Rhinoceros (58 page)

CHAPTER
34

Tweed was still up, studying the complex route from
Tender to distant Travemiinde. Some instinct was mak
ing him look for alternative routes in case they ran into
something. Someone tapped on his door and when he
opened it Paula, fully dressed, walked in.

'Am I a nuisance?' she asked.

'You're never a nuisance. Sit down. Like some coffee?'

'No, thank you. I'll never sleep. It looks from the pot
as though you've been drinking it by the litre.'

'Helps me to concentrate. What brought you here?'
Tweed asked.

'I've been thinking about this journey to Travemiinde.
Could it be a trap?'

'Yes, it could. But to clean up this business we have to
take the risk.'

'It isn't that I mistrust Gina,' Paula commented. 'I've come to the conclusion that you're right.'

'It's my old cocoon theory.'

'Cocoon?' she asked, puzzled.

'Well, everyone lives inside a cocoon. Their daily life,
the way they think, react. Many live in a small cocoon.
They go to work by the same train each day, sit at the
same desk, their only thoughts concerned with their job -
and their family, if they have one. They're not interested
in what goes on in the wider world. Fair enough, if that
rather enclosed life - cocoon - satisfies them. Others
live inside a larger cocoon - men or women running
big businesses, generals who command large forces, who
need to know many parts of the world because they may
find themselves sent anywhere there is a crisis. When I'm
talking to somebody - like Mrs France - I'm trying to
gauge the size of their cocoon.'

'And Mrs France's is?'

'A very large cocoon indeed. The world is her oyster.
She has a wide outlook - searching for huge missing sums
of money in the biggest bank in the world, tracking and
recording secret coded instructions being sent via the
Internet, dealing with two remarkable men. And she has
ethics, is trustworthy. If our trip to Traveműnde is a trap it is so because someone else has set the trap.'

'That's a thought.'

'Incidentally, I've decided everyone must be up and
ready to leave by 6.30 a.m. Don't ask me why - I could
only say sixth sense. I've called everyone else and luckily
didn't wake anyone up. I think it could be quite a day.'

'I'd better go . . .' Paula yawned. 'I need the shut-eye.
Is Lisa coming with us?'

'Yes. We can hardly leave her here.'

She told him about the incident when Lisa had mentioned a man with gold-rimmed glasses as one of the partners.

'How could she know that?' she concluded.

'That fits in too with the picture I am forming of the two massive forces ranged against each other. I won't explain
now. You get off to bed.'

Paula turned at the door before opening it, waved her
finger at him. 'You need sleep too, so I expect you to get
to bed as soon as I've left.'

She threw him a kiss and was gone. Tweed took off his
glasses, rubbed his eyes. She had a point, he decided.

* * *

At
Inseknde
Barford had eaten dinner with the FBI section
guarding the house. He had sat next to the head man whom
he had found intelligent and interesting. They were alone
now, drinking coffee. Cordell, the FBI chief, seemed in
no hurry to leave.

'I find it a strain,' he admitted, 'protecting the Secretary
of State and the other three VTPs. I wish the meeting had
taken place back home in familiar surroundings.'

Cordell was a man of medium height, well built and very
fit. He had a tough face but a warm smile which appeared
occasionally. He seemed to have taken to the Brig. He
showed no sign of being in a hurry to leave the table.

'It will soon be over,' Barford told him. 'How many
more days?'

'They're vague about that. For security reasons. Three
or four more days is the official version. My bet is we'll be
out of here in one or two days.' He paused, lit a cigarette.
'I hear they're using the Special Reserve to go after some
poor bastards.'

'They are. You don't sound enthusiastic.'

'I'm not. That bunch of thugs. They do things we'd
never dream of doing. I heard of one case where their
target was a banker who wasn't cooperating. Two men did the job. They had checked his routine and he never varied
from it. Came out to lunch at exactly the same time. So one
thug goes into the bank wearing dark glasses - they always wear dark glasses. He hung around for a few minutes. His
pal waited outside. The banker appears, starts to walk
out of the bank, reaches the door. The Special Reserve
man inside shoots him in the back. At the same moment
the thug outside shoots him in the head. They go down
to the sidewalk, step into the waiting getaway car and
they're gone. We would never use methods like that.
It's cold-blooded murder.' Cordell paused. 'I'm sure you
won't pass on to anyone what I've just said - for obvious
reasons.'

'Not to a soul on earth. I promise you.'

'I'd better go outside now and check the situation . . .'

The Brig lingered for a few minutes, then walked out of
the dining room. Outside in the corridor he almost collided
with Gavin Thunder.

'Dinner's over. We talked a lot. Everyone in agreement. Very satisfactory.'

'Could we have another private word?'

'Why not? We'll go back to the room where we talked
before.'

Once inside the room Thunder headed for the drinks
cabinet, came back with two glasses and a bottle of brandy.
Barfbrd thanked him but refused a further drink. Thunder
poured himself a large tot, was in a jubilant mood.

'Here's to the success of our great enterprise.' He raised
his glass, then noticed the Brig's expression. 'You don't look too happy.'

'I'm not happy at all about using the Special Reserve. I
don't approve of it.'

'Don't approve of it!' Thunder had raised his voice. 'You know something? I wasn't aware that your approval was a
factor we have to consider. The decision is taken. I want you to accompany them in the boat which will take them
to the mainland tomorrow, to see them off in the three
jeeps they will travel in, wish them luck, for God's sake.'

'I will accompany them in the boat. But I stress that I
do not approve. I'm asking you to cancel the
operation.'

'Cancel it! You know something, Bernard,' Thunder rapped out nastily, 'you're not yet Supreme Governor of the military areas Britain will be divided into.'

'I am aware of that.'

'My dear Bernard. . .'Thunder's mood changed abruptly,
became very friendly. '. . . No one blames you for not
wiping out Tweed. He's a cunning devil. You have
been labouring under a lot of strain and stress. This
I understand. Two of the Special Reserve, incidentally,
are British - they were in the SAS. They came to the
States, adopted American nationality, were recruited into
the Special Reserve. That ought to make you feel better
about the whole operation.'

'I'm exhausted. I think I'll go to bed.' 'Do that. You'll feel so much better in the morning.' When Barford had left, Thunder sipped at his brandy.
He had always had a flair for talking people round to his
point of view.

Tweed was still up, sitting at a desk with his doodle pad,
long after Mrs France had come and gone, followed later
by Paula's visit. He had added Mrs France to his pad,
with a circle round her. He had drawn a line linking
Lisa with Mrs France. The vast mosaic was becoming
clearer to him. His mobile phone started buzzing. He
swore, picked it up.

'Yes?'

'Mr Tweed?'

'Yes. Who it it?'

'You will be in mortal danger tomorrow. Lucky to
survive.'

The voice sounded like that of a woman, or of someone
talking with a sweet in their mouth and speaking with a
silk handkerchief over the phone.

'Thanks a lot,' Tweed said.

'This is serious. Seven professional killers in three jeeps will follow your car. At the right tactical moment they will
kill all of you. They are trained assassins.'

'Where are they based?'

Tweed had decided this had betterbe taken seriously.
The phone clicked, went dead. Who the devil eould that
have been, he asked himself, relaxing back in his chair. Too
many people had his mobile phone number. But there had
been something disturbing about the warning. He wished
he could call Harry, but had no intention of waking him
up at this hour, despite the fact Harry hardly ever seemed
to sleep.

As though in answer to his wish there was a tapping at
his door. When he opened it, his Walther in his hand,
Harry, fully dressed, walked in.

'Thought you'd still be up. Wanted to discuss tactics
for today's expedition.'

'You should be getting some sleep.'

'Sleep dulls the brain.'

Tweed offered him coffee or an alcoholic drink. Harry
refused both. He just wanted to get on with it, to work
out tactics. Tweed decided to tell him about the strange
warning call he'd received. Harry, silting forward in a
chair, listened.

'You take it seriously?' he asked when Tweed had concluded.

'At first I thought it was a bit of psychological warfare, to
rattle me. Then I recalled how specific the caller had been.
Seven men, three jeeps. I am taking it seriously. On the way we have to look for somewhere we can use as a fortress-like
position. Somewhere they have to come in and attack us
while we're entrenched.'

'Got myself a motorbike,' Harry said tersely.

'How on earth did you get that in Tonder at the dead
of night?'

'I was prowling round, looking for trouble - any sign of
the enemy. Came across this chap oiling his machine in
front of a garage. Asked him how much. Thought I was
joking, so he names a price. Double what it's worth. I said
yes. A Dane, I think, but spoke good English. I hauled
put a wad of marks, did a quick calculation, gave him the
money and rode off on it.'

'You never cease to
amaze
me.'

'Sometimes I amaze myself,' Harry replied, making a
rare joke. 'Point is, I could follow the car - then at
other times overtake and ride ahead of you. Call me
your scout.'