Colin Forbes - The Janus Man

`How long has he been on Priwall Island?' Tweed asked casually.

`No idea.' Diana adjusted the angle of her hat. 'Now, if you two don't mind, I think I'll trot along and let him know you're coming. He'll be so pleased…'

`Can't you phone him?' Newman suggested.

`Not the done thing. Besides, I have a tiny present to give him. I always do that when he turns up at Priwall…'

`I'll walk you to the station…'

Newman stood up with her but she shook her head and gave him a warm smile. Tapping him on the wrist with her rolled sunshade, she followed up this gesture by opening the shade which was brightly coloured. She was in one of her devilish moods and spun round in a circle like a ballet dancer.

`Hate that slow old train. I can drive over in my runabout – the sturdy old Volkswagen. 'Bye, both. See you here for dinner tonight..

`She's quite a girl,' Tweed said, watching her until she vanished up a side street.

`She must be – to get you inside that safari jacket…'

Diana had insisted Tweed wasn't dressed for the climate. She had coaxed him inside a shop and made him try on three safari jackets. To Newman's amazement he had bought one and followed it up with the purchase of a straw hat.

`That girl has you in the palm of her hand, Tweed.'

`I like her.' Tweed lowered his voice. 'But now I have a job for you. Check Diana Chadwick's background with a fine-tooth comb. I want to know her history since the day she was born in Hampstead – just assuming she was born in Hampstead.'

In his bedroom Tweed's manner changed completely. He tossed the straw hat on the bed while Newman watched, took off the safari jacket and slung that after the hat. He closed both of the windows and now the room was quiet, the noise of the traffic coming in to Lubeck over the bridge muffled.

`I didn't realize you were sceptical about Diana,' Newman commented.

`I'm sceptical about everybody.' Tweed paced slowly round the room, assembling his thoughts. 'They may be using her simply as a conduit, of course.'

`Conduit?'

`Yes. Surely you realize what has happened. I've worn them down, forced them into making the first approach. There will be someone at this party held by Dr Berlin who wants to get a good look at me -at the very least. Get started, Bob. Everything you can dig up on Dr Berlin…'

`That could be a tall order. According to Diana he doesn't encourage people to get close to him.'

`Which is interesting in itself. I've an idea your best bet could be the floaters – those strange British ex-colonials who live on boats and commute annually between the Baltic and the Med.'

`Has something else happened? You seem more animated…'

'As a matter of fact, yes. The loaded pause is ended, I suspect. I told Monica to let Howard know I was staying here at the Jensen. Harry Masterson rang while you were having your drink with Diana. From Vienna. I have to go to a phone booth at the station and call him back at exactly noon. He has some information he doesn't want passing through the hotel switchboard. He made it sound very urgent..

`I'll come with you.'

`We'll walk over to the Hauptbahnhof in a few minutes. Also, and this is a strange coincidence, Erich Lindemann then phoned. He's travelling down from Copenhagen to meet me at Puttgarden, the ferry point this side of the Baltic…'

`When?'

`Late this afternoon. I'll give you the details later. He also has information. Refused to give me even a hint on the phone. A very cautious chap, Erich.'

`So, one way or another everyone is converging on Liibeck. Two of the four suspects, anyway. Have you still no idea who it is? Hugh Grey, Masterson, Lindemann or Dalby?'

`Not a whisker of an idea.' Tweed rubbed his hands together. `The main thing is things are moving. I have an idea that from now on the pace will go on accelerating.'

`Monitor here,' said Tweed, confined inside the phone booth at the Hauptbahnhof. 'What news about the deal?'

`Prefect calling. Details of the deal pretty confidential. I take it you are outside, old boy?'

Unmistakably Harry Masterson, his bluff voice booming, and he had responded to the schoolboyish identification Tweed had devised. He disliked it but any operator listening in who understood English well would think they were a typical pair of Britishers.

I'm outside,' Tweed assured him. 'How is the deal going?' `They won't conclude without a ten per cent reduction in the price…'

`That's steep. Have to think about it.'

`Oh, another thing…' Masterson spoke as though it was just a minor matter… a gentleman you ought to know about is heading for your part of the world. Nicknamed The Cripple. He came over near Gmund. That report is not new – only just heard about it. So he could be already with you. A formidable competitor.'

`I agree.' Tweed felt his facial muscles stiffen. 'Suppose I should say goodnight, Vienna…'

`Wiedersehen.'

`What's the matter?' Newman asked as they strolled out of the station into the glare of the midday sun. 'You look as though you've seen a ghost. Bad news?'

`Some people would say the worst. Ever heard of a man from East Germany known as The Cripple?'

`I have now. Who is he – or she?'

`He. Their most professional assassin. Believed to be responsible for the murder of at least seven of our agents. He specializes in making his killings look like accidents. We have no description and no photo of him. Harry Masterson said he came over the border at Gmund in Upper Austria recently and is headed this way. May already be here…'

`That's a hell of a long way round to get to Lubeck. He had to cross part of Austria and the whole of Germany.'

`Which was clever. If you want to escape across the Iron Curtain this is not the place to do it. The border is too heavily guarded. You'd find it much easier to slip over the Austrian frontier. The same applies if they want to send a man into the West. We may have very unpleasant company on our doorstep.'

`At least Masterson has warned us…'

`And that was a funny thing. He was supposed to be calling from Vienna. I'd have sworn it was a local call – made from somewhere nearby…'

`Probably a freak line…'

`Probably.'

They caught the 15.33 express from Lubeck bound for Copenhagen which would land them at Puttgarden at 17.11. The train was fairly empty and Tweed gazed out of the window with interest as the train forged north. More flatlands, but now few signs of habitation. Wild-looking countryside with fields of crops when they left Lubeck behind after a glimpse of the blue Baltic.

`You could lose yourself up here and they'd never find you,' Newman remarked.

`It gets wilder when we cross over to the German island of Fehmarn,' Tweed said. The track crosses Fehmarn Sound on to the island over a bridge. Puttgarden, the ferry terminal for Denmark, is at the very tip of the island. I think we're coming up to it now.'

The express slowed, rumbled slowly over a long bridge. Newman peered out and below the intensely blue Baltic was choppy. The brilliant sunlight glittered like mercury off the wave crests. It moved on to the island and Newman saw the point of Tweed's remark.

High dense grasses waved in the breeze and there was no sign of human habitation as far as the eye could see. An atmosphere of desolate loneliness hung over the island which – even in the sunlight – pressed down on the landscape.

The express lost speed again and soon it was crawling along-side the platform of Puttgarden station. Not a hint of a town or even a village. Just the endless platform.

As they descended to the platform Newman glanced to his left, to the north. In the distance, beyond the locomotive, what, looked like an immense shed yawned, a dark cavern. Above the entrance was hoisted a huge metal shield-like cover. He was looking at the waiting train ferry, open and ready to receive the express.