Rhinoceros (23 page)

After parking his car in a crowded multi-storey, Lospin
had, carrying his bag, checked in for a flight to Corsica.
Bleu had shrugged, realizing Lospin was taking a holiday.
Air travel did not appeal to him this time - the airport
swarmed with security men. The President was due in on a flight. Bleu had left his motorcycle in the multi-storey,
had taken a taxi to the Gare du Nord.

From there he caught an express to Amsterdam. He
would have been very difficult to detect, let alone to
follow. And he had not even considered waiting in Paris for Lospin to return. He could have become conspicuous,
been intercepted by French security.

Arriving in Amsterdam, he took a taxi to a hotel near Schiphol Airport. Registering under one of the several
names in his collection of different passports, he went
up to his room, phoned the airport for flights to Britain
the following day. To his surprise he found he could catch
an early evening flight to Heathrow if he left the hotel
immediately. He did so.

CHAPTER 13

Weeks sped by. Tweed had a relapse, then staged a steady
recovery. In the clinic, Lisa endured a slow return to
normal. All his team had been summoned to Park Crescent
on the morning Tweed roared in. It was now late June. He
sat erect behind his desk, gazed round.

'Welcome back,' said Paula.

'Hear, hear.' called out Newman.

'Enough of that, I have a clearer picture of what is happening. Still vague, but clearer. We must get moving . . .'

He broke off as the door opened and Lisa walked
in. Newman, Paula, Mark Wendover, Harry and Pete,
Monica and Marler all stared at her. The colour had come back to her face, she was the picture of vibrant health. No
one had heard that she had left the clinic. She looked at
Tweed.

'I discharged myself.'

'Was that wise?'

'.' know when I'm fit. I have to go somewhere at once.'

'No point in asking you where?' Tweed said.

'None at all.' She bent down, kissed him on both cheeks
and headed for the door. 'Goodbye, everyone. For the
moment. Thank you for all you've done for me.'

'Not even a hint?' pressed Tweed.

'You know where I'm going.' She opened the door. 'I
told you. Tweed, you're a bit thick.'

Then she was gone. Tweed reached into his pocket, took
out the doodle pad, extracted a page. He again gazed round
the room.

'I
am
a bit thick. It was staring at me all the time. Those words she managed to utter when she arrived at the clinic.
"Ham . . . Dan
...
4S.' Hamburg. The famous Four
Seasons Hotel, which I know. That's where we're all
going.' He looked at Monica. 'Book Club seats for all
of us - on a flight for tomorrow. And pack light clothes,
now this heatwave has hit us.'

The heatwave had started two days earlier, not predicted
by the forecasters, of course. Not only Britain was affected.
It was scorching the whole of northern Europe. Tweed was
wearing a fawn linen suit. He had already taken off his jacket, hanging it on the back of his chair.

'Thick is the word for me,' Tweed continued. 'Buchanan
confirmed it when he told me Lisa's murdered sister was called Helga.'

The phone rang. Monica answered, told Tweed Keith
Kent was calling.

'On the phone?'

'No, he's turned up downstairs, most unusual behaviour
for him . . .'

'Wheel him up.'

Keith Kent walked in. He smiled at Paula, pulled a funny face at Newman, sat down, refused the offer of
coffee from Monica.

'Can't stay long. Thought of another contact who could
be helpful with information about Rhinoceros. Should
have thought of him weeks ago.' He passed a sheet of
paper to Tweed. 'Name is Dr Kefler. That's his phone
number and address. He's lived in Hamburg all his life. Regarded in Germany as a financial genius. Rightly so.'

'We're off to Hamburg tomorrow, as it happens, Keith.
I'd prefer to call on him.'

'Oh. Then be careful. That address is down by the
docks, overlooks the river Elbe. A tricky place at night.

You can bump into some pretty rough characters. Wish I
was coming with you. I like Hamburg.'

'Come, then. Join us. We'll be at the Four Seasons Hotel.'

'Now you're making my mouth water. Can't make it tomorrow. Might - just might - fly over there in a few days' time.'

'What sort of a man is this Dr Kefler? His personality?'

'Shrewd as a barrel of monkeys. Personality? Reminds
me of a chuckling teddy bear. I must go now. Enjoy the holiday.'

'I suspect it may be anything but a holiday.'

'See you all . . .'

Kent was gone as swiftly as he had arrived. Tweed held
up the sheet of paper Kent had left him.

'There we go. Further confirmation. Germany. Before
you scuttle off to buy new clothes, which I expect some
of you will need to, I'll summarize the state of war up
to now - my thinking when I was lying in bed for ever. I can't explain why, but I'm convinced we're involved with two very powerful forces battling with each other.
I can't yet work out which character we've met - there
are plenty of them - belongs to one force and which to
the other. Lisa could be on the good side — but she could also be on the bad one. And this is very big. It involves governments, power. Two top aides to powerful men have
been murdered - Jeremy Mordaunt, and Jason Schulz in
Washington . . .'

'Pause for breath,' Newman called out. 'Permission to
speak.'

'Well, get on with it. What is it?'

'I don't think you've read the newspapers today.' Newman held up a copy of the
Daily Nation.
'Yesterday, in Paris, the
closest man to the Prime Minister, a certain Louis Lospin,
was murdered on his front doorstep.'

* * *

Paula had rarely seen Tweed take a minute to absorb the
implications of a new development. He sat quite still, his
expression one of great gravity. He pursed his lips.

'Which further confirms what I just said - that govern
ments and power are involved. At the highest level. We must tread carefully. I'm convinced that someone decided
these men - Mordaunt and Schulz, and now Lospin -
knew too much.'

'I've got another morsel,' Newman told him.

'Then spit it out.'

'While you were lolling in bed I spent part of my
time renewing contacts with old reporter chums. Lots
of alcohol. One chap is a specialist writing on security.
Used to be with Special Branch. Told me there's a top secret international conference planned soon now . . .'

Tweed interrupted. 'Attended by who?'

'Do let me finish. One candidate is your old friend
. . .' Newman smiled. 'Gavin Thunder. Another is the American Secretary of State . . .'

'Their Foreign Secretary,' Paula chimed in.

'Do you mind?' Newman snapped. 'A third one is the
Prime Minister of France. Number four is the Deputy
Chancellor of Germany. They'll all to fly to the Bahamas,
land, transfer by boat to another island, name unknown.
An SAS unit is being flown out, plus a whole regiment of
security wallahs. The stage is yours.'

Tweed stood up, walked briskly over to a large map of
the western hemisphere hanging on the wall. Paula noticed
he was studying the Bahamas.

'One hell of a lot of islands,' he commented. 'You said
this conference will take place soon now. How soon?'

'My contact said it could be any time within the next
month. He also guessed - or so he said - that
it was
linked with the riots a while ago. The secrecy is quite
incredible.'

'It's all adding up to the picture I built up,' said Tweed,
returning to his desk. 'The vague picture. Huge forces
are on the move. Forces that, I suspect, could transform
our lives.'

'And the answer could be in Hamburg?' Mark enquired.
'I'm fluent in German, if that would help.'

'I hope to find the key in Hamburg. This Dr Kefler might help. Paula and Marler are also fluent in German. I know a little myself . . .'

'You're damned well so fluent you could pass for a
German,' Paula snapped. 'And you know it.'

'The more the merrier,' Tweed replied.

'Seats all booked for Hamburg,' Monica called out.
'You're to be at Heathrow at noon tomorrow. I've sent
a courier to collect the tickets - I'll hand them out this
afternoon. I did book return.'

'Yes, we do hope to return,' Tweed told her grimly.

Paula thought Tweed had never been more vigorous -
and doom-laden.
This is going to be no picnic,
she told
herself.

'Seating. How do we travel?' Harry asked, the first time
he had spoken.

'Good point,' Tweed agreed. 'I sit with Paula. Away
from us, Newman sits with Mark. Near the back of the
plane Harry will be with Pete - to keep an eye on us. Marler behind all of us.'

'Weapons?' drawled Marler, propping up a wall.

'You ask that question?' Tweed rasped, leaning forward. 'We know three top government men have been
murdered. Paula told me she'd heard from Buchanan
that one of the two thugs he's arrested admitted their
job was to kill Lisa. Somebody tried to kill me on our
way back from Alfriston a century ago. And you ask that
question?'

'So I gather the answer is yes,' replied Marler, quite unperturbed. 'Lucky I have a contact in Hamburg. Nice
little chap. In a not-so-nice little street off the Reeperbahn.

For that I'll have to take ninety thousand deutschmarks.'

'So you're buying an artillery piece?' Harry joked.

'Thought it might come in handy,' Marler joked back.

Paula did a quick mental calculation. Ninety thousand
DM - about thirty thousand pounds. But she knew obtain
ing illegal weapons - with the serial- numbers filed off
and that had never been used by anyone else - came
expensive.

'Oh, Tweed, I didn't tell you the full story about Louis
Lospin's murder. That's London's version. The French
papers are calling it suicide. Gave a graphic description of how he waited until his chauffeur had raced off- probably
to see his latest girlfriend, which is my bit - and then blew his head off and slumped down the front door of
his apartment, still holding the gun.'