Rhinoceros

CHAPTER 24

Paula tapped on Lisa's door. She heard it being unlocked and approved of the caution. Lisa opened the door, looked pleased, invited her in.

'My face is a mess,' she explained. 'Do sit down while I try to make it look half decent.'

'You look OK,' Paula replied as she sat down next to the table with the phone.

'Don't feel it.'

'You have heard,' Paula began tentatively.

'About Mark being shot last night? Horrible, isn't it? I saw him on the pavement. I must have got back just after he had been killed. I felt sick.'

The phone rang. Lisa asked Paula to see who it was so she could finish her renovation. Paula picked it up, was about to ask who it was when a creepy voice spoke.

'Oskar here. I have news…"

Paula put down the phone as though it were red hot. She was careful not to look at Lisa, who turned round on her dressing table seat.

'Was it Tweed again?'

'Wrong number.'

'Tweed rang me a few minutes ago to tell me you and Newman were going with him to a business meeting. Said he hoped you'd be back in a couple of hours. You know I'm still feeling ill about poor Mark. You don't look too good yourself.'

'I'm all right. I'd better go soon. I just called to see if you had heard – and if so how you were.'

Paula was in a state of shock. Why had Oskar Vernon -she felt sure it had to be him – phoned Lisa of all people? She let herself out, saying nothing in case her voice might betray her.

In the corridor the same small chunky uniformed hotel cleaner was still operating his vacuum cleaner. She noticed that the trousers he was wearing flopped over his shoes. His jacket wasn't a wonderful fit. She walked towards Tweed's suite.

'Good morning,' she said as she passed the cleaner.

He grunted, didn't look up. Which was unusual. She'd found all the staff so polite. Maybe he was new. She knocked on the suite door and Tweed, wearing a new business suit, a coat over his arm, ushered her inside.

'You won't need a coat this weather,' she told him. 'It's a boiling day outside already.'

'You're right. Can't think why I took it out of the wardrobe. Had my mind on something else.'

The death of Mark, she thought. Or, more likely, working out his strategy for the meeting with Rondel and his partner. She sat down, couldn't think of anything to say. Shouldn't she tell him about the weird phone call in Lisa's room?

'Lisa,' he said, 'has had a bad time of it. She actually saw Mark's body on the pavement when she got back to here. From Bob's description, when he visited the morgue, it must have shaken Lisa up badly.'

'I can understand that.'

She was still trying to decide whether to tell Tweed when Newman arrived. He smiled at her, squeezed her shoulder.

'I can do without any more grim shocks today. What are the tactics for this morning?'

'Leave me to do the talking,' Tweed replied. 'You two keep your eyes open. You might just see something interesting.' He looked at his watch. 'Time to go. Nield has told the porter to have the Merc ready for us – the cream one, of course.'

When they entered the corridor Paula noticed the man using the vacuum cleaner had disappeared, but half the carpet still needed attention. Tweed had gone ahead, turned to call to Paula.

'I'm having a brief word with Lisa, then Keith…'

He tapped on Lisa's door and stood half inside when she opened it. Paula heard every word that was said.

'Lisa, I'm off to a meeting with Paula and Bob. Expect to be back in about two and a half hours. I hope you can then join us for lunch. You can? Good.'

He hurried on to Keith Kent's door, beckoned Paula and Newman to come with him. A heavy-eyed Kent let them in. Paula thought he looked as though he'd had no sleep. His desktop was scattered with Kefler's papers and he had a small ledger open. The page was a jumble of figures. He took the blue book out of a drawer and it had a marker inside it.

'Didn't know who it was,' he explained. 'So I hid the book.'

'How is it going?' Tweed asked.

'I'm breaking it, but haven't got there yet. The blue book Mark provided is invaluable.'

It occurred to Paula that Kent didn't know Mark was dead. He was in his shirt sleeves and on another table was a tray of coffee, remnants of croissants. Tweed looked at it.

'When did you last eat a proper meal?'

'Can't remember. Been at it all night. It's absorbing.'

'Go down now and get a decent meal at the Condi,' Tweed told him.

'I can't leave these papers, even locked up…'

'Lisa could come and keep guard while you eat,' suggested Tweed.

'Lisa,' Paula said hastily, 'is fagged out. She told me,' she lied, 'she didn't get any sleep – probably after her long day yesterday.'

Tweed glanced at her, bewildered. There was nothing that he could say, that it would be wise to say. He looked back, saw Newman standing inside the closed door, turned to Keith.

'Any hint as to what you've found so far?'

'Oh, there's a ton of money missing. But whether it's still somewhere inside the bank or has been moved elsewhere I just can't fathom yet. Nor who is responsible for the movement. I'll crack it, but it may take a few more days.'

'Promise you'll phone room service, order a proper meal as soon as we've gone.'

'I'll do that. I've just realized I'm hungry..'.'

The cream stretch limo was waiting for them and Newman took the wheel. Paula sat beside him and Tweed rode in the back. Tweed had once visited Blankenese and navigated for them.

It didn't seem to take long for them to leave behind the massive, stately buildings which were Hamburg and then they were driving along a rustic road with trees in leaf. Paula gazed out and to each side they began to pass imposing mansions set back from the road with manicured lawns in front of them. The architecture varied enormously – there were mansions in the old style, square and solidly built, but others were more imaginative with long frontages, thatched roofs and strange turret-like towers. Each property, she guessed, would cost a fortune to buy.

'Marler and Nield are not far behind us in the Opel,' Newman remarked. 'Not a bad idea, maybe. It's rather lonely out here.'

'We're approaching the house,' Tweed warned from the back. 'I can see a sign ahead pointing to a side road. Taxusweg. Rondel scribbled that as a landmark when he gave me the address.'

Newman slowed, indicated right. A warning to Marler they were close. As he had anticipated, Marler turned down Taxusweg. To park discreetly, Newman guessed.

'This big house well back,' Tweed warned. 'Turn along the drive.'

Newman swung into the wide entrance, flanked by two pillars, each surmounted with an elegant lantern. The front garden was like a small park with lawns and beautiful specimen trees. But no electronically powered gates, Paula thought – and no sign of guards. You just drove in.

There were other lanterns perched on steel posts scattered amid the trees. This place must look even more glorious after dark with the lanterns lit, she mused. A large long mansion built of white stone came into view. Newman parked close to the main entrance, a pair of heavy oaken doors.

'Well,' said Tweed, before alighting. 'Let's hope here is where we find the key to what is really going on.'

Both doors were opened with a flourish by a tall uniformed chauffeur. A Daimler was parked near the corner of the mansion. Tweed studied the chauffeur intently. Not the usual chauffeur – even by the standards of those working for rich men. He had brown hair trimmed short, a strongly featured face, and was in his thirties, but it was the eyes that caught Tweed's attention. They were exceptionally intelligent, and the man moved athletically.

'Yes, I'm Tweed.'

'You are expected, sir,' the chauffeur replied in faultless English. 'If you would wait in the hall for just a few moments…"

Left to themselves in the spacious hall, Tweed noticed a Louis Vuitton case standing against a wall. He bent down. Someone had tucked in below the handle a Bordkane, or a boarding pass. Lufthansa. From BER to HAM. Dated the previous day. Someone had flown back from Berlin to Hamburg in the afternoon – on the day Kuhlmann had reported that Kurt Kruger, aide to the Deputy Chancellor, had been murdered.

Tweed was holding the pass in his hand when Rondel entered like a whirlwind, clad in riding gear.

'Welcome! Welcome! Welcome!'

He bowed, took Paula's right hand, kissed it, looked up at her with a broad smile. She found she rather liked a gesture she would not normally have found acceptable. Tweed held up the printed slip.

'I found this boarding pass from Berlin to Hamburg lying on the floor. It must have slipped out of the case.'

'That belongs to Danzer, the chauffeur who greeted you. He flew to Berlin and back again yesterday.' Rondel grinned. 'He has a new girlfriend. He collects and dismisses them as though they were playing cards… Please excuse my attire. I have an engagement to go riding

… Want to come?' he asked Paula.

'It's a long time since I sat on a horse. Thank you, but I think I need a quiet day. Yesterday was rather hectic. I did enjoy the dinner, though.'

'You couldn't have enjoyed it as much as I revelled in having a chat with you… I couldn't sleep last night. Your image kept coming into my mind…'

He was talking as he had at the restaurant. In rapid bursts that demonstrated the extraordinary quickness of his mind. He waved towards the interior of the house.

'My partner is waiting for you. Or rather, he would like to see Tweed alone, if that is not too impolite… Paula, you and Bob can come with me… we will enjoy a drink together. I am hoping Bob, the famous international foreign correspondent, can tell us what is wrong with the world. If both of you would like to make yourselves comfortable in this room…' He was leading them towards a closed door. '… I will be back in a tick.'

He turned to Tweed, who had slipped the boarding pass under the handle of the case.

'Please, Mr Tweed, let me escort you…'

Inside the room she had been shown into with Newman, Paula remained standing. It kept going through her head. Lisa concussed, after the blow Delgado had struck her back home at Reefers Wharf. The message she had desperately tried to get across, hardly able to speak.

Ham… Dan… Four S.

Ham had been Hamburg. Four S had been Four Seasons Hotel. Dan. Couldn't that have been Danzer, the chauffeur who had shown them in?

After opening another door at the rear of the hall, where gilt-framed portraits of men of earlier times were hung, Rondel accompanied Tweed down a long hall to a door at the far end. This opened on to a large conservatory full of different plants. His partner sat facing them in a wickerwork chair with a high straight back.

In front of the chair on a glass-topped table were the remains of a meal. His partner had been holding the silver box close to his mouth while he manipulated one of the ivory toothpicks. He closed the lid quickly, tucked it inside a pocket of his linen jacket.

'The gentleman you are so anxious to see,' Rondel said.

'Thank you. Do not let his two colleagues leave. I wish to pay my respects to them later,' the seated man ordered.

'Let us go into the garden, Mr Tweed,' the partner suggested, rising, holding out his hand. 'There we can talk without inhibition. May I offer you a drink?'

He was speaking slowly, each word enunciated with clarity. Not from age, Tweed guessed, but from temperament. A very careful man.

'Just water, please…'

His host opened a door, ushered Tweed, holding his glass of water, into what seemed more like a beautiful park with an abundance of flowers. Especially hydrangeas. Paved walkways wended their way in all directions, disappearing round curves. They strolled slowly and Tweed kept quiet, leaving his strange host to choose a subject.

'I will tell you something very few people in the world know. My name is Milo Slavic. Which shows I trust you.'

'Why should you?' Tweed asked outright.

'Because before I get even a little close to someone I have him checked out meticulously.' He drew out the word as m-e-t-i-c-u-l-o-u-s~l-y. 'I have had you checked out on two continents. You are a unique man. I never flatter.'

'So what did you want with me?'

'Direct, too. Do you believe that, with all the weakness of present Western governments, we need something stronger?'

'Depends on how strong. In the last century we have had Adolf Hitler, Benito Mussolini, Josef Stalin. Do we need men as strong as that?'

'There was chaos when those men took power. The masses were frightened, looked for strength. Perhaps it may have to happen again?'

'Are you related to an earlier member of the Frankenheim Dynasty?' Tweed asked suddenly.

'Ah!' His host chuckled, an odd sound. 'History sometimes does repeat itself. You know about the Frankenheims – I can tell. The first Frankenheim took the name, pretended to be a Jew, made himself indispensable to Mayer Amschel, that brilliant man who created Rothschild. We are back in the late 1790s. Frankenheim, as he continued to call himself, then learnt all the tricks of the profession from his mentor – left him, founded his own bank in Paris. Jump forward to 1940. As a very young man I met the last of the Frankenheims, who had no son, no heir. I was naturally gifted in mathematics, in accountancy and solved for him a problem he had found insoluble. He obtained a Swiss passport for rne, as he had for himself, and soon I was Director of his bank in Zurich. When he died I found he had appointed me his heir. I have simplified a rather complicated history.'

'So where do you come from?'

'Slovenia.'

'The northernmost state of what used to be Yugoslavia in the time of Marshal Tito. Adjoins the border with Austria. Has gained its complete independence.'

'Not everyone would know that. Are you concerned with what is happening?'

'Yes. We could be on the edge of a catastrophe.'

Tweed looked at Slavic. He was broader across the shoulder than he had realized, looking down on him at the restaurant. He emanated physical strength as well as mental power. Tweed was still unsure.

'Your mutual chauffeur is an unusual man,' he remarked.

'Danzer. He is my chauffeur. Blondel prefers to drive his own Bugatti, Maserati – whatever is his latest toy. Shall we turn back? We are close to the house.'

'You said "Blondel". I thought your partner's name was Rondel.'

'Ah.' Slavic chuckled unpleasantly. 'Vanity. He has blond hair, so dislikes his real name. Calls himself Rondel. Had a French father, a German mother. We must meet again soon. My headquarters are in the far north. I like privacy.'

'How shall I know where you are?'

'I, Mr Tweed, will always know where you are.'

'I may need to call you something to the closest members of my team. So what name do I use?'

'Simply call me Milo. It sounds as though they are enjoying themselves.'

They had almost reached a side door open to the park.

Tweed could hear Paula laughing with Rondel. A middle-aged woman with blue-rinse hair appeared out of nowhere, carrying in her hands large clusters of hydrangeas. Milo Slavic waved her away. She looked disappointed as she retreated.

'That is Mrs Gina France, my chief accountant. A most professional accountant but with a volcanic personality.' He paused. 'You do believe, then, in iron governments?'

'Depends on how strong they are,' Tweed replied.

'We must meet again.' Slavic sounded urgent. 'I will contact you when the moment arrives. Then you must come quickly.' His voice changed, became mellow as they walked in through open doors into the room where Rondel sat with Paula and Newman. Slavic remained standing.

'I think we should leave now,' said Tweed.

'So early!' Rondel jumped up. 'This charming lady and I are just getting to know each other.'

'There will be another time, Victor,' Paula said, smiling as she stood up and Newman followed.

Tweed turned to thank his host, but the man from Slovenia had vanished. Instead he looked at Rondel.

'Please tell your partner I found the conversation most illuminating. I look forward to the possibility sometime of repeating the experience…'

Rondel led the way along a devious route through the complex mansion until they emerged into the hall and he opened the double doors. As he did so, another figure appeared at the back of the hall, watching them. The chauffeur. Danzer.

'Safe journey,' Rondel wished them and then they were outside and the doors closed behind them.

They were moving slowly down the drive when Tweed glanced back, saw Mrs France dashing after them, still clutching her hydrangeas.

'Stop the car,' he ordered, lowering his window.

'It's Floral Dress,' said Newman, looking back. 'The lady who was feeding ducks, who spoke to you as we walked along the edge of the Alster.'

Mrs France was almost out of breath when she reached them. She thrust the flowers through the open window and Paula took hold of them. She smiled at the plump-faced lady who had a high colour. Mrs France peered through her huge thick-lensed spectacles.

'These are really beautiful.'

'That is very kind of you,' said Tweed, smiling.

The woman pushed her face inside the window. She was very nervous and her hands were trembling. She tried to speak, then had to start again.

'Mr Tweed, I need to come and see you on my own. Something is happening which is very serious, which you should know about. I expect they are watching me from the house.'

'Four Seasons Hotel,' Tweed said quickly, keeping his back to the house. He gave her his suite number. 'You would like to come and see me soon? This afternoon? Three o'clock any good to you?'

'I will be there at three. Oh, thank you so much. You are a nice man. I must go now. They will question me. I will say I heard Miss Grey comment when you arrived how much she admired the hydrangeas.'

'I do…' Paula began.

Mrs France didn't hear her. She was hurrying back up the drive to the house.

'That,' said Newman, 'is one very frightened lady.'