Rhinoceros (11 page)

'Nothing, Hans. A meal will be waiting for me when we
get there . . .'

He glanced out of the window and again saw nothing
except a sea of cloud. Alone, he took out a special mobile phone — special because it had a device which made
interception impossible and was safe to use in flight. He
pressed a series of numbers. At the other end a voice said
'Yes?' in German.

'Rondel speaking. I'll land in about a half-hour. I have
to say the situation is building up dangerously. They are
assembling formidable—'

'I prefer you to wait until you have arrived . . .'

There was a click and Rondel realized the connection had been broken. The voice had been, as always, auth
oritative but without a trace of arrogance. It had spoken
slowly and each word was exceptionally clear. It was the voice of a very remarkable brain.

The sun came out as they were crossing the coast and Rondel concentrated on gazing down at the rippling blue of the Baltic Sea. On the mainland he had a glimpse of Traveműnde and then it was nothing but blue sea.

The Gulfstream was losing height and he stared down
for a sight of the island. Berg Insel - or Mountain Island
-
was located well clear of all shipping routes, a private
fastness. The plane lost more height and he caught his first
glimpse. A sloping mountain peak reared up at its centre.
On the southern side sheer granite cliffs fell into the Baltic -
the harbour and runway were on the northern shore.
As the machine dropped even lower he saw at the
summit of the mountain the lighthouse which always
functioned as dusk fell, or when fog covered the island
in daylight. A short distance below it he saw the tall
stone chimney-like edifice that housed the most advanced scientific system in the world.

'I still can't reach the man I must see,' Lisa protested. 'I
have called several times and he's always out.'

'Whoever it is, you must persist,' Herb advised.

They were were eating lunch in an isolated room behind the bar at The Hangman's Noose. Herb was doing his best
to calm her down but without much success.

'I
have
persisted, damnit,' Lisa snapped, banging down her fork.

'Have you an address?' Herb enquired.

'Yes, I have.'

'Is he the sort of man you can just call on, then?'

'No, I don't think so. I should make an appointment.'

'Then do that when you can.'

'Don't you think I have tried time and again? Seeing
Delgado prowling round was the last straw.' She had raised
her voice. 'Something very violent is being planned . . .'

She stopped speaking. The door from the bar had
opened and a man stood looking at them. Delgado. Lisa
reached under her jacket, gripped the Beretta behind her
belt. The giant walked in closer.

'Heard my name. What you two doing?'

'This is a private room,' Herb said.

'What you two doing?' repeated Delgado, coming closer.

Behind him Millie rushed into the room, dashed into
the kitchen, came out with a large rolling pin in her hand.
Her face was very red. She brandished the rolling pin.

'Get out. Get back to the other side of the bar. Then
get back out of the pub before I smash your stupid skull
in, you scum.'

She seemed larger than Lisa had thought her to be. The
giant took a step back, then another as Millie followed
him. She yelled at him at the top of her voice. He ran back
through the door, leapt to the other side of the bar. Herb
was on his feet, just behind Millie. Delgado glared at him.

'Your place will be first to go up in flames . . .'

Then he rushed to the outer door, knocking over a table as he passed it. Customers' beer was spilt over the floor and he was gone.

'Sorry, gentlemen,' Herb said calmly. "Ad too much,
he 'ad. What he knocked over was lager. More comin' up.
On the 'ouse . . .'

He closed the door to the room, leaving Lisa inside. She
picked up a phone and pressed numbers. She was breathing heavily and held her throat when the same woman
answered and she asked for Tweed, giving her name.

'He's here now. Sony you've had so much trouble . . .'

'Tweed here. Who is this?'

'Lisa. We met yesterday at Lord Barford's party. Do you
remember me?'

'Of course I do. You wanted to come and see me about
something.'

Herb had come into the room. He was carrying a pail
and a cloth he'd used to clean up the spilt lager. He paused,
unsure if she wanted privacy. She smiled at him, went on
talking.

'If I could come at six o'clock? It will be dark then and
might be safer.'

'Safer from what?'

'Mr Tweed, large organized gangs of refugeees are
prowling the city, choosing the places which will be targets
when they start devastating riots. I don't think they're ready yet but I can point out the targets they've chosen
so far.'

'Are you sure about this?'

'I've seen them with my own eyes. It's a huge operation and, at the moment, covers London from the West End to the East End. Have you a few men, tough men, you could
bring with you? Just in case.'

'I think we might handle that problem, but first, could
you get here at, say, 5.30 p.m. so we can have a chat? You
have the address.'

'I'll be there at 5.30 on the dot. Don't be surprised how
I'm dressed.'

'I'll look forward to seeing you . . .'

Lisa thanked him, put down the phone, turned round
to find Herb staring at her, still holding his pail and cloth.
He shook his head.

'Goin' over the top a bit, aren't we? Large organized gangs. There weren't so many of them. And look how Delgado scarpered when Millie went for 'im.'

'Bert gave me a long list of places in the West End he saw them looking at. Delgado will need a lot of thugs to
cause mayhem over such a large area. I'm sure he's got reinforcements that we haven't seen.'

'Who is this Tweed?'

'Someone I know. Don't on any account mention his name to anyone.'

'I'm just goin' to forget the whole thing. Wish I knew
where you'd been when you were abroad for weeks.'

'I don't want to talk about it. I need more sleep. Ready for tonight.'

As Tweed was relaying to Paula, Newman and Butler in
his office what Lisa had said, the door opened and Marler,
a key member of his team, walked in.

Marler, in his late thirties, was impeccably dressed as
usual. He wore a warm beige suit, gleaming
white shirt, a
Valentino tie and carried a military-style raincoat with large
lapels. Hanging it up, he adopted his favourite position,
standing in a corner while he lit a king-size cigarette.

'Sense an air of tension,' he drawled in his upper-crust voice. 'Bit of excitement?'

Tweed began again, tersely reporting every word Lisa had said. Then, for Marler's benefit, he recalled the events since the journey he had made with Paula to Alfriston, the
aftermath when two shots were fired into their car.

'Tweed, you live a charmed life,' Marler commented.
'And Newman's hatchback is parked outside, as good as new. Is this Lisa Trent trustworthy?'

'Frankly, I'm not sure,' Tweed told him. 'Which is why I've asked her to get here at 5.30. 'I want to grill her. But we should be ready. Harry, Pete Nield has just about had his holiday. Could you contact him?'

'Spoke to him on the phone this morning before I came
in. He's bored. I can get him here in half an hour.'

'Do it when we've finished.'

'We carry weapons?' Harry suggested.

'Nothing lethal. We don't want to start a shoot-out.'

'Tear-gas bombs then?'

'Oh, if you insist. But if we do go with Lisa, and I did say
if,
we're only observing.'

'Organized gangs,' commented Newman. 'Sounds farfetched. I think Lisa exaggerates.'

'I don't,' objected Paula. 'You haven't seen her, talked
to her. I have. She's very cool.'

'She was on the phone,' Tweed agreed. 'Although I
detected an undercurrent of anxiety.'

'Bob,' Marler began, straightening up. 'Organized gangs.
You know I have a lot of contacts in this country - as well as abroad. I've just got back from Brussels. A contact, who I've
found reliable in the past, told me he'd heard large groups of
so-called refugees were being trained in the remote Ardennes
in military style, using live ammunition.'

'Belgium is in a mess,' Newman replied dismissively.

'Also,' Marler ploughed on, 'another contact who lives in that model village near Weymouth phoned me today.
Said there were rumours more refugees in large numbers were being brought ashore secretly after dark. Thought I'd
pop down there and have a shufti.'

'More rumours,' Newman commented. 'Soon we'll hear
the Martians have landed.'

'I'm driving down to Dorset,' Marler said firmly. 'I'll call you, Tweed, if I find anything. And, for your information, Bob, this contact is also very reliable. Toodle pip . . .'

* * *

When Gavin Thunder's limo reached Trafalgar Square
it ran into the normal traffic jam. The Minister, who
had just made a call on his mobile, tapped on the
closed window between himself and
the chauffeur. The
car was stationary as the chauffeur slid the window
open.

'Carson,' the Minister told him, 'I'm getting out here. I fancy walking the rest of the way.'

'Very good, sir . . .'

Thunder walked back the way the car had come. In Pall
Mall, as he approached Marlows, he saw a tall fat man
strolling along the pavement. He caught up with him near
the entrance to the club.

'Good timing,' he commented. 'Now let's get inside so
you can tell me how things are progressing.'

Oscar Vernon wore a grey overcoat unbuttoned down
the front. Underneath he wore a pale grey suit, a pink
shirt, a grey bow tie. In his early fifties, he had a large
head, a fat face with bulging grey eyes, a pudgy nose,
thick lips and an aggressive jaw which would soon be double-chinned. Everything about Oscar was grey and fat. In his right, well-muscled hand he carried a malacca cane
with a curious circular knob.

'You'd like a drink?' Thunder asked as they sat in the
library.