Double Jeopardy (10 page)

He sensed rather than felt someone close to his left. Glancing away from the train he saw a tall woman wearing a dark hat with a veil concealing her face. Her shoulder-bag was supported by her left arm. In her right hand she held a familiar object – the needle-pointed hypodermic weapon.

This was the back-up Yellow Oil-skins had tried so very hard to conceal from him. Martel had a vague memory of seeing this veiled, elegantly-dressed woman in Neugasse and for a second he was taken off guard. He almost put out a hand to ward her off, which would have been his last movement since she would have jabbed the weapon into his hand and injected its contents.

Somewhere close by a car backfired, a sound cut off by the blare of a car's horn. The elegant woman wore a dress with a deep V-cut which exposed a generous portion of her bosom. Another distraction? Then she leaned back against the wall of the hotel. A small hole had appeared in the V of her bosom, as though drilled by a surgeon. The hole began to well redness as she sagged to the ground.

In falling her hat had tipped sideways, removing the veil from her face. Martel forced himself to walk on, threading his way among the morning shoppers. The face now exposed to view was not unfamiliar. It was the dead face of Gisela Zobel.

He saw the train moving on towards an ancient gateway in a wall which had probably once protected the town. Claire was still on board, clasping her closed handbag as she chatted to the girl next to her. The Swiss girl had shot his would-be killer from a moving vehicle. Marksmanship of that order he had never encountered before. And Yellow Oil-skins had now vanished as a crowd began to gather in front of the Hecht, huddled over something lying on the ground.

Thursday May 28

In her bedroom at the Metropol Claire was shaking with fright. She held herself in check until Martel arrived back a few minutes after she had returned. Now reaction set in and she broke down. He sat on the bed beside her and she pressed her face into his chest and quietly sobbed. He stroked her soft black hair, saying nothing until he felt the tremors easing.

'You can rest on the train. We're heading east for Bavaria…' 'What's the Goddamn rush?'

'The Goddamn rush is the police. They'll soon realise they ' have two murders on their hands. Two! The man I killed in the museum, the woman you shot outside the Hecht. Then they'll be watching every train leaving St. Gallen…'

Martel concealed one fact from Claire as they sat in a first-class compartment which they had to themselves aboard the Munich express. He was convinced they were moving into the zone of maximum danger – Bavaria. Somewhere in that scenically glorious part of Germany Delta had its headquarters.

Switzerland, the most neutral, stable country in Europe had almost been a death-trap. But the risks encountered in Zurich and St. Gallen were nothing compared with what lay ahead of them.

While waiting for the train in St. Gallen station Martel had called Tweed in London. This was one of the many advantages of Switzerland: its superb telephone system enabled you to dial abroad from a payphone where no one could intercept the call.

Martel had used his usual technique when speaking to Tweed – knowing his call would be tape-recorded. He had spoken in a kind of shorthand – shooting random facts at Tweed, every scrap of information he had picked up. Later Tweed, remote from the battlefield, would try to fit the fragments of data into some kind of pattern.

'Thursday calling,' he said as Tweed came on the line and waited for the answering code identification. -

'Two-Eight here…'

It was Thursday May 28. Martel used the day of the week while Tweed responded with the date of the month. Martel began to pour out data.

'Delta very active inside Switzerland… agents wear businessmen suits… Delta symbol openly displayed in lapels… strange lack of cooperation from locals.. dummy Claire waiting Centralhof tried to kill me… arrested by fake Arnold… imprisoned Hofer waiting Lisbeth Hofer… Claire's twin-like sitter… Lisbeth kidnapped during bloodbath in Bahnhofstrasse… repeat in Bahnhofstrasse… Ferdy Arnold later reported her body found in Limmat… Nagel denied all knowledge events in Bahnhofstrasse… now with genuine Claire Hofer St. Gallen… leaving immediately with her to investigate scene Warner murder… Claire reports Warner made three mentions Operation Crocodile… something phoney about Delta neo-Nazis… must go…'

'Wait!' Tweed's tone was urgent. 'Bayreuth reports Manfred has crossed the border near Hof into West Germany. Manfred – got it?'

`Christ!'

Martel had slammed down the receiver, grabbed his suitcase and-run across the platform to the compartment door Claire had left open. Boarding the express, he hauled the door closed behind him as the train began moving east, dumped his case on a seat and sat down.

Even in the early afternoon the third-floor apartment in the sombre Munich apartment block was so dim the occupant had turned on the shaded desk-lamp. He had entered the apartment to find the phone ringing. His gloved hand lifted the receiver.

`Vinz – calling from Lindau

'We are here,' Manfred replied in his soft, calm voice. 'You arc calling to confirm that a successful deal was concluded in St. Gallen?'

'Regrettably it was not possible to conclude the deal…' Erwin Vinz forced himself to go on. 'Kohler has reported from there…'

'And why was the deal not concluded?'

`The opposition's negotiator proved uncooperative…' Vinz was sweating, his armpits felt damp. 'And the services of two of our people were terminated…'

'T-e-r-m-i-n-a-t-e-d?'

Manfred repeated the word with great deliberation as though he were sure he had misheard. There was a pause and the light from the desk-lamp was reflected in the lenses of the large dark-tinted glasses Manfred wore. In Lindau Vinz made the effort to continue.

`The Englishman is now aboard an express bound for Munich. It is due here in about half an hour…'

`So,' Manfred interjected smoothly, 'you have made all preparations to board the express at Lindau to continue negotiations with this gentleman.' Now it was Manfred's turn to pause. 'You do, of course, realise it is imperative you conclude the deal with him before the train reaches Munich?'

'Everything has been arranged by me personally. I just thought I should check with you…'

'Always check with me, Vinz. Always. Then, as a matter of courtesy, you keep Mr Reinhard Dietrich informed…'

'I will report progress…'

'Passengers have been known to fall out of trains,' Manfred purred. 'You will report success.

Cooped up inside his payphone on the Bavarian mainland Erwin Vinz realised the connection had been broken. Swearing, he pushed open the door and hurried away through a drift of grey mist.

The medieval town of Lindau – once an Imperial city – was blotted out in the fog coming in off the lake. The Old Town is a network of cobbled streets and alleyways which at night only the most intrepid venture down. Not that there is normally any danger – Lindau is a most law-abiding place.

Shortly after Manfred received his phone call three cars proceeded over the road bridge and headed for the Hauptbahnhof. The station is another curious feature of Lindau. Main-line expresses on their way from Zurich to Munich make a diversion at this point. The line takes them across the embankment to the west on to the island. They stop at the Hauptbahnhof next to the harbour.

If you alight from an express at Lindau you pass through Zoll – the customs and passport control post – because you have crossed the border from Austria into Germany. But boarding a train at Lindau for Munich you do not pass through Zoll – since you are already in Germany.

This factor was important to the eight men led by Vinz alighting from the three cars at the Hauptbahnhof. The drivers took the cars away immediately. Dressed like businessmen, two of the eight passengers carried suitcases containing uniforms. These would be donned aboard the Munich express as soon as it began moving out of Lindau.

The uniforms were those of a German State Railways ticket inspector and a German Passport Control official. It was the latter – travelling rapidly through the train and explaining there was a double-check on passports – who expected to locate Keith Martel. The plan was simple. Erwin Vinz, thirty-eight years old, small, thin and with hooded eyelids, was in charge of the execution squad.

Vinz would wear the Passport Control uniform. Vinz would locate the target. If Martel were travelling alone in a compartment it would be invaded when the express was travelling at speed by four men. The outer door would be opened and the Englishman would be hurled from the train. The whole operation, Vinz calculated, would take less than twenty seconds.

If Martel had fellow-passengers in his compartment Vinz would ask him to accompany him because there was a query on his passport. He would be guided to an empty compartment and the same procedure would be followed. Vinz knew that this particular express was always half-empty on this day of the week.

The platform marked for the arrival of the express was deserted as the eight men arrived separately from the concourse. The fog created a hushed atmosphere and the men moved in it like ghosts. Vinz checked his watch. They were in good time. The express was due in twenty minutes.

Thursday May 28

'You'll like Lindau, Keith,' Claire said as Martel peered out of the window from the fast-moving express. 'It is one of the most beautiful old towns in Germany…'

'I know it.' He had his mind on something else. 'I shall want to contact Erich Stoller of the BND as soon as we can – to let him have a look at this…'

Unlocking his case, he produced something rolled up in a handkerchief. A blue, shiny cylinder like a large felt-tip pen. There were two press-buttons: one on the casing, the second at the base.

'I rescued this little Delta toy from the floor of the Embroidery Museum where the killer dropped it. This button half-way along the casing ejects and retracts the needle. I imagine the one at the base injects the poison. Ingenious – you can use the full force of the palm of your hand to operate the injection mechanism. Stoller's forensic people will tell us what fluid it contains…'

'That woman I shot outside the Hecht…'

'Was going to use the duplicate of this. Intriguing that Reinhard Dietrich runs an electronics complex -which involves fine instrumentation…'

`You mean he manufactures that horrible thing?'

'Damned sure of it.' He replaced the weapon inside his case and looked again out of the window. Up to now the view had been one of green cultivated fields and rolling hills – one of the most attractive and least-known parts of Switzerland. Well clear of the tourist belt.

The landscape was changing. They were crossing flatlands dimly visible in swirling mist which hid nearby Lake Konstanz. They saw few signs of human habitation and there was something desolate in the atmosphere. Martel concentrated on the view as though he might miss something important.

`This is the Rhine delta, isn't it?' he queried.

`Yes. We cross the river soon just before it runs into the lake.'

Delta. Was there significance in this geographical curiosity at the extreme eastern end of the lake? The southern shore was Swiss except for a weird enclave of land occupied by the German town of Konstanz away to the west. The northern shore was German. But at this eastern tip a few miles of lake frontage was Austrian.

Martel adjusted the horn-rimmed spectacles with plain glass he wore to change his appearance. He lit a fresh cigarette, being careful not to use his holder. He seemed to have relapsed into a dream.

'We shall soon be in Lindau,' Claire said exuberantly, trying to drag him out of his dark mood. 'Surely we must find something – it was

…' Her voice wavered and then she had herself under control. 'It was the last place Warner was seen alive.'

`Except that we are getting off at the stop before – Bregenz in Austria.'

'Why?'

`Bregenz could be important. And it will be the last place Delta will expect us to leave the train…'

Hauptbahnhof, Munich… Hauptbahnhof, Zurich… Delta… Centralhof…Bregenz. Washington, DC, Clint Loomis… Pullach, BND… Operation Crocodile.

These were the references the dead Charles Warner had written in the tiny black notebook hidden in a secret pocket, the notebook Erich Stoller of the BND had discovered on the body and flown to Tweed in London.

Bregenz.

As the express slowed down Claire caught a glimpse of Lake Konstanz through the corridor windows – a sheet of calm grey water. The express stopped and when Martel opened the door at the end of the coach he found no platform – they stepped down on to the track. He dumped his suitcase, took Claire's and held her elbow while she descended the steep drop. She shivered as she picked up her case and they made their way across rail tracks to the station, an old single-storey building.

`You shivered…'

It's the mist,' she said shortly.

A cold clammy dampness moistened her face and she felt it penetrating her light raincoat. She had lied. It was the mist partly – but mainly it was the atmosphere created by the drifts of greyish vapour. You saw things, then they were gone.

Behind Bregenz looms the massive heights of the Pfdnder, a ridge whose sides are densely forested. As they crossed to the station Claire saw a gap appear in the mist pall exposing the dripping wall of limestone, then it too was gone. There was no ticket barrier to pass through – tickets had been checked aboard the express. They depogited their cases in the self-locking metal compartments for luggage and walked into Bregenz.

The place seemed deserted, as though it were a Sunday. A line of old block-like buildings faced the station. Martel paused, puffing his cigarette as he glanced round searching for anything out of place. Claire gazed at him.