Rhinoceros (32 page)

'More riots?' suggested Paula.

'No. I hear rumours from influential contacts . . .' He
paused. 'This is strictly between ourselves. For no other
ears. Rumours of a coming highly secret meeting between certain top international figures to be held soon and never
announced afterwards.'

'London, Washington and Paris,' Tweed said, as though talking to himself.

'And one other capital in a certain country, an important
country.'

'A meeting on a remote island in the Bahamas.'

Paula was startled. She was careful to remain expression
less. Tweed was really going overboard in a big way. She was careful not to look at Newman, remembering he had
suggested the Bahamas when they were back in London.

'I've heard that rumour,' Kuhlmann said slowly. 'Sys
tematically spread among key members of the press and
security organs. A very clever smokescreen - to conceal the
real meeting place. Someone is acting as liaison between
the men who will attend that meeting. Someone I can't
identify. Of course there had to be liaison lower down to
start with. A risky role, that one.'

'Jason Schulz, Jeremy Mordaunt, Louis Lospin,' said Tweed.

'I did say risky,' Kuhlmann ruminated, studying the
ceiling again. 'And now they're dead. They knew too
much.'

'But how could this link up with the riots?' Paula
wondered aloud.

'Shrewd lady.' Kuhlmann went silent for a short time.
No one interrupted the silence. 'I have a theory. It is
nothing more. Supposing there was a second wave of riots —
far more frightening and widespread than the earlier ones.
What would the public reaction be in the West?'

'Well . . .' Paula wondered whether she was talking too much. Oh, hell - in for a penny, in for a pound. 'The public
in all the countries suffering them would want a fierce
clampdown. A drastic resurgence of law and order.'

'Shrewd lady,' the German repeated. 'I mustn't keep
you up all night.' He paused, stared at Tweed. 'Have you
heard of the island of Sylt - in the far north of Schleswig
Holstein, well north of Hamburg?'

'Yes,' Tweed replied. 'You can only reach it by rail
across a large dyke. Cars can also go there - aboard the
special wagons.'

'So why, I ask myself,' Kuhlmann said dreamily, 'are
some of the inhabitants of large houses on Sylt being asked
to leave their houses for a month. Which they are doing
- due to the huge sums in compensation they have been promised.'

Kuhlmann stood up, stretched his arms. The conference was over. As they all stood up he went to Paula, gave her
another bear hug.

'It's about power, isn't it?' she said.

'Shrewd lady,' Kuhlmann said for the third time. He
looked at Tweed who had moved near the exit door. 'I
wish I had her on my staff.'

'Go on wishing,' said Tweed.

They walked back across the Rathaus Square. Leading the
way, Paula decided she'd like to stroll on the platform close
to the landing stage to get a good view of the lake at night. A small launch drifted a few feet away with a single man aboard, fishing.

'Liaison,' said Paula. 'A word used more than once. It
almost sounds like Lisa.'

'Now you're being fanciful,' Tweed told her.

The rifle report echoed in the night. The bullet hit the
water. Where it had vanished was a pool of swirls. Tweed
grabbed hold of Paula, hauled her across the platform,
sat her down under cover of the ticket building. Newman
stayed in the open, revolver in his hand, scanning the
buildings across the road. The bullet had missed Paula
by about ten feet. The lone fisherman used a paddle to
bring his craft up against the landing stage. He was waving
an envelope. Newman ran across the platform, bent down,
tore the envelope from his hand, opened it.

'Who gave you this?' he shouted.

It was too late. The fisherman had used a boathook
to push his launch beyond reach. He started an engine, guided the craft towards the middle of the Alster. Livid,
Newman handed the note, typed on a blank sheet of paper,
to Tweed. Reading it once, Tweed stuffed the sheet into
his pocket. Its message was clear, brutal.

Go home. Get out of Germany within 24 hours. The next
bullet will blow Paula's skull to smithereens. That one was a
deliberate miss.

Tweed took hold of Paula, lifted her up, hustled her off
the platform down into the street. Newman
stayed on the
platform, his revolver swinging slowly across the buildings
opposite, searching for any sign of movement. Then he
joined Tweed and Paula, so she was sandwiched between
them as they hurried back to the hotel.

'What was in that note?' Paula asked.

'A threat. They have declared war. So, as from tomorrow, we will give them war in all its hell.'

She had never known him so angry, so forceful, wearing
such a ruthless look.

CHAPTER 19

The three of them had just returned to. the hotel., were
heading for the elevators, when a tall distinguished-looking
man appeared. Bernard, the Brigadier, still clad in his
dinner jacket. He came up to Tweed.

'Just the chap I want to talk to. Meet you in the lounge.
What's your tipple?'

'Thank you, but not tonight. I have phone calls to
make. I could spare a few minutes tomorrow evening.
Early, though.'

'It will have to wait, then.' He was not best pleased. 'The
lounge tomorrow. 1800 hours. Right.'

'He didn't like that,' Paula remarked as the elevator
ascended.

'He's a Brigadier. Used to people jumping to it when he
gives an order
..."

Newman said goodnight while Tweed and Paula walked
towards their rooms. Tweed paused outside his door,
looked along the corridor, which was empty.

'I'm worried about you. That bullet came within a
dozen feet of you. I know I won't sleep tonight. Mind's
whirling. Would you feel more at ease if you used my
bedroom? I'll be in the living area. Can always sleep
on the couch if I do feel I'm dozing off, which is
unlikely.'

'I would feel safer,' Paula admitted. I'll fetch my things from my room . . .'

She returned quickly with her night attire and cosmetics
case in a hold-all. Looking at the couch she frowned.

'Not sure this is a good idea. You'd never sleep on that
couch. Think I'll go back.'

'Take over my bedroom area, pull the curtains. Sleep
well.'

He sat down at his desk, took out the papers Kefler had given him, studied them. He soon realized it was hopeless
- he was no accountant. And he suspected it would need a first-class one to sort out the tangle. Picking up the
phone, he called Keith Kent. He knew he worked through
the night.

'Tweed here, Keith. Speaking from Hamburg, Four
Seasons Hotel.' He gave Kent his suite number. 'I have
some very complex financial papers given to me by your
German friend — and I want them analysed. It concerns
the company which you mentioned in our conversation
in London. No chance, I suppose, of your coming over
here?'

'Hang on . . .'

Tweed straightened up the papers, put them back inside
the envelope, then Kent was back on the line.

'I'm catching an earliest possible flight tomorrow. Should
reach you by lunchtime. Say noon or soon after.'

'I'm very grateful. I'll book you a room here.'

'See you. Very soon . . .'

Tweed sat facing a wall, recalling all the events that
had occurred from the beginning. Less than half an hour
later Paula appeared, wearing a belted dressing gown over
her nightdress and slippers, sat in a chair by the side of
the desk.

'Can't sleep. Or am I interfering with your thoughts?'

Someone tapped on the door. Paula reacted swiftly.
Standing up, she vanished into the sleeping area. Before
she went she whispered, 'Don't want to give anyone the wrong idea. You know how people are . . .'

As Tweed approached the door, his right hand slipped
into his pocket, gripped the Walther automatic. Before
using his left hand to remove the chain and unlock the
door quietly, he stood by the wall on the opening side,
grasped the handle, flung open the door. Mark Wendover
stood outside, holding a large manila envelope.

'Come in, Mark.'

'I knocked on your door earlier but you were out,'
explained Mark as Tweed re-locked the door.

'I
was
out. What can I do for you?'

'I thought you should have this urgently.' Mark handed him the envelope. 'It's the blue leather-bound book I took
from the lock-box at the Zurcher Kredit.'

'Thank you. That was very good of you.'

Tweed placed the envelope on the desk. Then he turned
round and faced Mark.

'Are you sure no one saw you enter or leave the bank?'

'Yes. The street was deserted on both occasions. I was
very careful. They have an advanced alarm system but we
have the best in the world in the States. I neutralized
every one.'

'What about video cameras?'

'I took in with me several children's water pistols. But
instead of water they were filled with a certain substance I
squirted at each camera. It blots out the lens completely.'

'What about guards?'

'Three of them.' Mark grinned. 'I passed the control
room. They were sitting watching a boxing match on TV.
Hadn't even noticed their screens had gone blank.'

'You sound confident,' Tweed said sceptically.

'Not confident. Cautious. Friggin' cautious all the time
I was inside.'

'Sounds as though you're safe. Better get to bed now. . .'

Paula reappeared after Mark had left, sat in the same
chair. She stared at the Walther Tweed had put on the
desk when Mark had gone.

'You're not taking any chances, are you?'

'This is possibly the most dangerous assignment we've ever undertaken. Now, a brief recap. It
started in Alfriston when we investigated the murder of Jeremy Mordaunt. . .'