Rhinoceros (38 page)

'You took one hell of a chance,' he chided her.

'Oh, shut up.' She was triumphant. 'I've got six shots
of the bastard. Decided to use the small Polaroid-like
camera the boffins at Park Crescent developed. Look
at these.'

Tweed nipped through the six prints she handed him.
His eyebrows rose. Leaning forward, he kissed her on
the cheek.

'I expected more,' she said with a grin.

He leaned forward, kissed her on the other cheek. He gave Newman three of the prints, then gestured to Harry
to come over. Butler had removed his disgusting jacket,
rolled it up, tucked it under his arm. He now wore a linen jacket and, despite the torn denims, looked reasonably
respectable.

'Harry, there's a police station on the far side of the
Rathaus. Not easy to see . . .'

'I've seen it. While Pete's toured a bigger area in his car
I've walked my feet off. Why the police station?'

'Because I want you to give these to Otto Kuhlmann.' He handed him two prints. Paula fiddled in her shoulder
bag, brought out an envelope, took the prints, slipped
them inside, wrote 'Otto Kuhlmann' on the outside, gave
them back. 'No,' said Tweed, 'you hand them personally
to Otto.'

'Heard you the first time.'

'You might have difficulty barging past inferiors.'

'Me?' Harry was indignant. 'You're joking. I'll trample
over them . . .'

Then he was gone, walking very fast towards the Rathaus.

As the three of them walked back towards the hotel Tweed
held Paula's arm, squeezed it.

'You're brilliant.'

'I know. But it's nice to be told . . .'

They had walked slowly along the edge of the Alster. Tweed talked fast, bringing them up to speed on his interrogation of Lisa, then his phone call to Monica.

'I just wonder about Lisa,' he ruminated as they neared
the hotel. 'Going out shopping . . .'

'I suppose she's allowed to do that,' Paula said indig
nantly.

'You remember I've just told you the one factor where I
felt sure she was lying? When I asked her if she knew Mark
before she came to us? Well, after she'd gone out I called
Mark for about five minutes. He wasn't there.'

'Oh, I see. Casts a doubt over her. Can't we trust
anyone? No. You warned us earlier. We can only trust
the team. I told Bob about Oskar Vernon, what Kuhlmann
said.'

'So now,' Newman remarked as they reached the hotel steps, 'Pink Shirt becomes Oskar Vernon. Which spells
"Danger" - with a capital "D".'

At the top of the steps the Brig appeared, obviously on his way to the coffee lounge.

'1800 hours,' Tweed called out. 'On the dot.'

The Brig paused, glared, opened his mouth, closed it again, as though uncertain how to reply to this sally. He nodded, proceeded towards the lounge.

'So whose side is he on?' Newman mused.

'No idea. Yet.'

The phone was ringing when they entered Tweed's suite.
He grabbed hold of it.

'Otto here. Want to say a thousand thanks for the pics -
the first we've ever had of him.'

'Thank Paula sometime. She took them under risky circumstances.'

'Give her my love . . .'

'Oh, there's one other thing,' Newman reported. 'When
I took Kent along to his room he glanced at the papers
and the blue book. Said it could take up to a week to sort
out the financial position - and that the book would be a great help.'

Paula poured three glasses of water from a fresh carafe
that had been put in the suite. She sat down, drank the
whole of her glass.

'This heat is getting ferocious. The forecast says it will
continue, but get hotter. I'm off to my room in a minute for a shower.'

'So what is the next move?' Newman enquired.

'I think I can read Oskar Vernon now,' said Tweed, pacing between the balcony and his desk. 'I got a good
look at his face when we were up in the Turm. Saw his
reaction to his men being bashed about. I think he'll try and get us well outside the city to wipe us out.'

'From what we did to his troops I shouldn't think he
has many of them left,' Newman commented.

'Don't count on it,' Tweed warned. 'He'll have reinforcements - either already here or brought in. I predict a battle royal which will make this morning's episode look like a
mild punch-up. An extermination attack this time.'

CHAPTER 22

Tweed and Newman were leaving the suite when the
phone rang. It was Monica, reporting back on the results
of her investigation of Lisa.

'She checks out OK,' she told Tweed. 'The only place
which I couldn't check was New York - not knowing the name of the security agency she worked for.'

'I'm amazed at how quick you've been. Don't know how
you do it.'

'By getting on with it, talking fast. Take care . . .'

'We'll get out of here now,' Tweed decided. 'It's like a
steam bath. Go for a walk by the Alster.'

They had just left the hotel steps behind when Tweed spotted an Opel parked just beyond the entrance, on the
Alster side. Butler was in the passenger seat with Nield
behind the wheel. His two subordinates reacted sensibly.
Instead of getting out to meet him they stayed in the car.

Tweed glanced up and down the street, saw no one
suspicious. They crossed, strolled along the pavement
by the lake. It seemed hotter than in the suite. Tweed
could feel sweat running down inside his shirt. When they reached the Opel he opened the rear door, climbed inside, followed by Newman.

'I have news I was bringing you,' Nield announced. 'I
was going to call you on the mobile, code it. I can now tell you Oskar Vernon has moved to the other five-star hotel,
the Atlantic, facing the Aussenalster.'

'Now why would he do that?' Newman wondered.

'Let's go for that walk,' Tweed suggested.

'I'll come with you,' Nield said firmly. 'Trail you.'

'Don't do that. Walk with us. I'll bring you up to date
on recent developments.'

'I'll stay with the car,' Butler said as they were alighting.
'Oh, Otto Kuhlmann told me he was having copies made of the Oskar pic. Distributing them to officers all over
Hamburg.'

'Which is what I hoped for,' Tweed told him. 'Now we have the whole might of the police on our side.'

'Just before you go,' Harry continued, 'he said it would
be a careful surveillance. No one must approach Oskar.'

'Better and better . . .'

They walked along a mostly deserted pavement, Tweed
in the middle with Newman and Nield on either side. If
you could stand the heat it was a glorious summer's after
noon. A clear blue sky, ferries hustling back and forth, rip
pling the glass-like calm of the water. Trees in full leaf lined
the walk above them. They came to a bridge and Tweed
led them across a road, then down a curving footpath and
along a tunnel leading to a park alongside the Alster.

'So. that's how ferries pass into the big lake,' Nield
remarked. 'I hadn't been able to work it out. They go under the road bridge . . .'

'Which is also a separate rail bridge. Bob, we've been
riding round in two cream Mercs. Stretch limos at that.'

'I didn't know how many of us would be travelling
in them.'

'But Oskar saw them, parked near the Turm. So I want
you to return one cream limo, then hire a blue version.
Park it in the nearest underground garage. We continue to use only the cream job.'

'No point in asking why?'

'Forward planning, I think the military call it. Or used
to.'

'You still haven't answered my question about why
Vernon's moved to the Atlantic.'

'He's very smart, so very dangerous. So just when some
one is sure they've located him he whisks off elsewhere.'

They continued walking along the shore path. A large
woman in a floral dress and with blue-rinse hair bent down
as she fed some ducks. Her glasses had thick lenses and
when she looked up she
stared at Tweed, went on staring.
Then her thin mouth smiled at him.

'Glorious day,' Tweed said to her.

'Pure paradise.'

Her English had a foreign accent. Newman looked back
but she was concentrating on her ducks. He frowned.

'That woman was studying you,' he said.

'Not my type,' Tweed responded jovially.

'No, she really was,' Newman insisted. 'And she noticed
the bulge of that Walther you transferred to your trouser
pocket.'

'Just a local.' Tweed had earlier removed his jacket and carried it. Under his armpits were damp circles. 'You see
the enemy everywhere. Don't get paranoid.'

'Bob could be right,' Nield interjected. 'Before we got
there I saw her get out of a car on the road, then she scuttled
across to where we met her.'

After only a few minutes Tweed suggested they turned
back. He had the appointment with the Brig for drinks.
When they reached the point where the large woman had
been feeding ducks she had gone. Nield glanced across
at the road between the trees. Her car had also gone.
Newman bent down, retrieved a brown paper bag full of
broken bread.

'Floral Dress didn't stay long after she'd given you die once-over. And this bag is still full of bread.'

'Well, we're not feeding ducks.'

'Don't you see?' Newman was annoyed. 'She saw us
earlier when we were leaving the hotel, watched us, then
drove ahead so she'd intercept us. Now she'll know you
on another occasion. And these days women use guns. Not
only Paula . . .'

Before meeting the Brig, Tweed dashed up to his suite,
took off his clothes, had a shower, put on a fresh suit, gave
the spoilt one to a porter he'd summoned and asked for it to be cleaned.

He had ten minutes left before the 1800 hours deadline.
He picked up the phone on the second ring. It was
Kuhlmann, in a towering rage.

'What's happened, Otto?'

'The grapevine tells me that Mr Blue murdered Jason
Schulz in Washington weeks ago, tried to make it look like
suicide. Then he kills Jeremy Mordaunt down in Sussex.
Next M. Bleu, as the French call him, murdered Louis
Lospin in Paris. Ditto suicide. All these men were close aides, confidants, to powerful people in their respective
governments . . .'