`I quote Andover's historical research from memory – "Ogdai Khan swept his hosts across Asia to Russia in 1235… Poland was ravaged, and a mixed army of Poles and Germans was annihilated at the battle of Liegnitz in Lower Silesia in 1241… the Mongols embarked upon the enterprise with full knowledge of the situation of Hungary and the condition of Poland – they had taken care to inform themselves by a well-organized system of spies."' Tweed paused. 'I draw your attention to the last few words. History is repeating itself.'
`You mean-' Westendorf began.
`That these so-called executives in Britain, Belgium, Germany – and soon to arrive, I suspect, in force in Denmark – are spies trained in the East, probably in China. They may well be the advance guard, the elite who will control more to come – across the Oder-Neisse frontier with other refugees.'
`You sound convinced,' Westendorf commented. `Well, that's the way I'd organize it…'
He stopped speaking as Kuhlmann appeared, tapped on the window, and gestured for Tweed to join him. Outside the limo Tweed followed the police chief, who paused near to Marler's car.
`I have alerted everyone. Reinforcements of police will arrive shortly to search the shore. Ah, I think they are arriving already.'
Patrol cars were appearing as dim shapes, parking along the Strandweg. Uniformed men jumped out, went across a stretch of grass to the edge of the Elbe. Others ran back out of sight parallel to the river.
`Radio in patrol cars can speed things up,' Kuhlmann commented.
`Searching the shore for what?' Tweed asked.
`The body of the man Marler shot – and heard hit the water. The tide is beginning to recede. With a lot of luck the body may be washed up on one of the little sandy beaches further down the river. A long shot but-'
Kuhlmann broke off as a uniformed man ran back towards him. He stopped, panting for breath.
`Chief Inspector, we have discovered the corpse of a man lying on a beach…'
`To Berliner Tor!'
Kuhlmann gave the order to the police driver who had taken over the wheel of Marler's Mercedes 600. It was night. They had left Blankenese, had escorted Westendorf, driving his limo, to Schloss Tannenberg. A plain-clothes detective had materialized out of nowhere, had removed the dragon's teeth chain across the open entrance. Through his window Westerndorf gave Tweed a little salute, disappeared down his drive.
`What's the idea of that chain which was removed just before we left the villa?' Tweed asked Kuhlmann.
Marler sat in front beside the driver, who knew the way. In the roomy rear Tweed sat next to Kuhlmann, who had Paula on his left and Newman beyond.
`I feared the kidnappers – when they realized I was on their tails – might resort to attacking the villa, to kidnapping Westerndorf himself. There are three chains along the drive – just in case an armoured car was used to break in. Even such a vehicle would have been stopped.'
`And it will be possible for me to contact Inspector Nielsen in Copenhagen? On scrambler?'
`Why do you think we are going to Berliner Tor? A clever man, Nielsen. No wonder he is chief of police intelligence. You think the climax of all this grim business will take place in Copenhagen?'
`In Denmark,' Tweed said cryptically.
`I shouldn't have asked!'
`Mind you, I am guessing – gambling on a great scale. I am trying to out-think the swine behind all this villainy.'
`You usually guess right. You looked surprised when I asked Marler for his Armalite. I want it for ballistics at Berliner Tor – to check the bullet in the skull of the body we found on the beach. Something strange about him. No hint of his identity was found in his sodden pockets. Dressed like a seaman. I've never known a seaman with nothing in his pockets – no money, no photo of a girl friend. Just nothing. The pathologist may be able to tell me more about his origins. And I also phoned the harbour master. He'll report to me in the morning as to whether any vessel was moving on the Elbe in the fog. He doubts it.'
`You've been busy,' Tweed replied. 'Could I ask you to add one more task to your list? Check whether a Lear jet, owner Dr Wand, is waiting at Hamburg Airport? If so, has the pilot filed a flight plan? And if he has – the destination.'
`I'll send out an officer to have a word with the security chief. Discreetly. Wand carries a lot of clout.'
`Here? Why?'
`A strange man. He has this refugee aid outfit. That gives him influence. But mainly he has money. He is renting a villa out at Othmarschen – that's a wealthy district you pass before you reach Nienstedten, which is where Westendorf lives. Wand is on dining-out terms with several cabinet ministers in Bonn I won't name. They enjoy being taken out to expensive restaurants, served the finest wines.'
`The same technique Dr Wand uses in Belgium,' Tweed remarked. 'How long has he rented this villa?'
`No idea. The German owner has a place in California he prefers – or rather his new young wife prefers.'
Newman was staring out of the window. He had his bearings now. He leaned across Paula to speak to Kuhlmann.
`Could you drop me close to the Four Seasons? I have some people there I'd like to have a word with.'
`Brought the whole brigade with you?' Kuhlmann asked, looking at Tweed. 'You're treating this as a major operation?'
`It's serious,' Tweed said, and left it at that as the car stopped to let out Newman at the corner of Jungfernstieg and Neuer Jungfernstieg. He waved and walked towards the hotel as the Mercedes moved off.
Dr Wand sat at a desk in his large room at the Four Seasons. His confidant, Starmberg, the Luxemburger, was seated on a couch, watching his chief. Wand was studying the list of eminent Europeans pencilled in his slim notebook. He took a sadistic pleasure in crossing out one name. Tweed.
`That really was the most excellent news we had from Karl out at Blankenese,' he said, peering at Starmberg over the rims of his pince-nez. The opposition – which was really beginning to make a perfect nuisance of itself – must now be floating down the Elbe.'
`It was clever of you to foresee Westendorf might decide to visit the Holsten V,' Starmberg reminded him, knowing how much his chief appreciated flattery. 'I would never have predicted it myself.'
`Oh, simple psychology, my dear Starmberg. A knowledge of human nature – and the ability to step inside another man's shoes. Westendorf had been cooped up in his villa for weeks, he was an enthusiastic yachtsman. So what would be more natural – after his son had been rescued – than for him to wish to spend a little time in entirely different surroundings? And that reminds me.'
Turning back to his notebook, he carefully drew a line through another name. Westendorf. He took satisfaction from contemplating his list. The first four names deleted. Andover and Delvaux, also. Reports reaching him had informed him Delvaux, a shattered man, had recently been transferred to a clinic. Everything was going so well – in preparation for the vital Denmark operation. He checked his Rolex watch.
`I think, if I may say so, it is probably time we partook of a late dinner in the Grill Room here. And why, may I enquire, are you looking disappointed?'
`I had worked out a foolproof plan for grabbing Paula Grey. It is a very original idea, I had obtained the equipment and taught the team how to use it.'