'Tweed, it's not important, it's absolutely vital. If the forged money is as good as you say it is we must do everything we can to stop it getting into circulation.'
'I just hope you have time.'
'I have. By chance I'm in Norwich. I'm going to use all the power I've been given to ring every possible American airbase. You said you thought it might well come aboard a C47 transport. That needs a long runway, which cuts down the number of airbases I have to think of. I'm getting on it now.'
Tweed and Newman, with Paula, were the first to enter the lobby. The receptionist leaned over the counter.
'Mr Newman, I have a message for you. In case you came back.'
Newman looked surprised. He took the sealed envelope. Tweed was about to head for the dining room when the receptionist called out again.
'I also have a message for you, sir.'
Tweed took the sealed envelope, put it in his pocket. Then he questioned the receptionist, phrasing his words carefully.
'A close friend of mine might still be in the hotel. A Sharon Mandeville. You probably saw us together in the lounge.'
'Yes, sir, I did. Ms Mandeville checked out a good few hours ago. She drove off with her secretary, Ms Denise Chatel.'
'Did she leave a forwarding address?'
'No, sir, I'm afraid she didn't. We've had a bit of activity this evening – and now you turn up.'
'Mind if I ask who else has been here? It couldn't be my old friend, Jake Ronstadt?'
'I'm only here temporarily, sir.' The receptionist lowered his voice. 'Yes, Mr Ronstadt was here with three other men. They had dinner and then left.'
'Thank you. So I've missed him. Can't be helped…'
They left their coats, followed Tweed and Paula into the dining room. There were only two couples having dinner. Waiters made up a large table and they settled down to study the menu. When they had ordered, Tweed took out the envelope, opened it. The wording, like his name on the front of the envelope, was in ill-formed block letters.
REGENT HOTEL, PETITE FRANCE, STRASBOURG.
Newman had at the same time opened his envelope. He frowned as he reading the wording, written with a pen in a strange script.
Hotel Regent, Petite France, Strasbourg.
'What on earth can this mean?' he asked, handing the letter to Tweed. 'And I most certainly don't recognize the handwriting.'
'I'd say you weren't meant to,' Tweed commented after scrutinizing the communication. 'It's educated, but awkward handwriting. My guess is it was written quickly by a right-handed man – using his left hand. Now look at my message.'
'This is incredible,' Newman exclaimed. 'What does it mean?'
'The version you're looking at was probably written by a less-educated man. Also, notice the different way the hotels are named. I've stayed there. I know in France it's called Hotel Regent. Which again suggests a well-educated person.'
'Is someone going to let me in on the secret?' Paula pleaded.
They both handed her their letters. She studied them, took her time. Then she looked up.
'This is crazy. Same address, but apparently provided by two quite different people. Why?'
'It's a mystery,' Tweed agreed. 'And here's our meal. I'd like everyone to get on with it. I'm sure we're very short of time.'
'I know,' said Paula, 'gobble it down even though we haven't eaten for hours. Then we all get indigestion.' 'No need to do that,' Tweed assured her.
Marler finished first. Like Tweed and Paula he drank only water, avoiding wine. They didn't believe in touching alcohol when it came to driving.
'I told you about our brief confrontation with those four thugs in Hollental,' he began. 'I also mentioned the landslide. I was worried that when I drove to the bottom of the gulch that the exit would be blocked. Luckily, the landslide which covered the highway had not reached the right-hand lane. So we just drove straight off.'
Soon afterwards Tweed summoned the waiter, paid the bill. He pushed his chair back, anxious to leave.
'Just a moment,' Paula said. 'It would be nice to know where we're going.'
'To Strasbourg, of course.'
'It could be a trap,' Newman-warned.
'I agree. Only way to find out is to get there. As I mentioned earlier, I once stayed at the Hotel Regent. It's a very good hotel.'
'I'll take over the driving,', Paula offered.
'Thank you. But I'm just waking up, said Tweed, `so I'll go on driving.'
'And I'll continue behind the wheel,' Marler chimed in.
'Oh, well,' Paula sighed. 'Strasbourg here we come.'
Paula was certain she would never forget the headlong drive up the autobahn heading for Strasbourg. They were all seated as they had been during the drive from Schluchsee. She was next to Tweed, with Newman and Kent in the back. She had her map in her, lap and referred to it frequently with the aid of her torch.
There was no longer any trace of snow and the moon glowed down brightly. Ahead she could see nothing but the endless stretch of the autobahn going on for ever. Tweed kept overtaking huge trucks lumbering along. One moment they saw red lights, the next, so it seemed to Paula, they had whipped past the vehicle. Hedges on the central reservation whipped past in a blur. She glanced at Tweed.
He was sitting quite still, his hands on the wheel relaxed as he continued staring into the distance. Her next glance was at the speedometer. Oh, my God! she thought. But of course there was no speed limit on German autobahns. There was also no speed limit for Tweed as the Audi devoured the miles.
'Are we trying to break some record?' Newman called out.
'We have so little time left,' Tweed replied.
As if Newman's comment and his own reply had alerted him he pressed his foot down even further. Paula suppressed a gasp. She thanked Heaven they had left the snow behind long ago. Red pinpoint lights appeared in the distance. Another truck. Then Tweed was overtaking. The juggernaut whizzed past, was gone. Paula realized she was pressing her feet hard against the floor, that the palms of her hands were damp. Surreptitiously, she wiped them on her trousers.
'We're getting there,' said Tweed cheerfully.
'I'd already gathered that,' she replied.
In the second Audi, some distance behind them, Marler kept up his speed. Once he glanced at his speedometer. He raised his eyebrows.
'You know something,' he said to Nield next to him, 'this is North Pole or bust. In other words, Tweed has really got the bit between his teeth.'
'Oh, is that what is happening,' Nield answered, suddenly aware that he was sitting very tensely.
'I think he's in a bit of a hurry to get to Strasbourg,' Marler remarked.
'And I think he believes he's flying Concorde.'
Paula was studying her map again. She looked up as something flashed past. She cleared her throat to warn Tweed she was going to say something. He glanced at her.
'Comfortable?' he enquired.
'Oh, very. Would you mind if I suggested you slowed down just a bit?'
'We've got to get there.'
'I know. But we're approaching junction 54. That's where we'll turn off the autobahn and head for Kehl.'
'But we just passed junction 55,' Tweed objected.
'Yes, we did. And at the rate we're moving we'll overshoot 54.'
'Not a chance.'
They overtook a convoy of three huge trucks. Paula looked up at the roof. It had been like watching a video on fast-forward. They had to be very close to 54 now. Then she realized Tweed was slowing – at least they were not travelling quite at supersonic speed any more.
'We have to be extremely close to it now,' she warned.
'I'm sure we are.'
She glanced at him again. For the first time she realized that mixed with his sense of anxiety about time was a sense of pure enjoyment. He felt he was achieving something. Which, she supposed, he was – if they got there in one piece.