Colin Forbes - The Janus Man

`That's Kurt Franck. I saw him arrive at the Movenpick, carrying his bag inside. No, I don't know him. I know of him. He's started hanging round the crowd out at Travemunde, trying to ingratiate himself with them. I think he's a con artist – probably lives off dowagers. Gigolo…'

Newman looked up as Tweed emerged from the hotel. `Off somewhere?' he asked.

`Thought I'd take a walk through the town. It's like a furnace inside.'

Newman introduced him to Diana Chadwick. Tweed took her hand and noticed its beautiful shape, long-fingered and not too wide. The lightest tone of pink nail varnish None of your blood-red horror.

`And are you also on holiday, Mr Tweed?'

`Trying to relax, have a bit of a restful time. For a change.' `I'll come with you for that walk,' Newman said, pushing back his chair. 'Stretch my legs…'

`Maybe you would care to accompany us, Miss Chadwick?' Tweed suggested. 'A little feminine company would cheer me up no end.' He caught Newman's expression. 'Probably have the same effect on Bob, too.'

`I'd love that.' She stood up and pulled on her wide-brimmed hat. 'Two escorts..' She was openly flirting with Tweed. 'I count this my lucky day…'

It went on like that for another ten days; Tweed mooning round the island, looking at the ancient buildings restored to their medieval glory, strolling along the river banks where trees overhung the placid water while power cruisers and more humble rowing boats moved in the torrid atmosphere as the heatwave continued unabated.

`What the hell do you think you're up to?' Newman demanded as they sat one afternoon in Tweed's bedroom, gazing out of the window at the jostling crowds below. 'You told me to hold back on checking Dr Berlin, you haven't made a single positive move to find out what is going on. Two men were murdered back in Hamburg – or have you forgotten?'

`No!' Tweed's tone was curt. 'And I was very fond of Ian Fergusson, so your comment is not welcome..

`Sorry, but I'm getting restless…'

`You have Diana to while away the days…'

`She spends half her time with you…'

`Not my choice. Hers.' Tweed was amused. His tone changed. `If you are getting on edge, what effect do you think it is having on the opposition? Fabius Maximus, the ancient Roman general, called it masterly inactivity…'

`You mean this is deliberate?'

`Oh, quite deliberate. I have been led to Lubeck on the end of a carefully paid-out rope. I get here. I do nothing. Imagine the pressure building up on the opposition. Soon they must show their hand.'

`If it works..

`It will work. I know my friends across the border.'

`What the bloody hell is Tweed up to?' Lysenko paced round the spartan room on the fifth floor of the building in Leipzig. `You tell me!' he shouted at Wolf, seated behind his desk. 'You and your patience..

`I must admit his behaviour…'

`His lack of it…'

`I was going to say…' Markus Wolf, a tall, heavily-built man who towered over Lysenko, stood up, thrust his hands inside his trouser pockets, and also began walking. 'I was going to say,' he repeated, 'that I'm beginning to be puzzled. Munzel has reported daily over the phone via Hamburg. Apparently Tweed does nothing except act like a tourist. He hasn't even been near the Lubeck-Sild police complex outside the town. And Balkan is now in place..

`We gave him the lead to Dr Berlin through Palewska – a totally reliable contact from his point of view. He hasn't gone near Travemunde – that is, if Munzel is to be trusted and is doing his job.'

`Erwin Munzel,' Wolf said stiffly, 'is the best we've got. I chose him personally for this assignment..

`Munzel is a sadist.'

`Well, he may have his peculiar side. I grant you he enjoys his work. But the point is he is first-rate at his work.'

`Then what are we going to do?' raved Lysenko. 'Soon I shall be getting a phone call from the General Secretary. What do I say to him? Tweed has come, Tweed is having a good holiday. Mikhail Gorbachev will appreciate that, I can tell you…'

`Gorbachev is your responsibility,' Wolf said sharply.

`And killing Tweed is yours. You are in the front line…'

`Oh, I do realize that,' Wolf said ironically. 'Leave all the dirty work to the East Germans! Then if anything misfires the Kremlin has clean hands on the international front. So far, Tweed has stayed in crowded areas – always accompanied by that foreign correspondent, Newman. He doesn't go out after dark and eats dinner at the Jensen's restaurant where he's staying. What chance do you think Munzel has had?'

`That's your problem. You're in charge of the executive side of the operation. You are using your own people. My role is that of observer. I repeat, what are you going to do?'

It had become you, not we, Wolf noted cynically. He adjusted his heavy horn-rim glasses, sat down behind his desk and re-read the latest report while Lysenko prowled and fumed.

`As I said,' he began eventually, 'Balkan is in place…'

`And that was my idea years ago,' Lysenko reminded him. `One of the most audacious manoeuvres my organization has carried out. A bigger Philby at the centre of Tweed's outfit…'

`Whose identity I have protected,' Wolf replied waspishly.

`Agreed. But we must use him to the fullest extent – take a risk if we have to.'

`We'll speed things up,' Wolf decided. 'I'll get a message to Munzel. But I'm never happy about rushing things.'

`It is your decision,' Lysenko replied artfully.

`And I am capable of doing just that – taking a decision. We will get things moving within the next few days…' Wolf put his hand on the receiver and lifted it.

`Dr Berlin has arrived, Bob,' Diana said. 'He is holding one of his parties and you are invited…'

Mid-morning. They were sitting at one of the sidewalk tables outside the Jensen having a pre-lunch drink. It had become part of their daily routine. To sit and chat in the warmth before the great heat built up. Diana wore her straw hat tilted at an angle to shade her face. She looked up as Tweed came out.

`You're invited to a party, Tweedy…' Newman hid a smile. She was the only person he'd ever known get away with calling him that. Tweed sat down and began cleaning his glasses on his handkerchief.

`That's nice. Thank you. Tell me about it…'

`Oh, you don't thank me. It's Dr Berlin's party as I was just explaining to Bob.' She looked at Newman with mock severity. `I have to tell you there are conditions. No interviews. You will be the only reporter there…'

`I expect one of the locals will sneak in,' Newman replied.

`They won't, you know! There will be guards on the gate. Dogs will patrol the grounds. You will have to show proof of identification before they let you in. Preferably your passport…'

`Sounds like a concentration camp,' Tweed observed amiably. 'I would like to know more before I accept – if that doesn't sound ungracious. Where will the party be held, what time, what day?'

`The day after tomorrow. Three o'clock in the afternoon we turn up. You can both escort me. The venue is Dr Berlin's mansion on Priwall Island opposite Travemunde. In the Mecklenburgerstrasse – that's the main road which runs like a ruler on and on until you reach the border. Full stop then!'

`I know,' said Tweed, and noticed the surprise she showed.

`I have been studying a map of the area,' he explained. 'How do we let Dr Berlin know we accept?'

`Oh, you can leave that to me.' She paused to swallow the rest of her drink. 'I give you both solemn warning you probably won't actually meet your host. He's very shy and reserved.'

`You mean we won't even see him?' Tweed asked.

`Oh, he'll be on the lawn. But probably surrounded by cronies. He doesn't expect guests to approach him – not even to thank him. In fact,' she made a moue, 'he positively dislikes it…'