Cross of Fire (9 page)

He paused while Tweed gave the drinks order. They
were served almost at once. Paula drank half the mix of
champagne and blackcurrant liqueur, put down her glass.

'I needed that. Now, Otto. And do smoke your cigar.'

'As I said on the phone, Tweed, a crisis is building in the
new Germany. We have a dangerous enemy we can't locate. Extreme elements of the Paris press are painting a picture of
an aggressive Germany which wishes to take revenge on
France for historic defeats.'

'That's ridiculous, Otto,' Tweed protested. 'We know
Germany has the most peaceful intentions of any nation in Europe.'

'True, but there is a brilliantly orchestrated campaign to
portray us as dangerous.'

'Under the present Chancellor? That's absurd.'

'I know. The propaganda is insidious, worthy of the
infamous Goebbels. It is suggested a new Bismarck may
take over later. That he will want to take back from France Alsace-Lorraine - which Germany annexed in 1871.'

'Surely such an obvious lie can be countered.'

'There is more.' Kuhlmann drank the rest of his Kir
Royale, paused while Paula ordered another round. 'I have
to tell you there is a new underground movement being
organized by someone outside Germany. Organized in cells
made up of terrorists. Where they are
coming in from we
can't trace. It is called the
Siegfried
movement. And has extreme right-wing characteristics. We know arms and
explosives are being smuggled in and stored for future use
on a large scale. Again, we can't detect the source.'

'You must have some idea who is behind this conspiracy,'
Tweed said quietly.

'As I said earlier, certain extremist elements of the Paris
press are stoking the fires.' He puffed at his cigar as they
ordered food, said he would have the same. 'All this is very confidential, you will have realized. Even more top secret is
the fact that I've travelled here as the personal representa
tive of the Chancellor.'

Paula stared at him over the rim of her second Kir
Royale. With his thick dark hair, equally dark eyebrows, his
wide mouth clamped tight on his cigar, Kuhlmann looked
very grim.

'I see, Otto.' Tweed said quietly. 'Have you an idea of the view of the President of France?'

'He can't believe there is any such conspiracy. He is
extremely annoyed at what certain French newspapers have
said. He thinks it best not to comment - that would draw
more attention to their aggressive statements. Also, he has
his own problems.'

'Which ones are you referring to?' Tweed pressed.

'The growing popularity of this new party,
Pour France.
They advocate deporting all foreigners - Algerians, etc. That
strikes a chord with many and he doesn't know how to
react.'

'So I come back to my earlier question. Who exactly in
France is behind this conspiracy, all these lies about
Germany?'

'Emile Dubois, driving force behind
Pour France,
is one, I
would guess. But there are disturbing rumours that some Cabinet Ministers in Paris support Dubois secretly. There
is a fog over France and it is very difficult to penetrate it, to
find out what is really happening. Which is why I have
taken the enormous risk of sending in an agent secretly to
investigate.'

The
emince de veau Zurichoise
with
rosti
had been served
after Kuhlmann had revealed his role as representative of
the German Chancellor. Now Paula sat very still, food poised on her fork. She was wondering whether Tweed
would tell Otto about Francis Carey. 'Define the risk for
me,' Tweed said.

'Supposing he was caught, his mission exposed. Can you imagine what the French press would make of it?
German
Secret Agent Spies On France.
I could write the headlines
myself.'

'You must be - determined - to take that risk.'

'Maybe desperate would be a better word.' Kuhlmann
waved his cigar and grinned for the first time. 'His real
name is Stahl. He has entered France from here - Switzerland - under an assumed name with forged papers. He may
escape undetected. Stahl's mother was
French, his father
German. And he comes from Alsace which, as you know, is a real hotch-potch of French and German names.' He turned
to Paula. 'Hotch-potch? Is that right?'

'Perfect, Otto.' Paula placed a reassuring hand on his
thick wrist. She knew he prided himself on his English, on
mastering colloquialisms. 'Just as all your English has been
since we started talking.'

'Why are you telling me all this?' Tweed asked briskly. 'Why me?'

'Because I know you have established an excellent net
work of agents inside France. There you are ahead of us.

I'm hoping if Stahl fails you will succeed. Providing you
agree to help.'

'I agree. Paula. Show Otto that photograph you have of
yourself and your friend.'

Paula blinked, opened her shoulder bag, took out an
envelope from a zipped pocket. Inside the envelope was the
only photo she had of Karin Rosewater - taken while she
had spent time with Karin on holiday in Freiburg near the
Black Forest. She passed over the envelope to Kuhlmann.

He extracted the photograph, held it in the palm of his
large hand. The only reaction was his teeth clamping tighter on his cigar. He looked at Tweed, at Paula.

'You know the girl with you in this snap?'

'Do you, Otto?' Tweed asked quietly.

Kuhlmann stubbed out the cigar, began to eat the
superbly cooked veal and the speciality Swiss potato which
was so crisp and tasty. He drank some of the champagne
Tweed had ordered earlier. Paula pursed her lips, glancing
at Tweed. Kuhlmann put down his knife and fork, wiped
his mouth with his napkin.

'Yes, I know her,' he said eventually. 'What puzzles me
is how you know her. It seems an amazing coincidence.'

'I have bad news for you, Otto.'

'Tell me.' Kuhlmann put down the glass he had been
about to drink from.

'She is dead...'

Kuhlmann listened with an impassive expression as
Tweed related tersely what had happened in Suffolk. He
also referred to the mysterious 'authority' Karin had men
tioned to Paula.

'She was talking about me.' Kuhlmann said grimly. 'I remember now, Paula, you were
at that party at the Nato
base in southern Germany when Karin was there. That was
why I was also there. To protect her cover she never came
near Wiesbaden. We'd meet for a few minutes at a party -
prearranged. Chat like acquaintances for just a short time. She reported to me, I gave her fresh instructions.'

'You weren't going to mention her,' Tweed commented. 'Only Stahl.'

'Deliberately. I was fond of her - and she was a brave
lady. Want to hear how I recruited her?'

'I'd like very much to hear that.' Paula broke in.

'She was a brilliant linguist. Her husband, Victor Rosewater, is with British Military Intelligence. He has had occasion to visit Wiesbaden in connection with his work. I was invited to their home. One day when I arrived Karin was on her own. She told me she'd worked for the BND at Pullach near Munich ...' Tweed glanced at Paula. The BND was German counter-espionage. 'She pressed me to let her help with my work,' Kuhlmann continued. 'Karin could be very persuasive. And I was needing an operative to back up Stahl. She seemed the perfect choice. I regret I hired her to check on the situation in France - working with Stahl.'

'Did her husband know what she was doing?' Tweed
asked.

'Victor Rosewater? I warned her not to tell him. And
there the arrangement fitted so well. Rosewater spends a lot of time away from home - tracking the IRA units operating in Germany, I gathered.'

'Anyone else except yourself and Stahl know what she
was doing?' Tweed persisted.

'No one. Security seemed watertight.'

'Why didn't the Chancellor involve the BND in this?'

Kuhlmann waved a dismissive hand. 'They are up to
their necks checking dubious characters infiltrating from Eastern Europe since unification. Also, for some reason the Chancellor seems to trust me. God knows why.'

'Because you're so reliable, like a bulldog which never gives up,' Paula said and gave him her warmest smile. 'Now do get on with your meal.'

'We'll do what we can to unravel this mystery.' Tweed
assured. 'If you want to let me know how we can contact Stahl it would be helpful. It's up to you.'

Kuhlmann took out a notepad, tore off a sheet, rested it
on the cardboard back so there would be no impression,
wrote rapidly, gave the folded sheet to Tweed.

'Thank you for your offer of help. We need it. That gives you Stahl's present address, the name he's operating under, his phone number. The codeword which will identify you as safe is Gamelin. Now maybe we can relax - even if only for tonight. I return to Wiesbaden tomorrow. One more thing - Stahl reports
Siegfried
have hired the most ruthless assassin on the continent. Someone called Kalmar.'

'That's a new name.'

'To me, too. And Stahl said contact between
Siegfried
and
Kalmar is maintained here in Geneva. Now, I'm going to
finish this excellent meal...'

At Kuhlmann's suggestion they left separately as they had arrived. Tweed asked the
waiter to phone for a taxi.
Paula kissed Kuhlmann on the cheek, told him to take care of himself. Just before they left, Tweed leaned close to the German, whispered.

'Warn Stahl that however he communicates with you not to use a radio transmitter. Detector vans could locate him.'

'You have a reason for that advice?'

'I
have ...'

Kuhlmann left the restaurant ten minutes after Tweed
and Paula were driven away in a taxi. Tweed had insisted
on paying the bill. The German did not call for a cab. He
walked in the drizzle through the silence and the dark of
the Old Town. He chose to descend by a route opposite to
the way the cab had brought him to the foot of the tunnel
below the Cathedral. Walking down the deserted Grand
Rue, his mind was full of the death of Karin Rosewater. But
as he pursued a devious route through side alleys he kept a lookout for the motorcyclist who had followed him earlier.

He had seen no sign of the tracker when eventually he
crossed the Rhone footbridge to the Hotel des Bergues.
Tweed had really said very little, but the German felt now
resolving the crisis depended largely on the Englishman.