Rhinoceros

CHAPTER 21

Tweed was alone in his suite. About ten minutes earlier Lisa had left 'to go shopping'. He picked up the phone, rang Mark Wendover's room. No reply, even though he kept on the phone for several minutes – plenty of time for him to get out of a shower. He gave it up.

Settling himself in his chair, he lit another cigarette. So, Lisa was out 'shopping'. And Mark was not in his room.

'I wonder,' he said, half aloud.

He stood up again, took his doodle pad out of a drawer, went back to the phone, called Monica. He phrased his wording carefully, as though 'Trent' had applied for a job and he wanted Monica to check references.

'I'll get on it right away,' Monica responded. 'Call you back.-.'

Then he decided he'd go out for a stroll. Walking helped him to think. He had almost reached the landing stage when an Opel, with Pete Nield at the wheel, parked in a slot a woman had just left. Nield hustled after him, drew alongside Tweed.

'You shouldn't be out on your own. This city is dynamite.'

'You make me feel like royalty,' Tweed grumbled. 'What have you been up to?'

'Touring the city, keeping my eyes open for hostile forces. I know Hamburg backwards by now. Could be useful. What's the next move?'

Tweed was heading towards the Zurcher Kredit Bank. 'I have an appointment for drinks with the Brig at six this evening. At 1800 hours. On the dot.' He had imitated the Brig's manner. Nield grinned. Few people knew that Tweed was a first-rate mimic. 'Then at 8.30 p.m. Paula and Bob are coming with me for dinner with the mysterious Rondel – except we aren't having dinner with him. He's booked a table for us but he's dining at another one with his partner.'

'Curious idea.' Nield flicked a speck off his smart suit. 'I don't get it.'

'Neither do I. We'll just have to see.'

Tweed had paused, was staring up at the nearby Zurcher Kredit Bank. Behind a balustrade on the first floor was a very well concealed camera, covering the front entrance.

'Mark broke in to that bank at night,' he recalled. 'Opened every security box, may have found gold in one of them – a book of ciphers which may help Keith Kent, ensconced in a room at the Four Seasons – to crack the papers Dr Kefler handed me.'

'Harry told me about the Kefler murder down at tho docks. I'd have thought Mark took a big risk, breaking in there.'

'He killed the alarms, blotted out the internal cpmeras. His CIA training must have helped. I'm just hoping that he spotted that camera on the balustrade up there. In daytime it's not easy to spot, but at night…'

They had reached the entrance to a side street, the Grosse Bleichen. Glancing down it, since it led to the Renaissance Hotel, Tweed froze. Instinctively Nield stood very still. Further down the street a single shaft of sunlight illuminated the outside of the hotel. Standing in the sunlight, arms folded, was Oskar Vernon. Paula stood close by.

He appeared to be gazing up at the building opposite while waiting for something – or somebody. What had caused Tweed to freeze, his nerves to tense, was the scene taking place. Vernon lowered his eyes, watched as a short wide-shouldered man scrabbled in a dustbin. Harry Butler was clad in a shabby jacket, torn denims, a tramp searching for treasure.

Tweed held his breath. Paula, wearing a straw hat pulled well down, was using a camera to photograph Vernon while Butler attracted his attention. Vernon had only to glance to his left to see her.

'Paula, you're taking too long. He's bound to turn and see you,' Tweed said to himself.

He sighed with relief as Paula vanished down an alley. At the same moment a porter came out of the Renaissance as a cab pulled up. Vernon climbed inside, gestured for the porter to give him the bag.

The next development was the appearance of a well-built man emerging from an arcade, just below the hotel on the opposite side of the street. He too wore a straw hat, wrapround dark glasses. Only the way he walked told Tweed it was Newman – so he'd escorted Paula on her mission as protection.

Tweed backed away from the corner as the taxi drove slowly towards them, edging its way past parked trucks and cars. Harry shoved an empty cigarette packet retrieved from the bin in his pocket, ambled rapidly up the street towards the landing stage.

'Pete,' Tweed said urgently, 'could you follow the cab coming up Grosse Bleichen?'

'Piece of cake…'

Nield streaked across the road where traffic was held up by a red light. He kept running until he was behind the wheel of his Opel. Which was when the cab with Vernon inside emerged, turned left past the landing stage, then right up Neuer Jungfernstieg and past the Four Seasons. Nield performed an illegal U-turn when a small white van drove behind the cab, masking him. Then he followed van and cab.

Tweed saw all this from inside the department store he had slipped into. He faced the street, appearing to study the window display. Once Nield's car had disappeared he went outside, turned down Grosse Bleichen, just in time to meet Paula hurrying towards him. Behind her Newman followed and Butler had stopped on the far side.

'You took one hell of a chance,' he chided her.

'Oh, shut up.' She was triumphant. 'I've got six shots of the bastard. Decided to use the small Polaroid-like camera the boffins at Park Crescent developed. Look at these.'

Tweed nipped through the six prints she handed him. His eyebrows rose. Leaning forward, he kissed her on the cheek.

'I expected more,' she said with a grin.

He leaned forward, kissed her on the other cheek. He gave Newman three of the prints, then gestured to Harry to come over. Butler had removed his disgusting jacket, rolled it up, tucked it under his arm. He now wore a linen jacket and, despite the torn denims, looked reasonably respectable.

'Harry, there's a police station on the far side of the Rathaus. Not easy to see…'

'I've seen it. While Pete's toured a bigger area in his car I've walked my feet off. Why the police station?'

'Because I want you to give these to Otto Kuhlmann.' He handed him two prints. Paula fiddled in her shoulder bag, brought out an envelope, took the prints, slipped them inside, wrote 'Otto Kuhlmann' on the outside, gave them back. 'No,' said Tweed, 'you hand them personally to Otto.'

'Heard you the first time.'

'You might have difficulty barging past inferiors.'

'Me?' Harry was indignant. 'You're joking. I'll trample over them

…'

Then he was gone, walking very fast towards the Rathaus.

As the three of them walked back towards the hotel Tweed held Paula's arm, squeezed it.

'You're brilliant.'

'I know. But it's nice to be told…'

They had walked slowly along the edge of the Alster. Tweed talked fast, bringing them up to speed on his interrogation of Lisa, then his phone call to Monica.

'I just wonder about Lisa,' he ruminated as they neared the hotel. 'Going out shopping…'

'I suppose she's allowed to do that,' Paula said indignantly.

'You remember I've just told you the one factor where I felt sure she was lying? When I asked her if she knew Mark before she came to us? Well, after she'd gone out I called Mark for about five minutes. He wasn't there.'

'Oh, I see. Casts a doubt over her. Can't we trust anyone? No. You warned us earlier. We can only trust the team. I told Bob about Oskar Vernon, what Kuhlmann said.'

'So now,' Newman remarked as they reached the hotel steps, 'Pink Shirt becomes Oskar Vernon. Which spells "Danger" – with a capital