Rhinoceros (37 page)

'What does that mean?'

'I'm sure there are two powerful forces confronting each
other. One good, one very bad. I'm on the side of the
angels, as they say.'

Tweed lit one of his rare cigarettes. This was the first
indication that his theory of two opposing forces had been
confirmed. He looked at Lisa and she leaned well forward,
much closer to him, arms folded, waiting.

'Ever
heard
of Rhinoceros?' he eventually asked.

'Overheard a reference to him, which I wasn't sup
posed to hear at the time. No idea who he is, where
he lives.'

'How are you instructed? Paid?'

'A typed note is slipped under my door inside an enve
lope - it started like that in my flat off Ebury Street in
London. At the time given I have to be standing inside
a certain phone box. At Waterloo in London, when it
was quiet. Here at the main railway station. He uses
the name Olaf, speaks slowly, enunciating eve:,y word
carefully. Sometimes in German, sometimes in English.'

'I wonder . . .' Tweed blew a smoke ring.
"...
how he
came to know about you?'

'No idea. Oxford, Double First in two languages, air
hostess, my stint with the security agency in New York.
Thought I'd be highly suitable for the job.'

'And,' Tweed stood up, clapped his hands, 'I'm sure he
was right. Thank you for being so patient.'

She stood up, plumped up the cushion she'd leant back
against, walked to the door which he unlocked. She put a
hand on his shoulder to make him pause.

'Now.' She smiled very warmly. 'You have the data to
check up on me. I'm going out shopping now. Need some
better shoes. You can let me out, sir . . .'

Tweed stood by the closed door when she had gone. He
had almost a dazed look.
You have the data to check up on
me.
Which was exactly what he was going to do.

Oskar Vernon stood in the ward of the out-of-the-way
clinic where he paid the doctor a lot of money to keep his mouth shut. Delgado, clean-shaven, hair smartly trimmed,
wearing a good business suit, half-listened as Vernon
talked to the doctor.

Barton sat on the edge of the bed. Delgado had earlier
dragged him out of it. He was tenderly feeling a bandage
between his legs under his pyjamas. Another bandage
swathed his forehead where it had been slammed against the Mercedes. Panko, fully dressed, was trudging slowly
down the large ward they occupied. Round his neck was a collar where the karate chop had felled him.

'I want these men fit by tomorrow morning,' Vernon
snapped. 'Fit for anything.'

^;
That asks for a a miracle,' the doctor protested.

'That's why I pay you all the money I do. For mira
cles.'

They were speaking to each other in English. The
doctor, a small fat man with greedy eyes, wore a white
coat, had a stethoscope dangling over his ample chest.
Delgado felt it was time to stir the pot. He went up to
Barton.

'What are you moaning about? Kick in crotch? Nothing.
I've had it - killed the man who did it.'

'My head . . .'

'Kissed the car. Headache? We all get headache. So start
walking, damn you. Now!'

Barton heaved himself up, took a few steps, stooped,
stopped. Delgado grabbed his arm, forced him to walk.

Panko grinned savagely. He straightened himself up, began
pacing round the ward, adjusted his collar.

'Leave me with them,' Vernon ordered the doctor.
'They're leaving tomorrow. Fit as fiddles.'

The doctor nodded, took the sheaf of banknotes thrust
into his hand, shoved them into a pocket, left the ward
with a glum expression.

'Now!' Vernon said in a savage voice. 'You listen. Listen
good. When we can lure Tweed and his team into the
country we kill them all. I have ten tough men who came
off the ferry from Newcastle.'

'They walk off?' Delgado asked incredulously. 'They walk
off. No trouble? How that?'

'How you think?' Vernon's thick lips puckered. 'Come
ashore as seamen. This time of year ferry full of passengers
from Newcastle and a big crew.'

'Only refugee toughs?'

'You'll never do what I done.' Vernon lit a cigar despite
the 'No Smoking' sign, blew out a cloud. 'They been
trained in secret camps - Slovakia. When we come to kill
them, you, Barton and Panko, lead. Attack force in three sections, each of you leading one section.'

'So how we get them into country?'

'I'm moving into Hotel Atlantic. You three stay Hotel Renaissance. I visit you. You no come to me.'

'So how we get Tweed team into country?' Delgado
persisted.

'How?' Vernon's smile was sinister. 'We use Lisa's gam
bit.'

CHAPTER 21

Tweed was alone in his suite. About ten minutes earlier Lisa had left 'to go shopping'. He picked up the phone, rang Mark Wendover's room. No reply, even though he
kept on the phone for several minutes - plenty of time for
him to get out of a shower. He gave it up.

Settling himself in his chair, he lit another cigarette. So,
Lisa was out 'shopping'. And Mark was not in his room.

'I wonder,' he said, half aloud.

He stood up again, took his doodle pad out of a drawer,
went back to the phone, called Monica. He phrased his
wording carefully, as though 'Trent' had applied for a job
and he wanted Monica to check references.

'I'll get on it right away,' Monica responded. 'Call you
back.- .'

Then he decided he'd go out for a stroll. Walking
helped him to think. He had almost reached the landing
stage when an Opel, with Pete Nield at the wheel, parked
in a slot a woman had just left. Nield hustled after him, drew alongside Tweed.

'You shouldn't be out on your own. This city is dyna
mite.'

'You make me feel like royalty,' Tweed grumbled.
'What have you been up to?'

'Touring the city, keeping my eyes open for hostile
forces. I know Hamburg backwards by now. Could be useful. What's the next move?'

Tweed was heading towards the Zurcher Kredit Bank.
'I have an appointment for drinks with the Brig at six this
evening. At 1800 hours. On the dot.' He had imitated
the Brig's manner. Nield grinned. Few people knew that
Tweed was a first-rate mimic. 'Then at 8.30 p.m. Paula
and Bob are
coming with me for dinner with the mysterious
Rondel - except we aren't having dinner with him. He's
booked a table for us but he's dining at another one with
his partner.'

'Curious idea.' Nield flicked a speck off his smart suit.
'I don't get it.'

'Neither do I. We'll just have to see.'

Tweed had paused, was staring up at the nearby Zurcher
Kredit Bank. Behind a balustrade on the first floor was a very well concealed camera, covering the front entrance.

'Mark broke in to that bank at night,' he recalled.
'Opened every security box, may have found gold in one of them - a book of ciphers which may help Keith Kent,
ensconced in a room at the Four Seasons — to crack the
papers Dr Kefler handed me.'

'Harry told me about the Kefler murder down at tho
docks. I'd have thought Mark took a big risk, breaking
in there.'

'He killed the alarms, blotted out the internal cpmeras.
His CIA training must have helped. I'm just hoping that he spotted that camera on the balustrade up there. In
daytime it's not easy to spot, but at night . . .'

They had reached the entrance to a side street, the
Grosse Bleichen. Glancing down it, since it led to the
Renaissance Hotel, Tweed froze. Instinctively Nield stood very still. Further down the street a single shaft of sunlight
illuminated the outside of the hotel. Standing in the
sunlight, arms folded, was Oskar Vernon. Paula stood
close by.

He appeared to be gazing up at the building opposite
while waiting for something — or somebody. What had
caused Tweed to freeze, his nerves to tense, was the scene taking place. Vernon lowered his eyes, watched as a short wide-shouldered man scrabbled in a dustbin. Harry Butler
was clad in a shabby jacket, torn denims, a tramp searching
for treasure.

Tweed held his breath. Paula, wearing a straw hat pulled
well down, was using a camera to photograph Vernon while
Butler attracted his attention. Vernon had only to glance
to his left to see her.

'Paula, you're taking too long. He's bound to turn and
see you,' Tweed said to himself.

He sighed with relief as Paula vanished down an alley. At the same moment a porter came out of the Renaissance
as a cab pulled up. Vernon climbed inside, gestured for the
porter to give him the bag.

The next development was the appearance of a well-
built man emerging from an arcade, just below the hotel
on the opposite side of the street. He too wore a straw
hat, wrapround dark glasses. Only the way he walked told
Tweed it was Newman - so he'd escorted Paula on her
mission as protection.

Tweed backed away from the corner as the taxi drove slowly towards them, edging its way past parked trucks
and cars. Harry shoved an empty cigarette packet retrieved
from the bin in his pocket, ambled rapidly up the street
towards the landing stage.

'Pete,' Tweed said urgently, 'could you follow the cab coming up Grosse Bleichen?'

'Piece of cake . . .'

Nield streaked across the road where traffic was held up
by a red light. He kept running until he was behind the
wheel of his Opel. Which was when the cab with Vernon
inside emerged, turned left past the landing stage, then right
up Neuer Jungfernstieg and past the Four Seasons. Nield
performed an illegal U-turn when a small white van drove
behind the cab, masking him. Then he
followed van and cab.

Tweed saw all this from inside the department store he
had slipped into. He faced the street, appearing to study
the window display. Once Nield's car had disappeared he
went outside, turned down Grosse Bleichen, just in time
to meet Paula hurrying towards him. Behind her Newman
followed and Butler had stopped on the far side.