Rhinoceros

CHAPTER 15

Hamburg.

Tweed and Paula walked out of the Fuhlsbuttl Airport and the heat hit them like walking into a brick wall. The limo from the Four Seasons was waiting for them. The young chauffeur was pleasant, welcoming them with a warm smile. Soon they were well inside the great city and Paula stared out, admiring the stately villas as they drove down Rothenbaum-chaussee.

Despite the fact that it was late June the plane had been more than half empty so they had been able to talk without any fear of being overheard.

'We were followed at Heathrow,' Paula commented. 'Right up to the departure lounge.'

'I know,' Tweed replied. 'A small man carrying a small case. Quite professional. He varied his walk – sometimes bouncing along and then walking slowly. We could have a reception party waiting for us in Hamburg.'

'Have you any idea yet who is behind all this?'

'None at all…'

Mark Wendover had wandered down the aisle from behind them and jogged the tray of Tweed, sitting in the aisle seat.

'I'm so sorry, sir,' he apologized.

'That's all right. Been a smooth flight so far.'

'I spent hours, days at Reefers Wharf watching for Delgado to return – so I could identify where he lived.

He never reappeared. Mentioned this to Harry and he said I should have checked the street at the back of the warehouse. The backs have fire escapes – so he thinks Delgado spotted me and used the fire escape from then on. Enjoy the flight…'

They were driving down the Neuer Jungfernstieg when Paula caught her first glimpse of the Binnenalster, the smaller of two lakes in the centre of the city. She glowed with delight and excitement as she gazed at the blue water, rippling and glittering in the sunlight. Single-decker ferries were shuttling back and forth, some heading back for the landing stage at Jungfernstieg.

'We're just about there,' said Tweed.

As they alighted on the pavement in front of the Four Seasons hotel a motorcyclist, who had trailed behind them since they left the airport, sped past and disappeared. Tweed shrugged as they entered the spacious reception hall and they registered.

'It's a long time since we've had the pleasure of seeing you, Mr Tweed,' the receptionist greeted him.

'We both have suites on the third floor,' Tweed told Paula. He lowered his voice. 'Let's take a quick look round. For generations this hotel was run by the same family. It's been taken over by a foreign chain. I just want to see if they've had the sense to preserve its wonderful character.'

As they strolled into a spacious sitting area a curious incident occurred. One of the elevators reached the ground floor. The doors opened. Inside stood a late-middle-aged man of medium height, well-built and wearing gold-rimmed glasses. His eyes met Tweed's briefly, then he stayed inside, pressed a button and the elevator climbed to the second floor.

'That was odd,' Paula remarked.

'Probably forgotten something in his room.'

He showed her a gallery with portraits in gilt frames hung from the walls. Luxuriously covered chairs were placed close to the walls so people could sit and take their ease. He then took her through another spacious room, where men and women sat drinking, and into the Grill Room.

'This is magnificent,' said Paula. 'I wouldn't mind eating up there.'

She pointed to a balcony on the first floor overlooking the main restaurant. On their way back to the elevators Tweed peered into a smaller room with tables laid. 'The Cafe Condi,' he explained. 'More than a cafe -you can get lunch here. The service is excellent and the food very good. I think we should go up to our suites now. I want to phone Dr Kefler, the financial genius as Keith Kent called him. The sooner we see him the better…'

They were passing reception when they saw Marler registering. He had come from the airport on his own by taxi. He looked up, saw them, looked away as though he didn't know them.

'Did you say I'm in Room…?' he called out in a loud voice to the receptionist.

He had now told them where they could find him. Tweed was shown into his suite while another porter took charge of Paula. Alone, he walked to the balcony and stood there a moment. The trees which lined the far side of the road were in full leaf but, on the third floor, he could see over the tops and had a clear view of the Binnenalster. Peace.

Going back inside he sat down, checked the number Kent had given him, pressed the number for an outside line and then the German's number.

'Who is this?' a gruff voice demanded in German.

'My name is Tweed. We have a mutual acquaintance…'

'Ah! You have arrived quickly. Keith phoned me that you were coming, gave me your description. A necessary precaution. I am Kefler.'

The German was speaking in English now. A necessary precaution? It had an almost sinister sound.

'I'm at the Four Seasons, Dr Kefler.' He gave him his suite number. 'I would like to see you as urgently as possible. Also, I would like to bring my assistant, Paula Grey – and Robert Newman, the foreign correspondent.'

'All will be welcome. But you must come well after dark. Take a taxi, tell the driver to drop you just before he reaches the Fish Market. Then walk along Grosse Elbstrasse. Soon, on your right you come to a high grassy bank. There is a footpath up to a terrace of old houses. Climb up the footpath. I am number 23. Keep in the shadows as you walk. I suggest we meet at eleven o'clock.'

'Tonight?' Tweed asked.

'Yes, tonight. Who can guarantee there will be a tomorrow? Thank you for calling…'

Someone tapped on his door. When he opened it, Paula walked in. She looked round the suite, walked out on to the balcony, took a deep breath of air, although it was still hot. She turned round.

'I should have asked if this is a convenient moment.'

'Very. Sit down. Listen.'

He relayed to her every word of his conversation with Dr Kefler. She frowned, gazing at him as he spoke from an armchair. He waved a hand.

'That's it,' he concluded.

'We're going, then?'

'Yes.'

'It all sounds rather menacing, downbeat. "Come well after dark. Keep in die shadows. If there's a tomorrow",' Paula commented.

'On the contrary, Kefler sounded very jovial, very warm.'

'Well, Keith Kent did say Kefler reminded him of a teddy bear. But don't you think there was a grim element?'

'Yes, I do. We shall therefore take heavy protection.

Later we'll walk to the Hotel Renaissance where Harry Butler and Pete Nield are staying. I want Harry to guard our rear,' Tweed decided.

'And Mark?'

'Would be one too many.'

He went to the door. Someone had rapped hard on it. Opening it, he looked at the tall figure standing outside.

'Mr Tweed. I am Victor Rondel.'

Paula looked with curiosity as their visitor entered, was introduced to her. He held on to her hand only briefly and his grip was firm. She was rather struck by him.

Six feet tall, slim, athletically built, he was clean-shaven and had blond hair neatly brushed back from his forehead. His brown eyes had a humorous hint and his smile was attractive. In his late thirties or early forties, he was clad in a pale blue polo-neck sweater, fawn slacks with a razor-edged crease and white trainers. He accepted Tweed's invitation to sit down, paused when Tweed gestured to the champagne in an ice bucket the management had provided.

'It's not been opened. You might like to keep it for later.'

'The ice in the bucket is almost water now,' Tweed commented. 'I think you'd do us a favour if I opened it now.'

'Then I will be happy to do you that favour.'

He smiled again as Tweed took the bottle into the bathroom to open. He was smiling at Paula, who had perched herself on the arm of another chair.

'Would this be your first trip to Hamburg, Miss Grey?'

'Paula, please. No, it isn't. I was here quite a few years ago when the old family was running it. In this hotel, I mean.'

'Ah. The end of a dynasty. I fear a lot of that is happening these days. Thank heavens the new owners – a chain – have preserved its original character. I understand you are Mr Tweed's close assistant.'

She didn't reply because Tweed had returned with the bottle opened. He poured champagne into three of the six glasses laid out on a table, raised his glass.

'To peace and prosperity.'

'I will certainly drink to that,' Rondel agreed.

'How did you know I was here?' Tweed asked suddenly, still standing.

'I saw you and Miss Grey…'

'Paula, please,' she said again, smiling.

'I saw you and Paula come in when I was having coffee in the lounge downstairs. The gentry in Hamburg patronize that room.'

'But how did you know it was me?' Tweed persisted.

'Information is one essential element in my job. Sometimes more valuable than gold. You are the Deputy Director of the SIS.'

'And may I ask you what your job is?'

'You just did.' Rondel laughed pleasantly. 'I am one of the two partners who control the Zurcher Kredit Bank.'

'With a reputation of being the most trustworthy bank in the world.'

'I would hope so. I would most certainly hope so.' Rondel emptied his glass. 'Thank you for the drink. That champagne is a most superior brand. Now, I have taken up enough of your time. This was in the way of a first introduction. We would be most happy if you could be our guests at one of the best restaurants in town.' He extracted from his chamois wallet a long off-white card, handed it to Paula. 'We have reserved a good table for you for tomorrow night. I hope that is acceptable. The table number is on the back.'

'Very kind of you,' replied Tweed. 'Would I be out of order if I brought someone else as well as Paula? A man called Robert Newman.'

'Ah! The world-famous foreign correspondent. He would be most welcome.'

'I will, of course, pay for him…'

'You won't be able to.' Rondel laughed again. 'The manager will have been instructed to put three guests on my account. No argument, please. Oh, I hope you will not think it unfriendly, but you will be dining by yourselves. I shall be at another table with my partner – by tomorrow evening an urgent cable will have arrived and we must make a decision.'

'That is quite all right. You refer to "we", and mention your partner.'

'That, as I think I mentioned, is who I shall be dining with.' Rondel stood up. 'Soon we may well wish you to visit us at our headquarters.'

'Which are where?'

'Information never disclosed in advance.' Rondel smiled again, shook hands with both of them. 'We will keep in touch…'

Alone with Paula, Tweed looked at her. Taking off his glasses, he polished them with a clean handkerchief, perched them back on his nose.

'What did you think of him?'

'Bit of a whirlwind. I liked him. Never met anyone like him before. I've heard of this restaurant.' She handed him the card. 'It is supposed to be super.'

'Fischereihafen Restaurant,' Tweed read aloud. 'Grosse Elbstrasse 143. That means it's not so far from where Dr Kefler lives. Hafen, you know, means harbour.'

'What did you think of him?' Paula asked.

'Very secretive. Rondel cleverly evaded giving us the name of his partner – and where their headquarters are situated. I wonder how he found out who I was, that we'd be coming here? Paula, on this journey into a mirage we can trust no one except our own team. No one.'

'You found Rondel suspect?'

'I didn't say that.' Someone knocked on the door. 'Maybe that's Newman. He's staying here, of course, as is Mark.'

Tweed opened the door, was taken aback. Standing there with a half-smile on her face was Lisa Trent.