed asked.
'There's an interesting story behind that.' Osborne had lowered his voice. 'Back at the Embassy in London I hear Sharon is also comin' to Basel. So I ask her where she's stayin' and – without much enthusiasm – she tells me about this place. Thought I'd have a bit of company. I can be a naive guy. Hardly seen sight or heard sound of her since I got here. That's the way it goes.'
'Do you mind if I ask what exactly is your job?'
They were both talking quietly now. Osborne took out a cigar case, offered it to Tweed, who refused. The American took his time clipping off the end, lighting it with a match, moving it round the exposed tip.
'I'm forming a propaganda outfit,' he said. 'A team of spin doctors and all that crap you have in Britain at the moment. I guess the purpose is to fool the voters, brainwash 'em, repeat the same line over and over again. Sounds like Dr Goebbels, doesn't it? Smells like him.'
'This outfit is for Washington?'
'Sure.' Osborne turned to Tweed, smiled drily. 'Where else?'
'Wasn't it Abraham Lincoln who said you can't fool all the people all the time? Something like that.'
'It was.'
'You like doing this?'
'Sure.' Again he smiled drily. 'It's a job. Until something else comes along.'
'Thank you for the drink,' Tweed said, getting up. 'Excuse me, I have work to do.'
'Let's have another drink tonight,' Osborne called after him.
Angled in his chair so he could see the whole lobby, Tweed had seen Denise Chatel emerge from the lift. She had walked into the writing room. At the same moment Paula was descending the flight of stairs behind him. Tweed walked to the writing room door, opened it and Denise swung round in her chair in front of a desk as he shut it. Her expression was startled, uncertain. Tweed wondered whether the psychiatrist who had said she was highly strung was right.
'If I'm disturbing you I'll leave,' he said.
'Of course you're not. Please sit down, she said stiffly.
She was tense, almost had a hunted look on her attractive face. He sat in a chair close t
o hers, smiled.
'How are you getting on? That file in front of you isn't more work, I hope.'
'Yes, it is – a whole load of work I have to finish before I have dinner.' She was rattling out the words. 'Sometimes I've got the impression Sharon invents work to keep me busy. Don't tell her I said that, will you?'
'Of course not. Tell her you're tired, that you need a break.'
'She doesn't believe in breaks. She never stops working herself. Even going out to see someone she takes a file with her so she can work on it while she's in the car. She always has a driver to take her round. She's a fanatic for work. The ultimate career woman.' She was rattling on again. 'At times I admire her incredible drive. She gets by on hardly any sleep.'
'Have you talked to anyone this afternoon? To give yourself a bit of variety?'
'I've chatted to quite a few of the staff, including the duty manager. They're very sociable here. I think they've noticed I'm on my own a lot.'
'Have you seen Marler this afternoon?'
'Only briefly. I passed him in the hall on my way to my room.'
'Well, I've given you a little break.' He smiled again. 'But I think I'm interrupting your work.'
'I should get on if I'm to get through it.'
'Don't push yourself too hard. I'll leave you to it.'
He was walking back upstairs to his room when he met Marler on his way down. They were alone on the staircase and no one was within hearing distance.
'Marler, I gather you saw Denise briefly after we'd got back from the barge disaster.'
'Briefly is the word. She just said, "Hello, there," and kept on walking to the lift. Struck me she was pretty busy.'
'I'm sure you're right. No luck with cars equipped with snow tyres at this time of day, I imagine.'
'I did get lucky. I phoned the hire people who had cars waiting for us at the airport. They were just closing.
I managed to persuade them to deliver cars with snow tyres – a couple of white Audis. They're in the garage here. They took the other cars back.'
'So we can leave at any time. That might be soon. Good work, Marler.'
Tweed continued on up to his room, thinking. His thoughts disturbed him. Denise had warned Marler about the supposed meeting aboard the Minotaur. Denise had talked to staff inside the hotel since they'd got back from the Rhine. It was obvious their main topic of conversation was the explosion aboard the huge barge. Denise had since met Marler briefly. Yet Denise had made no mention of the barge to Marler – or to himself.
30
At about seven in the evening Paula was wandering around the hotel on her own. She wanted to see what, if anything, was going on.
'There are two hostile elements in this place,' she said to herself. 'Ed Osborne and Denise Chatel. On someone's instructions – maybe Ronstadt's – Denise made up that story about a so-called meeting on the Minotaur to lure us into the trap. When the barge exploded we'd all be killed.'
She had descended from the second floor and started walking down the corridor on the first floor. Suddenly a door further along opened, Denise came out of Tweed's room, turned to say something and closed the door. She walked towards Paula with a blank look. Then she walked straight past her as though. she didn't exist.
'What the hell's going on now?' Paula said to herself. The hotel was strangely quiet and there was no one else about. She continued prowling. Downstairs there was no one in the lobby and the restaurant wasn't open yet. She opened the door to the writing room, peered inside. No one there. She went back upstairs to see Tweed.
For a moment she thought the same scene was being replayed – like a film turned back and then run forward again. The door to Tweed's room opened, Sharon came out, turned to say something, then closed it. She began to walk in her elegant way towards Paula.
'Just the person I was hoping to see,' Sharon greeted her with a warm smile as she stopped. 'I'm organizing a small dinner in the restaurant here this evening. Bob Newman and Tweed have agreed to be my guests. I'd like you to be there.'
'Well…'
'Don't think about it, just say yes.' Sharon smiled more radiantly, her green eyes holding Paula's. 'Take pity on me. One woman and two men doesn't work. I'll be out-gunned. You can give me moral support. Please!'
'I'd love to come. Thank you so much.'
'Eight o'clock. he the main restaurant – not the Brasserie next door to it.'
'I'll be there.'
Paula watched her walk away. Sharon almost glided, her figure erect, the waves of blonde hair just touching the top of her shoulders. Then she was gone. Paula frowned, then remembered a friend who had told her she'd develop creases in her forehead. Turning round, she went to Tweed's door, tapped on it, he called out, 'Come in.'
'It's just me. I was passing so thought I'd see how you were.'
'I'm fine. You know I like to get ready for a meal in good time. A little while ago Sharon phoned me, invited Bob and me to have dinner with her tonight. Here in the hotel, bless her – considering what it's like outside.'
He'd put on his best suit, a blue bird's-eye. Now, seated on a couch, he was bent over, buffing his shoes. He seemed very relaxed.
'I've just bumped into Sharon in the corridor,' she said, perching on the arm of the couch. 'She's invited me to join the dinner party. I accepted.'
'I'm glad. That makes us a foursome. You know something? Apart from Sharon's call a while ago that phone hasn't rung once. Peace and quiet. It seems a novelty.'
'I think I'd better go to my room and get changed. Competing with Sharon takes some doing.'
'Oh, I don't know. You always look so perfectly turned out.'
'Thank you, sir.'
She bent down, kissed him lightly on the cheek, then left as she checked her watch.
She'd had a bath earlier but decided she'd have a quick shower.
They kept it very warm in the hotel. She was on her way to the bathroom when she paused before a large wall mirror. She looked at her dark, glossy hair, her large blue-grey eyes, her thick brows, her well-shaped features, her good complexion.
'I'm a brunette, Sharon is a blonde,' she said aloud. 'What is it about that lady which makes her so striking? I'll study her over dinner. No! Admit it – you're an envious witch.'
There was a knock on the door. When she unlocked it Newman was standing outside. She invited him in with a smile. He had on his best suit and a brand-new tie she hadn't seen before, a Valentino. How was Sharon able to mesmerize such different men?
'I just called in to let you know Sharon has asked
Tweed and me to dinner at the restaurant downstairs.' 'She's just asked me to join the party. I said I would.' 'That's great, really great. I was getting bothered you'd feel left out when you saw us.'
'That was nice of you, Bob. Now you can stop getting bothered.'
'I rather think you'll be changing, so I'm holding you up.'
'That's all right. But I was about to dive into the shower.'
'Then I'll leave you to it.'
'Bob, just before you go. Have you noticed Tweed often seems to know what's going on in the enemy's mind? Calls it his sixth sense.'
'Yes, I have.'
'Well, I think he has an agent inside the American camp.'
Newman headed for the ground floor after he'd left Paula. Unusually for him, he stopped for a moment to check his appearance in a mirror on the corridor wall. It was seeing Windermere's Valentino tie, when they had a drink in the bar, which had caused Newman to dig out his own new tie. He walked downstairs, looked in the lobby, wished he'd stayed in his room. Seated by himself at a table overlooking the river was Rupert Strangeways.
'I say, Newman, do trot over and join me for a drink. A chap gets lonely, don't you know.'
'And what brings you to Basel?' Newman asked as he sat down.
He had been told by Tweed what Sir Guy had said, but he wanted to see whether the stories of father and son tallied. Rupert waved a commanding hand.
'First things first.
A waiter chappie is coming. What's your tipple?'
`I'll have a double Scotch, no ice.'
I'm going to need it to get through this, he thought. Rupert, heavily in debt, wore an expensive dark smoking jacket, a pair of dark trousers with a razor-edged crease, a crisp white shirt and a polka-dot bow tie. Newman had always mistrusted men who sported bow ties.
'Mine is a very dry martini, shaken, not stirred,' Rupert ordered with a dry smile. 'I was always a follower of James Bond,' he told Newman when the waiter had gone. 'Poor joke, I know. Maybe I'll sparkle after a few drinks.'
`I think I asked you what brings you to Basel.'
'You most certainly did. Amazing memory you have.' Rupert grinned. 'I'm not being sarcastic. Meant to be a joke. Not doing very well, am I?'
'You'll liven up. I'm listening.'
'Pater put on his military uniform, in a manner of speaking. Told me to come with him. The idea, I'm sure, was to keep me out of mischief. And here I was, waiting for a pair of gorgeous female legs to appear, and what happens? You turn up. Again, no offence meant.'
'None taken. I had a drink with. Basil earlier. I suppose that he came along for the free ride.'
'You've got it.' Rupert snapped his fingers, grinned wolfishly. 'Literally.'
'I think I missed something there.'
'Pater's paying for all Basil's expenses, including the air ticket. The idea is I need someone to keep an eye on me. Basil was elected.'
'As a nursemaid,' Newman joked.
'Can't say I- find that tremendously funny. Comes from being one of those reporter chappies, I suppose. They all develop a rather weird sense of humour. Of course you made a mint out of that huge best-selling book you wrote, Kruger: The Computer That Failed. I've met reporters who failed – ended up behind some crummy desk sub-editing other people's stories. On a clerk's pay.'
'So what are you going to do when you get back home?'
'I rather fancy the idea of becoming manager of a mutual fund.'
Newman could hardly believe his ears. He had never heard Rupert talk like this before. He'd always thought the prospect of doing a proper job had never occurred to him. That was for the peasants.
