Double Jeopardy (14 page)

`The second consignment you were expecting has arrived,' Braun continued. It has been delivered safely to the Hotel Bayerischer Hof a few minutes ago…'

'Where exactly is that?' Klara demanded, her tone icy.

`Facing both Hauptbahnhof and harbour. The following car registration number is linked with the consignment… I stay on duty?'

'Yes! We shall react at once. And I shall have to report your indiscretion…'

'Please…'

But the Stuttgart connection had gone dead. Behind Braun's back Martel had pulled the rubber sucker from the glass, hauled the earpiece free and thrust the whole contraption in his jacket pocket. The change in Braun's tone had warned him the conversation was ending.

Martel performed a pantomime as Braun sneaked out of the booth without a glance in his direction. He spoke loudly in English about nothing into the receiver. When Braun disappeared through the exit he left the booth. He now had solid data for Stoller to check.

Inside the luxurious tenth-floor apartment in a building less than a mile from the headquarters of Dietrich GmbH, Klara Beck slammed down the receiver. Tearing open a fresh pack with nails painted like red talons she lit her forty-first cigarette of the day.

`Braun must be losing his marbles,' she said to herself.

The cigarette was necessary to calm her nerves – and her voice – before she phoned Reinhard Dietrich. Although sexually attractive she knew it was her outward coolness which most appealed to the Bavarian millionaire, which made her his mistress. Her apparent calm in all situations was such a contrast to Dietrich's choleric temperament – and to that of his whining wife.

Taking several deep drags, she expelled smoke from her lungs, her bosom heaving with the relaxation afforded by the nicotine. It was time to make the call. She dialled the number of ' the schloss. Dietrich himself answered.

`Yes!'

Just the single, curt word.

`Klara calling. It is convenient to talk?'

`Yes! You received the emerald ring? Good!'

They had performed the ritual of positive identification. During alternate calls Dietrich would refer to sending her a fur or some item of jewellery – which secretly infuriated her since few of these desirable gifts were ever given to her. She hurried on.

`The second consignment has been delivered. I have just heard – it has arrived at the Hotel Bayerischer Hof in Lindau

`Meet me there this evening!' Dietrich responded instantly. 'Get the executive jet to fly you to the airstrip nearest Lindau. Then take a hired car. A room will be reserved for you. Your help may be needed …'

`There is a car registration number. Here it is…'

Dietrich repeated the number and broke the connection without a goodbye. Klara Beck replaced the receiver slowly, preserving her self-control. Despite her annoyance she was impressed. She had just told Dietrich in an oblique manner that Keith Martel – the man they had scoured Switzerland, Austria and Bavaria to track down – had been located. Dietrich had reacted decisively to the news, taking only seconds to plan his next move.

One phrase intrigued her. Your help may be needed It conjured up one possibility – Dietrich was considering asking her to seduce Martel. She went into the bedroom, slipped out of her dress, the only item of clothing she was wearing in the clammy atmosphere, and studied her full-bodied nude form in a full-length mirror.

It could be fun – playing with the Englishman. Before – at the appropriate moment – she rammed the needle between his ribs and pressed the button which released the lethal injection.

At the schloss Dietrich had ordered Oscar to bring one of his packed suitcases for an overnight stay. A series of cases were packed and unpacked daily by the attentive Oscar.

There were cases for a short trip, cases for more prolonged journeys, cases for hot climates and cases for countries like Norway in the depths of winter. The system meant Dietrich was ready for departure anywhere at a moment's notice. On the intercom he summoned Erwin Vinz who had recently returned with his team from Bregenz. He did not mince his words.

'Someone else has done the job for you! A woman at that! I am leaving at once for the Bayerischer Hof in Lindau – Martel has just arrived there. Choose your best men, follow me and book in at the same hotel…'

`This time we should get him…' Vinz began.

'This time you will get him, for God's sake! Before morning- he will be tired after his recent activities…'

'Peter has the car waiting,' reported Oscar who had returned with a Gucci suitcase.

Wearing a suit of Savile Row country tweeds Dietrich left the library, crossed the large hall and Oscar held open one of the two huge entrance doors. Dietrich ran down the steps and climbed into the rear of a black, six-seater Mercedes. The uniformed chauffeur closed the door as his master pressed a button and lowered the window to give the order.

`Lindau. Drive like hell…!'

Inside Lindau Hauptbahnhof Martel paused outside the phone booth, inserted a cigarette into his holder and lit it. Braun had vanished through the exit doors but Martel waited to see whether the German was smarter than he appeared to be – whether he would dodge back into the station to check up on the Englishman. He did not reappear.

Martel strolled towards the exit doors, opened one a fraction and peered out. On the sidewalk outside the Bayerischer Hof, Braun was on his knees with his back towards Martel, adding to his drawing. The Englishman walked out and got inside one of the taxis waiting under a huge tree.

'The Post Office,' he said. 'Quickly, please – before it closes.' 'It is no distance…'

`So you get a good tip for taking me there…'

At the post office Martel explained he wanted to call London and gave the girl behind the counter the Park Crescent number. He was gambling that Tweed was waiting for his call. Within two minutes the girl directed him to a booth.

'Thursday calling,' he said quickly as Tweed came on the line. 'Two-Eight here…' the familiar voice replied.

Martel began pouring out data to be fed into the recording machine.

'Warner seen in Bregenz. visited cemetery, grave of Alois Stohr. headstone 1930-1953 •. • references to time of French occupation… expensively dressed woman, identity unknown, visits grave each Wednesday morning… Warner contacted her… Delta active everywhere… two men in car in Bregenz

'Did they see either of you?' Tweed interrupted urgently.

'We sighted them…no reverse sighting… now staying Bayerischer Hof Lindau… Delta watcher pavement artist Braun sighted and reported me – repeat me… Stoller should check Stuttgart phone number… Stuttgart contact woman named Klara… closing down.

'Wait! Wait! Damn! He's rung off…'

Tweed replaced the receiver and stared at McNeil who switched off the recording machine. A very thrifty, Scots type, McNeil. Tweed was certain she had never taken a taxi in her whole life. Buses and the Underground were her sole means of transportation.

`The maniac is setting himself up as bait to flush Delta into the open,' he snapped. know him…'

'He's a loner. He gets results,' McNeil said placidly.

`He's in the zone of maximum danger,' Tweed replied grimly. 'Get me Stoller on the phone. Quickly, please. I sense an emergency.'

Thursday May 28

The signal had been arranged between Martel and Claire before they made separate entrances into the magnificent dining-room as though strangers. The Englishman had a single table next to a picture window which looked out on to the fog-bound harbour. -

The signal was that if anyone significant entered the dining- room while they ate their separate meals Claire would light a cigarette. In the middle of her dessert she was doing just that, lighting a cigarette.

A most dominant personality had made his entrance-and he came into the room in precisely this fashion, like an accomplished actor making his entrance on stage. There was a sudden hush in the conversation: eyes turned and stared towards the entrance. The new arrival paused and surveyed the people at their tables.

He ran a hand through his thick, silver-coloured hair, tugged gently at his moustache, his ice-blue eyes sweeping the assembled guests. Other eyes dropped as they met his gaze. His skin was tanned and leathery. He had changed into an immaculate blue bird's-eye lounge suit.

The maitre d'hotel escorted Reinhard Dietrich to another window table at the opposite end of the room from Martel. And since his arrival there had been a subtle change in the atmosphere. The conversation was now carried on in murmurs. Handsome women glanced at the table where the millionaire sat, which amused Martel.

There's no glamour like a lot of money, he thought.

Two or three minutes after Claire had vacated her table he left the room. Wandering along a wide corridor he found her standing at the reception desk, waiting her turn while a fresh arrival – (an attractive brunette in her late twenties with a full-bodied figure) was completing the registration form.

The reception hall opened out into a well-furnished and spacious lounge area with comfortable armchairs. Martel chose one of these chairs, settled himself and picked up a magazine. He inserted a cigarette into his holder, lit it and waited.

The attractive new guest had gone up in the lift to her room with the porter. Claire was asking the receptionist about train times to Kempten – the first thing which came into her head. The receptionist was being very helpful, checking a rail timetable and noting times on a slip of paper.

'Thank you.' She turned away and then turned back. 'I thought I recognised the girl who just arrived. She stays here often?'

'Her first visit as far as I know, Madame…'

Claire had her handbag open, slipping the piece of paper inside as she wandered into the lounge area. As she passed Martel's armchair she deliberately tipped her bag and the contents spilt over the floor. Her 9-mm pistol remained safely inside the special zipped-up compartment.

'Let me help you,' Martel said, gathering up objects. 'I'm so sorry…'

Their heads were close together. The receptionist was a distance from where Martel sat. They carried on their brief conversation in whispers.

'That girl who just arrived,' Claire told him. saw the name on the registration form. Kiara Beck – from Stuttgart…'

'The hyenas are gathering. And the man in the dining-room who arrived as though he owned the damned world – Reinhard Dietrich?'

'Yes – I've seen pictures in the paper…'

The spilt contents had been collected up. Claire, who had been crouching with her knees bent, her back to the receptionist, stood up and raised her voice.

'That really was most kind of you – and most clumsy of me

Claire wandered to the far side of the room and chose a chair where she could see everything and had her back to the wall. She opened her handbag, unzipped the compartment, slid out the pistol and left it inside the bag where she could reach it swiftly. She had just completed this precaution when Erwin Vinz and his associate, Rolf Gross, walked into the reception hall, each carrying a small case.

Claire froze – then slid the gun out of her handbag and covered it on her lap with a newspaper. Rolf Gross had been the driver of the Delta car they had encountered in Gallus-strasse in Bregenz.

Both men glanced into the lounge area as they crossed to the steps leading to the reception counter. Claire thought Gross stared at Martel who was reading a newspaper and smoking a cigarette in his holder. Vinz appeared to notice nothing and neither man showed any interest in the girl at the back of the room.

Slipping the gun inside her handbag, she closed it, stood up and wandered over to the reception desk where both men were filling in their registration forms. She waited patiently, looking at a picture on the wall.

`We require two single rooms with baths,' Vinz said in the tone of voice used for addressing serfs. 'If you haven't singles, two doubles will do. And we want dinner…'

'I have two single rooms…' The receptionist was not looking at Vinz although his tone of voice remained polite. 'And I would suggest you hurry to the dining-room which stops serving…'

`Inform them of our arrival! We both require steaks, plenty of potatoes. The steaks rare – and a very good bottle of red wine. We'll be down as soon as we are ready…'

`Understood, sir. The porter here will show you your rooms.'

With obvious relief he turned to Claire with a smile. She asked for a street plan of Lindau and he explained that a section of the Old Town was a 'walking-only' zone. At that moment Reinhard Dietrich, smoking a large cigar, came down the corridor from the dining-room. Continuing past the reception desk he marched into the lounge and eased his bulk into the armchair next to Martel.

`Reinhard Dietrich at your service. You are English?'

Martel looked at the leathery hand extended in greeting, made a movement as though about to clasp the hand – and ignored it, inserting a fresh cigarette in his holder.

Dietrich overlooked the insult. His extended hand grasped the glass of cognac a waiter had just placed on the table, making it appear that had been his original intention. He raised the glass.

`Yes,' said Martel.

`I beg your pardon?'

'Yes, I am English.'

`Oh, of course! Taking a holiday in our beautiful Bavaria?'

Martel turned and looked straight at the industrialist, switching to German, which momentarily threw him off balance.

`You are a Nazi. They need wiping off the face of the earth.'

`Unless we inherit the earth,' Dietrich replied harshly. 'In the coming state election someone has to make sure Tofler does not win. How would you enjoy a Communist controlling the largest state in Germany – geographically speaking? The West's main bulwark against the Soviets would be shattered…'