Rhinoceros (27 page)

'I remember that well, Lisa . . .' Tweed began.

'Don't "Lisa" me. The name is Trent. Got it? T-r-e-n-t.
So forget about me,' she shouted, heading for the door.
'Paula, I pity you, working for this man . . .'

Then she was gone.

'I blew it,' said Tweed.

'She didn't have to rave at you like that.'

'I blew it,' Tweed repeated. He went on to the balcony
and Paula followed. 'She is just out of the clinic and probably needed a few more days, but she's gutsy. In her place I'd have
walked out of that clinic. We've lost one important key.'

'I could go and try and find her . . .'

'Don't. She has to simmer, then quieten down. Her sister Helga was murdered. She probably realizes the bullet was meant for herself.' He took a deep breath. 'At least we still have Dr Kefler tonight.'

'And maybe Rondel.'

'Funny idea. His inviting us to dinner and then not
sitting with us. Something odd there.'

'We'll find out tomorrow night,' Paula said quietly.

'Meantime, I think we should go now to the Hotel
Renaissance and contact Harry for tonight. We just don't
know what may be waiting for us down in the docks
area.'

As if on cue, Marler arrived, carrying a large hold-all. He
grinned, refused a glass of champagne.

'Just back from the Reeperbahn. I've seen Newman,
given him his favourite, a .38 Smith & Wesson with holster
and spare ammo. Said he felt better now.'

'Why? Was he nervous?' Tweed asked, not believing
it.

'This is a nervous city. Also visited Mark. His bedtime
companion is a 7.65mm Walther.'

'How did you know which rooms to go to?'

'Followed them discreetly when they arrived separately.
They didn't know I was there.'

'Must be losing their grip,' Paula joked.

'You said,' Tweed recalled, 'this is a nervous city. What
prompted that remark?'

'My contact off the Reeperbahn who supplied the weaponry. He said they had enough of their own thugs, but on the grapevine he'd heard more were coming from Britain -some by ferry, some flying in. I bought enough weaponry
to deal with a small army. Now, Paula.'

He handed her out of the hold-all what he knew
she wanted. A .32 Browning automatic with ammo.
She checked the empty weapon, checked its mechanism,
pushed a magazine inside the butt, slipped the gun into
the special pocket inside her shoulder bag.

'Now I feel fully dressed,' she announced.

'You're as bad as Newman,' Marler commented. 'How
about a couple of grenades, two compact containers of concentrated tear gas?'

'Give,' she said, holding out her hand.

'And then there's yourself, Tweed. A Walther, if I remember rightly.'

'You know I rarely carry a weapon,' Tweed objected,
staring with distaste at the automatic held out to him.

'Take it,' snapped Paula. 'I sense we are in for a very
rough ride on this one. Don't you want to save my life
when the time comes?'

'You are diabolically persuasive. You should be kept
locked up.'

But he accepted the Walther, hip holster and ammo from
Marler. Then he checked his watch.

'Paula and I were just going out to make contact with
Harry and Pete, staying at the Hotel Renaissance.'

'Then, since I was going there next, I'll give you a
thirty seconds start, then stroll after you to guard your rear . . .'

It was still daylight as Tweed and Paula walked out
of the hotel, turned right and strolled like a couple of
holidaymakers. The sun, which had glared in at the
windows of Tweed's suite, still roasted them even though
it was mid-evening.

They had reached the end of the street, crossed over.
Paula paused, staring across the street at the wide pedestrian platform of Jungfernstieg. The ferries, far fewer in
number than earlier, were still plying their way from the
landing stage over the Alster.

'In the early morning and at the end of the day,' Tweed
told her, 'commuters who live in houses or
apartments near
the Alster commute by ferry. Saves them worrying about
parking cars.'

'It's heaven,' sighed Paula, looking at the beautiful big
buildings on the opposite shore.

'We must keep moving,' Tweed decided. He glanced
back the way they had come. Marler was overtaking them.
He had just called Harry's mobile on his own. His lips
hardly moved as he spoke when passing them.

'I've got Harry's phone number, so now I know his
room. Just follow me a bit behind when we reach the Renaissance . . .'

They were passing department stores in tall massive
buildings which looked as though they had stood there
for ever. Marler turned right down Grosse Bleichen,
a narrower street. Very few people about. They fol
lowed Marler, entering the Hotel Renaissance, a quiet comfortable place. Paula glanced into the entrance to the
restaurant, turned away quickly.

'What's the matter?' Tweed whispered.

'In the restaurant. You're not going to believe this.
Remember Pink Shirt, fat-faced with a large head - on
the pavement opposite The Hangman's Noose during
the riots?'

'Yes.'

'He's sitting in the restaurant we've just passed. And I
think he spotted me . . .'

'Hurry, Marler is waiting . . .'

Harry Butler opened the door of his room after Marler tapped in a certain way. He hustled them inside, closed, locked the door.

'What's the rush?' Tweed asked.

'Bad news,' Harry announced. 'Pink Shirt, big man,
ugly. Directing the thugs at Reefers Wharf. Staying here.'

'We saw him,' Paula said.

'The news gets worse,' Harry went on. 'Delgado is
staying here. Well disguised, hair trimmed short, stoops,
carries a rubber-tipped stick. I saw his eyes. Always tell a
man by his eyes.'

'How on earth did they get here so quickly?' Paula wondered.

'Easy. Caught a later flight.'

'But how could they know we were coming
here?'
Paula
persisted.

'The frisky little runt who followed us to the departure
lounge at Heathrow,' Tweed reminded her. 'There was a board outside with "Hamburg" in big letters. He'd beetle
off, call his boss.'

'Oh, I'd just forgotten him. They're horribly well organ
ized.'

'So we'll be better organized,' Tweed replied.

While they were speaking Marler had taken a Walther out of his large hold-all, handed it to Harry. He gave him
another one for Nield. More presents followed. Grenades,
tear gas canisters, smoke bombs, an Uzi machine pistol.
Marler then produced more - for Pete Nield.

'Starting a new Gulf War?' Paula asked mischievously.

'Could be like that,' Harry warned.

'Where is Nield?' Tweed asked.

'In the next room.' Harry jerked a thumb to his right. 'It
was lucky. We arrived separately. He's outside somewhere
- prowling round to get the feel of the place.'

'I have to tell you something . . .' Tweed began.

Harry listened, arms folded across his powerful chest, saying not a word. Tweed explained in detail about their
visit to Dr Kefler at eleven that night, gave him the
address, showed him the area down by the docks on a
map of the city he'd acquired from the receptionist at the Four Seasons.

I'll be there,' Harry said, glancing at the marksman's rifle Marler had given him. 'I've bought a motorbike. Follow the taxi in that. When you get out I'll hoof it. Don't like the sound of what this Kefler said at all. Don't like where he lives. Docks. At night. . .'

'I feel reassured Harry is coming,' Paula said as they left
the Renaissance. She squeezed Tweed's arm, whispered.
'Look who's ahead of us.'

A stooping man plodded along about twenty yards ahead
of them. He carried in his right hand a rubber-tipped stick.
His hair was trimmed very short. Tweed grabbed Paula's arm and swung her round so that, like himself, she was
pretending to gaze into a shop window.

'That's how Harry described the new Delgado -I would never have recognized him.'

'We have things to do,' Tweed warned. 'Get back to the
Four Seasons - personally I want a quick shower - have
dinner, then we go see Dr Kefler.'

'The shower's for me, too. I'm not very hungry.'

'You will be if you don't eat - hungry in the middle of
the night.'

'He's gone!'

She had stolen a glance up the street and it was deserted.
Tweed looked, grunted, took her arm, guided her across to the pavement on the other side of the street. A whole
line of vehicles, many of them large trucks, were parked for the night.

'He's gone into one of the arcades we passed on our way
to see Harry,' Tweed explained. 'Walking up this side of
the street we're almost invisible behind these trucks if he
reappears . . .'

They reached the main street running past the platform
and landing stage. Tweed was about to turn left when Paula tugged at his arm. She nodded to her right.

A short distance away a tall man in a straw hat was oper
ating a video camera. Mark Wendover. As they watched,
with his back to them he swivelled the camera to take
pictures of the Alster, of a ferry coming in. Then he
quickly swivelled it into a different direction, aiming the
lens at a building - the entrance, the ground floor windows,
higher up to the first floor. The imposing building was the
Zurcher Kredit Bank.

'He's at it again,' Paula protested. 'Doing his own thing. Mavericking.'

'Well, if that's the way he works . . .'

'Something I've been meaning to tell you,' Paula said
as they approached the hotel entrance. 'Kept slipping
what passes for my mind. Before we left Park Crescent
- you were out of the room - Monica told me that when
that awful screaming started on the Internet the phone
went dead.'

'It did?' replied Tweed dismissively. 'I thought she
was calling various contacts to see if their systems were
all right.'

'That was later,' Paula said emphatically. 'She reckons the phone was dead during the whole awful experience.
Afterwards, too. For a couple of minutes.'