by Colin Forbes
Paula had used ointment on the ankle, then wrapped it in a bandage before they started out. Tweed enquired how bad it was.
'Not too bad,' Paula told him. 'With the ointment I've used the swelling will have gone away in three or four hours – maybe less. But he can't drive yet. I could.'
'I'll drive,' Tweed said firmly. 'I have the stamina.'
He now had Paula beside him with Newman and Kent in the back. Behind them Marler drove his Audi, again with Nield next to him and Butler in the back. He'd almost had trouble keeping up with Tweed.
'We're really moving,' Paula ventured as they were passing through Hollental.
'Don't worry,' Tweed assured her. 'That snowplough we saw has cleared this lane of snow. I'm anxious to get to Freiburg, back to the Colombi as soon as possible. There may be a message for me.'
'Who from?'
'Monica, of course.'
'I suppose we botched it back at Schluchsee,' Paula mused. 'We let one truck get away.'
'Oh, come off it,' Newman called out. 'Ronstadt started out with twelve men when he left Basel. Now he's down to four, including himself.'
'And,' Tweed pointed out, 'we have destroyed a fortune in forged banknotes, plus the machines for producing more, plus the base. When we reach the Colombi I'll try again to reach Roy Buchanan to deal with that single truck.'
'You tried earlier a way back,' Paula reminded him. 'You made no contact.'
'I think the Feldberg was in the way.'
'Why Buchanan when Otto Kuhlmann would do everything he can to help?'
'Because I think Otto would find himself in an impossible position politically. I'm convinced that truck is on its way to one of the American airbases in Germany. I think they have a transport plane lined up to take the truck aboard, then fly it to one of their bases in East Anglia. There should just be time for Roy to stop the truck – providing we keep moving. I have a feeling we're now desperately short of time.'
'Incidentally,' Newman said, 'those two small explosions we heard before the house went into the sky were Marler throwing a grenade under each of the two remaining black Audis. He aimed them under the petrol tanks. Told me while we were watching the fireworks.'
'We'll get a meal at the Colombi,' Tweed announced. 'An army marches on its stomach, as Napoleon once said.'
'Then what do we do?' Paula asked.
'No idea. That's why I hope there'll be a message at the Colombi.'
When the two cars were parked outside the hotel Tweed succeeded in contacting Buchanan on Beck's mobile. He explained the problem tersely. Buchanan listened without saying a word until Tweed finished: 'I do think, Roy, it's important to locate that truck.'
'Tweed, it's not important, it's absolutely vital. If the forged money is as good as you say it is we must do everything we can to stop it getting into circulation.'
'I just hope you have time.'
'I have. By chance I'm in Norwich. I'm going to use all the power I've been given to ring every possible American airbase. You said you thought it might well come aboard a C47 transport. That needs a long runway, which cuts down the number of airbases I have to think of. I'm getting on it now.'
Tweed and Newman, with Paula, were the first to enter the lobby. The receptionist leaned over the counter.
'Mr Newman, I have a message for you. In case you came back.'
Newman looked surprised. He took the sealed envelope. Tweed was about to head for the dining room when the receptionist called out again.
'I also have a message for you, sir.'
Tweed took the sealed envelope, put it in his pocket. Then he questioned the receptionist, phrasing his words carefully.
'A close friend of mine might still be in the hotel. A Sharon Mandeville. You probably saw us together in the lounge.'
'Yes, sir, I did. Ms Mandeville checked out a good few hours ago. She drove off with her secretary, Ms Denise Chatel.'
'Did she leave a forwarding address?'
'No, sir, I'm afraid she didn't. We've had a bit of activity this evening – and now you turn up.'
'Mind if I ask who else has been here? It couldn't be my old friend, Jake Ronstadt?'
'I'm only here temporarily, sir.' The receptionist lowered his voice. 'Yes, Mr Ronstadt was here with three other men. They had dinner and then left.'
'Thank you. So I've missed him. Can't be helped…'
They left their coats, followed Tweed and Paula into the dining room. There were only two couples having dinner. Waiters made up a large table and they settled down to study the menu. When they had ordered, Tweed took out the envelope, opened it. The wording, like his name on the front of the envelope, was in ill-formed block letters.
REGENT HOTEL, PETITE FRANCE, STRASBOURG.
Newman had at the same time opened his envelope. He frowned as he reading the wording, written with a pen in a strange script.
Hotel Regent, Petite France, Strasbourg.
'What on earth can this mean?' he asked, handing the letter to Tweed. 'And I most certainly don't recognize the handwriting.'
'I'd say you weren't meant to,' Tweed commented after scrutinizing the communication. 'It's educated, but awkward handwriting. My guess is it was written quickly by a right-handed man – using his left hand. Now look at my message.'
'This is incredible,' Newman exclaimed. 'What does it mean?'
'The version you're looking at was probably written by a less-educated man. Also, notice the different way the hotels are named. I've stayed there. I know in France it's called Hotel Regent. Which again suggests a well-educated person.'
'Is someone going to let me in on the secret?' Paula pleaded.
They both handed her their letters. She studied them, took her time. Then she looked up.
'This is crazy. Same address, but apparently provided by two quite different people. Why?'
'It's a mystery,' Tweed agreed. 'And here's our meal. I'd like everyone to get on with it. I'm sure we're very short of time.'
'I know,' said Paula, 'gobble it down even though we haven't eaten for hours. Then we all get indigestion.' 'No need to do that,' Tweed assured her.
Marler finished first. Like Tweed and Paula he drank only water, avoiding wine. They didn't believe in touching alcohol when it came to driving.
'I told you about our brief confrontation with those four thugs in Hollental,' he began. 'I also mentioned the landslide. I was worried that when I drove to the bottom of the gulch that the exit would be blocked. Luckily, the landslide which covered the highway had not reached the right-hand lane. So we just drove straight off.'
Soon afterwards Tweed summoned the waiter, paid the bill. He pushed his chair back, anxious to leave.
'Just a moment,' Paula said. 'It would be nice to know where we're going.'
'To Strasbourg, of course.'
'It could be a trap,' Newman-warned.
'I agree. Only way to find out is to get there. As I mentioned earlier, I once stayed at the Hotel Regent. It's a very good hotel.'
'I'll take over the driving,', Paula offered.
'Thank you. But I'm just waking up, said Tweed, `so I'll go on driving.'
'And I'll continue behind the wheel,' Marler chimed in.
'Oh, well,' Paula sighed. 'Strasbourg here we come.'
Paula was certain she would never forget the headlong drive up the autobahn heading for Strasbourg. They were all seated as they had been during the drive from Schluchsee. She was next to Tweed, with Newman and Kent in the back. She had her map in her, lap and referred to it frequently with the aid of her torch.
There was no longer any trace of snow and the moon glowed down brightly. Ahead she could see nothing but the endless stretch of the autobahn going on for ever. Tweed kept overtaking huge trucks lumbering along. One moment they saw red lights, the next, so it seemed to Paula, they had whipped past the vehicle. Hedges on the central reservation whipped past in a blur. She glanced at Tweed.
He was sitting quite still, his hands on the wheel relaxed as
he continued staring into the distance. Her next glance was at the speedometer. Oh, my God! she thought. But of course there was no speed limit on German autobahns. There was also no speed limit for Tweed as the Audi devoured the miles.
'Are we trying to break some record?' Newman called out.
'We have so little time left,' Tweed replied.
As if Newman's comment and his own reply had alerted him he pressed his foot down even further. Paula suppressed a gasp. She thanked Heaven they had left the snow behind long ago. Red pinpoint lights appeared in the distance. Another truck. Then Tweed was overtaking. The juggernaut whizzed past, was gone. Paula realized she was pressing her feet hard against the floor, that the palms of her hands were damp. Surreptitiously, she wiped them on her trousers.
'We're getting there,' said Tweed cheerfully.
'I'd already gathered that,' she replied.
In the second Audi, some distance behind them, Marler kept up his speed. Once he glanced at his speedometer. He raised his eyebrows.
'You know something,' he said to Nield next to him, 'this is North Pole or bust. In other words, Tweed has really got the bit between his teeth.'
'Oh, is that what is happening,' Nield answered, suddenly aware that he was sitting very tensely.
'I think he's in a bit of a hurry to get to Strasbourg,' Marler remarked.
'And I think he believes he's flying Concorde.'
Paula was studying her map again. She looked up as something flashed past. She cleared her throat to warn Tweed she was going to say something. He glanced at her.
'Comfortable?' he enquired.
'Oh, very. Would you mind if I suggested you slowed down just a bit?'
'We've got to get there.'
'I know. But we're approaching junction 54. That's where we'll turn off the autobahn and head for Kehl.'
'But we just passed junction 55,' Tweed objected.
'Yes, we did. And at the rate we're moving we'll overshoot 54.'
'Not a chance.'
They overtook a convoy of three huge trucks. Paula looked up at the roof. It had been like watching a video on fast-forward. They had to be very close to 54 now. Then she realized Tweed was slowing – at least they were not travelling quite at supersonic speed any more.
'We have to be extremely close to it now,' she warned.
'I'm sure we are.'
She glanced at him again. For the first time she realized that mixed with his sense of anxiety about time was a sense of pure enjoyment. He felt he was achieving something. Which, she supposed, he was – if they got there in one piece.
'We're nearly at junction 54,' she said. 'And before you slap me down may I remind you I am the navigator?'
'Best in the world, I'd say.'
'Flattery will get you nowhere!'
Tweed had reduced his speed a lot. Turning off the autobahn at the junction he proceeded at a more sedate pace. Paula checked her map again.
'Soon we'll cross a bridge over the Rhine. After that we're in Strasbourg in no time.'
'Look for the spire of the cathedral,' Tweed suggested. 'It is immensely high. From the top on a clear day you can see the Vosges Mountains and the Black Forest, and they're a long way off.'
'What's Strasbourg like?'
'The centre, crowded round the cathedral, is a labyrinth of streets and alleyways. The buildings are as old as the hills. They're crammed together and their rooftops are all different heights, a lot of them lopsided and odd-looking. The best part is where we're going – Petite France.'
'And what do you expect when we reach the Mel Regent?'
'Something unpleasant, but we're getting used to that.'
42
Paula almost purred with delight as Tweed, deep inside Strasbourg, drove across an old bridge lined with elegant iron railings and she saw the Hotel Regent. A large old four-square building, it was illuminated with tinted floodlights. She stared down beyond the railings at its reflection in the water under the bridge.
'We seem to have crossed a lot of bridges to get here.'
'The waterways are an essential part of Strasbourg,' Tweed explained. 'It's a very complex system and eventually you can sail in boats which take you on to the Rhine. Pleasure boats operate a lot in the season. I'm just hoping the hotel has rooms for all of us. The European so-called Parliament is here and when in session European MPs with fat expenses grab all the best accommodation.'
Paula glowed as they walked into a very modern and palatial reception area. The floor was paved with light green marble and the sides of the reception counter were also faced with marble. Round white pillars supported a high ceiling where the illumination was provided by recessed spotlights.
'We'd like rooms for seven people if that's possible,' Tweed said to the woman behind the curved counter. She was attractive, very fashionably dressed and had an air of authority. 'We have driven a long way,' Tweed added.
'No problem,' the woman said with a welcoming smile. 'We can give you all very nice rooms. If you could register, sir.'
Tweed dealt with the formalities, then looked at the woman as he returned her smile.
'If the porters could take our coats, some of us would like to go straight to the bar.'
'Certainly. Let me show you the way.'
Paula and Tweed were followed by Newman and Kent. Tweed heard Marler say the rest of them would like to go straight up to their rooms. Like the reception hall, the bar was modern but tasteful. In the manner of certain high-class cocktail bars it had comfortable armchairs upholstered in purple.
Tweed smiled to himself as they walked into the bar. By herself, seated in one of a series of banquettes facing each other, was Sharon Mandeville.
Marler was on his way upstairs to his room when a woman rounded a corner and started to descend. Denise Chatel. She looked harassed and had a briefcase tucked under her arm. She stopped dead when she saw him.
'Hello, Denise,' he greeted her. 'You'll think I'm following you.'
'Are you?' she snapped.
Then she hurried past him down the stairs. Her expression was bleak and completely lacking in warmth. Marler shrugged.
'I think,' Nield whispered, 'she's gone off you…'
In the bar Tweed walked straight over to Sharon. She looked up and gave him a smile of extreme pleasure. Putting down her file, she stood up so he could hug her.
'Just when I was getting so bored with all this work you walk in, so now I can look forward to a really entertaining evening.'
'Rather a late evening,' he said sitting down facing her.
'Oh, the night is young. Who knows? We may be here at dawn.'
'This is Keith Kent,' Tweed introduced. 'Keith, Sharon Mandeville.'
'How nice to meet such a competent-looking man for a change. I am wondering what you do for a living.'
'I'm a banker.'
'A money man. Well, they say money makes the world go round.'
'Except,' Tweed said, 'at times the lust for money, when satisfied, is sometimes succeeded by the lust for power.'
'Tweed, you are a cynic.' She laughed. 'A dyed-in-the-wool cynic.'
'Or maybe a realist.'
'Paula.' Sharon focused her attention on her. 'I'm so glad you're here. Otherwise I'd feel out-gunned. Why don't we go shopping together? There are some marvellous shops here if you know where to go.'
'I doubt if my bank balance would come up to yours,' Paula said with a smile.
'Nonsense. It would be a change to have some female company. I'm drinking champagne. I'll order another bottle.'
'Not for me,' Tweed said hastily.
'There's Paula and Keith. May I call you Keith? Good. And now, Bob, I noticed you were hobbling. You've been in the wars?'
'Slipped on a flight of stone steps in Freiburg. It's nothing.'.
Sharon waved to a waiter. She ordered two more bottles of Dom Perignon. Then she leaned towards Tweed, speaking quietly.
'Talking about company, have you seen who is at the bar?'
T
weed turned round. At the bar, which had a pale yellow front, two men were perched on bar stools, their backs to the room. Rupert and Basil Windermere. He looked back at Sharon.
'What are they doing here?'
'Lord knows. They're a nuisance. Both of them, separately, have pestered me. I gave them a very cold shoulder. I can't imagine why they turned up here – unless they followed me on the autobahn. But why would they do that?'
'Your guess is as good as mine.'
'Then, to cap it all, you haven't noticed who is at a corner table by himself over there. That boor, Ed Osborne.'
Tweed again twisted round on his banquette. At that moment Ed Osborne looked up, caught his eye, stood up and lumbered over to their table between the facing banquettes. He slapped Tweed on the back, grinning, slurring his speech.
'Hi, feller! Great to see you again. You folks mind if I join you? Guess it's OK.'
As he sat down next to Tweed he looked across at Sharon and winked. She ignored him and started chatting with Newman. Osborne had a glass of Scotch in his right hand. Waves of the drink were drifting into Tweed's nostrils.
'What brings you all, as I believe they say in our Deep South, to this part of the world?'
'What brings you here?' Sharon asked sharply, her expression cold.
'Good question. Very good question,' Osborne mumbled. 'Guess I can give you a good answer. Had a hard time in Washington, then in London. So I'm takin' a few days off. Kinda holiday – just roamin' around, roamin' where the spirit takes me.'
'Then I hope you're enjoying yourself,' Sharon replied, her manner still cold.
'What gets me,' Osborne went on, 'is how we all keeps turnin' up in the same places. First there was Basel, then Freiburg and now, believe it or not, Strasbourg. I reckon it's a case of who is following who?'
There was a silence. Sharon busied herself pouring champagne into glasses. Paula shook her head, thanked her. Kent leaned forward, his voice crisp.
'Maybe if we started with leaving London we'd know what is going on. Would you agree, Sharon?'
'Sorry, Keith, but you've fogged me.'
