Rhinoceros

CHAPTER 39

They had reached Travemunde, parking the car near the rail station. There were signs warning 'No parking', but Tweed had extracted from his wallet an old notice Kuhlmann had once given him. In German was printed the word 'Doctor'. It was used for undercover detectives who wanted to make sure their transport wouldn't be hauled away. He stuck it on the inside of the windscreen. Harry left his motorcycle chained to the rear bumper.

It was very quiet as they walked down a footpath and then they were in the riverside town. They passed an old and small red-brick police station which looked as though it had stood there since the Flood. The whole atmosphere of loneliness they had experienced driving along country roads changed as they reached the river front.

It was early holiday time. The rich people came at this time of the year, Tweed explained, before the masses swarmed in.

'Mustn't mix with the proles,' Newman said impishly.

Paula revelled in the animated activity as she walked with Tweed and Lisa. The river Trave was about half the width of the Thames at Westminster. Powerboats and larger luxury craft were moored beyond landing stages, ships costing a fortune. Tweed paused and divided up his team.

'Too many of us together would be conspicuous,' he explained. 'Harry and Pete, you check upriver until you come to where the fishing boats are moored. We'll be in the cafe-restaurant I described to you in the car. Newman, you just float around, keeping your eyes open. I'll take Paula and Lisa to find the rendezvous, if we ever do.'

'I'm coming with you,' Marler said firmly. 'Hanging back a bit.. .'

The town wasn't packed but there were plenty of Germans wandering along in summer attire or sitting with drinks at tables. There was an air of jollification, of people enjoying themselves. The main street running parallel to the river was narrow and lined on both sides with shops and cafes and restaurants.

The buildings were small and mostly ancient, three or four storeys high. Several had white-painted picket fences and canopies over the area behind them where people sat drinking at tables. Tweed pointed across the river to a forested shore where two ferries carrying cars hustled back and forth.

'That's Priwall Island. I read once how during the end of the Second World War a British tank unit landed there and halfway across the island met a Soviet tank force coming from the opposite direction. The Russians tried to claim the whole island but the British tank commander was firm with his opposite Soviet commander. Ended in a compromise – we held this half of the island, the Russians the other. It's been developed a lot, as you can see – with those white blocks of flats.'

'I loved Tender,' said Paula, 'but this is a lovely contrast. So much bustle and fun.'

'I think this is the place Mrs France described,' Tweed said. 'Where we should wait.'

There was an upmarket restaurant under cover and outside a wide spacious area with umbrellas over tables. It overlooked the river. Marler had caught them up, had heard what Tweed had said.

'Don't like you sitting here,' he said. 'Too exposed. I suggest you sit across the road at those tables in the open.'

They crossed the road and sat outside the cafe he had suggested. They ordered large glasses of orange juice and plenty of water. Marler drank his quickly, stood up and looked at the open entrance next door where a staircase of stone steps led upward. He was still carrying his long tennis-like hold-all which contained his Armalite.

'Think I'll explore a bit. Back soon.'

'Look at that thing gliding past,' Paula called out.

An immense white wall, six decks high, was sliding past on their side of the river. Lifeboats were slung over the side high up. The white wall continued sailing past up-river as though it would never end. It loomed over the town, dwarfing it.

'Probably a car ferry coming in from Sweden,' said Tweed. 'It docks further up the Trave at a place called Scandinavienkai. The train going back to Lubeck stops at a long platform so passengers can go on to Hamburg or Rostock.'

Newman had appeared and he had heard what Tweed had just said. He pulled a sour face.

'Don't mention Rostock. Remember the Cold War days when you sent me in behind the Iron Curtain?'

'Yes. That wasn't pleasant for you…'

Marler, still carrying his hold-all, was quietly mounting the stone steps which were dusty, clearly little used. He came to the landing, listened, heard nothing, turned the handle of an ancient wooden door. It creaked open and he was inside a wooden-floored room with several wooden chairs and no other furniture. He walked across to the window, heaved it up. It groaned but the sound was muffled by the giant ferry's siren sounding non-stop.

He pulled up one of the chairs to the window, sat slowly on it, testing its strength. Then he opened his hold-all and extracted his Armalite. Looking down, he could see the three others perched under their umbrella. He also had a clear view across to the river.

'I think I'm going in search of a loo,' Lisa said, getting up from the table. 'Shouldn't be long.'

'I made use of the facilities behind the quarry just before we left,' remarked Paula. 'I'd just stood up, made myself decent, when Newman appears. I told him "There's no privacy round here". The devil grinned, said "No, but there is a makeshift privy". I could have killed him. Now he's gone off again – and so has Lisa. Isn't it nice to be able to relax here? I wonder when someone's coming to meet us?'

The light aircraft had landed at Lubeck airport, south of the town and port. Barton completed the formalities for both the plane and the hired Audi waiting for them. Once they left the airport he moved like the wind.

Ignoring all speed limits, he raced to Travemunde. He was lucky not to meet any patrol cars. Parking the car in a slot which had just become vacant on the front, he looked round and almost jerked away in the opposite direction. But the pro who had taught him years before had constantly warned.

'When stalking a target you have in view, never move quickly. People notice sudden movements faster than they hear unexpected sounds.'

'What is it?' asked Panko.

He was about to look where Barton had gazed but his partner grabbed his arm, holding it hard. His grip was so firm Panko was about to protest when Barton spoke.

'Keep still. We've hit pay dirt. Tweed and his dolly are sitting under an umbrella on the pavement. We walk normally back the way we've come.'

'Why we do that?'

'Because I bloody well say so…'

Barton himself had to stop himself hurrying. By the time they came back in the unusual way that had occurred to him, Tweed might have gone. Driving into Travemunde he had seen further back along the front a powerboat with a sign on it in German. He knew enough of the language to read the sign which had said 'For Hire'.

He smiled as they walked up to the lone seaman perched on the gunwale of his boat. The seaman didn't return the smile. He didn't like the look of either of them, despite the fact that they had bought summer clothes while in Flensburg.

'How much?' Barton asked, hoping the seaman spoke English.

'For what?' asked the seaman, looking at the river.

'Hire of your boat for two or three hours.' The seaman named a sum which nearly made Barton fall over. If it was a question of haggling, the seaman was starting at an amazing price. Barton looked again at the boat and his mouth watered. The control cabin was elevated near the prow, all the windows open. Barton again recalled what he had been told by Thunder.

'That's the price of buying this boat, not hiring it,' he said mildly. 'Could we look it over?'

'You're thinking of buying?'

The seaman's attitude was changing. He was less aggressive, a greedy look had come into his eyes.

'Welcome aboard. Is that not what you say in Britain?'

'We do.'

The seaman gestured for them to join him. They walked over the gangplank, followed him down into a saloon. Curtains were closed over the windows, presumably to ward off the heat. As the seaman was turning round to face them Barton struck him a hard blow on the side of the neck. The seaman reeled. Barton grabbed his long hair, jerked his head forward, then shoved it back against the wooden panelling with all his force. He fell and didn't move again.

'You kill him,' gasped Panko.

'Let's get this thing moving.' Barton took an automatic rifle out of a well-worn hold-all he had been carrying in his left hand. 'Control cabin.'

'What we do with him?'

Panko asked the question as Barton was hurrying back up the steps, disappearing into the control cabin. Panko ran after him.

'You know how boat works?' he asked anxiously.

'I've fooled around with stuff like this on the Norfolk Broads. Go down on the landing stage, untie the mooring rope off the bollard, come back aboard, haul the gangplank on to the deck. Get moving, for God's sake.'

Barton started up the engine. It had a powerful purr. He liked it. Panko had released the mooring rope, run back on board, hauled the gangplank in. He slipped down into the saloon, felt the inert seaman's pulse. There wasn't a flicker. He ran back to the control cabin. Barton was easing the boat away from the landing stage, heading out for the open river. Panko appeared.

'What we do with man you hit? He dead.'

'There's always the river.'

'What is plan?'

'You watch how I handle this. Watch carefully. You only have a handgun. I need to be free to pick off Tweed and his girl with my rifle. They'll never expect an attack to come from the river. Watch what I do, I said.'

'OK. How long it take?'

'To kill Tweed? Five minutes from now.'

On Berg Island, way out in the Baltic, Milo Slavic sat in his study, smoking one of his many small cigars. He looked at his modest watch, then his eyes revolved to Victor Rondel, standing by the sheet of glass from floor to ceiling at the narrow end of the oblong room.

'Time you went to meet Tweed,' he said quietly.

'A bit early.' Rondel checked his Rolex. 'We have to keep to the timetable to pick up tourist passengers.'

'There will be a lot of tourists today.' Milo spoke in an even quieter voice, spacing out his words. 'Because of the hot weather.'

'I guess I'll be on my way…'

'And Victor,' Milo called out as Rondel reached the door. 'If Tweed has his whole team with him, bring them with you.'

'I intended to…'

Opening another door at the end of a long, wide corridor, Rondel stepped out onto a footpath leading down to the coast far below. Long ago Milo had had his castle built near the summit. There was an elevator built into the rock but the athletic Rondel began to skip down the steep curving path. A goat might have hesitated to follow him but he raced down.

At the bottom a three-deck steamer was waiting for him, its engines throbbing away. He ran across the gangplank and gave the order to the captain who was waiting for him.

'Go! We are late.'

In his study Milo checked the time. Unusually, Rondel was cutting it pretty fine. Milo stubbed his cigar, then picked up from behind the pile of books on his desk a silver-plated automatic.

'You will soon be here, Mr Tweed.'

Tweed had ordered three more glasses of orange juice as he relaxed beneath the umbrella. A welcome relief from the burning rays of the sun.

'I wonder where Lord Barford is now,' Paula mused. 'And where he really fits into the picture.'

'That sheet of typed paper which flew out of Thunder's case was pretty explicit. What I'm wondering about is the identity of Mr Blue, M. Bleu as the French call him, or Herr Blau. A strange assassin who kills without anyone hiring him or paying him.'

'Doesn't make sense,' Paula commented.

'It's beginning to give me an idea. Don't ask what – I'm still working on it.'

'It's so relaxing.' She stretched out her legs. 'I could stay here for ever.'

She glanced at Tweed. He was sitting upright, very still as he gazed at the river. She followed his gaze and gasped. A powerboat with a high bridge was cruising slowly alongside the waterfront. One small man she recognized – Panko – was holding the wheel. The other man – Barton – was holding a rifle aimed towards them. Tweed grabbed hold of her, dropped to the ground, hauling her with him.

She was still watching with her chin on the ground when she heard the sound of four shots fired in rapid succession. Then she stared in amazement. Another sliding white wall, six decks high, appeared from the left, its siren screaming non-stop. Its massive prow struck the powerboat, sliced through it, sailed over it, crushing it to pieces as it continued its forward glide. Went on and on, as huge as a skyscraper laid on its side.

Tweed helped her to her feet. She looked at the window behind them. High up, way above where their heads had been, were four star-shaped holes in the large window.

'What is that monster ship?' Paula croaked.

'Ferry from Helsinki, Finland. Once those things are on the move they can't be stopped for quite a while – due to their momentum and incredible size.'

Marler appeared, after secreting his Armalite inside his hold-all. He had scrambled down the stone steps.

'Saw Barton in my cross-hairs. Saw out of the corner of my eye that leviathan of a ship on top of him. He saw it too. Made him jerk his rifle too high. Crazy fool was sailing down the wrong side of the Trave. Heading out for the Baltic you use the far lane. Coming in, the near lane, as the ferry did.'

People who had been seated across the road under the canopy had stood up, rushed forward to the river's edge, staring down. One woman was screaming her head off.

'I think,' said Tweed, standing up, 'we'd better get away from here before that orange juice arrives. Look at the ghouls, hoping for bodies in the Trave.'

'I've looked,' Paula and Marler said at the same moment.

'We'll go towards the Baltic,' Tweed decided and started walking. 'Whoever's meeting us should come that way – if anyone ever does. Here's Lisa. Don't say anything to her about the incident.'

'And here's Rondel, running like mad,' Paula said as they entered a narrow part of the street. 'Lord, he can move.'

'And don't say anything to him,' Tweed whispered to Paula.

Lisa was walking behind them with Marler. Paula stopped.

'What about Harry and Pete?'

'Coming up behind us,' Marler called out. 'And there's Newman, strolling along behind our host.'

Rondel jerked to a halt, gave Paula a warm smile, put his arms round her, kissed her on both cheeks. Then he spoke to Tweed.

'Sorry I'm late. Had to push my way through a load of passengers waiting for the steamer to Berg Island…'

'Passengers?' queried Paula.

'Tell you all about them later. It's not too far to walk. Thank heaven, in this heat. Plenty of refreshments on board. You'll enjoy your trip…" As usual he was talking non-stop, smiling at the same time.'… Baltic's like a mill-pond. Not much of a breeze, but there's air-conditioning in the saloon. We'll have that to ourselves. Can't mix with the proles, can we? The steamer has powerful engines, moves fast, gets there quickly. And there it is. Wasn't so far, was it?' He was holding Paula's arm. 'It is waiting for us. Captain can't move off without me – no matter how long he has to wait…'

The steamer was quite large, had two funnels and three decks. It was painted white and had five flags hanging limply. Not even the hint of a breeze.

'Why five different flags?' Paula asked.

'Germany, Sweden, Norway, Denmark and Finland. I'll explain why when we're comfortable in the saloon. Let me escort you on board.'

He still had hold of her arm as they crossed a wide railed gangplank onto the deck. The crowd of passengers above them were peering down, probably wondering who the honoured guests were. Rondel opened a door and Paula walked into a luxurious saloon, empty except for a white-coated waiter.

The others followed her, the gangplank was hauled on board, mooring ropes removed, the steamer began to move up the outer reaches of the Trave. As Rondel was releasing her arm she glanced up at him. His skin was tanned darker than it had been in Hamburg. He wore a smart white jacket and trousers and a sailor's peaked cap. She thought he looked extraordinarily handsome.

She had a shock after the steamer left the quay and moved closer to the Baltic. Going over to a window she looked out at the last of Traverminde, at a tall white block of a hotel, the Maritim. Standing on the shore was a tall plump man wearing a straw hat. Oskar Vernon. He had a satisfied expression on his brown face. That was when she began to worry.