Double Jeopardy (24 page)

'I think you've got it,' Martel agreed. 'But suppose they are spotted?'

'Look at the number of exits available. They can even rush on to a train just leaving. Remember how we escaped – by diving down into the U-Bahn

'That's what I think Warner worked out – all you've been saying. And it explains his reference to the Hauptbahnhofs in his little notebook.'

'I did observe one thing which worried me,' Claire went on. 'I saw men coming in on different trains, tough-looking customers who all made for the self-locking luggage containers. They had keys to the lockers and collected large, floppy bags – the kind you use to conceal automatic weapons. Then they walked out into the city…'

Martel whipped his legs off the bed and frowned in concentration. 'You mean Dietrich is sending in an elite force – probably placing them in hotels close to strategic targets like the TV station, the central telephone exchange – all the key centres of control?'

'That was my guess…'

'We should contact Stoller,' Martel was pacing the room. 'The trouble is we don't know whether the assassin we're trying to pinpoint is Stoller. If he is, he'll thank us – and do nothing.'

'Can't we do one damned thing?' Claire protested.

'We can try…'

'Alain,' Tweed said quietly, 'we know one of the four passengers aboard the Summit Express leaving for Vienna tomorrow night is the target for an assassin…'

'We must certainly assume that, my friend,' Flandres replied.

They were eating dinner in a small restaurant at the end of a court off rue St. Honore. Le patron had escorted them to a table in a secluded corner where they were able to converse without being overheard: It was an exclusive place and the food was excellent. Alain was in the most exuberant of moods.

'What I am going to tell you is completely confidential – just between the two of us – and because we have known each other all these years. How long is it?' Tweed ruminated.

'Since 1953 when I left the Army- I was Military Intelligence, you recall? I then joined the Direction de la Surveillance du Territoire. An orphan, I have spent all my adult life engaged – in the traffic of secrets. A strange pastime.' Flandres sipped at his wine glass. 'I do not like your Frederick Anthony Howard, he said suddenly. 'He is not sympathetic – like a man who fears. to say much in case he reveals more than he wishes to…'

'I find that impression interesting, Alain.' Tweed spoke in all sincerity: he greatly respected the Frenchman's acumen. 'And you chose Military Intelligence when you joined the Army?'

Flandres laughed, a vibrant laugh. 'My God, no! My whole life has been a series of absurd accidents. Military Intelligence chose me! Can you imagine it? Two weeks after I put on uniform I am commissioned overnight – and all because of two accidents! My predecessor got drunk, fell out of a window and broke his neck! And my second language was German – because I had been born in Alsace. So I am attached to General Dumas' staff as Intelligence officer since at that moment he was advancing through Bavaria. Absurd!'

'And later you were demobilised…'

'That is so. I return to Paris. My only trump card is a commendation from Gen. Dumas. I show this to the DST and to my utter astonishment they take me on. Even the commendation is an accident. Dumas mixed up the documents! He intended it for a quite different officer! It is a mad world. Now, what were you going to tell me? Something amusing, I hope?'

'Anything but amusing, I fear…'

Tweed looked round the small restaurant, shook his head as le patron caught his eye and moved towards them. He was not happy about what he had to say – and he was enjoying a pleasant evening with his old friend.

'This is a message from a dead man – I prefer not to identify him. I believe he told the truth but I cannot prove it. He reported that the assassin who will kill one of the western leaders aboard the Summit Express is – one of the four, security chiefs charged with their protection.'

'That is a really terrifying prospect,' Flandres replied slowly.

He sipped more wine, his dark eyes pensive. 'Is there any clue as to which of the four is the guilty man?'

`None whatsoever…'

`It could even be me? That is what you are thinking?'

`I have an open mind on the subject – some people might say my mind is blank…'

`That is something I cannot believe. You will have ideas. You will have investigated. How long have you known this?'

Flandres was in one of his rare solemn moods. But his surface temperament had always been mercurial. Only those who knew him well realised he was possibly the most astute security chief in the West.

`For the last few days,' Tweed replied. 'I have told no one elsenot even Howard. Officially I'm not concerned with this Summit Conference…'

`And unofficially?'

`I root around,' Tweed replied vaguely.

'In Europe? In America?'

`In my mind. I do have a prime suspect. There was, shall we say, an incident? It could point in one direction only. It needs further checking. As regards the Summit Express, let no one board that train without impeccable credentials,' Tweed warned.

`I shall lose a little sleep,' Flandres assured him. 'I am not entirely happy that the train leaves the Gare de l'Est at 11.35 at night and that it will still be dark when it crosses the frontier into Germany.'

`I understand it is the normal train with a section of coaches sealed off from the rest of the express for our illustrious passengers? Plus their own restaurant…'

`That is so. Which means there are six stops before the express reaches Munich. There Chancellor Langer boards the train…'

Flandres threw up both hands in a gesture of frustration. 'All because my own President will not get into a plane – so the others agree, seeing it as a chance to confer during the journey so they present a united front to the Soviet leadership in Vienna.'

Well, you can't alter that, so let's talk about something more congenial…'

For the rest of the meal Flandres was his normal ebullient self, a tribute to his exceptional self-control. But Tweed thought he could see in the Frenchman's eyes an unspoken question. Who was the Englishman's prime suspect?

The caller gave the code-name Franz to the operator at Stoller's Pullach headquarters and said he would ring off in twenty seconds if he was not put through without delay. It was late on Monday evening but the BND chief was waiting hopefully in his office.

'Erich Stoller here…'

'Franz speaking again. I have more information for you -the location of the largest arms dump yet. This time it will be protected by Delta men…'

`Let me get a notepad, I'll only be a moment…'

'Stop! I know that trick! Make your notes afterwards. Wait until the dump has been built up – organise your raid for tomorrow, the day before the election. The location of the dump is…'

Having provided Stoller with the information Reinhard Dietrich had given him earlier in the underground garage, Manfred replaced the receiver.

Tuesday June 2

FREISTAAT BAYERN! TOFLER! TOFLER!! TOFLER!!! FREE STATE OF BAVARIA! TOFLER..

The banners and posters had appeared overnight and were everywhere. Small planes flew over the cities cascading thousands of leaflets bearing the same message. Two days before the election Bavaria seethed in a turmoil.

There were marches by Delta men wearing peaked caps, brown shirts and trousers tucked into jackboots. They sported armbands carrying the Delta symbol.

There were counter-marches by Toiler's supporters waving banners and dressed in civilian clothes – each cavalcade preceded by small groups of teen-age girls carrying flowers – which made it tricky for the police to intervene for fear of hurting the girls.

Miinich was like a cauldron with motorists shrieking their horns as planes above fluttered leaflets like confetti. Standing by a window in the office reserved for him at police headquarters Erich Stoller's expression was grim as he spoke to Martel who stood beside him.

'It's getting out of control. And the news tomorrow that we've seized the biggest Delta arms dump yet isn't going to help…'

'Your informant again?' enquired Claire who stood behind the two men. 'There has to be an informant for you to have traced so many weapon caches recently..

'Yes, Franz phoned me again

'Franz?'

'The code-name for my informant.' Stoller made a gesture of impotence. 'I really have no idea who he is – but every time we react to his brief messages we find a fresh dump…'

'The timing is interesting,' Martel commented. 'This business of the arms dumps has been rising to a crescendo – and the climax, oddly enough – will coincide with the Summit Express crossing the Bavarian sector. There is, incidentally, an item of news I should pass on to you. Just before Werner Hagen caused his own death at the water-mill he made an alarming statement.'

'What was that?' Stoller asked quietly as he went to the table and poured more coffee.

'He alleged -and both Claire and I believed him -that…' He swung round and stared at the German as he completed his sentence. '… the assassin who will kill one of the western leaders aboard the train is one of the four security chiefs assigned to protect those leaders…'

A hush descended on the large room. Claire remained quite still, sensing the rise in tension. Stoller paused in the act of pouring coffee. Four sparrows settled on the window-ledge outside, which struck Claire as very strange. Four. There were four security men involved.

`Did – you – say – Hagen?' asked Stoller, spacing his words. 'Yes.'

'He said that just before he died?'

'Yes.'

'Which means you withheld this information for three days?' 'Yes.'

The two men faced each other like fierce dogs squaring up for battle. Stoller had gone very pate, his long arms close to his body. Martel watched the German as he lit a fresh cigarette. He asked the question casually.

'What was it like – your two years under cover in what you still call The Zone? That length of time must be something of a record – to survive undetected…'

'And what does that mean?' Stoller asked very quietly.

'Simply that my main job is to identify the rotten apple in the barrel – O'Meara, Flandres, Howard – or yourself. And the train is leaving Paris tonight. You're going to find the atmosphere aboard rather electric. Think of it, Erich, all four of you looking over your shoulders…'

'Why take Hagen's word?'

'Because my job is to tell when a man is lying – and I believe Hagen was telling the truth.'

'Would you think me rude if I asked you to leave? And at least you won't be on board the train

'Why the hell did you do that to Stoller? God knows he's helped us,' Claire raged.

They had returned to the Hotel Clausen and Martel was sitting on her bed while she stormed round the room. The Swiss girl was in a furious temper. She sat down in- front of the dressing-table and began brushing her hair vigorously.

'We're letting them all know at the last moment. It's the plan Tweed and I cooked up when I met him at London Airport. It will throw the killer off balance, may cause him to make a slip

'They'll all know? Is that a good idea?'

'They'll be watching each other.'

'As you said, the atmosphere will be diabolical. One thing's for sure – you've made an enemy of Stoller…'

'Only if he's guilty…'

She swung round on her stool and glared. 'For God's sake remember what you said to him. We can't go near him again.' 'You think we're marooned?'

'Aren't we?' she challenged.

They were waiting for Tweed in his office after his return flight from Paris. Seated behind her desk, McNeil half-closed her eyes to warn her boss. Big Trouble.

'This is Tim O'Meara,' Howard began very stiffly, introducing the large American who remained by the window to avoid shaking hands with Tweed. 'Someone took this photograph while you were on board Clint Loomis' power cruiser on the Potomac…'

Tweed took the glossy print and examined it carefully. It was a blow-up which had been produced with great skill, doubtless in the CIA laboratories at Langley. The print provided a clear reproduction of Tweed who was squinting as though gazing into the sun.

'Well?' Howard demanded.

'How did you come by this photo? It is important that I know.'

Previously Tweed had given O'Meara one brief glance on entering his office. The question was now addressed to him. Howard went purple at Tweed's reaction.

'By God, you're going to regret this…'

'No,' Tweed corrected him briskly, 'you are going to regret this if my question is not answered. I happened to notice when the photo was being taken.' He looked direct at O'Meara again. 'I need to know how you obtained this picture…'

'Delivered by messenger to Langley,' O'Meara said brusquely. 'I gather the messenger was held at the gate – normal procedure. He said he had been called by phone, told to go to the reception desk of a Washington hotel where an envelope would be waiting with my name on it. Another envelope contained the delivery fee and a fat tip.'

`You believe this?'

`We checked out his story, for Christ's sake,' the American snapped. 'Who took the picture we haven't a snowflake in hell's idea. It was obviously taken with…'

`A telephoto lens – then your technicians produced this remarkable blow-up. There was a message with the print and negative?'

'Yes,' said O'Meara, unconsciously confirming Tweed's query as to whether both print and negative had been delivered. 'It said that I might like to know an Englishman called Tweed had been aboard the Oasis before the unfortunate aftermath. All this stuff was flown to me top priority by Langley.'

`Manfred,' Tweed murmured.

`What was that?' Howard pounced.