'If you lose the election you go ahead with the putsch as planned. Your men in full uniform. You march on Munich – make it as much a replica of Hitler's 1923 march on Munich as you can.'
'Hitler didn't succeed,' Dietrich pointed out. 'He ended up in Landsberg Prison…'
'Where is the new weapons dump?' Manfred interjected. 'I see…' He paused. 'We are so close to zero hour you should use armed guards to protect the place this time. That is all…'
'Wait!'
Manfred had not even heard the plea. He was driving out of the garage, his red tail-lights disappearing round a corner. Dietrich swore again, took out a cigar and lit it. The arrangement was he should wait two minutes before he also left.
Arriving back at Munich Airport, Martel took a cab to the corner of a side street in the city. Waiting until the cab had gone, he walked the last four hundred yards to the Hotel Clausen where the Swiss girl was staying. He was relieved to find Claire safe in her room.
'I've been busy while you were away,' she announced. `I spent a lot of time at the Hauptbahnhof
'That was foolhardy – you could have been spotted…' 'When will you learn I'm not stupid?' she flared up. 'I change my clothes before each visit. A trouser suit in the morning, a skirt and blouse with dark glasses after lunch…'
'Sorry.' Martel dropped his brief-case on the bed and stretched his arms. 'I'm tensed up. The Summit Express leaves Paris tomorrow night and we're no nearer knowing who the target is, let alone the assassin…'
'The dossiers that woman in London is checking? She has found nothing?'
'It could be Flandres, Howard, O'Meara – even Erich Stoller. Any one of them. But she's persisting. The Hauptbahnhof…'
'You never told me what you had noticed after we ran for it,' she reminded him.
'Your impressions first.'
He slipped off his shoes, lay on the bed and propped his back on the bedboard. While she talked he smoked and watched her, thinking how fresh and appetising she looked. He felt a limp, sweaty, mess: the humidity in Munich was growing worse.
'The Hauptbahnhof here,' she began, 'and probably in Zurich – for the same reasons – is the mobile headquarters of Delta. Which explains why Stoller has never managed to locate their main base. The schloss Dietrich has in the country is a blind…'
'Goon.'
'It makes an ideal headquarters because of all the facilities. It is always crowded. So a meeting between two men-or several- is unlikely to be noticed. Couriers come in on trains, deliver their messages – and depart on other trains. They never actually go into Munich! How am I doing?'
'Promising. Do go on.'
'You observed one of those meetings- the man off the Zurich Express. Plenty of meeting-places – far less risky than any so-called safe houses which might be located and watched. The cafeteria, the cinema, and so on. They even have fool-proof communications which can be used with the certainty no call will ever be intercepted. The payphones.'
'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.