He braked about half a mile from the main entrance to the Dietrich estate. His phenomenal memory had not let him down. Yes, the gate in the wall was there. And beyond it stood a ramshackle farm-cart abandoned long ago and which he remembered from his secret meeting with Erwin Vinz by the roadside.
The geography, also, was right for his purpose. Beyond the gate a field rose up steeply to a ridge surmounted by an outcrop of rock. An excellent firing-point. Getting out of the BMW, he opened the gate, lifted the shafts of the cart and heaved to get it moving.
Manfred possessed extraordinary physical strength. He had once broken the neck of a man weighing twenty stone. He hauled the cart into the road where he positioned it carefully. He could have blocked the road completely – but this would have been bad psychology.
If you are quick-witted, confronted by a barrier you turn your car swiftly on the grass verge and drive like hell back the way you have come. So he used the cart to block the road partially – to force an oncoming vehicle to slow to a crawl and negotiate the obstacle.
It also provided against the contingency that the wrong car could arrive first and the occupants might get out and shift the cart. As the cart was positioned they would simply drive slowly round it. He next hid the BMW inside the field behind a clump of trees, not forgetting to close the gate. His target would notice little details like that.
Five minutes later, confident from what Dietrich had told him on the phone that he had arrived first, Manfred settled himself in place behind the rocky outcrop and peered through the gun's 'scope. In the crosshairs the road came up so he felt he could reach out to touch it. Then he heard the sound of an approaching car. Martel's blue Audi came into sight.
'I still don't like this idea of visiting Dietrich,' Claire said as she sat beside Martel in the Audi. 'But, oh, this must be one of the most beautiful places in the world.'
According to the map Martel had studied earlier they were within two miles of the main entrance to the schloss. All around them the sweeping uplands of Bavaria were green in the blazing sun. At the summit of limestone ridges which reared up like precipices clumps of fir trees huddled. They had not passed another vehicle for some time.
'You are not going to visit Dietrich,' Martel told her. 'Before we get there I'm leaving you with the car while I walk the rest of the way. if I haven't reappeared in one hour you drive like hell to Munich and report to Stoller…'
'I'm not frightened. I'm coming with you…'
'Which means if I run into trouble there's no one available to fetch help…'
'Damn you, Keith Martel! That's blackmail…'
'That's right. Now what, I wonder, is this?'
'It's a farm-cart someone has left in the road. You can drive round it along the verge.'
Martel was driving at fifty miles an hour when he first spotted the obstacle. He began to reduce speed, agreeing with Claire that to get past the obstruction he would have to edge his way round it along the grass verge. He looked in his rear-view mirror, expecting to see one or more cars coming up behind him. The mirror showed an endless stretch of deserted road.
He looked to his right and saw a vast field running away to the foot of an upland. He looked to his left and saw ahead, close to the farm-cart, a closed gate. Beyond the gate the land rose steeply, ending in a rocky escarpment which loomed over the road. He scanned the escarpment, reducing his speed further so that he would be moving at less than ten miles an hour as he nosed his way round the ancient cart.
The escarpment was deserted. Claire followed his gaze, shading her eyes against the glare of the sun. The escarpment had a serrated edge like a huge knife with large notches. In one of the notches she saw movement. She pressed her back hard against the seat as she shouted.
'There's someone up there..!'
In the crosshairs of Manfred's 'scope the windscreen of the blue Audi was huge. The sun was in an ideal position – shining from behind his shoulder. He took the first pressure on the trigger. The Englishman's features were clear – even the cigarette-holder at a jaunty angle. The girl beside him wore dark glasses, making identification impossible. It didn't matter. The car was crawling…
'Hold on tight!'
Martel yelled the warning as he did the opposite to what instinct dictated – to reverse and turn on the verge. He rammed his foot through the floor. The Audi surged forward. The farm-cart rushed towards them. Claire blenched. The accident would be appalling. There was a sound of shattering glass.
Martel heard the whine of the high-powered bullet wing past the back of his neck. He kept his foot down, skidded as he swerved round the cart, regained control, drove off the verge and down the clear stretch beyond the cart.
Missed! On the ridge Manfred was stupefied. It was unprecedented. Following his normal cautious policy – which had enabled him to survive so long – he left the area immediately and drove back to Munich.
CHAPTER 24
Tuesday June 2
Name: Frederick Anthony Howard. Nationality: British. Date of birth: October 12 1933. Place of birth: Chelsea, London.
Career record: Joined Foreign Office, June 1958… Appointed to Intelligence Section, May 1962… Transferred to Paris Embassy, May 1974 as Intelligence Officer… Owing to pressure of work took six weeks' special leave, January 1978… 'Appointed head of SIS, May 1980.
Studying the dossiers once again with McNeil in his Maida Vale flat, Tweed skip-read Howard's details. In any case he knew them from memory. He handed the dossier back.
'Anything?' she asked.
'I don't know. I'm intrigued by that special sick leave he took while in Paris and which he spent in Vienna. Intrigued because he has never mentioned the fact…'
`You'd have expected him to?'
`I'm not sure.' Tweed took off his glasses and chewed on the end of one of the frame supports. 'Despite his apparent extrovert personality if you listen to him carefully he is highly vocal but says little.'
`A natural diplomat?'
`Now you're being cynical,' Tweed admonished. 'But the Vienna incident reminds me of someone
`Who?'
`Kim Philby.' Tweed replaced his glasses. `It was in Vienna that Philby was first contaminated by the plague- by a woman. So that leaves only Erich Stoller, thank God – I'm beginning to see double. Drag out his file and we'll see what we have there…'
At the entrance to Reinhard Dietrich's schloss the noise was ear-splitting, the source of the noise terrifying. A pack of German shepherd dogs snarled and leapt towards Martel, restrained only by the leashes held by the guards. The Englishman immediately recognised Erwin Vinz. The German walked forward and stopped close to the visitor.
`Yes?' he enquired, his slate-grey eyes studying Martel. `Philip Johnson of The Times. Mr Dietrich expects me…' 'Why do you arrive on foot?' Vinz demanded.
'Because my bloody car broke down a couple of miles back. You think I'd walk all the way from Munich? And I'm late for my interview – so could we stop wasting time?'
`Credentials?'
Vinz extended a hand and took the press card Martel handed him. Somewhere high in the warmth of the azure sky there was the distant murmur of a helicopter. It reminded Martel of the humming of a bee. Vinz returned the card.
`We will drive to the schloss
He led the way to the large wrought-iron gates which were opened and then closed behind them with the dogs and their handlers on the inside. The guards were dressed in civilian clothes and wore Delta symbols in their lapels.
Vinz climbed in behind the wheel of a Land-Rover-type vehicle and gestured for Martel to occupy the front passenger seat. When they were moving Martel glanced back and saw the rear seats were occupied by two burly guards.