Rhinoceros

'We do.'

The seaman gestured for them to join him. They walked over the gangplank, followed him down into a saloon. Curtains were closed over the windows, presumably to ward off the heat. As the seaman was turning round to face them Barton struck him a hard blow on the side of the neck. The seaman reeled. Barton grabbed his long hair, jerked his head forward, then shoved it back against the wooden panelling with all his force. He fell and didn't move again.

'You kill him,' gasped Panko.

'Let's get this thing moving.' Barton took an automatic rifle out of a well-worn hold-all he had been carrying in his left hand. 'Control cabin.'

'What we do with him?'

Panko asked the question as Barton was hurrying back up the steps, disappearing into the control cabin. Panko ran after him.

'You know how boat works?' he asked anxiously.

'I've fooled around with stuff like this on the Norfolk Broads. Go down on the landing stage, untie the mooring rope off the bollard, come back aboard, haul the gangplank on to the deck. Get moving, for God's sake.'

Barton started up the engine. It had a powerful purr. He liked it. Panko had released the mooring rope, run back on board, hauled the gangplank in. He slipped down into the saloon, felt the inert seaman's pulse. There wasn't a flicker. He ran back to the control cabin. Barton was easing the boat away from the landing stage, heading out for the open river. Panko appeared.

'What we do with man you hit? He dead.'

'There's always the river.'

'What is plan?'

'You watch how I handle this. Watch carefully. You only have a handgun. I need to be free to pick off Tweed and his girl with my rifle. They'll never expect an attack to come from the river. Watch what I do, I said.'

'OK. How long it take?'

'To kill Tweed? Five minutes from now.'

On Berg Island, way out in the Baltic, Milo Slavic sat in his study, smoking one of his many small cigars. He looked at his modest watch, then his eyes revolved to Victor Rondel, standing by the sheet of glass from floor to ceiling at the narrow end of the oblong room.

'Time you went to meet Tweed,' he said quietly.

'A bit early.' Rondel checked his Rolex. 'We have to keep to the timetable to pick up tourist passengers.'

'There will be a lot of tourists today.' Milo spoke in an even quieter voice, spacing out his words. 'Because of the hot weather.'

'I guess I'll be on my way…'

'And Victor,' Milo called out as Rondel reached the door. 'If Tweed has his whole team with him, bring them with you.'

'I intended to…'

Opening another door at the end of a long, wide corridor, Rondel stepped out onto a footpath leading down to the coast far below. Long ago Milo had had his castle built near the summit. There was an elevator built into the rock but the athletic Rondel began to skip down the steep curving path. A goat might have hesitated to follow him but he raced down.

At the bottom a three-deck steamer was waiting for him, its engines throbbing away. He ran across the gangplank and gave the order to the captain who was waiting for him.

'Go! We are late.'

In his study Milo checked the time. Unusually, Rondel was cutting it pretty fine. Milo stubbed his cigar, then picked up from behind the pile of books on his desk a silver-plated automatic.

'You will soon be here, Mr Tweed.'

Tweed had ordered three more glasses of orange juice as he relaxed beneath the umbrella. A welcome relief from the burning rays of the sun.

'I wonder where Lord Barford is now,' Paula mused. 'And where he really fits into the picture.'

'That sheet of typed paper which flew out of Thunder's case was pretty explicit. What I'm wondering about is the identity of Mr Blue, M. Bleu as the French call him, or Herr Blau. A strange assassin who kills without anyone hiring him or paying him.'

'Doesn't make sense,' Paula commented.

'It's beginning to give me an idea. Don't ask what – I'm still working on it.'

'It's so relaxing.' She stretched out her legs. 'I could stay here for ever.'

She glanced at Tweed. He was sitting upright, very still as he gazed at the river. She followed his gaze and gasped. A powerboat with a high bridge was cruising slowly alongside the waterfront. One small man she recognized – Panko – was holding the wheel. The other man – Barton – was holding a rifle aimed towards them. Tweed grabbed hold of her, dropped to the ground, hauling her with him.

She was still watching with her chin on the ground when she heard the sound of four shots fired in rapid succession. Then she stared in amazement. Another sliding white wall, six decks high, appeared from the left, its siren screaming non-stop. Its massive prow struck the powerboat, sliced through it, sailed over it, crushing it to pieces as it continued its forward glide. Went on and on, as huge as a skyscraper laid on its side.

Tweed helped her to her feet. She looked at the window behind them. High up, way above where their heads had been, were four star-shaped holes in the large window.

'What is that monster ship?' Paula croaked.

'Ferry from Helsinki, Finland. Once those things are on the move they can't be stopped for quite a while – due to their momentum and incredible size.'

Marler appeared, after secreting his Armalite inside his hold-all. He had scrambled down the stone steps.

'Saw Barton in my cross-hairs. Saw out of the corner of my eye that leviathan of a ship on top of him. He saw it too. Made him jerk his rifle too high. Crazy fool was sailing down the wrong side of the Trave. Heading out for the Baltic you use the far lane. Coming in, the near lane, as the ferry did.'

People who had been seated across the road under the canopy had stood up, rushed forward to the river's edge, staring down. One woman was screaming her head off.

'I think,' said Tweed, standing up, 'we'd better get away from here before that orange juice arrives. Look at the ghouls, hoping for bodies in the Trave.'

'I've looked,' Paula and Marler said at the same moment.

'We'll go towards the Baltic,' Tweed decided and started walking. 'Whoever's meeting us should come that way – if anyone ever does. Here's Lisa. Don't say anything to her about the incident.'

'And here's Rondel, running like mad,' Paula said as they entered a narrow part of the street. 'Lord, he can move.'

'And don't say anything to him,' Tweed whispered to Paula.

Lisa was walking behind them with Marler. Paula stopped.

'What about Harry and Pete?'

'Coming up behind us,' Marler called out. 'And there's Newman, strolling along behind our host.'

Rondel jerked to a halt, gave Paula a warm smile, put his arms round her, kissed her on both cheeks. Then he spoke to Tweed.

'Sorry I'm late. Had to push my way through a load of passengers waiting for the steamer to Berg Island…'

'Passengers?' queried Paula.

'Tell you all about them later. It's not too far to walk. Thank heaven, in this heat. Plenty of refreshments on board. You'll enjoy your trip…" As usual he was talking non-stop, smiling at the same time.'… Baltic's like a mill-pond. Not much of a breeze, but there's air-conditioning in the saloon. We'll have that to ourselves. Can't mix with the proles, can we? The steamer has powerful engines, moves fast, gets there quickly. And there it is. Wasn't so far, was it?' He was holding Paula's arm. 'It is waiting for us. Captain can't move off without me – no matter how long he has to wait…'

The steamer was quite large, had two funnels and three decks. It was painted white and had five flags hanging limply. Not even the hint of a breeze.

'Why five different flags?' Paula asked.

'Germany, Sweden, Norway, Denmark and Finland. I'll explain why when we're comfortable in the saloon. Let me escort you on board.'

He still had hold of her arm as they crossed a wide railed gangplank onto the deck. The crowd of passengers above them were peering down, probably wondering who the honoured guests were. Rondel opened a door and Paula walked into a luxurious saloon, empty except for a white-coated waiter.