Rhinoceros

CHAPTER 20

Tweed woke with a start. Not knowing the situation, he kept quite still, half-opened his eyes. Daylight was streaming into the suite. Someone had pulled back the curtains and he was lying on the couch, a cushion behind his head. He listened, heard nothing, got up.

He stretched, remembered that before he'd felt obliged to sprawl on the couch he'd taken off only his jacket and shoes. But he hadn't bothered to place a cushion behind his head. He recalled he had felt something underneath the cushion. Removing it he stared at his Walther, the papers and the blue book Mark had brought him. He'd been so tired he hadn't put them there.

'Paula,' he called out. 'I'm awake.'

No reply. Cautiously, he peered between the curtains into the sleeping area. No Paula. Rubbing the back of his neck he saw two envelopes on the carpet, obviously pushed under the door from the outside. He tried the door. It was locked. Bending down, he retrieved the two envelopes.

One had the hotel name on the outside. He opened it. The room key. Of course, Paula had woken before him, had gone back to her room, not forgetting the precaution of locking his door, then pushing the key under it. He opened the second envelope, a stiff, plain white affair. He read the message inside.

Meet me at the Turm for coffee – and information. Turm, Lagerstrasse 2-8. Lisa.

He frowned. 'Lisa' was also typed, not signed in her hand.

He thought about it after checking the time – 8 am -and while he bathed, shaved and dressed in another suit. He put the note in one pocket, the Walther in another. Going down in the elevator he asked for a safety deposit – he almost said lock-box – and when he had signed the form, a male member of the staff accompanied him up a short flight of stairs.

Producing a key, the hotel man opened a door it would be easy not to notice. Once inside he closed the door which was automatically locked. He led Tweed into another room where the walls were lined with safety deposit boxes in varying sizes. He used his master key to turn the lock, invited Tweed to take his time and then vanished so his client had privacy.

Tweed turned the other key, took out the metal box, opened the lid. Inside he put Kefler's papers and Mark's niched blue book. Sliding it back, he turned his own key, then tried to open it again without using his key. He couldn't. The compartment automatically locked and could not be opened again without use of the master key. Excellent security.

He had also put in the box Lisa's envelope containing the 100,000 DM. He went into the breakfast room. There was quite a party at one table – Paula, Newman, Mark and Lisa. There was laughter, a jolly atmosphere of people enjoying themselves. Lisa wore a sleeveless pale green blouse, a white pleated skirt and trainers.

'Welcome to our working breakfast,' said Paula with a warm smile. 'Did you sleep well?'

'Like a man with no conscience,' Tweed replied as he sat in an empty chair, next to Lisa, facing Paula.

'Oh, come on,' Lisa chaffed him. 'You mean a man with nothing on his conscience.' She cocked her head. 'Or am I wrong?' she continued with a grin.

Tweed ordered his breakfast. Orange juice, coffee, toast and marmalade. He produced the note about the Turin, gave it to her.

'Did you slide this under the door of my room?'

'I damned well did not,' she replied indignantly after a swift perusal. 'What's going on? I had a note slipped under my door, too. Do read it.'

She produced a stiff white envelope, the replica of the one Tweed had received. The message was typed.

Go urgently to the main railway station. Wait in the small cafe. You will be approached by a man wearing a carnation in his buttonhole. Wait until he arrives.

'No signature,' he commented.

'Exactly,' she said. 'I decided not to cooperate. Now I'm wondering if someone was trying to get me out of the way so you couldn't check with me about your note.'

'My conclusion too.'

'Would you excuse me for a few minutes?' she asked. 'I have spilt coffee on my new skirt. Won't take me long to change.'

When she had gone Tweed lowered his voice. First he checked to make sure no one was sitting near them.

'Paula, I said last night I'm ready for war. And I am. The rendezvous at the Turm – or tower – gives us an opportunity to hit back hard. Here is the plan…'

When he had explained it he left them to make a call to the Renaissance. He spoke to Pete Nield, who said Harry Butler had just arrived in his room. His instructions were precise and terse. Arriving back at the table in the breakfast room he found Lisa had returned, wearing another plain white skirt.

'Sorry, I had to make a phone call,' he told her.

'Your orange juice is getting cold,' she said with a grin.

At 11 a.m. the six of them walked down the hotel steps and found the two cream Mercedes Newman had hired waiting for them. Earlier, in the breakfast room, Tweed had brought over Marler from his solitary table in a corner, had introduced him to Lisa.

'I do the odd jobs, like carrying luggage,' Marler had told her.

'I've never seen a porter look so smart,' she had commented with a warm smile as they shook hands.

Marler was wearing a pale linen suit, blue shirt and was sporting a Valentino tie. He grinned at her as he sat down with them.

'The luggage I carry,' he had explained, 'is expensive. So it needs an expensive porter to carry them,' he joked.

'You are making fun of me,' she had replied, then laughed.

On the pavement a uniformed porter opened the rear door of the first Mercedes. Tweed gestured for Lisa to take a rear seat. Paula took Marler by the arm.

'Go on, join her. She likes you.'

'If you say so.'

When the porter had closed the door Paula thanked him, gave him a tip, said they didn't need him any more. Alone with Tweed, she spoke softly.

'You're driving this one? I thought so. Tell me the real purpose of this trip to the Turin.'

'I've already explained it to Newman, who will travel with Mark in the second car behind us.' His expression became grim. 'I have reached the point where I think we should tackle the enemy very roughly. Put as many of them out of action as we can.'

'So you also think, as I do, that this invitation to the Turm is a trap?'

'Yes. We'll turn the trap on them.'

'It's not to do with the bullet they fired at me last night?'

'Partly, yes. But also it's strategy…'

Paula was sitting beside Tweed as he drove off and headed for their destination. In the back Marler was making Lisa laugh again. They had travelled some distance and Tweed had been glancing frequently in his rear-view mirror.

'We have company,' he whispered. 'Two BMWs are following Newman, keeping their distance. I'm sure Bob also has spotted them.'

'What about Harry Butler and Pete Nield?' Paula wondered.

'They were waiting on the other side of the street, across from the hotel – shielded by parked cars. As soon as I drove off they jumped into the back of Bob's Merc.'

'What are you two whispering to each other?' Lisa called out. 'Or is it something rather personal?' she suggested cheerily.

'Coming from you two canoodling in the back that's a real joke,' Paula called back and laughed.

'At least we are behaving ourselves,' Lisa shot back.

'And here,' Tweed said in his normal voice, 'is Fernsehturm. I've seen it before but I don't think you have, Paula.'

She was already staring up out of the window in amazement. Soaring up above them was a thick white needle-like tower, climbing up to an incredible height. Perched at its summit was a wide observation crest, circular like the needle below it. At the very top was a red-and-white signals mast.

'The revolving restaurant is up there,' said Tweed. 'Takes about an hour to complete one revolution – so you're not aware of any movement. I'm parking here, illegally.'

They stepped out of the car on to the pavement and the sun burned down, furnace-like heat even in mid-morning. Marler held out his hand and Tweed gave him the key. Lisa looked at him.

'Aren't you coming with us?'

'No. I'm staying with the car…'

Tweed led the way along a concrete path, crossing trimmed grass and then running round the base of the Turm. His legs were moving like pistons and Paula wondered why he was in such a hurry. Glancing back, she saw Newman's car parked a short distance behind Tweed's. Bob and Mark were standing on the pavement but there was no sign of Harry or Pete. They must be hunched down out of sight in the back she speculated. Why?

After a long walk they reached the entrance. Tweed bought three tickets and the girl receptionist told him a car was just leaving. They entered, had the car to themselves. Paula tensed, prepared for a rocket-like elevation like the one she had experienced in New York – going up the Empire State Building. She was wrong. The car ascended steadily without a blast-off. The girl operator looked at Tweed.

'It was the cafe you wanted?' she said in English.

'It was…'

The doors opened and they walked straight into the cafe, a spacious circular room with viewing windows, an upraised section in the centre with cloth-covered tables. Tweed stepped up, chose a table on the far side. A waitress appeared the moment they were seated and he ordered coffee.

'You take these,' Lisa said, producing a compact pair of binoculars from her shoulder bag. 'They're very powerful.'

'What about you?'

'I have another pair. See.' She looked at Paula. 'We can share.. .'

Tweed left the platform, stepped down on the far side, gazed below, focused the binoculars. Paula and Lisa followed him. Paula drew in breath as she stared down the sheer drop. The two parked Mercedes looked like toys.

'This is a devil of a height,' she commented. 'Good job I don't suffer from vertigo.'

She took the binoculars Lisa handed her, focused them, saw Newman's face, quite passive as he stood still. Mark was pacing back and forth. No sign of the two BMWs which had followed them. No sign of their occupants. She remarked on this to Tweed.

'They'll be taking their time, planning their approach. I would, in their shoes. Let's go drink some coffee…'

Paula remained standing while she drank. She was gazing at the view through the windows on the opposite side. Beyond parks with green trees a large stretch of blue water, glittering in the sunlight, spread out. Tiny white triangles, which were yachts, dotted the blue surface.

'Is that the Elbe?' she asked.

'No, not with yachts on it. That's the Aussenalster,' he said, standing beside her. 'The outer alster. "Binnen" is "inner". Why am I saying this? You know German.'

'It's heaven,' she said dreamily. 'Pure heaven.'

Lisa had taken her coffee, put it down on a table near where they had looked down. She was standing by the window. She called out urgently, peering down through her binoculars.

'I've spotted Pink Shirt. Remember him? At Reefers Wharf. Now he's wearing a bright yellow one. Could he be directing an operation? His fat face looks savage, he's just checked his watch…'

'Where?' Tweed was beside her, Paula on her other side.

'See that road curving over to the right – well away from our cars? Half behind a tree on the pavement.'

'Got him.' Tweed was peering through the binoculars she'd handed him. Paula now had the other pair. 'Yes, that's him,' Tweed agreed, 'keeping well away from the action. And I agree – he looks as though he is directing an operation.'

'Never expected to see that bastard over here,' Paula remarked. She moved next to Tweed as Lisa walked several yards away. 'Could he be Rhinoceros?' she said quietly.

'Possible, ^ but we simply don't know.'

'Here they come,' called out Lisa. 'Give me the glasses. Thanks.' She didn't change the focus and her next words were almost hissed. 'Simply don't believe it. Two men, carrying sledgehammers. Barton and Panko. The thugs who followed me in London. Just escaped them in Bedford Square.'

'Don't like the look of those Balkan-type thugs who are coming,' said Paula, binoculars pressed against her eyes.

'Shouldn't we go down and help?' Lisa demanded.

'How could you – against that lot?' Paula asked.

'Look what Marler gave me.' She had opened her shoulder bag. When Paula looked inside she saw a 6.35mm Beretta pistol. 'And he gave me ammo,' Lisa went on.

'Lisa has a Beretta,' Paula warned Tweed.

'We stay here,' Tweed ordered in a strong voice. 'Newman has ordered on no account is there to be a shooting party. Dead bodies in the city would pose a problem for Kuhlmann, who has enough on his hands.' He looked down. 'They'll cope.'

As Barton and Panko, leading the assault, approached, holding their sledgehammers, with the foreign thugs not far behind, Newman remained where he was, his arms folded. Mark attached something to the fingers of his right hand. Knuckleduster.

Barton reached the second car, was starting to lift his weapon when the rear door was flung open on the pavement side. It slammed into him, knocking him off balance as Butler jumped out. His right foot, booted, swung up like a spring being released, hit Barton a savage blow between the legs. Barton dropped the sledgehammer, groaned in agony, bent forward. Butler grabbed his hair, swung him round, rammed his head against the car. It sounded as though his skull had cracked.

Panko dropped his sledgehammer. A long-bladed knife appeared in his hand. He was grinning. Newman had skipped to the side of his attacker. His right hand, stiffened, struck Panko on the side of his scrawny neck. Karate chop. Panko dropped, lay motionless close to the unconscious Barton.

Then it became a melee as the foreign thugs rushed forward. Marler appeared behind them. Earlier, seconds before they parked, he'd seen an old metal railing sagging away from the pavement, probably hit by a car. His gloved hand had tugged at a rail, twisted it, forced it free. Running up behind the thugs, he stooped, swung the iron rail at the back of the legs of one thug, hitting him behind the knees. The thug screamed, sagged, wriggled on the pavement. Marler administered the same treatment to another thug.

A ferocious-looking bandit was wielding a vicious machete. He swung it behind him for the blow which would have taken Mark's head off his shoulders. Mark's knuckleduster smashed into his exposed face, broke his nose, a cheekbone. Blood streamed from his face. Mark hadn't finished – he hammered the knuckleduster into his jaw, broke that. Pete Nield had jumped out of the other side of the car, plunged into the gang. Two stood close together for protection, their backs to him. He took a swift, firm hold of them by their hair, jerked them apart, jerked them together, the heads colliding with tremendous force. Both men sank to the pavement.

Another bandit, holding a knife, had come up behind Newman, was preparing to drive the knife into his back. Marler hoisted his iron bar, brought it down, hitting the elbow of the thug, breaking it. There was a scream of pain, the knife clattered on the pavement. Newman swung round, hit the thug in the face. He staggered back, his right arm limp. Newman followed him, hit him again, then once more. He toppled over backwards.

The first bandit Marler had dealt with was still screaming, wriggling on the pavement.

'You're making too much noise, buddy,' Mark told him.

Stooping, he hit the culprit on the side of his head with the knuckleduster. The wriggling stopped, the bandit lay motionless, silent.

Newman rubbed his hands together, looked all round. No more. And there was not a single pedestrian in sight. He remembered reading in a magazine in the hotel lounge that an erotic exhibition was being held. One day only. This day. He pictured long crocodile queues waiting for ever to get into the place.

'Clearance time. Anyone know where they parked the BMWs?'

'Just round the corner,' Marler said. 'Follow me.*

'Harry,' Newman called out. 'Gloves. We're fetching the ambulances.'

Harry held up his hands, covered with latex gloves. He followed Marler and Newman. The cars were parked only a few yards out of sight. And in each they'd left the ignition keys. For a quick getaway, Newman guessed.

They worked quickly. The moment they had parked the BMWs a few yards behind their own cars, leaving the pavement side doors open, Operation Clearance began. The bodies, all alive but unconscious, were tumbled inside the BMWs without ceremony. The doors were closed. Butler suggested a refinement. Together with Pete, he picked up the sledgehammers that were then used to batter in the windscreens.

'Job's done,' Newman announced.

Gazing down from the cafe windows way up in the Turm, Lisa and Paula had watched, fearfully at first, then with astonishment, the scene below.

'Reefers Wharf was a children's party compared to that,' Lisa commented.

Tweed had been aiming his binoculars at Fat-Face, Pink Shirt, watching the debacle with his arms folded. As it ended he straightened his jacket, wandered out of sight. It was his expression that intrigued Tweed. Rage? No. Disappointment? No.

'We'd better get down,' Paula said. 'Newman's waving at us.'

'We'll go down and away from here as fast we as we can…'

When they arrived back at the hotel, Newman asked the porter to garage their cars. Tweed ran up the steps with Paula close behind him. He had checked his watch. Keith Kent stood in the hall, waiting for them.

'Welcome, Keith. I'll get the material out of the hotel safe.'

Then he noticed the man sitting at the back of the hall, facing the staircase up to the security room. The Brig sat erect in his chair, motionless as a graven image, observing their return.

'I've changed my mind,' he said suddenly. 'We'll go up to my suite

…'

Newman had joined them in the elevator and Lisa slipped in just before the doors closed. Kent carried a dispatch case, explained he'd occupied his room a few minutes before seeing Tweed arrive.

'That chap,' he continued as they walked to the suite, 'by himself in the lounge area. Surely it was Lord Barford?'

'It was.' Tweed turned to Lisa who said she was going to her room. 'Could I see you in about ten minutes? I'll call you in your room.'

'Can't wait…'

'She strikes me as excessively intelligent,' Kent remarked inside the suite. 'Quite a personality. Attractive, too.'

'Keep off the grass,' Newman said amiably, nudging him in the ribs.

'Lord Barford,' Tweed began.

'Hold on,' chided Paula. 'What would you like to drink, Keith? The management have put another bottle of champagne in a fresh bucket of ice. Care for a glass?'

'Nice of you. Just one glass, please.' He accepted Tweed's invitation to sit down, then raised the glass Paula handed him. 'Here's to success to your present enterprised – and damnation to the villains.'

'Had some of that last bit this morning,' Newman commented.

'Lord Barford,' Tweed began again. 'Sounded as though you know him.'

'Know about him,' Kent replied. 'Like me he's a member of a very select organization, the Institute of Corporate Security. Membership confined to twenty at anyone time – and you're vetted first. Can't imagine why they asked me.'

'Have you talked to Barford? We call him the Brig.'

'A bit – at meetings of the ICS. He puts up a front as the pukka Brigadier, a purely military type. But there's a lot more to him. He has a vast knowledge of what's going on in the world. Has some very top contacts back home, in Europe and in the States. I've heard he's consulted when there's a major crisis. Travels all over the place.'

'Shall I pop down and see if the coast's clear?' Newman suggested.

'If you would, Bob,' Tweed agreed.

Newman was back in no time. He gave the thumbs-up signal.

'He's vanished. Probably gone to lunch.'

'Then I'll be back in a minute…'

'Keith,' Paula said thoughtfully, 'I've just remembered an incident when Tweed and I met Gavin Thunder at a club in Pall Mall. As the meeting ended and we were leaving the library I glanced back. Thunder was collecting his coat and his jacket wasn't fitting him properly. So his right lapel was turned and I could see the inner side. Clasped to it was a metal symbol I thought at first was Greek – but on reflection I don't think it was. It was like a capital letter "E" – but turned the wrong way round…'

'Could you draw it for me?'

Kent's normal relaxed and easy manner had changed. He had stiffened, was leaning forward. His expression had become very serious, concerned. Newman came closer -he had noticed the transformation in Kent. Paula took a pad, thought for a moment and drew the symbol.

'My God!' Kent exclaimed. 'He's a member of the Elite Club

Tweed returned shortly afterwards, holding a large white envelope containing the Kefler papers and the blue leather-bound book Mark had stolen. He was immediately aware of the strange atmosphere. Kent looked shocked. Paula had a puzzled expression. Newman waved his hands, as though to say 'I haven't a clue what's going on.'

'Something wrong?' Tweed asked quietly, sitting down so he faced Kent. 'You look as though a bomb had dropped on you.'

'It has. Paula, would you first tell Tweed what you told me?'

She began with when they were leaving the library of the Pall Mall club. She recalled how she had glanced back at Thunder, what she had seen, that she had forgotten to tell Tweed in her haste to meet the drunken Aubrey at Martino's. She showed Tweed the pad with the symbol she had drawn, quoted Kent's explosive reaction.

'What does it mean?' Tweed asked Kent. 'What is the Elite Club? Never heard of it.'

'Few people have,' Kent replied grimly. 'I only heard of it by pure accident when someone had drunk too much -the late Jeremy Mordaunt.'

'Like a glass of water, Keith?' Paula suggested. 'They have left a carafe on ice. You've lost your colour.'

'Yes, please.'

They waited while Kent sipped water, then drank the whole glass, held it out for a refill.

'This is terribly dangerous,' he said.

'Why?' Tweed pressed. 'What is the Elite Club?'

'A very small club.' Kent's glass trembled as he replaced it on the table. 'I gather it has either four or five members selected from the most powerful men in the world. Men who will stop at nothing to gain whatever they want. Evil men. If they knew what has just been said in this room I'm sure none of us would stay alive for more than twenty-four hours.'

There was a long silence. Kent waved aside an offer from Paula of more champagne, a curt gesture. He sat with both hands clasped, his fingers moving. Tweed realized they were seeing a Keith Kent they had never seen before. A very frightened man. Tweed spoke quietly.

'Take your time, Keith.'

'My only thought now is that I want to wake up tomorrow morning as usual. Alive.'

Tweed took out a packet of cigarettes. He projected one out of the packet, took from his pocket the jewelled lighter Paula had once given him when he recovered from having a bullet taken out of his chest.

'I know you rarely smoke, Keith.' he said in the same quiet tone.

Kent looked up at him. He took the cigarette and Tweed lit it for him. He took a small drag, expelled smoke, looked again at Tweed.

'You must think me a coward.'

'Nonsense. Only a fool doesn't fear great danger.'

'Thanks.' He licked his lips. 'I had no idea that this business involved that lot. Shook me up a bit.' He was speaking more normally now and the colour was coming back into his face. 'I've never told you about them before, Tweed, because there never seemed to be a reason to.'

'Who are "them"?'

'No idea. Except obviously Gavin Thunder is one of the group. Mordaunt was really in his cups that night. One remark he did make. The members of the Elite Club are not necessarily Presidents or Prime Ministers. They are the strong men. I quote his exact words. A few minutes later he blacked out. I think he was an alcoholic.'

'Embarrassing situation for you, Keith,' Tweed remarked.

'In my world you run into these situations. I called a cab, got him into it with the help of the barman, took him to his flat in Eaton Square. Of course, he couldn't find his key, so as there were lights on inside I rang the bell. A statuesque blonde with the brains of a peanut let us in. Between us we got him into bed, fully clothed. She said she'd undress him later.'

'Was probably used to doing that,' said Newman.

'Next thing I knew,' Kent continued, 'the blonde says she feels like some fun and who was I? I said just a friend. What was my name? Morrison, I said and I had to leave to meet a businessman coming in from abroad. Heaved a sigh of relief when I got out of the place.'

'So that was it?'

'Not quite,' Kent grimaced. 'Next day phone rings at my office. It's Mordaunt – phoning from a call box. Was my phone secure?'

'I said yes, it was, and what did he want? He thought he had maybe blacked out the previous night. Couldn't remember a word he'd said. What had he said? I told him the truth – that he'd nattered on trying to get stock market tips out of me. That I'd told him I never touched it and didn't want to know about it. Then he'd collapsed. He seemed relieved, put the phone down suddenly – he was like that.'

'And how did you first get to know Jeremy Mordaunt originally?'

'The night before at a party.' Kent smiled. 'A short acquaintance. Fool who introduced me to him called me a financial genius, so he latched on to me. Arranged to see me the following evening at this upmarket bar. A pretty quiet place. I went because at the party he'd told me he was Under-Secretary at the MoA. Thought I might pick up something. Instead, he detonated his bomb.'

'Ever heard of the Elite Club before then?' Tweed asked.

'Once. Brief reference to it from an informant I've never trusted. So I dismissed it as hot air. But Mordaunt…' Kent shuddered. 'He is – or was – close to the inner circle. I believed him.' He looked at Tweed. 'I'll take those papers now, go back to my room, start working on them.'

'Here they are.' Tweed handed him the envelope. 'Don't let anyone see the blue book. Not staff. Not anyone. And don't leave this hotel under any circumstances. If the phone rings pick it up, say you're in conference, slam it down.'

'Don't worry.' Kent stood up. 'And I'll get a safety deposit box for this stuff while I'm downstairs eating.'

'I'll come with you to your room,' Newman said.

'You don't have to…'

He didn't sound at all convincing. When he'd taken the envelope perspiration from his hands had stained the outside. He was still shaky.

'I'm calling Kuhlmann,' Tweed said when they had gone. 'Pink Shirt worried me – the way he reacted to the collapse of his attack at the Turm. You're good at describing people. I may put you on…'

'Morning, Tweed…' Kuhlmann's strong voice came down the line. 'I was going to call you. Visited the Turm today? A witness who has a flat nearby watched one hell of a fight in the street just before noon. You wouldn't know anything about that?'

'Yes. I was in die cafe with Paula. We watched from a mile up. One lot – foreigners – took a beating.'

'Your people wouldn't have been involved?'

'What a question, Otto. Now you're on the phone, we did see a strange individual standing clear of it – as though he was the boss. We had binoculars. Paula can describe him better than I would. Here she is…'

Paula spoke for several minutes. Tweed poured himself a glass of water, stared out of the window. The sun streamed in, the lake looked as though it were boiling. The heatwave was intensifying. Paula called to him.

'He wants to speak to you again.'

'Here, Otto…'

'That Paula is something else again. She paints a perfect picture of a man. So much so, it struck a chord with me. Oskar Vernon. Oskar with a "k". Very distinctive appearance. Known to us, as we say.'

'In what way?'

'Bit of a mystery man. Loads of cash, dresses in an outlandish way, but very expensively. Suspected of being the mastermind behind an international money-laundering operation. Also of smuggling refugees in a big way. We have two million Turks in Germany. Two, I wouldn't mind, but two million…'

'Arrest him.'

'No chance. No evidence. Works through a chain of men which runs down a long way from him. Powerful, ruthless, smart.'

'Works on his own?'

'Don't think so, but could be wrong on that. He travels the world, knows a lot of powerful men. Don't ask me for names. Haven't got any. If I had a photo I would be certain this is Oskar Vernon. Spends a lot of time in Britain and in the States.'

'Nationality?'

'Travels on a British passport but I'm damned sure he's not English. Could have come from anywhere.'

'Otto, I might just be able to get you a photo of him.'

'That would decide it. Tweed, if you're up against him be very careful. Several agents who tracked him ended up in hospital.'

'Going back to the Turm. What we saw was a real dogfight. A lot of bodies. Lying on the pavement. Injured, I'd say. I suppose you've got them?' Tweed asked.

'Like hell I have. By the time we arrived there was blood on the pavement – and nothing else. If you're right about Vemon he'd have foreseen that might happen, would have organized transport to move the evidence fast. Very fast.'

'He did.'

'You watch not only your back, but your front and both sides. Don't make one mistake about Oskar. One is all he needs…'

Tweed put the phone down. He relayed everything Kuhlmann had said. Paula looked thoughtful.

'Could he possibly be Rhinoceros?' she suggested.

'Go along and see Newman. Explain the situation. If Oskar is still at the Renaissance Harry might get a photo of him. But he'll need your camera. Then please stay in Newman's room until I call you. I have to interview Lisa,' Tweed said.

'You'd better be careful with her too. She's clever.'

'Maybe too clever by half…'

Tweed checked his watch after Paula had left. Lisa was due in two minutes. Sure enough, she arrived on the dot. Tweed asked her to sit down, offered a glass of champagne.

'Yes, please.' She smiled warmly. 'I won't drink too much. I think there's nothing more disgusting than a woman who is drunk.'

She wore the same clothes but had put her hair up. Round her forehead she wore a green bandanna, had added lipstick and a touch of mascara. Seated in an armchair, she stretched her bare arms along the sides. Newman would have said she looked very sexy. It was water off a duck's back to Tweed, who was in a grim mood. He sat facing her across a small table.

'Lisa, there are some questions I have to ask. About your background. That is, if you want to stay with us.'

'I do…'

'Where were you educated?'

'I won a scholarship to Roedean. I did make friends but I found the atmosphere too rarefied. Then later I won another scholarship, this time to Oxford…'

'Studying?'

'Languages. French and German. I was the odd one out – I didn't mix much. I concentrated on work. Too many of the others fooled around. I got a Double First.'

'Impressive.' Tweed smiled, his manner deliberately becoming more relaxed to gain her confidence. 'When you left Oxford?'

'Became an air hostess, so I could travel. If you obey the rules, keep to your schedule, you see damn-all. I missed several return flights so I could explore places. New York, Singapore, Paris, here – Hamburg. They put up with my missing flights back for a while because I was good at the job. Then they chucked me out. That covered about two years.'

'After that?'

'Went to New York, joined a security agency for a couple of years.'

'Doing what?'

'Tailing businessmen suspected of embezzlement. I learned quite a bit about accountancy to do the job properly – studied in my apartment at night.'

'Did you know Mark Wendover before you met him in London?'

'I beg your pardon?'

'I said, did you know Mark Wendover before you met him at my office in Park Crescent?'

'No.'

Tweed was sure that if she'd been attached to a polygraph – a lie detector – the machine's needle would have jumped. For the first time he felt she had told a lie. Nothing in his expression changed. He went on switching the questions' subject matter.

'What was your father's job?'

'He was in the Intelligence Corps. Shortly after he was transferred to Cyprus he was shot in the back. My mother flew with him on their way home. The plane crashed and my father was killed. My mother survived, later remarried.'

'Must have been a terrible shock for you.'

'Yes.' She paused. 'It was. But by then I was an air hostess, so I was reasonably mature, had been around, had learned to fend off unwanted attentions from men. I carried on with the job for a few months before they threw me out.'

'Where were you born?' Tweed asked quietly.

'Place called Pinner in Middlesex. Lived there for a long time. Until I went to Roedean. Address – Shoals Cottage, Orchard Tree Road.'

Tweed smiled. She had anticipated his next question. He was taking no notes. Writing things down inhibited the subject he was interrogating.

'You got on well with Helga, your late sister?'

'I did not. We fought like cat and dog. Since she was older she thought she could boss me about. To be fair, I think it was simply her temperament. My mother had married a German professor in Freiburg, went to live with him there. Don't know why she did that.'

'So,' Tweed smiled warmly, 'we got through that without a tantrum.'

'I really am sorry about that. I occasionally get worked up. Usually when I'm tense. But not in an emergency.'

'And you can handle a Beretta,' he said casually.

'Well.' She chuckled. 'I don't shoot myself in the foot with it.' She reached for the glass of champagne Tweed had poured for her earlier. 'And I'm familiar with the Walther and the Browning.'

'Wi'ere did you learn all this?'

'By chance. Had a boyfriend who was mad keen. He took me to a shooting club in London, showed me what he could do – which was no more than passable. Gave me a Beretta. I scored six bull's-eyes and three inners. He said it was a fluke. We went back the following day. I scored five bull's-eyes and an inner. He said beginner's luck. So I tried again. Six bull's-eyes. We went back to my flat off Ebury Street, had the emperor of a row, which he started. Couldn't stand a girl beating him at anything. End of friendship. Some men are like that.'

'And now you're working for Rhinoceros?'

She chuckled again, re-crossed her legs, sipped more of her drink.

'In an interrogation always save the heavyweight punch for the end.' She stared at him, her eyes fixed on his. 'For your information, Mr Tweed, I've no idea who I'm working for. But the money is good. And I think it's in a worthwhile cause.'

'What does that mean?'

'I'm sure there are two powerful forces confronting each other. One good, one very bad. I'm on the side of the angels, as they say.'

Tweed lit one of his rare cigarettes. This was the first indication that his theory of two opposing forces had been confirmed. He looked at Lisa and she leaned well forward, much closer to him, arms folded, waiting.

'Ever heard of Rhinoceros?' he eventually asked.

'Overheard a reference to him, which I wasn't supposed to hear at the time. No idea who he is, where he lives.'

'How are you instructed? Paid?'

'A typed note is slipped under my door inside an envelope – it started like that in my flat off Ebury Street in London. At the time given I have to be standing inside a certain phone box. At Waterloo in London, when it was quiet. Here at the main railway station. He uses the name Olaf, speaks slowly, enunciating eve:, y word carefully. Sometimes in German, sometimes in English.'

'I wonder…' Tweed blew a smoke ring. "… how he came to know about you?'

'No idea. Oxford, Double First in two languages, air hostess, my stint with the security agency in New York. Thought I'd be highly suitable for the job.'

'And,' Tweed stood up, clapped his hands, 'I'm sure he was right. Thank you for being so patient.'

She stood up, plumped up the cushion she'd leant back against, walked to the door which he unlocked. She put a hand on his shoulder to make him pause.

'Now.' She smiled very warmly. 'You have the data to check up on me. I'm going out shopping now. Need some better shoes. You can let me out, sir…'

Tweed stood by the closed door when she had gone. He had almost a dazed look. You have the data to check up on me. Which was exactly what he was going to do.

Oskar Vernon stood in the ward of the out-of-the-way clinic where he paid the doctor a lot of money to keep his mouth shut. Delgado, clean-shaven, hair smartly trimmed, wearing a good business suit, half-listened as Vernon talked to the doctor.

Barton sat on the edge of the bed. Delgado had earlier dragged him out of it. He was tenderly feeling a bandage between his legs under his pyjamas. Another bandage swathed his forehead where it had been slammed against the Mercedes. Panko, fully dressed, was trudging slowly down the large ward they occupied. Round his neck was a collar where the karate chop had felled him.

'I want these men fit by tomorrow morning,' Vernon snapped. 'Fit for anything.'

^; That asks for a a miracle,' the doctor protested.

'That's why I pay you all the money I do. For miracles.'

They were speaking to each other in English. The doctor, a small fat man with greedy eyes, wore a white coat, had a stethoscope dangling over his ample chest. Delgado felt it was time to stir the pot. He went up to Barton.

'What are you moaning about? Kick in crotch? Nothing. I've had it – killed the man who did it.'

'My head…'

'Kissed the car. Headache? We all get headache. So start walking, damn you. Now!'

Barton heaved himself up, took a few steps, stooped, stopped. Delgado grabbed his arm, forced him to walk.

Panko grinned savagely. He straightened himself up, began pacing round the ward, adjusted his collar.

'Leave me with them,' Vernon ordered the doctor. 'They're leaving tomorrow. Fit as fiddles.'

The doctor nodded, took the sheaf of banknotes thrust into his hand, shoved them into a pocket, left the ward with a glum expression.

'Now!' Vernon said in a savage voice. 'You listen. Listen good. When we can lure Tweed and his team into the country we kill them all. I have ten tough men who came off the ferry from Newcastle.'

'They walk off?' Delgado asked incredulously. 'They walk off. No trouble? How that?'

'How you think?' Vernon's thick lips puckered. 'Come ashore as seamen. This time of year ferry full of passengers from Newcastle and a big crew.'

'Only refugee toughs?'

'You'll never do what I done.' Vernon lit a cigar despite the 'No Smoking' sign, blew out a cloud. 'They been trained in secret camps – Slovakia. When we come to kill them, you, Barton and Panko, lead. Attack force in three sections, each of you leading one section.'

'So how we get them into country?'

'I'm moving into Hotel Atlantic. You three stay Hotel Renaissance. I visit you. You no come to me.'

'So how we get Tweed team into country?' Delgado persisted.

'How?' Vernon's smile was sinister. 'We use Lisa's gambit.'