`Well, well, do not feel your esteemed efforts have been wasted. You may well find you can put into practice your plan. After all,' Wand smiled, 'it is a very long list.'
`Incidentally, why are we staying here instead of out at the villa?'
`Dear me, you know I do dislike being asked questions. But on this occasion I will satisfy your overweening curiosity. I wish to talk to Vulcan, who is staying at this hotel. I thought it safer to do so in the discreet surroundings of this most excellent hotel. Especially when Tweed was alive. Now he is dead… Let us not dwell on the unpleasant side of life. Instead, let us make our way to the Grill Room…'
They used the stairs. Wand avoided elevators whenever he could: he had once been trapped inside an elevator for ten minutes and had never forgotten the experience.
At that moment Newman was mounting the first flight, his hand on the banister rail. Entering the hotel he had seen the backs of Brigadier Burgoyne and Willie Fanshawe walking into the only elevator available at that moment.
He looked up and saw two men descending towards him – Dr Wand on the far side, and Jules, the butler who had opened the door during his visit with Tweed to the villa at Waterloo. A heavy-set man with dark hair, Jules. An ugly customer, Newman thought, but the staring eyes were intelligent. He continued to climb as they walked down towards him. Jules' thick lips tightened and Newman knew he had been recognized.
The Luxemburger continued to walk alongside Wand, leaving little or no space for Newman to pass them. Jules's well-padded shoulder collided with Newman's as they met. He would have toppled the Englishman down the stairs but Newman was expecting some such aggressive act. With his hand gripping the banister firmly to maintain his balance, Newman stiffened his shoulder, took the impact and shoved. Jules staggered against Wand, who stood like a rock.
`You clumsy oaf,' Jules snarled in German.
`You gave me no room to pass,' Newman observed calmly. He looked at Wand. 'This is a five-star hotel. Do you think it wise to bring your pit-bull terrier in here?'
`You…!'
Jules's face was contorted into an expression of manic fury. Wand laid a restraining hand on his arm. He smiled at Newman.
`What a pleasant surprise to see you again so soon, Mr Newman. As I believe they say in England, it is a small world. Please excuse any display of unfriendliness on the part of Mr Starmberg. He has been working very hard and has had no sleep for days. Fatigue can upset the balance. Would you be so kind as to accept my humble apologies?'
`Just so long as we don't have a repeat performance…'
On this note Newman continued upstairs. Behind him the two men strolled towards the Grill Room. Starmberg whispered his comment.
`A great pity he didn't go down with the Holsten.'
`Now, now,' Wand chided, 'no need to be vindictive. There were other people in the party which boarded the ship with Tweed and Westendorf, but our Cadillac team wasn't able to see the others clearly. Be content with the evening's work. And now, kindly relax yourself. It would be a pity to spoil a first-rate meal with indigestion…'
Newman was thoughtful as he went on up the stairs. When he had collided with Jules Starmberg his hip had contacted something hard on the Luxemburger's hip under his jacket – something like a sheathed knife. He had also noticed a tell-tale bulge near the shoulder under the jacket. Starmberg was carrying a gun. And he had paused at the top of the first flight, turning in time to see the two men heading for the Grill Room. Was it usual to go to dinner accompanied by your butler? Newman didn't think so.
He was starting the long walk along a wide corridor to his room when a familiar figure came towards him. Willie Fanshawe, swinging his room key. Willie, moving with the agility Newman had often noticed in plump men, hurried forward, beaming with pleasure.
`I say! First Brussels, now Hamburg. Never thought I'd have such luck. The Brigadier's here, too. Which really is why I'm here! He seems to hate travelling without an entourage of friends. But he's a bit tetchy this evening. Rather a trial, you know.' He lowered his booming voice. `Strictly between the two of us, I don't think his business deal is going all that well. Well, I said to him, you can't expect to win 'em all. Didn't like that one little bit. I made myself scarce, made an excuse to leave him alone in his room a few moments ago. Best to let him be on his own when he's in that mood. I should know! Living next door to the blighter. How about a drink? In the Sambri bar off the lobby. They do a generous glass of champers…'
`I'm afraid…'
`And Helen is here, of course,' Willie tumbled on. He dug Newman playfully in the ribs. 'She rather fancies you. I know she'll jump for joy when she hears you're under the same roof. Now, about that drink …'
`Sorry, Willie, but I can't. Not just now. I have to keep an appointment. Maybe later in the evening?'
`Jolly good! You'll find me in the Sambri. Bet I'm three glasses ahead of you. Now don't forget…'
As Willie found all the elevators were in use and headed down the stairs Newman changed his mind. He waited – to give Willie time to settle in the bar – then stepped inside an elevator a couple had just left. It was time to warn Tweed.
38
Berliner Tor.
Police headquarters in Hamburg. A slim twenty-storey building sheering up into the night, ablaze with lights. Tweed remembered it welclass="underline" it stood in splendid isolation, the only edifice of any height almost as far as the eye could see.
`Follow me!'
Kuhlmann led them into a vast tall entrance hall, waved his pass at the duty officer, hurried on to the bank of elevators, pressed the button for the fifteenth floor. While they waited he turned to Tweed.
`They've given me a large office on the fifteenth floor and all facilities, Scrambler phones, the- lot. You want to call Nielsen now?'
`It's urgent. Yes. If he's in, but he works all hours…'
Paula and Marler were escorted to another room when they stepped out on the fifteenth floor. Kuhlmann said he was sending someone along.
`Coffee. Food. No alcohol, I'm afraid…'
He showed Tweed into a large office with a view of the moonlit Aussen Alster – the larger of the two lakes in the middle of Hamburg. Showing Tweed to a desk, he pointed to a phone, reminded him to press the red button for scrambler.
`I'm taking Marler straight along to ballistics. Back in a few minutes. You've complete privacy for your call – that instrument isn't linked to a recorder. Good luck…'
He left with Marler, who was carrying the hold-all containing the Armalite. Kuhlmann never wastes a minute, Tweed thought, as he settled himself in a chair. Taking out a notebook, he checked Nielsen's number, pressed the red button, and dialled. Using the Dane's private number, he got straight through.
`Where are you calling from, you old scoundrel?' Nielsen greeted him jovially.
`Hamburg. Police HQ. On scrambler. Are you?' `Always on this number. You usually bring trouble. Tell me the worst.'
`First, can you put someone to watch Kastrup Airport round the clock. For the arrival of a Lear jet. I have details here…' He checked what Marler had written down in his notebook, relayed them to Nielsen. 'And if it does land I think later it will go elsewhere. Vital I know where.'
`So we obtain the pilot's flight plan. Without letting him know he's under surveillance,' Nielsen promised in his precise manner. 'How do I get the data back to you?'
`Via your old friend, Chief Inspector Kuhlmann, here at Berliner Tor. In an emergency – if Otto isn't available – try and contact me at the Four Seasons Hotel, Room 311.'
`All clear so far. You wouldn't like to give me a hint as to what this is about? Even a hint?'
`Haven't finished. The danger zone is Jutland. What's the weather like?'