`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.'
CHAPTER 13
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.