by Colin Forbes
One phrase intrigued her. Your help may be needed It conjured up one possibility – Dietrich was considering asking her to seduce Martel. She went into the bedroom, slipped out of her dress, the only item of clothing she was wearing in the clammy atmosphere, and studied her full-bodied nude form in a full-length mirror.
It could be fun – playing with the Englishman. Before – at the appropriate moment – she rammed the needle between his ribs and pressed the button which released the lethal injection.
At the schloss Dietrich had ordered Oscar to bring one of his packed suitcases for an overnight stay. A series of cases were packed and unpacked daily by the attentive Oscar.
There were cases for a short trip, cases for more prolonged journeys, cases for hot climates and cases for countries like Norway in the depths of winter. The system meant Dietrich was ready for departure anywhere at a moment's notice. On the intercom he summoned Erwin Vinz who had recently returned with his team from Bregenz. He did not mince his words.
'Someone else has done the job for you! A woman at that! I am leaving at once for the Bayerischer Hof in Lindau – Martel has just arrived there. Choose your best men, follow me and book in at the same hotel…'
`This time we should get him…' Vinz began.
'This time you will get him, for God's sake! Before morning- he will be tired after his recent activities…'
'Peter has the car waiting,' reported Oscar who had returned with a Gucci suitcase.
Wearing a suit of Savile Row country tweeds Dietrich left the library, crossed the large hall and Oscar held open one of the two huge entrance doors. Dietrich ran down the steps and climbed into the rear of a black, six-seater Mercedes. The uniformed chauffeur closed the door as his master pressed a button and lowered the window to give the order.
`Lindau. Drive like hell…!'
Inside Lindau Hauptbahnhof Martel paused outside the phone booth, inserted a cigarette into his holder and lit it. Braun had vanished through the exit doors but Martel waited to see whether the German was smarter than he appeared to be – whether he would dodge back into the station to check up on the Englishman. He did not reappear.
Martel strolled towards the exit doors, opened one a fraction and peered out. On the sidewalk outside the Bayerischer Hof, Braun was on his knees with his back towards Martel, adding to his drawing. The Englishman walked out and got inside one of the taxis waiting under a huge tree.
'The Post Office,' he said. 'Quickly, please – before it closes.' 'It is no distance…'
`So you get a good tip for taking me there…'
At the post office Martel explained he wanted to call London and gave the girl behind the counter the Park Crescent number. He was gambling that Tweed was waiting for his call. Within two minutes the girl directed him to a booth.
'Thursday calling,' he said quickly as Tweed came on the line. 'Two-Eight here…' the familiar voice replied.
Martel began pouring out data to be fed into the recording machine.
'Warner seen in Bregenz. visited cemetery, grave of Alois Stohr. headstone 1930-1953 •. • references to time of French occupation… expensively dressed woman, identity unknown, visits grave each Wednesday morning… Warner contacted her… Delta active everywhere… two men in car in Bregenz
'Did they see either of you?' Tweed interrupted urgently.
'We sighted them…no reverse sighting… now staying Bayerischer Hof Lindau… Delta watcher pavement artist Braun sighted and reported me – repeat me… Stoller should check Stuttgart phone number… Stuttgart contact woman named Klara… closing down.
'Wait! Wait! Damn! He's rung off…'
Tweed replaced the receiver and stared at McNeil who switched off the recording machine. A very thrifty, Scots type, McNeil. Tweed was certain she had never taken a taxi in her whole life. Buses and the Underground were her sole means of transportation.
`The maniac is setting himself up as bait to flush Delta into the open,' he snapped. know him…'
'He's a loner. He gets results,' McNeil said placidly.
`He's in the zone of maximum danger,' Tweed replied grimly. 'Get me Stoller on the phone. Quickly, please. I sense an emergency.'
CHAPTER 13
Thursday May 28
The signal had been arranged between Martel and Claire before they made separate entrances into the magnificent dining-room as though strangers. The Englishman had a single table next to a picture window which looked out on to the fog-bound harbour. -
The signal was that if anyone significant entered the dining- room while they ate their separate meals Claire would light a cigarette. In the middle of her dessert she was doing just that, lighting a cigarette.
A most dominant personality had made his entrance-and he came into the room in precisely this fashion, like an accomplished actor making his entrance on stage. There was a sudden hush in the conversation: eyes turned and stared towards the entrance. The new arrival paused and surveyed the people at their tables.
He ran a hand through his thick, silver-coloured hair, tugged gently at his moustache, his ice-blue eyes sweeping the assembled guests. Other eyes dropped as they met his gaze. His skin was tanned and leathery. He had changed into an immaculate blue bird's-eye lounge suit.
The maitre d'hotel escorted Reinhard Dietrich to another window table at the opposite end of the room from Martel. And since his arrival there had been a subtle change in the atmosphere. The conversation was now carried on in murmurs. Handsome women glanced at the table where the millionaire sat, which amused Martel.
There's no glamour like a lot of money, he thought.
Two or three minutes after Claire had vacated her table he left the room. Wandering along a wide corridor he found her standing at the reception desk, waiting her turn while a fresh arrival – (an attractive brunette in her late twenties with a full-bodied figure) was completing the registration form.
The reception hall opened out into a well-furnished and spacious lounge area with comfortable armchairs. Martel chose one of these chairs, settled himself and picked up a magazine. He inserted a cigarette into his holder, lit it and waited.
The attractive new guest had gone up in the lift to her room with the porter. Claire was asking the receptionist about train times to Kempten – the first thing which came into her head. The receptionist was being very helpful, checking a rail timetable and noting times on a slip of paper.
'Thank you.' She turned away and then turned back. 'I thought I recognised the girl who just arrived. She stays here often?'
'Her first visit as far as I know, Madame…'
Claire had her handbag open, slipping the piece of paper inside as she wandered into the lounge area. As she passed Martel's armchair she deliberately tipped her bag and the contents spilt over the floor. Her 9-mm pistol remained safely inside the special zipped-up compartment.
'Let me help you,' Martel said, gathering up objects. 'I'm so sorry…'
Their heads were close together. The receptionist was a distance from where Martel sat. They carried on their brief conversation in whispers.
'That girl who just arrived,' Claire told him. saw the name on the registration form. Kiara Beck – from Stuttgart…'
'The hyenas are gathering. And the man in the dining-room who arrived as though he owned the damned world – Reinhard Dietrich?'
'Yes – I've seen pictures in the paper…'
The spilt contents had been collected up. Claire, who had been crouching with her knees bent, her back to the receptionist, stood up and raised her voice.
'That really was most kind of you – and most clumsy of me
Claire wandered to the far side of the room and chose a chair where she could see everything and had her back to the wall. She opened her handbag, unzipped the compartment, slid out the pistol and left it inside the bag where she could reach it swiftly. She had just completed this precaution when Erwin Vinz and his associate, Rolf Gross, walked into the reception hall, each carrying a small case.
&nbs
p; Claire froze – then slid the gun out of her handbag and covered it on her lap with a newspaper. Rolf Gross had been the driver of the Delta car they had encountered in Gallus-strasse in Bregenz.
Both men glanced into the lounge area as they crossed to the steps leading to the reception counter. Claire thought Gross stared at Martel who was reading a newspaper and smoking a cigarette in his holder. Vinz appeared to notice nothing and neither man showed any interest in the girl at the back of the room.
Slipping the gun inside her handbag, she closed it, stood up and wandered over to the reception desk where both men were filling in their registration forms. She waited patiently, looking at a picture on the wall.
`We require two single rooms with baths,' Vinz said in the tone of voice used for addressing serfs. 'If you haven't singles, two doubles will do. And we want dinner…'
'I have two single rooms…' The receptionist was not looking at Vinz although his tone of voice remained polite. 'And I would suggest you hurry to the dining-room which stops serving…'
`Inform them of our arrival! We both require steaks, plenty of potatoes. The steaks rare – and a very good bottle of red wine. We'll be down as soon as we are ready…'
`Understood, sir. The porter here will show you your rooms.'
With obvious relief he turned to Claire with a smile. She asked for a street plan of Lindau and he explained that a section of the Old Town was a 'walking-only' zone. At that moment Reinhard Dietrich, smoking a large cigar, came down the corridor from the dining-room. Continuing past the reception desk he marched into the lounge and eased his bulk into the armchair next to Martel.
`Reinhard Dietrich at your service. You are English?'
Martel looked at the leathery hand extended in greeting, made a movement as though about to clasp the hand – and ignored it, inserting a fresh cigarette in his holder.
Dietrich overlooked the insult. His extended hand grasped the glass of cognac a waiter had just placed on the table, making it appear that had been his original intention. He raised the glass.
`Yes,' said Martel.
`I beg your pardon?'
'Yes, I am English.'
`Oh, of course! Taking a holiday in our beautiful Bavaria?'
Martel turned and looked straight at the industrialist, switching to German, which momentarily threw him off balance.
`You are a Nazi. They need wiping off the face of the earth.'
`Unless we inherit the earth,' Dietrich replied harshly. 'In the coming state election someone has to make sure Tofler does not win. How would you enjoy a Communist controlling the largest state in Germany – geographically speaking? The West's main bulwark against the Soviets would be shattered…'
`I could never see the difference. Both are inhuman dictatorships. Both rule through secret police – KGB or Gestapo. They are interchangeable – as are the systems. I prefer Chancellor Langer's party. And now, if you will excuse me…'
'Take a cigar with you-they are Havanas
`From Cuba?' Martel was standing, his expression ironical as he stared down at the German. 'Thank you – but I smoke only cigarettes. It has been most illuminating meeting you. Goodnight.'
It has been most illuminating meeting you… The words disturbed Dietrich because he sensed a hidden meaning. He watched the Englishman stroll to the lift, his eyes narrowed as he recalled the conversation word for word, trying to decide whether he had made a slip.
A girl who had been talking to the receptionist had reached the lift first and was entering it when Martel called out, asking her in German, please could she hold it? The lift ascended out of sight with both passengers aboard.
The third floor landing was deserted as Martel escorted Claire out of the lift. Unlocking the door of his own room, he ushered her inside, closed the door and gripped her arm. She remained quite still in the darkness while Martel checked the bathroom. He then closed all the curtains and turned on the bedside lights which gave out a shaded glow. She began reporting at once.
'I worked the same trick when those two werewolves arrived. I saw their registration forms and the one who seems to be boss is Erwin Vinz. His sidekick-the driver of the car in Bregenz know…'
'He goes under the name Rolf Gross. Both registered as coming from Munich…'
'Which is probably a lie. They're trained killers. Things are developing as I hoped – but faster than I expected. The enemy is here in force. My guess is Dietrich is here to see they don't botch the job of eliminating me as they did in Zurich, St. Gallen and Bregenz. Vinz and Gross do the job. Klara Beck provides back-up…'
'She's a reptile,' Claire commented savagely. 'You should watch out for her – the others may be diversions. And why did you set out to provoke Dietrich? I heard every word both of you said – it was like a duel…'
'It was a duel. He was weighing me up- I was doing the same with him. I thought he was a stiff-necked has-been, but he's no fool. He believes in what he's doing. He's ruthless and he's decisive. We have to be very careful…'
'He might take action tonight?'
'No – because he's staying at the hotel. He won't risk being present when his dirty tricks squad goes into action. We'll still take precautions. You stay here for the night and we'll take turns – one sleeping, one in a chair with a gun handy.'
'And tomorrow?'
'First thing we approach this Sergeant Dorner of the Lindau Water Police – the man who brought in Warner's body.' 'And the second thing?' she asked, watching him closely. 'Lay a trap for Delta.
'I'm still not happy about tonight,' she persisted. 'In this hotel we have two men who are almost certainly killers – and one woman who is pure poison. You said Dietrich was decisive- I've the strongest feeling he'll move faster than you expect…'
CHAPTER 14
Thursday May 28
At eleven o'clock at night Martel realised Claire had been right. He had underestimated Reinhard Dietrich. The bedroom was in darkness, he was taking the first turn on guard and Claire was lying on the bed fast asleep. He heard sounds of activity at the entrance to the hotel.
Pulling aside the curtain over the side window he looked down. Below, outside the hotel entrance, a black, six-seater Mercedes was parked by the kerb, its engine gently ticking. A uniformed chauffeur stood by the rear door in the mist, a mist blurring the street lights which were vague haloes in the drifting vapour. A familiar figure emerged from the hotel, the rear door was opened and Reinhard Dietrich climbed inside.
Within a minute the large vehicle had driven away and a hushed silence descended. From the harbour direction came the mournful moan of gulls, like the sirens of ships at sea destined never to reach a port. A distant foghorn sighed. And there was a third sound – the creak of a door opening or closing from the Hauptbahnhof.
He moved to his suitcase, felt inside, extracted a light raincoat and slipped it on. The bedsprings stirred and Claire called out, no more than a whisper.
'Something has happened, Keith?'
He went over to the bed where she lay fully dressed and placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. He could smell the faint aroma of perfume. What was it about women that never made them forget their personal impact, when they were exhausted – when they were living on their nerves?
'You were right,' he said. 'Dietrich has tricked us. He gave the impression he was staying the night and now he has left in a chauffeur-driven limousine. Something is going to happen…'
'What do we do?' she asked calmly.
'One trump card is they don't know there are two of us – they think I'm on my own…'
`So?'
'Slip back to your own room – be careful no one sees you.' 'And what are you going to be doing?'
'Contacting the local police. It's late but I want to talk with Sergeant Dorner. My guess is he's the only man in Lindau we can trust …'
'You're going out in this fog? It is still foggy?'
'Thicker than ever. Which is helpful. More difficult for anyone to see me leaving and where I
go. It's only a short distance – you showed me on the map…'
'I'm coming with you!' She sat up in bed and felt for her shoes' on the floor. 'I can watch your back…'
`Go to your room before I belt you…'
'You are a very stupid man and I don't like you much. Bloody well take care…'
He waited until she had gone before venturing out. And he had deliberately not mentioned the creaking door. If she had known about that he would never have got rid of her.
The atmosphere of menace hit Martel the moment he walked out into the night. Mist globules settled on his face. The damp chill penetrated his thin coat. He could just make out the bulk of the Hauptbahnhof as he turned right and headed for Ludwigstrasse, a narrow, cobbled street which was the direct route to police headquarters.
There was no one visible but he heard it again, the sound he had detected from his bedroom window three floors up – the creak of one of the station doors being opened. He was careful not to glance in that direction as he turned right again and proceeded along the centre of Ludwigstrasse – as far away as possible from the darkened alcoves of doorway recesses.
His rubber-soled shoes made no sound on the cobbles although he had to place his feet firmly on their surface – the street was slimy with dampness. He wore his grey-coloured raincoat, which merged with the atmosphere, unbuttoned. Anyone grabbing him would find themselves holding only the fabric of the coat. And he had easy access to the Colt in his- shoulder holster. He stopped.
The sound of the foghorn out on the lake. But his acute hearing had caught a second sound -the whispering slither of a padded sleeve moving against a coat, something like Gannex material. Behind him.
