by Colin Forbes
`Emergency. Diana must be guarded night and day. She could be in danger of her life. The risk has increased enormously. Tell Nield. Arrange a roster between you – one on, one off. Then you can both get some sleep.'
`Understood.'
Butler had his camera raised, was snapping a large white passenger ship just approaching the narrows from Sweden. Tweed was turning to go back to the Sudwind when a uniformed policeman ran across the road and spoke. Tweed thought he recognized the man from Lubeck-Sud.
`Mr Tweed?'
`Yes.'
`Chief Inspector Kuhlmann is on the phone. Wants to speak to you urgently. Can you come back with me to the station?'
Inside the small police station facing the waterfront, Tweed was given a tiny room on his own. He picked up the receiver lying on its side and stood, looking out of the window.
`Tweed speaking. How did you know I was here?'
`I had you followed. Chap on a motor-cycle. That's immaterial. Kurt Franck didn't murder those blonde girls.'
`I did wonder. How do you know that?'
`Pathologist's report after examining the knife. It's very similar to the weapon used, but it's not the weapon. They've checked it under the microscope. There's a minute nick in the blade – so small you'd never notice it with the naked eye. However carefully that knife had been cleaned traces of dried blood, human skin, flesh, etc. would have remained inside the nick. No traces. And the curve of the blade isn't quite the right angle.'
`So my theory becomes valid again…'
`The theory you won't tell me about?' Kuhlmann snapped.
`Because I'm not sure I'm right. It's become complicated again, grimly so. And I suppose if I asked you to search one of Dr Berlin's cruisers, the Sudwind – rip it apart – you'd jump back a kilometre?'
`Ten kilometres. If I hadn't had friends in Bonn that raid would have finished me. And my job is to find that mass- murderer. Top priority.'
`You think you'll succeed?'
`They never did identify your Jack the Ripper.'
Ten days passed. Newman had the impression Tweed was in a passive phase, an opinion shared by Butler and Nield when the two men discussed their chief.
`He's waiting for something to happen, a development,' said Butler, who knew Tweed well. 'When it does, watch his smoke.'
At Tweed's suggestion, Diana spent a lot of time in her room at the Jensen, perfecting her shorthand and typing on a machine she'd hired locally. She never went anywhere near Travemunde.
Butler and Nield took it in turns to guard her. When she took a short walk in the town one of them was always close to her. Tweed had persuaded Kuhlmann to issue each man with a Walther automatic and a temporary licence to possess a firearm.
And Tweed's so-called passive phase was packed with activity. He phoned London and arranged for a Sea King helicopter to be flown to Lubeck. He also took a great interest in the local private airfield at Blankensee, a nowhere place out in the country sixteen kilometres east of Lubeck.
Butler, who held a licence to pilot a helicopter, drove Tweed to the airfield. Close to it they saw a sign pointing down a side road to the right. Lubeck-Blankensee. Turning down it they drove along the Blankensee-strasse, a long straight road bordered by trees and fields beyond.
The airfield was on their left, larger than Tweed had expected, stretching away towards the east. It was a lonely spot. The departure building was a single-storey modern edifice which carried a large sign above the entrance. FLUGHAFEN LUBECK.
`No one-about,' Newman commented as they walked inside. The entrance hall had a strange floor – paved with small pebbles. To their right was an empty restaurant which appeared closed. Tweed made for a noticeboard, glanced at it.
'Polizei – Raum 4,' he read out.
Inside Room 4 a policeman sat in shirt-sleeves drinking coffee with two men in flying gear. Tweed introduced himself and the policeman checked his identity and then said he'd leave them alone.
`You'll know these two gentlemen,' Tweed said to Newman. `They flew us last year from the Swedish island of Ornei into Arlanda Airport. Bill Casey, pilot, and Tom Wilson, his co-pilot and navigator, plus radio op.'
Casey, a good-humoured man of thirty-one with sandy hair shook hands with Newman. 'With Tweed involved,' he said, `my bet is this is a hairy one, too.' Wilson, dark-haired, about the same age, was more reserved, simply nodding as he briefly shook hands.
`Now,' Tweed said briskly, 'let's get down to it. You managed to borrow a Sea King?'
`She's out there now,' Casey confirmed. 'Getting her was a job. The papers I had to sign, but she's all yours. And the controller here has loaned me this chart.'
He spread it out over the table. Newman was surprised by the area it covered. The whole of the Baltic, continuing north to the Skagerrak – the vast body of water which entered the North Sea and the Atlantic – and Oslo.
`Exactly what we want.' Tweed was becoming very animated, Newman observed. Action was coming. Tweed produced several Polaroid prints, laid them alongside the chart. 'These were taken by a colleague in Travemunde a few days ago – pretending to be a tourist, snapping shots at random. This power cruiser is the Sudwind. Think you could recognize it from the air if it heads out into the Baltic?'
`If I can keep these prints, yes. Wilson will soon pick it up with a pair of high-powered glasses. From a distance.'
`Good. I wouldn't want the helmsman to know you were interested in him. There are two more very similar cruisers I want you to look out for. The Nordsee – and the Nocturne.'
`Half a mo' while I note those names down.' Casey scribbled in his notebook. 'How far do we follow them, bearing in mind we can only tail one if they take different courses?'
`Only one will head for the west, turning north through the Oresund between Denmark and Sweden, then on into the Kattegat and the Skagerrak. I need to know its ultimate destination when that happens.'
`It will happen?' Casey queried.
`I'm betting my whole career on it. Of course there'll be other cruisers poodling about along the coast. It's the one of the three mentioned which goes long distance I want tracked. Radio regular reports back to Lubeck-Sud police HQ. And on this bit of paper is the call sign, the waveband, etc. You address each signal to Kuhlmann – it's written down there. I understand you know German, Casey?'
`My second language..
`Transmit in German. That's important – in case of interception from the other side. You sign off as Walter Three.'
`We brought over night-sight equipment as requested. How do we go about covering night and day?'
`Take it in turns to fly the chopper.'
`I told you it would be hairy,' Casey said to Wilson. He looked at Tweed. 'You've marked where the Sudwind and the Nordsee are moored with crosses. What about the Nocturne?'
`She's disappeared. I think she may come back.'
`You do realize we're going to be pretty conspicuous?' Casey pointed out.
`I want you to be. More pressure on the target I'm after. The Sea King does have Danish markings?'
`Again, as requested.'
`So people – including those across the border – are going to think it's some kind of NATO exercise. The locals will soon get used to your patrols, hardly notice you. But for God's sake, don't stray over the border.'
`That thought had occurred to me,' Casey replied. 'And I think we'll get moving now…'
`Pressure?' Newman queried as they drove away from the airfield. 'On Dr Berlin?'
'As much as I can bring to bear. Head for Travemunde – I'm going to haunt that place, mingle with the boat people. The news will reach Priwall Island soon enough.'
`And I'm sticking with you. Butler and Nield have their hands full watching over Diana. You're after that five hundred-kilo consignment of heroin, aren't you? I thought so. But what makes you think it isn't already on its way to Britain now?'
'A remark Kuhlmann made the morning after Franck attacked me in my bedroom.'
`And, of c
ourse you wouldn't care to tell me the remark?' `Of course.'
Fifty-One
`I've changed my mind,' Tweed said as they approached the turn-off point to Travemunde. 'Drive us back to Lubeck-Sud, first. I want to reassure Kuhlmann – he got me authority for the Sea King to use that airfield, to use their radio system. Then we'll drive on to Travemunde…'
Kuhlmann took them to the same locked room with the scrambler phone. As they sat round the table Tweed pointed to the phone.
'If I need to use that in an emergency and you're not here, could you arrange it so I'll be permitted up here?'
'My pleasure.'
Tweed told him about the Sea King now operating from Flughafen Lubeck. Kuhlmann said he'd also arrange it so all signals from the chopper came straight through to him. The German lacked his normal aggressive bounce. Tweed sensed frustration but ignored it.
`There is one thing before we go,' he remarked. 'I'd have thought a fresh warning should be issued that our murderer is still out there…'
`Hell! That's what's getting me down. I've asked for just that action. It's been vetoed.'
`Who by?'
`The Land.' He looked at Newman. 'As you know, we have separate state governments who carry a lot of clout. I called Kiel. They called Lubeck. Kiel came back with nothing doing. I'm not even permitted to have new posters put up – Franck's have been removed, naturally. Schleswig-Holstein is one of the poorest states. Relies heavily on the tourists. They don't want another scare about a mass murderer on the loose. They say that pathologist's report isn't conclusive.'
`So we wait for the next killing?' Tweed said grimly. `I've run out of leads.'
`I haven't.' Tweed stood up. 'We'd better get going.'
`Funny thing,' Kuhlmann said as he accompanied them to the elevator. 'We'd have trapped Kurt Franck even if he hadn't tried to kill you that night. An American girl, Sue Templeton – a blonde – who helped 'me a few weeks ago, got in touch with me the following morning. She'd seen him walk into the International. He had a room there, too. Nice girl, sharp as a tack and, like so many American girls, has lots of initiative.'
`On holiday?' Tweed remarked for something to say.
`Yes. She's still here. Spends most of her time out at Travemunde with her English boy friend.'
During the next few days Tweed reminded Newman of a spider which had woven its web, confident that sooner or later the fly would get caught up inside it. He wandered round the waterfront at Travemunde, spent time with Ann Grayle aboard her sloop.
They frequently saw Casey's Sea King, flying low over the area, once even crossing direct over Dr Berlin's mansion on Priwall Island. Grayle remarked on it,-then hardly noticed when it passed overhead again.
At Tweed's suggestion Newman waited his opportunity, then invited Ben Tolliver to have a drink with him in a bar. The old Kenya hand accepted at once and they chatted easily together.
`Diana Chadwick?' Ben mused, in answer to Newman's question. 'She used to run a bit wild in what we called Happy Valley, but promiscuous? I wouldn't call her that. The trouble was Ann was competing for the attentions of the same man. It was that kind of world. Diana won hands down. You can't do that to Ann Grayle…'
`I was a farmer,' he continued after sipping at his Scotch. `One of the few successful ones. Dr Berlin was a weird one even in those days. Kept to himself on that medical station he ran for the natives out in the bush. I always said he had grown that black beard to make himself look the part. Fancied himself as a second Dr Albert Schweitzer. Then he disappeared one night. We thought a wild animal had got him – they found bloodstained clothing. Next thing we hear, he's turned up in Leipzig. Not interested in women.'
`Diana knew him rather well, I gather.'
`Only one who could get near him. Helped him out with the nursing, fetching medical supplies from Nairobi. She has a way with men. I mean that in the nicest sense.'
`And now no contact? Between Dr Berlin and the rest of you?'
`Wasn't much back in Kenya. None at all here. Except for Diana. They go back over twenty years. Think I'd better get back, see if Ann's all right. She's Miss Bossy Boots – you must have noticed. But I rather like her.'
It happened as they were walking out of the bar which stood almost opposite where the Priwall Island ferry plied back and forth. Tweed kept a close eye on the ferry and now he stood quite still, a hundred yards or so from the landing point, his gaze fixed on the incoming vessel.
`Well, I'll be damned!' Tolliver exclaimed. 'That looks like Dr Berlin coming out of hibernation…'
At the prow of the ferry moving close in to the landing stage was a black Mercedes, its waxed body gleaming in the sunshine. A uniformed chauffeur sat behind the wheel; one passenger occupied the back seat. Tweed stood by himself at the edge of the road as the ramp was lowered, hands thrust inside his jacket pockets. The car bumped over the ramp, swung in his direction. Newman started running.
The Mercedes moved slowly at first. As Newman ran he saw the figure in the back behind the amber net curtains lean forward, as though giving an instruction. The car changed direction, suddenly accelerated, heading at high speed direct for Tweed.
`Look out!' Newman yelled.
Tweed remained motionless as a statue, staring straight at the dim silhouette of the man in the back of the car. People stopped, turned, gazed in horror. The Mercedes roared forward. Time seemed to stand still. Tweed himself stood still, hands still thrust inside jacket pockets, very erect, feet planted slightly apart. Oh God, no! Newman kept on running.
At the very last second the Mercedes swerved away. Tweed felt the force of its slipstream. His trousers whipped round his legs. The hush which had descended on the waterfront was broken. People began walking again, chattering, looking back at Tweed as Newman reached him.
`Are you bloody mad?' he gasped.
`He's cracking.' There was infinite satisfaction in Tweed's voice. 'At long last he's cracking.'
`What the hell does that mean?'
`I think – just in case anything happens to me – you'd better know more about this business.' He looked up as Casey's chopper passed overhead. 'That has probably helped. Now let us drive out into the country, have a walk where we can talk with no danger of eavesdroppers. Fortunately you've been thoroughly vetted, signed the Official Secrets Act. In fact, Bob,' he continued as they made their way to where Newman had parked the Audi, 'you are the only person I can confide in.'
They walked along the country road leading to the private airfield. The sun blazed down and Newman carried his jacket over his arm.
`You could talk to Butler and Nield,' he pointed out.
Tweed shook his head. 'I don't know how I'm going to solve this one – it's quite the grimmest problem I've ever faced. Let's take it step by step. Balkan is the codename for the master agent Lysenko is using to operate his network in West Germany.'
'I have grasped that..
`Janus is the name I've given to the man Lysenko has planted inside my own organization in London. One of four men – Grey, Dalby, Lindemann or Masterson. All right so far?'
`Clear enough.'
'Janus and Balkan are the same man. It's Lysenko's master stroke. He must have infiltrated Janus years ago – and six months back I promoted him – whoever he is – to be one of the four European sector chiefs. The blunder is my responsibility.'
'How could you have known?'
'Irrelevant.' Tweed's tone was curt. 'I did it. But it gets worse. I'm now convinced Janus-Balkan is Dr Berlin… 'Jesus. What put you on to that?'
`Two chance remarks – one by Diana, the other by Kuhlmann. When we attended Dr Berlin's party we stared at each other across a distance – while he sat on the terrace. Diana said maybe he – Berlin – had wanted me to see him.'
'Why would he want to do that?'
'Arrogance, supreme self-confidence, verging on madness.
He was confident I wouldn't penetrate his disguise.' `Disguise?' Newman queried, mopping his forehead. 'The beard,
the dark glasses – above all the beard.' 'What about it?'
'We now come to Kuhlmann's chance remark after Franck went out of my bathroom window. He said he now understood why Kurt Franck had gone underground for about two weeks. He had to do that – waiting for his beard to grow.'
`So?'
`The same thing applies to the so-called Dr Berlin. Thanks to your hair-raising excursion behind the border we know he is a fake. And you told me Falken said he hoped someone would get Berlin because he'd betrayed a number of Falken's agents.'
'But the beard…'
'We know from Ann Grayle, from our own experience, that Dr Berlin stays under cover inside his study at the mansion on Priwall Island every time he appears – stays under cover for about two weeks. That's the time it takes him to grow that beard. That afternoon at the party I was staring at one of my own sector chiefs without knowing it – and I've still no idea which of the four it is.'
`If you're right you do have a problem. If you identify him and the world press gets on to it they'll crucify the Service.' `It's even worse than that, Bob.'
`I thought we'd plumbed the depths.'
`I told you earlier about my visit to that psychiatrist, Dr Generoso. He talked of the tremendous pressure a schizo – a man leading a double life – works under. Philby used alcohol. Generoso agreed one form of release in extreme cases could be sadistic murders – the killing of those blonde girls. You see what I'm up against now?'
`Yes. It's pretty deadly. If Berlin is the mass murderer as well as one of your sector chiefs – and if the killings are brought home to him – the scandal that would break in London would be without precedence in history. Let's turn back to the car. I'm sweating like a pig – and not just with the heat. This is why you've been so secretive with Kuhlmann? You don't want him to solve the case…'
`I just don't know how to handle it. Yet,' Tweed admitted. `And then we have a further complication. Lysenko is, I'm certain, in his most audacious mood. He's using Berlin to transport that appalling drug consignment to Britain as soon as he can. We have to stop him delivering that load of poison somehow. And a Drug Squad man in London warned me they're expecting it in the near future.'
