The Janus Man

Ten

`What the bloody hell is Tweed up to?' Lysenko paced round the spartan room on the fifth floor of the building in Leipzig. `You tell me!' he shouted at Wolf, seated behind his desk. 'You and your patience..

`I must admit his behaviour…'

`His lack of it…'

`I was going to say…' Markus Wolf, a tall, heavily-built man who towered over Lysenko, stood up, thrust his hands inside his trouser pockets, and also began walking. 'I was going to say,' he repeated, 'that I'm beginning to be puzzled. Munzel has reported daily over the phone via Hamburg. Apparently Tweed does nothing except act like a tourist. He hasn't even been near the Lubeck-Sild police complex outside the town. And Balkan is now in place..

`We gave him the lead to Dr Berlin through Palewska – a totally reliable contact from his point of view. He hasn't gone near Travemunde – that is, if Munzel is to be trusted and is doing his job.'

`Erwin Munzel,' Wolf said stiffly, 'is the best we've got. I chose him personally for this assignment..

`Munzel is a sadist.'

`Well, he may have his peculiar side. I grant you he enjoys his work. But the point is he is first-rate at his work.'

`Then what are we going to do?' raved Lysenko. 'Soon I shall be getting a phone call from the General Secretary. What do I say to him? Tweed has come, Tweed is having a good holiday. Mikhail Gorbachev will appreciate that, I can tell you…'

`Gorbachev is your responsibility,' Wolf said sharply.

`And killing Tweed is yours. You are in the front line…'

`Oh, I do realize that,' Wolf said ironically. 'Leave all the dirty work to the East Germans! Then if anything misfires the Kremlin has clean hands on the international front. So far, Tweed has stayed in crowded areas – always accompanied by that foreign correspondent, Newman. He doesn't go out after dark and eats dinner at the Jensen's restaurant where he's staying. What chance do you think Munzel has had?'

`That's your problem. You're in charge of the executive side of the operation. You are using your own people. My role is that of observer. I repeat, what are you going to do?'

It had become you, not we, Wolf noted cynically. He adjusted his heavy horn-rim glasses, sat down behind his desk and re-read the latest report while Lysenko prowled and fumed.

`As I said,' he began eventually, 'Balkan is in place…'

`And that was my idea years ago,' Lysenko reminded him. `One of the most audacious manoeuvres my organization has carried out. A bigger Philby at the centre of Tweed's outfit…'

`Whose identity I have protected,' Wolf replied waspishly.

`Agreed. But we must use him to the fullest extent – take a risk if we have to.'

`We'll speed things up,' Wolf decided. 'I'll get a message to Munzel. But I'm never happy about rushing things.'

`It is your decision,' Lysenko replied artfully.

`And I am capable of doing just that – taking a decision. We will get things moving within the next few days…' Wolf put his hand on the receiver and lifted it.

`Dr Berlin has arrived, Bob,' Diana said. 'He is holding one of his parties and you are invited…'

Mid-morning. They were sitting at one of the sidewalk tables outside the Jensen having a pre-lunch drink. It had become part of their daily routine. To sit and chat in the warmth before the great heat built up. Diana wore her straw hat tilted at an angle to shade her face. She looked up as Tweed came out.

`You're invited to a party, Tweedy…' Newman hid a smile. She was the only person he'd ever known get away with calling him that. Tweed sat down and began cleaning his glasses on his handkerchief.

`That's nice. Thank you. Tell me about it…'

`Oh, you don't thank me. It's Dr Berlin's party as I was just explaining to Bob.' She looked at Newman with mock severity. `I have to tell you there are conditions. No interviews. You will be the only reporter there…'

`I expect one of the locals will sneak in,' Newman replied.

`They won't, you know! There will be guards on the gate. Dogs will patrol the grounds. You will have to show proof of identification before they let you in. Preferably your passport…'

`Sounds like a concentration camp,' Tweed observed amiably. 'I would like to know more before I accept – if that doesn't sound ungracious. Where will the party be held, what time, what day?'

`The day after tomorrow. Three o'clock in the afternoon we turn up. You can both escort me. The venue is Dr Berlin's mansion on Priwall Island opposite Travemunde. In the Mecklenburgerstrasse – that's the main road which runs like a ruler on and on until you reach the border. Full stop then!'

`I know,' said Tweed, and noticed the surprise she showed.

`I have been studying a map of the area,' he explained. 'How do we let Dr Berlin know we accept?'

`Oh, you can leave that to me.' She paused to swallow the rest of her drink. 'I give you both solemn warning you probably won't actually meet your host. He's very shy and reserved.'

`You mean we won't even see him?' Tweed asked.

`Oh, he'll be on the lawn. But probably surrounded by cronies. He doesn't expect guests to approach him – not even to thank him. In fact,' she made a moue, 'he positively dislikes it…'

`How long has he been on Priwall Island?' Tweed asked casually.

`No idea.' Diana adjusted the angle of her hat. 'Now, if you two don't mind, I think I'll trot along and let him know you're coming. He'll be so pleased…'

`Can't you phone him?' Newman suggested.

`Not the done thing. Besides, I have a tiny present to give him. I always do that when he turns up at Priwall…'

`I'll walk you to the station…'

Newman stood up with her but she shook her head and gave him a warm smile. Tapping him on the wrist with her rolled sunshade, she followed up this gesture by opening the shade which was brightly coloured. She was in one of her devilish moods and spun round in a circle like a ballet dancer.

`Hate that slow old train. I can drive over in my runabout – the sturdy old Volkswagen. 'Bye, both. See you here for dinner tonight..

`She's quite a girl,' Tweed said, watching her until she vanished up a side street.

`She must be – to get you inside that safari jacket…'

Diana had insisted Tweed wasn't dressed for the climate. She had coaxed him inside a shop and made him try on three safari jackets. To Newman's amazement he had bought one and followed it up with the purchase of a straw hat.

`That girl has you in the palm of her hand, Tweed.'

`I like her.' Tweed lowered his voice. 'But now I have a job for you. Check Diana Chadwick's background with a fine-tooth comb. I want to know her history since the day she was born in Hampstead – just assuming she was born in Hampstead.'

In his bedroom Tweed's manner changed completely. He tossed the straw hat on the bed while Newman watched, took off the safari jacket and slung that after the hat. He closed both of the windows and now the room was quiet, the noise of the traffic coming in to Lubeck over the bridge muffled.

`I didn't realize you were sceptical about Diana,' Newman commented.

`I'm sceptical about everybody.' Tweed paced slowly round the room, assembling his thoughts. 'They may be using her simply as a conduit, of course.'

`Conduit?'

`Yes. Surely you realize what has happened. I've worn them down, forced them into making the first approach. There will be someone at this party held by Dr Berlin who wants to get a good look at me -at the very least. Get started, Bob. Everything you can dig up on Dr Berlin…'

`That could be a tall order. According to Diana he doesn't encourage people to get close to him.'

`Which is interesting in itself. I've an idea your best bet could be the floaters – those strange British ex-colonials who live on boats and commute annually between the Baltic and the Med.'

`Has something else happened? You seem more animated…'

'As a matter of fact, yes. The loaded pause is ended, I suspect. I told Monica to let Howard know I was staying here at the Jensen. Harry Masterson rang while you were having your drink with Diana. From Vienna. I have to go to a phone booth at the station and call him back at exactly noon. He has some information he doesn't want passing through the hotel switchboard. He made it sound very urgent..

`I'll come with you.'

`We'll walk over to the Hauptbahnhof in a few minutes. Also, and this is a strange coincidence, Erich Lindemann then phoned. He's travelling down from Copenhagen to meet me at Puttgarden, the ferry point this side of the Baltic…'

`When?'

`Late this afternoon. I'll give you the details later. He also has information. Refused to give me even a hint on the phone. A very cautious chap, Erich.'

`So, one way or another everyone is converging on Liibeck. Two of the four suspects, anyway. Have you still no idea who it is? Hugh Grey, Masterson, Lindemann or Dalby?'

`Not a whisker of an idea.' Tweed rubbed his hands together. `The main thing is things are moving. I have an idea that from now on the pace will go on accelerating.'

`Monitor here,' said Tweed, confined inside the phone booth at the Hauptbahnhof. 'What news about the deal?'

`Prefect calling. Details of the deal pretty confidential. I take it you are outside, old boy?'

Unmistakably Harry Masterson, his bluff voice booming, and he had responded to the schoolboyish identification Tweed had devised. He disliked it but any operator listening in who understood English well would think they were a typical pair of Britishers.

I'm outside,' Tweed assured him. 'How is the deal going?' `They won't conclude without a ten per cent reduction in the price…'

`That's steep. Have to think about it.'

`Oh, another thing…' Masterson spoke as though it was just a minor matter… a gentleman you ought to know about is heading for your part of the world. Nicknamed The Cripple. He came over near Gmund. That report is not new – only just heard about it. So he could be already with you. A formidable competitor.'

`I agree.' Tweed felt his facial muscles stiffen. 'Suppose I should say goodnight, Vienna…'

`Wiedersehen.'

`What's the matter?' Newman asked as they strolled out of the station into the glare of the midday sun. 'You look as though you've seen a ghost. Bad news?'

`Some people would say the worst. Ever heard of a man from East Germany known as The Cripple?'

`I have now. Who is he – or she?'

`He. Their most professional assassin. Believed to be responsible for the murder of at least seven of our agents. He specializes in making his killings look like accidents. We have no description and no photo of him. Harry Masterson said he came over the border at Gmund in Upper Austria recently and is headed this way. May already be here…'

`That's a hell of a long way round to get to Lubeck. He had to cross part of Austria and the whole of Germany.'

`Which was clever. If you want to escape across the Iron Curtain this is not the place to do it. The border is too heavily guarded. You'd find it much easier to slip over the Austrian frontier. The same applies if they want to send a man into the West. We may have very unpleasant company on our doorstep.'

`At least Masterson has warned us…'

`And that was a funny thing. He was supposed to be calling from Vienna. I'd have sworn it was a local call – made from somewhere nearby…'

`Probably a freak line…'

`Probably.'

They caught the 15.33 express from Lubeck bound for Copenhagen which would land them at Puttgarden at 17.11. The train was fairly empty and Tweed gazed out of the window with interest as the train forged north. More flatlands, but now few signs of habitation. Wild-looking countryside with fields of crops when they left Lubeck behind after a glimpse of the blue Baltic.

`You could lose yourself up here and they'd never find you,' Newman remarked.

`It gets wilder when we cross over to the German island of Fehmarn,' Tweed said. The track crosses Fehmarn Sound on to the island over a bridge. Puttgarden, the ferry terminal for Denmark, is at the very tip of the island. I think we're coming up to it now.'

The express slowed, rumbled slowly over a long bridge. Newman peered out and below the intensely blue Baltic was choppy. The brilliant sunlight glittered like mercury off the wave crests. It moved on to the island and Newman saw the point of Tweed's remark.

High dense grasses waved in the breeze and there was no sign of human habitation as far as the eye could see. An atmosphere of desolate loneliness hung over the island which – even in the sunlight – pressed down on the landscape.

The express lost speed again and soon it was crawling along-side the platform of Puttgarden station. Not a hint of a town or even a village. Just the endless platform.

As they descended to the platform Newman glanced to his left, to the north. In the distance, beyond the locomotive, what, looked like an immense shed yawned, a dark cavern. Above the entrance was hoisted a huge metal shield-like cover. He was looking at the waiting train ferry, open and ready to receive the express.

`I can't see Lindemann,' Newman observed.

`Patience. We'll walk up and down the platform… `

Who are those people?'

Newman pointed to a small group who had left the train and were standing by the road outside. About a dozen passengers, no more.

`They're waiting for the local bus to Burg. That's a nowhere place,' Tweed commented. 'Only a handful of houses and shops – but the largest hamlet on Fehmarn. Ah, who have we here?'

Newman hardly recognized Erich Lindemann as he alighted from the express. He wore a Norfolk jacket, corduroy slacks, a deerstalker hat and, perched on the bridge of his nose, a pair of crescent-shaped glasses. Shrewd grey eyes stared at Newman over the top of the lenses. His whole appearance was changed and he looked the very image of The Professor.

`You've come up on the same train as us – from Lubeck?' Newman asked, puzzled.

`That is how it would appear to anyone observing us.' Lindemann smiled wryly. 'As soon as the express train arrived I boarded it at the front, walked half-way through the train until I found you, then I got off. Shall we stroll up and down – I'm catching this express back to Copenhagen and it leaves at 17.25. That gives us less than ten minutes.' He turned to Tweed. 'In view of the news I bring I am glad you have Newman with you. Keep him by your side at all times…'

`What news?' Tweed asked. He raised a hand to his hair which was blowing all over the place. The air was fresh with a salty tang and a powerful breeze came in off the Baltic.

`For months I have been trying to discover the identity of the man who controls the army of enemy agents infesting West Germany. All of them East Germans, of course. Yes,' he continued in his precise way as they walked, 'I know that is strictly speaking the job of Hugh Grey, but our territories overlap. All these ferries crossing the Baltic – here and at Lubeck.

`What have you found out?' Tweed enquired.

`His code-name. Balkan. I know it isn't much. But I have also heard Balkan has arrived in Lubeck very recently. I thought you should be warned.'

`Where does this information come from, Erich?'

`I can't identify my informant, of course. Let us say I made a quick flight to Oslo recently. An interesting city – and of course just north in the mountains is the great NATO base.'

`I see…' Tweed was silent for a short while. He was pretty sure he knew what Lindemann was saying. Norway. In the far north there was a curious area close to the Barents Sea where a section of the Norwegian frontier ran next to Soviet Russia. It would take a brilliant agent to cross from Russia – but Lindemann was a brilliant sector chief.

`This Balkan,' Tweed continued, 'have you even the hint of a clue as to where he comes from?'

`Not the trace of a hint. I am told that only Lysenko himself is privy to his real identity. That gives you some idea of the power Balkan wields. Life and death, according to my informant. There is one other thing. He has been in place, holding that position, for a long time – probably many years…'

`Strange we've never heard of him before…'

`No, that's understandable. One other tiny item.' Lindemann was pacing slowly between Newman and Tweed. 'Lysenko changes the code-name at intervals. But he has been called Balkan for some time. I was also told he is very mobile.' He checked his watch. 'And that, Tweed, I am afraid is it. I'd better board my train in a minute…'

`Thank you for coming, Erich. And for the information. I sense we now have movement by the opposition…'

`Don't forget my offer,' Lindemann said as he opened the door of an empty compartment. 'If things get overheated down here, phone me and I'll meet you in Copenhagen off the express. Don't fly. Oh, it's possible Balkan is based in Oslo.'

The door slammed shut before Tweed could react. They decided to go for a walk along the country road since their train back to Liibeck wasn't due. Newman glanced back at the express which was still standing in the station and then a bend in the road hid it from view.

'Lindemann is all brainpower,' Newman remarked as they bent their heads against the wind.

`And a man of many parts. You'd never dream that when he was a few years younger his main relaxation was amateur theatricals. He could have made his living on the stage, I heard…'

`I didn't recognize him immediately when he came out of that compartment. He's still pretty good at disguising his appearance. I was also intrigued by the few snippets he's picked up about this Balkan. It's a thin comparison, I know, but he reminded me of someone else we've heard about recently…'

`Are we thinking on the same lines?' Tweed wondered aloud.

`Dr Berlin…'

`Exactly. Why?'

`Lindemann said Balkan has held his position for a long time, that he is very mobile. Diana told us Berlin is like a grasshopper, jumping all over the place. No one knows where he disappears to. Also he lives like a hermit, won't normally be interviewed. He gave me mine a couple of years ago to shut the others up, I'm sure. The weird thing is when I was talking to him I felt I'd met him before…'

`The trouble is one fact blows a hole right through such a theory. Diana Chadwick. She knew him way back in Kenya – that was twenty years ago. He can hardly have been Balkan then.'

`I suppose you're right.'

They walked in silence, each man mulling over his thoughts, for some time. Tweed checked his watch and said it was time to get back to the station. They were on board the train, travelling south, again in an empty compartment, when Newman said it.

`Tweed, we've got a lot to think about – and do. I have to check the backgrounds of Diana Chadwick and Dr Berlin. And all at once there are developments coming thick and fast. The party on Priwall Island the day after tomorrow. This business of the mysterious Balkan turning up. And, the imminent arrival of the killer Masterson called The Cripple..

`Should be enough to occupy us when we get to Lubeck,' Tweed agreed.

He didn't realize it, but he had just made the understatement of the year. The situation at Lubeck had exploded.