The Janus Man (55 page)

`So?'

`The same thing applies to the so-called Dr Berlin. Thanks to your hair-raising excursion behind the border we know he is a fake. And you told me Falken said he hoped someone would get Berlin because he'd betrayed a number of Falken's agents.'

'But the beard...'

'We know from Ann Grayle, from our own experience, that Dr Berlin stays under cover inside his study at the mansion on Priwall Island every time he appears — stays under cover for about two weeks. That's the time it takes him to grow that beard. That afternoon at the party I was staring at one of my own sector chiefs without knowing it — and I've still no idea which of the four it is.'

`If you're right you do have a problem. If you identify him and the world press gets on to it they'll crucify the Service.' `It's even worse than that, Bob.'

`I thought we'd plumbed the depths.'

`I told you earlier about my visit to that psychiatrist, Dr Generoso. He talked of the tremendous pressure a schizo — a man leading a double life — works under. Philby used alcohol. Generoso agreed one form of release in extreme cases could be sadistic murders — the killing of those blonde girls. You see what I'm up against now?'

`Yes. It's pretty deadly. If Berlin is the mass murderer as well as one of your sector chiefs — and if the killings are brought home to him — the scandal that would break in London would be without precedence in history. Let's turn back to the car. I'm sweating like a pig — and not just with the heat. This is why you've been so secretive with Kuhlmann? You don't want him to solve the case...'

`I just don't know how to handle it. Yet,' Tweed admitted. `And then we have a further complication. Lysenko is, I'm certain, in his most audacious mood. He's using Berlin to transport that appalling drug consignment to Britain as soon as he can. We have to stop him delivering that load of poison somehow. And a Drug Squad man in London warned me they're expecting it in the near future.'

`Hence the Sea King? To track Berlin's cruiser when he sets out for England?'

`Yes, partly. And to put more pressure on. It all hinges on pressure. That's why I said back in Travemünde I believed he was cracking when the Mercedes came at me I think he told the driver to run me down, then changed his mind. The schizo side took over briefly.'

`Why change his mind?'

`I'd have thought that was obvious. He'd have been arrested, exposed to grilling by Kuhlmann, brought up on a manslaughter charge — at the least. His identity would have been blown.'

`So, we go on waiting, putting on the pressure?'

Not for much longer I think — after what happened today. And I think the unloading point for that huge drug haul may well be East Anglia. Even King's Lynn. Significant your Polish captain, Anders, mentioned those places. He may have been trying to tell you something.'

`East Anglia? That makes Janus Hugh Grey, surely? Doesn't he live near King's Lynn?'

`Place called Hawkswood Farm. And that's not like you, Bob. To accuse a man on such flimsy evidence.'

`Flimsy?'

`Yes! They
all
know that area. They all pay periodic visits to Wisbech nearby — on the river Nene. The interrogation centre is there. You know that. And all four attended a party at Hawkswood Farm two years ago on July 14. That same night — early in the morning shortly after the guests had left to drive home — a girl called Carole Langley was brutally carved up and raped. A blonde.'

`That does rather tie it up,' Newman commented grimly. 'I take it the case was never solved.'

`You take it aright.'

`Then why don't you check with Monica on the whereabouts of all four men now?'

`Which is exactly why we're driving back to Lübeck-Süd.'

`One thing puzzles me,' Newman said as he climbed in behind the wheel. 'Who was that man with the bandaged face who asked Ann Grayle about Dr Berlin?'

I have no idea. Let's hurry. I sense things are about to detonate.'

`Can I have a cigarette, Bob?' Tweed asked.

Newman concealed his surprise, offered his pack, lit the cigarette for Tweed, who'd given up smoking years ago. It was an indication of the pressure Tweed himself was enduring as they sat in the locked room at Lübeck-Süd.

Tweed had spoken to Monica and told her he would wait for a reply, giving her the number. He took short puffs in the way a man or woman unaccustomed to smoking does. The room was airless, the temperature high in mid-afternoon, all adding to the tension as the two men sat in silence.

The ringing of the phone made Newman jump. Tweed stubbed out his half-smoked cigarette, lifted the receiver.

`Yes, Monica, it's Tweed. You were lucky? You got through everywhere quickly. What results?' He listened for maybe a minute. 'I see,' he said. `No, don't bother. Yes, Bob is OK. 'Bye.'

`No news,' he announced.

`I don't understand. Surely their deputies know where they are.'

`They don't. Not with Lindemann, Grey, Dalby or Masterson.' Tweed leaned back in his chair, clasped his hands. 'It's my own fault — I instituted the new system six months ago. Prior to that, every sector chief had to be available when London called. I thought that system made them desk-bound, sapped all initiative. Now they can go off without letting their deputies know where they are. They call back to their own HQ to check on developments — but don't have to reveal where they are. All four have gone missing.'

`So any one of them could be sitting in Dr Berlin's mansion on Priwall Island at this moment — having grown a beard?' `That's about the order of it.'

Tweed looked up as the door opened and Kuhlmann came in, closing the door behind him. The German sat down with them at the table.

`No sleep for two nights. It's getting to me. I checked out that address you gave me in Altona, Tweed. Apartment is in the name of a Martin Vollmer. We're tapping his line.'

`Any results?'

`Yes. He phones a Flensburg number. I called Flensburg, got another tap put on there. Heidi Dreyer — the girl at the Hens- burg number — calls someone in Kiel. It's a complex route. I've caused interference in the Flensburg apartment block. That way Heidi won't be suspicious. All the phones are out of action. I've broken their communication system. As you requested, Tweed. I can hold it no more than another three days.'

`That might be long enough. Thanks.'

`Expecting something?' Kuhlmann asked.

`Imminent,' Tweed said.

10.30 p.m. Travemünde Strand. Balkan was walking.

On the beach the air was still balmy. Sue Templeton checked her watch. Ted should be back soon with the wine. She stretched out her long legs, dug her bare feet into the sand. The American girl was making the most of her last week in Europe. She wore a simple cotton dress decorated with a polka dot design. The beach was deserted at that hour. She loved the peaceful atmosphere, the sound of the sea gurgling.

She heard the slushing tread of feet moving across the sand, tensed, reached for her handbag and tucked it half under herself. Whoever it was, was approaching from behind her. She swung round, knowing it wasn't Ted. He ran everywhere.

She jumped to her feet, holding her handbag. The figure was silhouetted against the glow of light from the Maritim Hotel, the lamps along the promenade. Difficult to see. She shaded her eyes with her left hand. Her eyes narrowed. She drew back her right bare foot, dug it deep into the sand and kicked upwards, sending a sand spray into the newcomer's eyes.

She nearly escaped, but a hand grasped her arm, a leg looped round her ankles and she fell over backwards. Sprawled, she stared up and opened her mouth to bellow at the top of her voice. One hand closed her mouth, the other hoisted a broad-bladed knife as a body hit her prone form heavily. She fought back, clawed at his face, tried to knee him in the groin. Her raised knee flopped, lifeless. He had slit her throat from ear to ear. He hoisted the knife again, plunged it between her breasts, jerked it downwards savagely. Blood seeped into the sand.

Ten minutes later Ted Smith, her English boy friend, came running down the beach, holding a bottle of wine. He skidded to a halt, stared down.

`Oh, my God! No! No...!'

Part 3 The Janus Man

Fifty-Two

Newman and Tweed enjoyed a late and leisurely dinner with Diana at the Jensen. The restaurant was full and Harry Butler sat at the window table by himself. It must be his turn for night duty, Tweed thought. Nield would be over at the Movenpick, catching up on sleep.

He let Newman and Diana do the talking. They'd finished the dessert when Diana placed a hand over Tweed's. She winked at Newman.

`He's gone into a trance. He does that, you know...'

`Leave him alone,' Newman chaffed her. 'He's thinking. It doesn't come easy.'

The waiter came to the table a few moments later. He told Tweed a Mr Kuhlmann was on the phone. Tweed excused himself, went out into the lobby and said he'd take the call in his room. On the way up in the elevator he checked the time. It was midnight.

`That you, Tweed? Imminent you said. You were too bloody right. Blessed with second sight?'

Kuhlmann sounded disturbed, which surprised Tweed. The German was always so cool, detached.

`What's happened?' he asked.

`Another murder. Out at Travemünde Strand. On the beach. Almost the same place where the Swedish girl, Iris Hansen, was butchered. This one is something else again.' He paused. Tweed could have sworn he heard Kuhlmann gulp.

‘Go on. I'm listening...'

`American girl this time. Sue Templeton. I knew her. She helped me track Franck. A blonde again. Of course. And I could hardly recognize her. That maniac had a field day this time.'

`Know when it happened?'

Tweed's voice was steady, almost off-hand. Inwardly he was feeling sick. Pressure. So Dr Generoso had said. Pressure will make him crack. And I've applied the pressure...'

`Just about 10.30 this evening. What? No — no trace of the killer. Hold on, Tweed. Someone's handed me a signal for you.' Brief pause. 'It's for you — from Walter Three. Signal reads, power cruiser
Nordsee
under way. Proceeding to north. Tracking. Signed Walter Three...'

`That's it? I must go.'

`They'll be talking about this latest killing in Lübeck now,' Kuhlmann warned. 'The victim's English boy friend who found the body ran back to the Maritim and blabbed all over the reception hall. And I must get back to the beach.'

Tweed paused half way inside the restaurant. A waiter was chattering to a group at a table near the entrance. He caught a snatch of the conversation.

`An American girl... cut to pieces... raped... spread all over the beach...'

Tweed walked down to his own table at a normal pace. Diana was sitting rigidly, her right hand clenching her napkin in a ball. Newman looked at Tweed with a bleak expression.

`Have you heard? Out at Travemünde?'

`It's beastly, horrible,' Diana burst out. 'Another poor blonde girl...'

Tweed put an arm round her shoulder, glanced across at Butler's table. 'Better get to bed,' he suggested.

He saw Butler leaving his table as he escorted her from the restaurant with Newman at his heels. They rode up in the elevator in silence. Diana unlocked her door, said Good Night, closed it. Tweed took Newman by the arm.

`We have to move fast. Everything's happening. Go over to the Movenpick. Wake up Pete Nield. Kick down the door if necessary. He's to get dressed, pack his case, pay his bill and be back here in ten minutes. Pack your own case. I'm going up to pack mine. I'll pay your bill. I want to be out of here in fifteen minutes. Now, I must have a word with Butler...'

`Where are we going?'

`Travemünde. I want you to drive there like hell. It's all exploding as I predicted. See you...'

He beckoned to Butler who had just stepped out of the elevator, took him along to his room and closed the door.

At that hour, with Newman driving, they made record time to Travemünde. At Tweed's instruction Newman parked the Audi near the police station. With Newman on one side and Nield on the other, Tweed explained as they walked along the waterfront.

Nield, you're a qualified radio op. Are you rusty?'

`Hardly. I'm a radio ham in my spare time. That is, what spare time I get. Why?'

`Can you handle the latest transceiver aboard a power cruiser?'

`I'll give it a try.'

`What are we up to?' Newman asked.

`Heading for the
Südwind
. I've told you about the signal Kulhmann gave me. We're going to follow the
Nordsee
in the
Südwind
. I trust one of you can navigate at night?'

`I'll give it a try,' said Newman. 'What about the Sea King?'

`Casey's trying to track the
Nordsee
. My bet is it has Dr Berlin at the helm, that he's heading for the Skagerrak. His ultimate destination could be England. I think he's taking that huge drug haul with him. Lysenko's audacity has gone overboard. It does happen. A man holds a job too long — thinks he can get away with anything. Although, using Balkan is clever, I admit.'

`Who is Balkan?' Nield asked.

`Here's the landing stage,' Tweed said, ignoring the question. `We have water to drink.' Newman was carrying a large plastic canister Tweed had obtained from the manager of the Jensen.

Tweed led the way, feet clumping rapidly along the planks of the landing stage, carrying his suitcase in his right hand. He was about to cross the gangway on to the
Südwind
when Newman rested the container on the stage and grasped him by the arm.

`Let me check. I'm armed.'

`You didn't take that Luger with you...' Tweed glanced at Newman... on your recent trip?'

`Of course not. I gave it to Toll. He put it in a safety deposit box at a local bank, left the receipt and a letter in a sealed envelope for me at the Movenpick. I collected it a few days ago.'

Newman opened his jacket, revealed the hip holster. A pro had once told him never to use a shoulder holster. 'Takes half an hour to drag the thing out,' he'd warned. Newman extracted the Luger, took out the torch Stahl had given him and went aboard the darkened vessel.