Rhinoceros (66 page)

There was an upmarket restaurant under cover and
outside a wide spacious area with umbrellas over tables. It overlooked the river. Marler had caught them up, had
heard what Tweed had said.

'Don't like you sitting here,' he said. 'Too exposed.
I suggest you sit across the road at those tables in the open.'

They crossed the road and sat outside the cafe he had
suggested. They ordered large glasses of orange juice and
plenty of water. Marler drank his quickly, stood up and
looked at the open entrance next door where a staircase
of stone steps led upward. He was still carrying his long tennis-like hold-all which contained his Armalite.

'Think I'll explore a bit. Back soon.'

'Look at that thing gliding past,' Paula called out.

An immense white wall, six decks high, was sliding past
on their side of the river. Lifeboats were slung over the side
high up. The white wall continued sailing past up-river
as though it would never end. It loomed over the town,
dwarfing it.

'Probably a car ferry coming in from Sweden,' said Tweed. 'It docks further up the Trave at a place called
Scandinavienkai. The train going back to Lűbeck stops at a long platform so passengers can go on to Hamburg
or Rostock.'

Newman had appeared and he had heard what Tweed
had just said. He pulled a sour face.

'Don't mention Rostock. Remember the Cold War days
when you sent me in behind the Iron Curtain?'

'Yes. That wasn't pleasant for you . . .'

Marler, still carrying his hold-all, was quietly mounting
the stone steps which were dusty, clearly little used. He
came to the landing, listened, heard nothing, turned the
handle of an ancient wooden door. It creaked open and
he was inside a wooden-floored room with several wooden
chairs and no other furniture. He walked across to the
window, heaved it up. It groaned but the sound was
muffled by the giant ferry's siren sounding non-stop.

He pulled up one of the chairs to the window, sat slowly on it, testing its strength. Then he opened his hold-all and
extracted his Armalite. Looking down, he could see the
three others perched under their umbrella. He also had a
clear view across to the river.

'I think I'm going in search of a loo,' Lisa said, getting
up from the table. 'Shouldn't be long.'

'I made use of the facilities behind the quarry just before
we left,' remarked Paula. 'I'd just stood up, made myself
decent, when Newman appears. I told him "There's no
privacy round here". The devil grinned, said "No, but
there is a makeshift privy". I could have killed him. Now
he's gone off again - and so has Lisa. Isn't it nice to be
able to relax here? I wonder when someone's coming to meet us?'

The light aircraft had landed at Lűbeck airport, south of the town and port. Barton completed the formalities for
both the plane and the hired Audi waiting for them. Once
they left the airport he moved like the wind.

Ignoring all speed limits, he raced to Travemunde. He
was lucky not to meet any patrol cars. Parking the car
in a slot which had just become vacant on the front, he looked round and almost jerked away in the opposite
direction. But the pro who had taught him years before had constantly warned.

'When stalking a target you have in view, never move quickly. People notice sudden movements faster than they
hear unexpected sounds.'

'What is it?' asked Panko.

He was about to look where Barton had gazed but his
partner grabbed his arm, holding it hard. His grip was so
firm Panko was about to protest when Barton spoke.

'Keep still. We've hit pay dirt. Tweed and his dolly
are sitting under an umbrella on the pavement. We walk normally back the way we've come.'

'Why we do that?'

'Because I bloody well say so . . .'

Barton himself had to stop himself hurrying. By the time
they came back in the unusual way that had occurred to him, Tweed might have gone. Driving into Travemunde
he had seen further back along the front a powerboat with
a sign on it in German. He knew enough of the language
to read the sign which had said 'For Hire'.

He smiled as they walked up to the lone seaman perched
on the gunwale of his boat. The seaman didn't return the
smile. He didn't like the look of either of them, despite
the fact that they had bought summer clothes while in
Flensburg.

'How much?' Barton asked, hoping the seaman spoke
English.

'For what?' asked the seaman, looking at the river.

'Hire of your boat for two or three hours.' The seaman
named a sum which nearly made Barton fall over. If it
was a question of haggling, the seaman was starting at an
amazing price. Barton
looked again at the boat and his
mouth watered. The control cabin was elevated near the prow, all the windows open. Barton again recalled what
he had been told by Thunder.

'That's the price of buying this boat, not hiring it,' he said mildly. 'Could we look it over?'

'You're thinking of buying?'

The seaman's attitude was changing. He was less aggress
ive, a greedy look had come into his eyes.

'Welcome aboard. Is that not what you say in Britain?'

'We do.'

The seaman gestured for them to join him. They walked
over the gangplank, followed him down into a saloon. Cur
tains were closed over the windows, presumably to ward off
the heat. As the seaman was turning round to face them
Barton struck him a hard blow on the side of the neck.
The seaman reeled. Barton grabbed his long hair, jerked
his head forward, then shoved it back against the wooden panelling with all his force. He fell and didn't move again.

'You kill him,' gasped Panko.

'Let's get this thing moving.' Barton took an automatic
rifle out of a well-worn hold-all he had been carrying in
his left hand. 'Control cabin.'

'What we do with him?'

Panko asked the question as Barton was hurrying back
up the steps, disappearing into the control cabin. Panko ran after him.

'You know how boat works?' he asked anxiously.

'I've fooled around with stuff like this on the Norfolk Broads. Go down on the landing stage, untie the mooring
rope off the bollard, come back aboard, haul the gangplank
on to the deck. Get moving, for God's sake.'

Barton started up the engine. It had a powerful purr. He
liked it. Panko had released the mooring rope, run back
on board, hauled the gangplank in. He slipped down into
the saloon, felt the inert seaman's pulse. There wasn't a
flicker. He ran back to the control cabin. Barton was easing
the boat away from the landing stage, heading out for the
open river. Panko appeared.

'What we do with man you hit? He dead.'

'There's always the river.'

'What is plan?'

'You watch how I handle this. Watch carefully. You only
have a handgun. I need to be free to pick off Tweed and his
girl with my rifle. They'll never expect an attack to come
from the river. Watch what I do, I said.'

'OK. How long it take?'

'To kill Tweed? Five minutes from now.'

On Berg Island, way out in the Baltic, Milo Slavic sat in his
study, smoking one of his many small cigars. He looked at
his modest watch, then his eyes revolved to Victor Rondel,
standing by the sheet of glass from floor to ceiling at the
narrow end of the oblong room.

'Time you went to meet Tweed,' he said quietly.

'A bit early.' Rondel checked his Rolex. 'We have to
keep to the timetable to pick up tourist passengers.'

'There will be a lot of tourists today.' Milo spoke in an even quieter voice, spacing out his words. 'Because of the
hot weather.'

'I guess I'll be on my way . . .'

'And Victor,' Milo called out as Rondel reached the
door. 'If Tweed has his whole team with him, bring them
with you.'

'I intended to . . .'

Opening another door at the end of a long, wide cor
ridor, Rondel stepped out onto a footpath leading down
to the coast far below. Long ago Milo had had his castle
built near the summit. There was an elevator built into
the rock but the athletic Rondel began to skip down the
steep curving path. A goat might have hesitated to follow
him but he raced down.

At the bottom a three-deck steamer was waiting for
him, its engines throbbing away. He ran across the gang
plank and gave the order to the captain who was waiting
for him.

'Go! We are late.'

In his study Milo checked the time. Unusually, Rondel
was cutting it pretty fine. Milo stubbed his cigar, then
picked up from behind the pile of books on his desk a
silver-plated automatic.

'You will soon be here, Mr Tweed.'

Tweed had ordered three more glasses of orange juice as he relaxed beneath the umbrella. A welcome relief from
the burning rays of the sun.

'I wonder where Lord Barford is now,' Paula mused. 'And where he really fits into the picture.'

'That sheet of typed paper which flew out of Thunder's
case was pretty explicit. What I'm wondering about is the
identity of Mr Blue, M. Bleu as the French call him, or
Herr Blau. A strange assassin who kills without anyone
hiring him or paying him.'

'Doesn't make sense,' Paula commented.

'It's beginning to give me an idea. Don't ask what - I'm still working on it.'

'It's so relaxing.' She stretched out her legs. 'I could stay
here for ever.'

She glanced at Tweed. He was sitting upright, very still
as he gazed at the river. She followed his gaze and gasped. A powerboat with a high bridge was cruising slowly alongside the waterfront. One small man she recognized - Panko
- was holding the wheel. The other man - Barton - was
holding a rifle aimed towards them. Tweed grabbed hold
of her, dropped to the ground, hauling her with him.

She was still watching with her chin on the ground when she heard the sound of four shots fired in rapid succession. Then she stared in amazement. Another sliding white wall,
six decks high, appeared from the left, its siren screaming
non-stop. Its massive prow struck the powerboat, sliced through it, sailed over it, crushing it to pieces as it continued its forward glide. Went on and on, as huge as a
skyscraper laid on its side.

Tweed helped her to her feet. She looked at the window
behind them. High up, way above where their heads had been, were four star-shaped holes in the large window.